To Aminta Wounded

'Tis just, Aminta , you are paid
For all the cruel Wounds you've made:
The Bee with arrow keen, tho small
Has on your Lip reveng'd us all.

No wonder with their dazzling Light.
Your Eyes deceiv'd the Wand'rer 's Sight,
While, by your Breath inform'd to steer,
Some fragrant Flow'r it fancy'd near.

It rages! but how faint the Smart
To that of my tormented Heart?
O, let me heal the Wound! O, joyn,
Afflicted Nymph , your Lip to mine!

From what, Aminta , do you fly?
No Danger in my Kisses lye:
An humbler Aim I mean to take,
And heal, and charm the wound I make.

Resist no longer — — now, I swear,
Your Articles are too severe!
The Insect paid but Life, of me
You ask yet more, my Liberty .
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