Of Her Sighing

When love would strike th' offending fair,
This incense bribes the god to spare;
And Cytheraea now does prize
No sweets but Serenissa 's sighs.
The yielding nymph by these confest,
Encourag'd lovers seek her breast:
So spicy gales at once betray
Th' Arabian coast, and waft us on our way.
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