Revenging all your cold Disdain,
And Silvia shall neglected pass,
By every once admiring Swain;
And we can only Pity pay,
When you in vain too late shall burn:
If Love increase, and Youth delay,
Ah, Silvia, who will make return?
Then haste, my Silvia, to the Grove,
Where all the Sweets of May conspire,
To teach us every Art of Love,