Hast thou thy little lap-dog lost?
Can Celia’s dress excite envy?
Is Flavia now the fav’rite toast,
Or dost thou for a lover sigh?
Sylvia.
Be Flavia still the toast of beaux;
Such trifles ne’er could give me pain:
But know the cause of all my woes,
The dear Alonzo’s left the plain.
His music oft has charm’d the grove;