So shall our loves unchided of the skies.
Not leafy choirs that anthem Flora in,
Or those sweet songs that in day's virgin hour
Their hymeneal pour from feathery pipes
That stale Apollo's lute, shall win more smiles
From the consenting gods!
Ara. O, music, breath
Of sin!
Aris. Not so! To love thee not were sin!
The adoration of so fair a soul