Repress the bosom’s swelling flow.
In dark oblivion’s grave her woes confine,
And bow fore’er at friendship’s hallow’d shrine:
For her she’ll seek the flow’ret’s bloom,
The woodbine’s delicate perfume;
The jasmine breathing sweets divine,
And the rubic eglantine.
Then quickly fly, swift as old winged time,
And round her temples the fair wreathe entwine.
And didst thou think thy Emma could refuse