Caught her fast in his Arms, she faintly deny'd:
What they did without study, we soon may divine,
'Twas Strephon's Luck then, the next Minute be mine.
Clarinda's Complaint. Tune of Ianthe the Lovely.
WITH sighing and wishing, and Green-sickness Diet,
With nothing of Pleasure, and little of Quiet;
With a Granum's Inspection, and Doctor's Direction,
But not the Specifick, that suits my Complexion:
The Flower of my Age is full blown in my Face,