In some kind dream upon her slumbers steal
And to Lucinda all, I beg, reveal:
Breathe gentlest words into her ears
Words full of love, but full of fears
Such words as may prevail like pray'rs
From a poor dying martyr's tongue
By that sweet voice of pity sung
Touch with the voice the more enchanting lute
To make the charms strike all repulses mute;
These may insensibly impart
My tender wishes to her heart
And by a sympathetic force
So tunе its strings to love's discourse
That, when my griеfs compel a groan
Her sighs may echo to my moan