No body ever spoke before me of a faithful Lover, but still I sigh’d, and thought of _Damon_: And ever when they tell me Tales of Love, any soft pleasing Intercourses of an Amour; Oh! with what Pleasures do I listen! and with Pleasure answer ‘em, either with my Eyes, or Tongue-- _That Lover may his_ Sylvia _warm,_ _But cannot, like my_ Damon, _charm._ If I have not all those excellent Qualities you meet with in those beautiful People, I am however very glad that Love prepossesses your Heart to my advantage: And I need not tell you, _Damon_, that a true Lover ought to persuade himself, that all other Objects ought to give place to her, for whom his Heart sighs--But see, my _Cupid_ tells you ‘tis One o’.lock, and that you ought not to be longer from your Apartment; where, while you are undressing, I will give you leave to say to your self-- The Regret. _Alas! and must the Sun decline,_ _Before it have inform’d my Eyes_ _Of all that’s glorious, all that’s fine,_ _Of all I sigh for, all I prize?_ _How joyful were those happy Days,_ _When_ Iris _spread her charming Rays,_ _Did my unwearied Heart inspire_ _With never-ceasing awful Fire,_ _And e’ery Minute gave me new Desire!_ _But now, alas! all dead and pale,_ _Like Flow’rs that wither in the Shade:_ _Where no kind Sun-beams can prevail,_ _To raise its cold and fading Head,_ _I sink into my useless Bed._ _I grasp the senseless Pillow as I lie;_ _A thousand times, in vain, I sighing cry,_ _Ah! wou’d to Heaven my_ Iris _were as nigh._ ONE o’.LOCK. _Impossibility to Sleep._