AS Damon late with Cloe sat, | |
| They talked of am’rous Blisses; | |
| Kind things he said, which she repaid, | |
| In pleasing Smiles and Kisses | |
| With tuneful Tongue of Love he sung; | 5 |
| She thanked him for his Ditty, | |
| But said one Day she heard him say, | |
| The Flute was mighty pretty. | |
| |
| Young Damon, who her Meaning knew, | |
| Took out his Pipe to charm her; | 10 |
| And while he strove, with wanton Love, | |
| And sprightly Airs, to warm her; | |
| She begged the Swain to play one Strain, | |
| In all the softest Measure, | |
| Whose Killing Sound would sweetly wound, | 15 |
| And make her die with Pleasure. | |
| |
| Eager to do’t, he takes the Flute, | |
| And ev’ry Accent traces, | |
| Love trickling thro’ his Fingers flew, | |
| And whispered melting Graces: | 20 |
| He did his Part with wond’rous Art, | |
| Expecting Praises after; | |
| But she instead of falling dead, | |
| Burst out into a Laughter. | |
| |
| Taking the Hint, as Cloe meant, | 25 |
| Said he, My Dear, be easy; | |
| I have a Flute, which, tho’ ’tis mute, | |
| May play a Tune to please ye: | |
| Then down he laid the charming Maid, | |
| He found her kind and willing; | 30 |
| He played again, and tho’ each Strain | |
| Was silent, yet ’twas Killing. | |
| |
| Fair Cloe soon approved the Tune, | |
| And vowed he played divinely; | |
| Let’s have it o’er, said she, once more, | 35 |
| It goes exceeding finely: | |
| The Flute is good, that’s made of Wood, | |
| And is, I own, the neatest; | |
| Yet ne’ertheless, I must confess, | |
| The silent Flute’s the sweetest. | 40 |
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