THE PRESUMPTUOUS FLY.

Come away, come away, little fly!

Do n't disturb the sweet calm of lore's nest;

If you do, I protest you shall die,

And your tomb be that beautiful breast.

Do n't tickle the girl in her sleep,

Do n't cause so much beauty to sigh;

If she frown, half the graces will weep,

If she weep, all the graces will die.

Come away, little fly, & c.

Now she wakes! steal a kiss and be gone;

Life is precious: away, little fly!

Should your rudeness provoke her to scorn,

You'll meet death from the glance of her eye.

Were I ask'd by fair Chloe to say

How I felt, as the flutterer I chid;

I should own, as I drove it away,

I wish'd to be there in its stead!

Come away, little fly, & c.