TELL me thou Fairest of thy Kind,
My Love, my All-Divine,
Where may this fainting Head reclin'd
Relieve such Cares as mine?
Ye Shepheards, Lead me to your Grove:
If burning Noon Infect the Sky,
The Sick'ning Sheep to Coverts fly,
The Sheep not half so Scorch't as I
Thus Languishing in Love.