I.

_Ah _Charmion!_ shroud those killing Eyes, That dart th’ extremes of Pleasure, Else _Celidon_, though favour’d, dies As well as him that you despise, Though with this diff’rent measure: While lingring Pains drag on his Fate, } Dispatch is all th’ Advantage of my State; } For ah! you hill with Love, as well as Hate._ }