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Page 135:-
Bonny blith Swainlin intend thy Lambkin,
To require noth thy Lays and thy Labour.
I love not thee, why should'st thou love me,
The Yoke I cannot approve it,
Then lie still with one, I'd rather have none,
Nor I love, nor am lov'd, nor have loved.
Dam. To lead Apes in Hell, it will not do well,
'Tis an Enemy to Procreation.
In the World to tarry, and never to marry,
Would bring it soon to Desolation.
See my Count'nance merry, Cheeks red as Cheery
This Cover will never suspect us,
This Place it is private, 'tis Folly to drive it,
Love's Spies have no Eyes to detect us.
Bell. 'Las! Maidens must feign it, I love, thou I
lain it,
I would, but I will not confess it,
My Years are consorting, and fain would be sporting.
But Bashfulness shames to express it.
I love not thee, why shold'st thou love me,
That Yoke I cannot approve it,
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