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Persuade me not, there is a grace
Preceeds from Sylvia’s voyce, or Lute,
Against Miranda’s charming face
To make her hold the least dispute.
Musick, which tunes the Soul for Love,
And stirs up all our soft desires,
Does but the growing flame improve,
Which pow’rfull beauty, first inspires.
Thus, whilst with art, She plays, and sings,
I to Miranda, standing by,
Impute, the musick of the strings,
And all the melting words, apply.