THE HAPPY LOVERS, OR, Caelia won by Aminta's Loyalty. A New SONG in great Request at Court.  
To an Excellent New Tune: Or, Why are my Eyes, etc.  

This may be Printed,  
R. P.   
WHy are my Eyes still Flow—ing? Why does my heart thus trembling move? Why do I sigh when goe—ing? To see the Darling Saint I Love: Ah! she's my Heaven, and in her Eyes, The Dei— tie, There is no Life Like what she can give, Nor any Death like taking my Leave.  

I.  
Tell me no more of Glow— ry,  
to Court's Ambition i've resigned,  
But tell a long long Sto— ry,  
of Celia's shape her face and mind:  
Speak too of Raptures that will Life destroy,  
to En— joy,  
Had I a Diadem Sceptre and Ball,  
For that dear minute i'd part with them all.   

II.  
Why am I not injoy—ing  
myself, delighting in thy Arms?  
My painful Love destroy—ing,  
with kill pleasures from thy Charms:  
Come, come dear Celia, now let Storms be gone,  
and o— ver-blown;  
There's no delight like thy transporting Love,  
No joy below, what e'er there's above.   

IV.  
Why does my heart thus grieve— me,  
as I lie panting on my Bed?  
Why does my hopes deceive— me,  
when cruel Fates pronounce me dead?  
Speak, speak dear Saint, and by those conquering eyes  
that— surprise:  
Give, give me favour in thy sight again,  
Or kill me quite to ease my pain.   

V.  
Her ANSWER.  
HOw can I seek to co— ver  
a flaming heart overwhelmed with grief?  
See, see a Constant Lo— ver,  
thus fainting, plead for some Relief!  
No, no, Aminta, cease now to implore,  
sigh— no more:  
Had I ten thousand hearts in my Breast,  
I'd part with all to give my Love rest.   

VI  
Why does Aminta sigh—ing,  
think I will Coily Love deface?  
But can there be deny—ing,  
to such a Person, such a Grace?  
Ah! such becoming-Boldness too is found,  
to— be Crowned,  
That no fair Nymph that lives upon the Plain,  
Can have a heart to give my Dear pain.   

VII.  
Amint.] Who can express the joy—ing,  
that my poor heart doth leaping find?  
Fly hence all heart-annoy—ing,  
and fatal grief, for Celia's kind:  
Come then dear Celia, let us now enjoy,  
Cael.] Ay, dear— est Ay;  
While we have Breath let Mortals wonder this,  
Envy they may, but not spoil our Bliss.    

Printed for C. Dennisson, at the Stationers-Arms within Aldgate: 1688.