THE HAPPY LOVER: OR, Celia won by Aminta's Loyalty.  
A New SONG in great Request at Court.  
To an Excellent New Tune: Or, Why are my Eyes, &c▪  
Licenced according to Order.  
WHy are my Eyes still flow╌ing? Why does my Heart thus trembling move? 
 Why do I sigh when go╌ing, To see the Darling Saint I Love? 
 Ah! she's my Heaven, and in her Eyes, the Dei╌ty, there is no Life 
 Like what she can give, Nor any Death like taking my Leave.  

II.  
Tell me no more of Glo╌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.   

III.  
Why am I not enjoy╌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╌verblown,  
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?  
Wh● 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.   

Her ANSWER.  

V  
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 then Ten thousand Hearts in my Breast,  
I'd part with all, to give my Love rest.   

VI  
Why does Aminta sigh╌ing, thing 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.   Aminta] 

VII.  
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,   Celestina] 

Ay, dear╌est, Ay:  
While we have Breach, set Mortals wonder this,  
Envy they may, but not spoil our Bliss.     

Printed for J. Blare, at the Looking-Glass, on London Bridge.