THE Usurers Daughters Reply, OR, FLOROMELLAS Answer to PHAON.

To a Pleasant New Play-House Tune.

[...]

NOw young tempting Phaon you shall have your prey,
Floramella does your mind fulfill,
And though Gold could never force me to obey,
freely I content unto your will:
Were my Beauty under twenty Locks kept fast,
Love should Pick them, and break through at last.
While Dads find us missing, Kissing we will lye,
Let them keep in Bondage Baggs on high,
My Gentle Charming Phaon minutes shall not dye,
Money shall not part my Love and I.
II.
Loves sweet gentle Spring shall always fresh remain,
and our Lips redouble Blows of ease,
Phaon ne'r shall find from me a dull disdain,
for I'le teach how Maids shall men appease:
Love on Downie Pillows e'ry night shall rest
Upon Floramellas Tender Breast.
While Old, &c.
III.
There's no Man so dull but has for us desire,
and with Blushing-Virgins would be bold,
Oft attempting for to raise a wanton Fire,
when they find us like the Winter Cold:
And though Maidens hearts are like Unpolisht-steel.
By Mens art and Labour, smoother feel.
While Old, &c.
IV.
Beauty was Created for the Lovers aid,
else a Lovely Image does but prove,
And no Liveless Statue, but a Lively Maid,
the young brisk and bonny wantons Love:
Though Pigmalions Mistris made of Stone & Art,
Once did Captivate her Makers heart.
While Old, &c.
V.
Phaon shall lie safe in Floramellas arms,
and possess that Bliss that Gods admire,
Circled in a thousand gay and pleasing Charms,
that in Hermits might create a Fire:
As fair Venus with Adonis us'd to toy,
When she once did Court that Beauteous Boy.
While Dads, &c.
VI.
A long lasting Night to us will seem but short,
for the light-foot hours post away,
Fly away too soon, whilst Lovers make their Court,
thus the Mad-Cap Night brings on the day:
And the day would soon reveal our sweet Delight,
But the Stars will tell no Tales by night.
While Dads, &c.
VII.
Thus thy Floramella on her Phaons Cheek,
all the sweet Delights of Love will tast,
There for Cupids Bow and arrows I will seek,
and the winged Hours will not wast:
All my Coyness shall be melted, and be gone,
Like the Mountain Snow with mid-day Sun.
While Dads find us missing, Kissing we will lye,
Let them keep in Bondage Baggs on high,
My gentle Charming Phaon minutes shall not dye,
Money shall not part my Love and I.
FINIS.

This may be Printed,

R. L. S.

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, in Pye-Corner.

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