$ 0 , I0kl0 tymt 
billet 
f|0, lovely Rose ! 
Tell her that wastes her time and me 
That now she knows, 
When I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet and fair she seems to be. 
Tell her that’s young, 
And shuns to have her graces spied. 
That, hadst thou sprung 
In deserts, where no men abide, 
Thou must have uncommended diea. 
Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired; 
Bid her come forth, 
Suffer herself to be desired, 
And not blush so to be admired. 
