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 Blest with thee, my dear Philander,
 * Could I chuse to live and die:

No swain with his aid, wit or art, Ever should have power to storm my heart, You are ali [sic] in all, we'll never part;
 * Each vein in me shall ever be,
 * Panting for the love of thee.

On the sands of South America,
 * Where the Sun never cast an eye;

Blest with thee, my dear Philander,
 * Could I chuse to live and die.

No swain with his aid, wit or art, Ever should have power to storm my heart, You are all in all, we'll never part;
 * Each vein, &c.

Let me never be slighted,
 * For the love that I do bear;

Lest my wrong they should be righted,
 * By your languishing despair.

For should you slight me with disdain, Then tears of sorrow would be in vain, For lost love can never be recall'd again
 * Each vein, &c.

Let us fly to Flory-mellow,
 * For to cherish up our drooping hearts;