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32  The lofty trees that pierce the sky Drain up the earth and leave her dry; Th' insatiate sea imbibes, each hour, The welcome breeze that brings the show'r; The sun, whose fires so fiercely burn, Absorbs the wave; and, in her turn, The modest moon enjoys, each night, Large draughts of his celestial light. Then, sapient sirs, pray tell me why, If all things drink, why may not I?

desert Phrygia's silent sands Poor Niobe an image stands; And Pandion's injured child, we know, Still, twittering, tells her tale of wo. But would the gods the change allow, And hear and grant my tender vow, Dear girl! thy mirror I would be, That thou might'st always smile on me.