Tell me why, my charming fair,
Tell me why you thus deny me.
Can despair of these sighs and looks of care
Make Corinna ever fly me?
O Mirtillo! you're above me;
I respect but dare not love ye.
She who hears, inclines to sin,
Who parleys half gives up the town,
And ravenous love soon enters in,
When once the out-work's beaten down:
Then my sighs and tears won't move ye,
No Mirtillo, you're above me;
I respect but dare not love ye.
Could this lovely, charming maid
Think Mirtillo would deceive her?
Could Corinna be afraid
She by him should be betray'd?
No, too well, I love her,
Therefore cannot be above her.
O let love with love be paid.
My heart, my life, my all I give her.
Let me now receive her.
Oh! how gladly we believe,
When the heart is too, too willing:
Can that look, that face deceive?
Can he take delight in killing?
Ah! I die if you deceive me.
Yet I will believe ye.