Dear Colin, prevent my warm blushes,
Since how can I speak without pain?
My eyes oft have told you my wishes,
Why don't you their meaning explain?
My passion will lose by expression,
And you may too cruelly blame;
Then do not expect a confession
Of what is too tender to name.
Since yours is the province of speaking,
How can you then hope it from me?
Our wishes should be in our keeping,
'Till yours tell us what they should be.
Alas! then, why don't you discover?
DId your heart feel such torments as mine,
Eyes need not tell over and over,
What I in my breast would confine.