There’s not a swain lyrics
by Henry Purcell
There's not a Swain, on the Plain
Would be bless'd like me, oh!
Could you but on me smile;
But you appear so severe
That trembling with fear
My heart goes pit-a-pat, all the while:
When I cry, must I die
You make no reply, but look shy
And with a scornful eye
Kill me by your cruelty
Oh! can you be so hard to me?