Is pleasant task enow;
But think how we must rue
If he inconstant show!

4TH MOORISH WOMAN.
The loss of lover false to me
But trifling grief would be,
Yet this is far the keenest smart
That he had stol'n away our heart.

2ND MOORISH WOMAN.
What then shall we do
Whose hearts are so young?

4TH MOORISH WOMAN.
Though cruel his laws,
Attended by woes,
Away with your arms,
Submit to his charms!

TOGETHER.
His whims ye must follow,
His transports though fleet,
His pinings too sweet
Though often comes sorrow,
The thousand delights
The wounds of his darts
Still charm all the hearts.

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