AY, screen thy favourite dove, fair child, Ay, screen it if you may, -- Yet I misdoubt thy trembling hand Will scare the hawk away. That dove will die, that child will weep, -- Is this their destinie? Ever amid the sweets of life Some evil thing must be. Ay, moralise, -- is it not thus We've mourn'd our hope and love? Ah! there are tears for every eye, A hawk for every dove! |