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William Cowper - SongWilliam Cowper - Song
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No more shall hapless Celia`s ears Be flattered with the cries Of lovers drowned in floods of tears, Or murdered by her eyes; No serenades to break her rest, Nor songs her slumbers to molest,                                   With my fa, la, la. The fragrant flowers that once would bloom And flourish in her hair, Since she no longer breathes perfume Their odours to repair, Must fade, alas! and wither now As placed on any common brow,                                   With my fa, la, la. Her lip, so winning and so meek, No longer has its charms; As well she might by whistling seek To lure us to her arms; Affected once, `tis real now, As her forsaken gums may show,                                   With my fa, la, la. The down that on her chin so smooth So lovely once appeared, That, too, has left her with her youth, Or sprouts into a beard; As fields, so green when newly sown, With stubble stiff are overgrown,                                   With my fa, la, la. Then, Celia, leave your apish tricks, And change your girlish airs, For ombre, snuff, and politics, Those joys that suit your years; No patches can lost youth recall, Nor whitewash prop a tumbling wall,                                   With my fa, la, la.
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