IF Music be the food of love, Sing on, till I am filléd with joy, For then my listening soul you move To pleasures that can never cloy. Your eyes, your mien, your tongue declare, That you are Music everywhere: Pleasures invade both eye and ear, So fierce the transports are, they wound, And all my senses feasted are: Though yet the treat is only sound, Sure I must perish by your charms, Unless you save me in your arms. |