Lady MARY W***, to Sir W*** Y*** I. DEAR Colin, prevent my warm blushes, Since how can I speak without pain? My eyes have oft told you their wishes, Ah! can't you their meaning explain? My passion wou'd lose by expression, And you too might cruelly blame: Then don't you expect a confession Of what is too tender to name. II. Since yours is the province of speaking, Why shou'd you expect it of me? Our wishes shou'd be in our keeping, 'Till you tell us what they shou'd be. Then quickly why don't you discover? Did your breast feel tortures like mine, Eyes need not tell over and over What I in my bosom consine.