A SONG. How pleasant is Love, When forbid or unknown; Was my Passion approv'd, It would quickly be gone. It adds to the Charms, When we steal the Delight; Why should Love be expos'd? Since himself has no Sight. In some Silvan Shade, Let me sigh for my Swain; Where none but an Eccho, Will speak on't again. Thus silent and soft, I'll pass the Time on; And when I grow weary, I'll make my Love known.