George Lyttelton

Song

When Delia on the plain appears, 
Aw’d by a thousand tender fears, 
I would approach, but dare not move; 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

Whene’er she speaks, my ravish’d ear 
No other voice but her’s can hear, 
No other wit but her’s approve; 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

If she some other youth commend, 
Though I was once his fondest friend, 
His instant enemy I prove; 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

When she is absent, I no more 
Delight in all that pleas’d before, 
The clearest spring, or shadiest grove; 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

When fond of pow’r, of beauty vain, 
Her nets she spread for ev’ry swain, 
I strove to hate, but vainly strove; 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.