Poetry Archives

Sung by Mr. PYNE.—Composed by Mr. ROOKE.


Come away, come away, little fly!
  Don’t disturb the sweet calm of lore’s nest;
If you do, I protest you shall die,
  And your tomb be that beautiful breast.
Don’t tickle the girl in her sleep,
  Don’t cause so much beauty to sigh;
If she frown, half the graces will weep,
  If she weep, all the graces will die.
      Come away, little fly, &c.

Now she wakes! steal a kiss and be gone;
  Life is precious: away, little fly!
Should your rudeness provoke her to scorn,
  You’ll meet death from the glance of her eye.
Were I ask’d by fair Chloe to say
  How I felt, as the flutterer I chid;
I should own, as I drove it away,
  I wish’d to be there in its stead!
      Come away, little fly, &c.