SONG FROM “THE DUENNA”
Reading edition
I NE’ER could any lustre see In eyes that would not look on me; I ne’er saw nectar on a lip, But where my own did hope to sip. Has the maid who seeks my heart Cheeks of rose, untouched by art? I will own thy color true, When yielding blushes aid their hue. Is her hand so soft and pure? I must press it, to be sure; Nor can I be certain then, Till it, grateful, press again. Must I, with attentive eye, Watch her heaving bosom sigh? I will do so when I see That heaving bosom sigh for me. Richard Brinsley Sheridan.