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Where shall I seek the charming fair?
Shepherd, what art thou pursuing?
As when the dove laments her love
Whither, fairest, art thou running
Would you gain the tender creature
His hideous love provokes my rage
Cease, oh cease, thou gentle youth
The flocks shall leave the mountains
Help, Galatea! help, ye parent Gods!
'Tis done: thus I exert my pow'r divine