Molire — The Imaginary Invalid Second Interlude

Men and Women (dressed as Moors).        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspFIRST MOORISH WOMAN. When blooms the spring of life,        &nbsp The golden harvest reap. Waste not your years in bootless strife,        &nbsp Till age upon your bodies creep. But now, when shines the kindly light, Give up your soul to love's delight. No touch of sweetest joy        &nbsp This longing heart can know, No bliss without alloy        &nbsp When love does silent show. Then up, ye lads and lasses gay!        &nbsp The spring of life is fair;        &nbsp Cloud not these hours with care, For love must win the day. Beauty fades,        &nbsp Years roll by, Lowering shades        &nbsp Obscure the sky. And joys so sweet of yore Shall charm us then no more. Then up, ye lads and lasses gay!        &nbsp The spring of life is fair;        &nbsp Cloud not these hours with care, For love must win the day.        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspFirst Entry of the Ballet.        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp2ND MOORISH WOMAN. They bid us love, they bid us woo,        &nbsp Why seek delay? To tender sighs and kisses too        &nbsp In youth's fair day, Our hearts are but too true. The sweetest charms has Cupid's spell.        &nbsp No sooner felt, the ready heart His conquered self would yield him well        &nbsp Ere yet the god had winged his dart. But yet the tale we often hear        &nbsp Of tears and sorrows keen,        &nbsp To share in them, I ween, Though sweet, would make us fear!        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp3RD MOORISH WOMAN. To love a lover true,        &nbsp In youth's kind day, I trow,        &nbsp Is pleasant task enow; But think how we must rue        &nbsp If he inconstant show!        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp4TH MOORISH WOMAN. The loss of lover false to me But trifling grief would be, Yet this is far the keenest smart That he had stol'n away our heart.        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp2ND MOORISH WOMAN. What then shall we do Whose hearts are so young?        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp4TH MOORISH WOMAN. Though cruel his laws, Attended by woes, Away with your arms, Submit to his charms!        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspTOGETHER. His whims ye must follow,        &nbsp His transports though fleet,        &nbsp His pinings too sweet Though often comes sorrow, The thousand delights        &nbsp The wounds of his darts        &nbsp       &nbsp Still charm all the hearts.