III. SOLLICITUDE.

W

HY will you my paffion reprove?

Why term it a folly to grieve? Ere I fhew you the charms of my love,

She is fairer than you can believe.

With her mien fhe enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free;
With her modesty pleases the grave;
She is ev'ry way pleafing to me.

you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays;
I could lay down my life for the fwain,
That will fing but a fong in her praise.
When he fings, may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and liften the while;
Nay on him let not PHYLLIDA frown;

-But I cannot allow her to fmile.

For when PARIDEL tries in the dance
Any favour with PHYLLIS to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,
Might fhe ruin the peace of my

In ringlets he dreffes his hair,

mind!

And his crook is be-ftudded around; And his pipe-oh may PHYLLIS beware

Of a magic there is in the found.

'Tis

'Tis his with mock paffion to glow;
'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold,
"How her face is as bright as the fnow,
And her bofom, be fure, is as cold?
How the nightingales labour the strain,
With the notes of his charmer to vie;
How they vary their accents in vain,
Repine at her triumphs, and die."

To the grove or the garden he ftrays,
And pillages every sweet;
Then, fuiting the wreath to his lays
He throws it at PHYLLIS's feet.
"OPHYLLIS, he whispers, more fair,
More sweet than the jeffamin's flow'r!
What are pinks, in a morn, to compare?
What is eglantine, after a fhow'r?

Then the lily no longer is white;

Then the rofe is depriv'd of its bloom; Then the violets die with despight,

And the wood-bines give up their perfume."

Thus glide the foft numbers along,

And he fancies no fhepherd his peer; --Yet I never fhould envy the fong, Were not PHYLLIS to lend it an ear.

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So PHYLLIS the trophy defpife;
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they fhine not in PHYLLIS's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart
Is a stranger to PARIDEL's tongue;
--Yet may she beware of his art,
Or fure I must envy the song.

IV. DISAPPOINTMENT.

E fhepherds give ear to my lay,

YE

And take no more heed of my fheep:

They have nothing to do, but to stray;
I have nothing to do, but to weep.
Yet do not my folly reprove;

She was fair and my paffion begun;
She fmil'd-and I could not but love;
She is faithlefs-and I am undone.

Perhaps I was void of all thought;
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
That a nymph fo compleat would be fought
By a swain more engaging than me.
Ah! love ev'ry hope can inspire :

It banishes wifdom the while;
And the lip of the nymph we admire

Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.

She

She is faithlefs, and I am undone ;
Ye that witness the woes I endure,
Let reafon inftruct you to fhun

What it cannot inftruct you to cure.
Beware how ye loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of an higher degree: It is not for me to explain

How fair, and how fickle they be.

Alas! from the day that we met,
What hope of an end to my woes?
When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repose.
Yet time may diminish the pain :

The flow'r, and the shrub, and the tree,
Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,
In time may have comfort for me.

The fweets of a dew-fprinkled rose,

The found of a murmuring stream, The peace which from folitude flows,

Henceforth fhall be CORYDON's theme.
High tranfports are fhewn to the fight,

But we are not to find them our own;
Fate never beftow'd fuch delight,
As I with my PHYLLIS had known.

O ye woods, fpread your branches apace;
To your deepest receffes I fly;

I would hide with the beafts of the chace;
I would vanish from every eye.

Yet

my reed shall refound thro' the grove With the fame fad complaint it begun ; How fhe fmil'd, and I could not but love; Was faithlefs, and I am undone !

LEVITIE