One would think fhe might like to retire
To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear;
Not a fhrub that I heard her admire,
But I hafted and planted it there.
Oh how fudden the jeffamine strove
With the lilac to render it gay!
Already it calls for my love,
From the plains, from the woodlands and groves,
What ftrains of wild melody flow?
How the nightingales warble their loves
From thickets of roses that blow!
And when her bright form shall appear,
Each bird fhall harmoniously join
In a concert fo foft and so clear,
she may not be fond to refign.
I have found out a gift for my fair;
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: But let me that plunder forbear,
She will fay 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, fhe aver'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young:
And I lov'd her the more, when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
I have heard her with sweetness unfold
How that pity was due to-a dove:
That it ever attended the bold,
And the call'd it the fister of love.
But her words fuch a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever she say,
Methinks I fhould love her the more.
Can a bofom fo gentle remain
Unmov'd, when her CORYDON fighs!
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,
These plains and this valley despise?
Dear regions of filence and shade!
Soft scenes of contentment and ease!
Where I could have pleasingly stray'd,
If aught, in her abfence, could please.
But where does my PHYLLIDA ftray?
And where are her grots and her bow'rs?
Are the groves and the valleys as gay,
And the shepherds as gentle as ours?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the valleys as fine;
The fwains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.
III. SOLLICITUDE.
WHY 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.
O 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 smile..
For when PAR IDEL 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,
And his crook is be-ftudded around; And his pipe-oh may PHYLLIS beware
Of a magic there is in the found.
'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 strays,
And pillages every sweet;
Then, fuiting the wreath to his lays
He throws it at PHYLLIS's feet.
"O PHYLLIS, 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 rose is depriv'd of its bloom; Then the violets die with defpight,
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 despise;
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 fhe beware of his art,
Or fure I must envy the song.
E fhepherds give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my sheep:
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 so compleat would be sought
By a fwain more engaging than me.
Ah! love ev'ry hope can inspire :
It banishes wisdom the while;
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a fmile.
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