With her mien she enamours the brave;

With her wit she engages the free;
With her modesty pleases the grave ;
She is every way pleasing to me.

II.
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 sing but a song in her praise. When he sings, may the nymphs of the town,

Come trooping, and listen the while;
Nay on Him let not Phyllida frown;
- But I cannot allow her to smile,

III.
For when Paridel tries in the dance

Any favour with Phyllis to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,

Might she ruin the peace of my mind! In ringlets He dresses his hair,

And his crook is be-studded around; And his pipe - oh may Phyllis beware

Of a magic there is in the found.

IV. 'Tis

IV. 'Tis His with mock passion to glow;

'Tis His in smooth tales to unfold, “How her face is as bright as the snow,

" And her bosom, be sure, 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.”

V.
To the grove or the garden he strays,

And pillages every sweet;
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays

He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
“O Phyllis, he whispers, more fair,

“More sweet than the jessamin's flow'r !
“What are pinks, in a morn, to compare?
“What is eglantine after a show'r ?

VI.
Then the lily no longer is white;

Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom;
Then the violets die with despight,
L. And the wood-bines give up their perfume.“

Thus

Thus glide the soft numbers along,

And he fancies no shepherd his peer j
-Yet I never should envy the fong,
Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear.

VII.
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,

So Phyllis the trophy defpife;
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,

So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart

Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue ;
- Yet
may

The beware of his art,
Or sure I must envy the song.
IV. DISAPPOINTMENT.

I.
E shepherds 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 passion begung She smild and I could not but love;

She is faithless and I am undone.

YE

II. Perhaps

II.
Perhaps I was void of all thought;

Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
That a nymph so compleat would be sought

By a swain more engaging than me.
Ah! love every hope can inspire:

It banishes wisdom the while ;
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.

III.
She is faithless, and I am undone ;

Ye that witness the woes I endure,
Let reason instruct you to shun

What it cannot instruct 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.

IV.
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.

I

Yet

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.

V.
The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,

The sound of a murmuring stream,
The peace which from solitude flows,

Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme,
High transports are shewn to the sight,

But we are not to find them our own;
Fate never bestow'd such delight,
As I with my Phyllis had known.

VI.
O ye woods, spread your branches apace;

To your deepest receffes I Ay;
I would hide with the beasts of the chace;

I would vanish from every eye. Yet my reed shall resound through the grove

With the same fad complaint it begun; How he smild, and I could not but love;

Was faithless, and I am undone!