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III. SOLLICITUDE.

W

W

HY will you my passion reprove ?

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

She is fairer than you can believe. With her mien The enamours the brave ;

With her wit she engages the free; With her modefty pleases the grave;

She is ev'ry way pleasing 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 swain,

That will fing but a song in her praise. When he angs, 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.

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 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 sound.

my mind!

'Tis

'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.”

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's?

Then the lily no longer is white ;

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

And the wood-bines give up their perfume.”. Thus glide the soft numbers along, And he fancies no fhepherd his peer ;

Yet I never should envy the song, Were not Payllis to lend it an ear.

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Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,

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

So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that Aows from the heart
Is a stranger to PARIDEL's tongue's

Yet may she beware of his art,
Or sure I must envy the song.

IV. DISAPPOINTMENT.

Y

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 begun ; She smil'd-and I could not but love;

She is faithless 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 swain 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 smile,

She

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.

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 fow'r, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,

In time may have comfort for me.

The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,

The sound of a murmuring stream, The peace

which from folitude flows, Henceforth shall be CORYDON's theme. High transports are shewn to the fight,

But we are not to find them our own; Fate never bestow'd such delight,

As I with my Phyllis had known.

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O ye woods, spread your branches

apace;
To your deepest recesses I fly ;
I would hide with the beasts of the chace ;

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

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

Was faithless, and I am undone !

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