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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.
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
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.
'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;
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
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.
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phyllis the trophy despise ;
So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
Yet may she beware of his art,
E shepherds give ear to my lay,
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,
By a swain more engaging than me.
It banishes wisdom the while;
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile,
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.
O ye woods, spread your branches
I would vanish from every eye.
With the same sad complaint it begun;
Was faithless, and I am undone !