"

With her mien fhe enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free;
With her modefty pleases the grave;

She is every way pleafing to me.

O you

II.

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 listen the while;

Nay on Him let not Phyllida frown;
-But I cannot allow her to fmile.

III.

For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favour with Phyllis to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,

Might the ruin the peace of my mind!

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.

IV. 'Tis

IV.

'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."

V.

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 jeffainin's flow'r! "What are pinks, in a morn, to compare? "What is eglantine after a fhow'r? VI.

"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

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.
VII.

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 fong.

IV.

DISAPPOINTMENT.

I.

E fhepherds give ear to my lay,

YE

And take no more heed of my fheep:

They have nothing to do, but to ftray;

I have nothing to do, but to weep.

Yet do not my folly reprove;

II.

Perhaps I was void of all thought
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,

That a nymph fo compleat would be fought
By a fwain more engaging than me.
Ah! love every hope can inspire:
It banishes wifdom the while;

And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a fmile,
III.

She is faithlefs, and I am undone ;
Ye that witnefs 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.
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 fhrub, 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 found of a murmuring stream, The peace which from folitude flows, Henceforth fhall be Corydon's theme. High transports are fhewn to the fight,

But we are not to find them our own;

Fate never bestow'd fuch delight,
As I with my Phyllis had known.

VI.

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

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

Yet my reed fhall refound through the grove With the fame fad complaint it begun; How fhe fmil'd, and I could not but love;

Was faithless, and I am undone !