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With her mien she enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free;
That will sing but a song in her praise.
Come trooping, and listen the while;
Any favour with Phyllis to find,
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.
'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 :
And pillages every sweet ;
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
“More sweet than the jesfainin'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,
& And the wood-bines give up their perfume."
Thus glide the soft numbers along,
And he fancies no shepherd his peer;
So Phyllis the trophy despise ;
So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue ;
Y hepherds give eat to my lay,
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 smil'd- and I could not but love;
She is faithlefs and I am undone.
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
By a swain more engaging than me.
It banishes wisdom the while ;
Ye that witness the woes I endure,
What it cannot instruct you to cure.
Amid nymphs of an higher degree :
What hope of an end to my woes?
Yet time may diminish the pain :
The flow'r, and the shrub, and the tree,
The sound of a murmuring stream,
Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme.
But we are not to find them our own;
To your deepest recesses I Ay;
I would vanish from every eye. Yet my reed shall resound through the grove
With the same sad complaint it begun; How she smild, and I could not but love ;
Was faithless, and I am undone!