How can they say that nature
Has nothing made in vain ;
Why then beneath the water
Should hideous rocks remain?
No eyes the rocks discover,
That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wandering lover,
And leave the maid to weep.
All melancholy lying,
Thus wail'd fhe for her dear;
Repay'd each blaft with fighing,
Each billow with a tear;
When o'er the white wave ftooping,
His floating corpfe she spy'd;
Then, like a lily drooping,
She bow'd her head, and dy'd.
THE LADY'S LAMENTATION.
A BALL A D.
PHYLLIDA, that lov'd to dream
In the grove, or by the stream;
Sigh'd on velvet pillow.
What, alas! fhould fill her head,
But a fountain, or a mead,
Water and a willow?
Love in cities never dwells,
He delights in rural cells
Which sweet woodbine covers.
There, 'tis true, we see more men;
But much fewer lovers.
Oh, how chang'd the profpect grows!
Flocks and herds to fops and beaux,
Coxcombs without number!
Moon and stars that fhone fo bright,
To the torch and waxen light,
And whole nights at ombre.
Pleasant as it is, to hear
Scandal tickling in our ear,
Ev'n of our own mothers;
In the chit-chat of the day,
To us is pay'd, when we're away,
What we lent to others.
Though the favourite Toast I reign;
Wine, they fay, that prompts the vain,
Heightens defamation.
Muft I live 'twixt fpite and fear,
Every day grow handsomer,
And lofe my reputation?
Thus the fair to fighs gave way,
Her empty purfe befide her lay.
Nymph, ah! ceafe thy forrow.
Though curft fortune frown to-night,
This odious town can give delight,
If you win to-morrow.
HE fun was now withdrawn,
The shepherds home were sped;
The moon wide o'er the lawn
Her filver mantle fpread;
When Damon stay'd behind,
And faunter'd in the grove.
Will ne'er a nymph be kind,
And give me love for love?
Oh! those were golden hours,
When Love, devoid of cares,
In all Arcadia's bowers
Lodg'd fwains and nymphs by pairs :
But now from wood and plain
Flies every fprightly lass; No joys for me remain,
In fhades, or on the grass.
The winged boy draws near,
And thus the fwain reproves : While Beauty revel'd here,
My game lay in the
At court I never fail
To fcatter round my arrows,
Men fall as thick as hail;
And maidens love like fparrows.
Then, fwain, if me you need,
Straight lay your fheep-hook down; Throw by your oaten reed,
And hafte away to town.
So well I'm known at court,
None afks where Cupid dwells;
But readily refort
To Bellenden's or Lepell's.
APHNIS flood penfive in the fhade,
With arms acrofs and head reclin'd;
Pale looks accus'd the cruel maid,
And fighs reliev'd his love-fick mind:
His tuneful pipe all broken lay;
Looks, fighs, and actions, feein'd to say,
My Chloe is unkind.
Why ring the woods with warbling throats?
Ye larks, ye linnets, cease your strains;
I faintly hear in your sweet notes
My Chloe's voice that wakes my pains:
Yet why should you your fong forbear?
Your mates delight your fong to hear;
But Chloe mine difdains.
As thus he melancholy flood,
Dejected as the lonely dove,
Sweet founds broke gently through the wood.
I feel the found; my heart-ftrings move.
'Twas not the nightingale that fung;
No. 'Tis my Chloe's fweeter tongue.
Hark, hark, what fays my love?
How foolish is the nymph (fhe cries)
Who trifles with her lover's pain !
Nature ftill fpeaks in woman's eyes,
Our artful lips were made to feign.
O Daphnis, Daphnis, 'twas my pride,
'Twas not my heart thy love deny❜d;
Come back, dear youth, again.
As t' other day my hand he feiz'd,
My blood with thrilling motion flew ;
Sudden I put on looks difpleas'd,
And hafty from his hold withdrew.
'Twas fear alone, thou fimple fwain;
Then hadft thou preft my hand again,
My heart had yielded too !
'Tis true, thy tuneful reed I blam'd,
That fwell'd thy lip and rofy cheek;
Think not thy skill in fong defam'd,
That lip should other pleasures seek :
Much, much thy mufick I approve ;
Yet break thy pipe, for more I love,
Much more to hear thee fpeak.
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