1 And when her bright form shall appear, In a concert so soft and so clear, As-fhe may not be fond to refign. V. I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: But let me that plunder forbear, She will fay 'twas a barbarous deed. For he ne'er could be true, fhe aver'd, And I lov'd her the more, when I heard I have heard her with fweetness unfold How that pity was due to a dove: That it ever attended the bold, And fhe call'd it the fifter of love. But her words fuch a pleasure convey, So much I her accents adore, Let her speak, and whatever she say, Methinks I fhould love her the more. VII. Can VII. Can a bofom fo gentle remain Unmov'd, when her Corydon fighs? Soft fcenes of contentment and ease! But where does my Phyllida stray? And where are her grots and her bow'rs? I. WHY will you my paffion reprove? Why term it a folly to grieve? Ere I fhew you the charms of my love, She is fairer than you can believe. With her mien fhe enamours the brave; O you that have been of her train, -But I cannot allow her to fmile, III. For when Paridel tries in the dance Any favour with Phyllis to find, In ringlets He dreffes his hair, And his crook is be-studded 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; V. To the grove or the garden he strays, Then, fuiting the wreath to his lays "O Phyllis, he whispers, more fair, "More sweet than the jeffamin'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 rofe 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, Let his crook be with hyacinths bound, Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd, Or fure I must envy the song. IV. DISAPPOINTMENT. I. E fhepherds give ear to my lay, YE And take no more heed of my sheep They have nothing to do, but to ftray; I have nothing to do, but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove; She was fair-and my paffion begun She fmil'd and I could not but love; She is faithlefs and I am undone. II. Perhaps |