[ 5 ]
Then did my Chloe leave her bow'r,
to hear my am'rous lay,
Warm'd by my love, ſhe vow'd no pow'r
ſhou'd lead her heart aſtray.
The warbling quires from ev'ry bough,
ſurround our couch in throngs,
And all their tuneful art beſtow,
to give us change of ſongs.
Scenes of delight my ſoul poſſeſs'd,
I bleſs'd, then hugg'd my maid;
I robb'd the kiſſes of her breaſt,
ſweet as a noon-day's ſhade.
Joy tranſporting never fails,
to fly away as air,
Another ſwain with her prevails,
to be as falſe as fair.
What can my fatal paſſion care?
I'll never woo again,
All her diſdain I muſt endure,
adoring her in vain.
What pity 'tis to hear the boy,
thus ſighing with his pain;
But time and ſcorn may give him joy,
to hear her ſigh again.
Ah! fickle Chloe, be advis'd,
do not thyſelf beguile;
A faithful lover ſhould be priz'd,
thou cure him with a ſmile.
