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LAMPTON’S MARCH.
COme all ye young damſels give ear to my moan,
Lament my misfortune ſince my love is gone,
For to my vexation he’s gone o’er the main,
And left me behind in grief to complain.
Thro’ ſhady groves and vallies I’ll wander and rove,
And like the conſtant turtle lament for my love,
Though through foreign nations he boldly doth roam,
With laurels of victory I hope he’ll come home
My love was handſome, both comely and tall,
’Mong the ſhepherd ſwains was the flow’s of them ail,
His ſweet lovely carriage, his lovely air and mein,
May juſtly intitle him to the love of a queen.
But to my misfortune he’s gone o’er the main,
In my arms I expect to enfold him again:
When the lofty lark & linnet ſhall niher in the Spring,
And the birds in the valleys melodiouſly ſing,
How bleſt were the days with my Damon I’ve ſeen,
How often has he told me he’d make me his queen;
What wreaths of flow’rs did he bring to the grove,
And within pleaſant bow’rs repeated his love.
But wars, love’s alarms, hath caus’d him to rove,
And quite from my arms hath torn my dear love;
Now peace is proclaimed, I hope him to ſee,
To feed my fair flock on the banks of the Lee.
Let Fiora’s fair bower its mourning put on,
And the feather’d ſongſters forget their e’ening ſong,
Let ſhepherds in concert for Damon lament,
Since his noble preſence ſtill give them content.
But now he has left us, our joys they are fled,
Let a wreath of green willows adorn each head,
’Till my love does return once more to the green,
And is claſped in the arms of Roſalind his queen,
