Page:Keys of love (2).pdf/6

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The WOUNDED FARMER’S SON.

To its own proper Tune.

DRAW near each loyal lover,
To you I will diſcover,
My grief I cannot ſmother,
I'm bound in love-ſick chains,
For Cupid has enſnar’d me,
His cruel dart's deceiv'd me;
And the title that he gave me,
Is the wounded Farmer's Son.

How fatal was the morning,
When firſt I ſaw my darling,
Amongſt the nymphs ſo charming,
Down by a myrtle grove,
While the birds they join'd in chorus,
Their harmony melodious,
The bleating lambs a-ſporting,
To pleaſe the maid I love.

I ſaid my lovely creature,
The ſweeteſt work of nature,
She's ſweat in every feature,
My darling's all divine.
Her ſparkling eyes adorning,
Like twinkling ſtars in morning,
When Phœbus firſt gave warning,
His beauteous beams do ſhine.