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Then Colin loud lamented o'er the Dead,
And unavailing Tears profusely shed,
And broke his wicked Strings, and curs'd his Skill;
And, best to make Atonement for the Ill,
(If for such Ill Atonement might be made)
He builds her Tomb beneath a Laurel Shade:
Then adds a Verse, and sets with Flow'rs the Ground,
And makes a Fence of winding Osiers round:
A Verse and Tomb is all I now can give,
And here thy Name at least, he said, shall live.
Thus ended Cuddy with the setting Sun,
And by his Tale unenvy'd Praises won.

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The Sixth Pastoral.

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GERON. HOBBINOL. LANQUET.

GERON.
How still the Sea! behold; how calm the Sky!
And how, in sportive Chase, the Swallows fly!
My Goats, secure from harm, small Tendance need,
While high on yonder hanging Rock they feed:
And here below, the Banky Shore along,
Your Heifers graze: And I to hear your Song
Dispos'd. As eldest, Hobbinol, begin;
And Lanquet's Under-Song by Turns come in.

HOBBINOL.
Let others meanly stake upon their Skill,
Or Kid, or Lamb, or Goat, or what they will;
For Praise we sing, nor Wager ought beside:
And, whose the Praise, let Geron's Lips decide.

LANQUET.
To Geron I my Voice and Skill commend:
Unbias'd he, to both is equal Friend.

GERON.