( 4 )
Who better seen, than I, in Shepherds Arts,
To please the Lads and win the Lasses Hearts?
How deffly to mine oaten Reed so sweet,
Wont they, upon the Green, to shift their Feet?
And, when the Dance was done, how would they yearn
Some well devised Tale from me to learn?
For, many Songs and Tales of Mirth had I,
To chase the lingring Sun adown the Sky.
But, ah! since Lucy coy has wrought her Spite
Within my Heart; unmindful of Delight,
The Jolly Grooms I fly; and, all alone
To Rocks and Woods pour forth my fruitless Moan.
Oh quit thy wonted Scorn, relentless Fair!
E'er, lingring long, I perish thro' Despair.
Had Rosalind been Mistress of my Mind,
Tho' not so fair, she would have been more kind.
O think, unwitting Maid, while yet is Time,
How flying Years impair our youthful Prime!
Thy Virgin Bloom will not for ever stay;
And Flow'rs, tho' left ungather'd, will decay.
The Flow'rs a new returning Seasons bring;
But Beauty faded has no second Spring.
My Words are Wind! She, deaf to all my Cries,
Takes Pleasure in the Mischief of her Eyes.
Like Frisking Heifers, loose in Flow'ry Meads,
She gads where-e'er her roving Fancy leads;
Yet still from me. Ah me, the tiresome Chace!
While, wing'd with Scorn, she flies my fond Embrace.
She flies indeed: But ever leaves behind,
Fly where she will, her Likeness in my Mind.
Ah turn thee then! Unthinking Damsel! Why,
Thus from the Youth, who loves Thee, should'st thou fly?
No cruel Purpose in my Speed I bear:
'Tis all but Love; and Love why should'st thou fear?
What idle Fears a Maiden Breast alarm!
Stay, simple Girl! a Lover cannot harm.
Two Kidlings, sportive as thy self, I rear;
Like tender Buds their shooting Horns appear.
To please the Lads and win the Lasses Hearts?
How deffly to mine oaten Reed so sweet,
Wont they, upon the Green, to shift their Feet?
And, when the Dance was done, how would they yearn
Some well devised Tale from me to learn?
For, many Songs and Tales of Mirth had I,
To chase the lingring Sun adown the Sky.
But, ah! since Lucy coy has wrought her Spite
Within my Heart; unmindful of Delight,
The Jolly Grooms I fly; and, all alone
To Rocks and Woods pour forth my fruitless Moan.
Oh quit thy wonted Scorn, relentless Fair!
E'er, lingring long, I perish thro' Despair.
Had Rosalind been Mistress of my Mind,
Tho' not so fair, she would have been more kind.
O think, unwitting Maid, while yet is Time,
How flying Years impair our youthful Prime!
Thy Virgin Bloom will not for ever stay;
And Flow'rs, tho' left ungather'd, will decay.
The Flow'rs a new returning Seasons bring;
But Beauty faded has no second Spring.
My Words are Wind! She, deaf to all my Cries,
Takes Pleasure in the Mischief of her Eyes.
Like Frisking Heifers, loose in Flow'ry Meads,
She gads where-e'er her roving Fancy leads;
Yet still from me. Ah me, the tiresome Chace!
While, wing'd with Scorn, she flies my fond Embrace.
She flies indeed: But ever leaves behind,
Fly where she will, her Likeness in my Mind.
Ah turn thee then! Unthinking Damsel! Why,
Thus from the Youth, who loves Thee, should'st thou fly?
No cruel Purpose in my Speed I bear:
'Tis all but Love; and Love why should'st thou fear?
What idle Fears a Maiden Breast alarm!
Stay, simple Girl! a Lover cannot harm.
Two Kidlings, sportive as thy self, I rear;
Like tender Buds their shooting Horns appear.
A Lamb-
