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A Lambkin too, pure white, I breed, as tame,
As my fond Heart could wish my scornful Dame.
A Garland, deck'd with all the Pride of May,
Sweet as thy Breath, and as thy Beauty gay,
I'll weave. But why these unavailing Pains?
The Gifts alike and Giver she disdains.
O would my Gifts but win her wanton Heart!
Or could I half the Warmth I feel impart!
How would I wander ev'ry Day to find
The ruddy Wildings! Were but Lucy kind,
For glossy Plumbs I'd climb the knotty Tree,
And of fresh Hony rob the thrifty Bee:
Or, if thou deign to live a Shepherdess,
Thou Lobbin's Flock, and Lobbin shalt possess.
Fair is my Flock; nor yet uncomely I,
If liquid Fountains flatter not: And why
Should liquid Fountains flatter us? Yet show
The bord'ring Flow'rs less beauteous than they grow.
O come, my Love! Nor think th' Employment mean,
The Dams to milk, and little Lambkins wean;
To drive a-Field by Morn the fat'ning Ewes,
E'er the warm Sun drinks up the cooly Dews.
How would the Crook beseem thy beauteous Hand!
How would my Younglins round thee gazing stand!
Ah witless Younglins! gaze not on her Eye,
Such heedless Glances are the Cause I die.
Nor trow I when this bitter Blast will end;
Or if kind Love will ever me befriend.
Sleep, sleep, my Flock; For, happy you may take
Your Rest, tho' nightly thus your Master wake.
Now, to the waining Moon, the Nightingale
In doleful Ditties told her piteous Tale.
The Love-sick Shepherd list'ning found Relief,
Pleas'd with so sweet a Partner in his Grief:
Till by degrees her Notes and silent Night
To Slumbers soft his heavy Heart invite.
As my fond Heart could wish my scornful Dame.
A Garland, deck'd with all the Pride of May,
Sweet as thy Breath, and as thy Beauty gay,
I'll weave. But why these unavailing Pains?
The Gifts alike and Giver she disdains.
O would my Gifts but win her wanton Heart!
Or could I half the Warmth I feel impart!
How would I wander ev'ry Day to find
The ruddy Wildings! Were but Lucy kind,
For glossy Plumbs I'd climb the knotty Tree,
And of fresh Hony rob the thrifty Bee:
Or, if thou deign to live a Shepherdess,
Thou Lobbin's Flock, and Lobbin shalt possess.
Fair is my Flock; nor yet uncomely I,
If liquid Fountains flatter not: And why
Should liquid Fountains flatter us? Yet show
The bord'ring Flow'rs less beauteous than they grow.
O come, my Love! Nor think th' Employment mean,
The Dams to milk, and little Lambkins wean;
To drive a-Field by Morn the fat'ning Ewes,
E'er the warm Sun drinks up the cooly Dews.
How would the Crook beseem thy beauteous Hand!
How would my Younglins round thee gazing stand!
Ah witless Younglins! gaze not on her Eye,
Such heedless Glances are the Cause I die.
Nor trow I when this bitter Blast will end;
Or if kind Love will ever me befriend.
Sleep, sleep, my Flock; For, happy you may take
Your Rest, tho' nightly thus your Master wake.
Now, to the waining Moon, the Nightingale
In doleful Ditties told her piteous Tale.
The Love-sick Shepherd list'ning found Relief,
Pleas'd with so sweet a Partner in his Grief:
Till by degrees her Notes and silent Night
To Slumbers soft his heavy Heart invite.
The
