PASTORALS.
7
"Whilom did I, all as this poplar fair,
"Up-raise my heedless head, then void of care, 32
"'Mong rustick routs the chief for wanton game;
"Nor could they merry-make, 'till Lobbin came.
"Who better seen than I in shepherds' arts,
"To please the lads, and win the lasses' hearts? 36
"How deftly, to mine oaten reed so sweet,
"Wont they, upon the green, to shift their feet?
"And, wearyed in the dance, how would they yearn
"Some well devised tale from me to learn? 40
"For many songs and tales of mirth had I,
"To chase the loitering sun adown the sky:
"But, ah! since Lucy coy deep-wrought her spight
"Within my heart, unmindful of delight 44
"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're, ling'ring long, I perish through despair. 48
"Had Rosalind been mistress of my mind,
"Though not so fair, she would have prov'd more kind.
"O think, unwitting maid, while yet is time,
"How flying years impair the youthful prime! 52
"Thy virgin bloom will not for ever stay,
"And flowers, though left ungath'red, will decay:
"Up-raise my heedless head, then void of care, 32
"'Mong rustick routs the chief for wanton game;
"Nor could they merry-make, 'till Lobbin came.
"Who better seen than I in shepherds' arts,
"To please the lads, and win the lasses' hearts? 36
"How deftly, to mine oaten reed so sweet,
"Wont they, upon the green, to shift their feet?
"And, wearyed in the dance, how would they yearn
"Some well devised tale from me to learn? 40
"For many songs and tales of mirth had I,
"To chase the loitering sun adown the sky:
"But, ah! since Lucy coy deep-wrought her spight
"Within my heart, unmindful of delight 44
"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're, ling'ring long, I perish through despair. 48
"Had Rosalind been mistress of my mind,
"Though not so fair, she would have prov'd more kind.
"O think, unwitting maid, while yet is time,
"How flying years impair the youthful prime! 52
"Thy virgin bloom will not for ever stay,
"And flowers, though left ungath'red, will decay:
"The
