Page:Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748).djvu/65

 

The STRAY NYMPH.

 

EASE your musick, gentle swains: Saw ye Delia cross the plains?Every thicket, every grove, Have I ranged, to find my love: 4 A kid, a lamb, my flock, I give, Tell me only doth she live.

 White her skin as mountain snow; In her cheek the roses blow: 8And her eye is brighter far Than the beamy morning star.When her ruddy lip ye view, 'Tis a berry moist with dew: 12And her breath, Oh 'tis a gale Passing o'er a fragrant vale, Passing, when a friendly shower Freshens every herb and flower. 16Wide her bosom opens, gay As the primrose-dell in May,

Sweet