Like the thrush that doth mourn for the loss of her mate, I wander for Peggy both early and late, Yet I cannot find her, tho' I search the grove, Where often I've told her the force of my love.
When she did sit by me, and was pleas'd to smile, Her heavenly graces my heart did beguile, The warbling sweet chanters, likewise did draw near, And listned with pleasure to what they could hear.
The trees and the meadows all seem'd to envy, My pastime with Peggy, as we did pass by, But now all these pleasures so enchanting before, Begin to turn tiresome, and please me no more.
For tho' I should view all the nymphs of the plain, I find that my labour doth prove but in vain; No beauty like Peggy among them I see, Or if there be any, what are they to me?
For certain I love her, and never can change, Nor set my affections on one that is strange; For person and features, there's none can compare, Diana, I'm sure, she was never more fair.
Her cheeks like the rose, & her neck's like the swan, When nature first form'd her and drew out her plan, She made her a beauty, so charming and fine, That all who have seen her took her for divine.
Her eyes are like diamonds, or stars in the night, They shine like bright Phœbus, and dazzle my sight, Her lips like vermilion, so sweetly do glow, And her breath is far sweeter than dazies that grow.
O could I be happy, and her favour obtain, On crowns and scepters I'd look with disdain; And pity poor monarchs in splendor that live, Yet know not such pleasures as Peggy can give.
But If I must loose her whom I do admire, A grave and a coffin is all my desire, Where I may ly easy, and from trouble be free, Since Peggy no longer will smile upon me.
But if it is thought, that from truth I remove, Forgive me dear critics, I'm raving in love, The charming sweet creature that kindled this flame, Is known in the city, and P. B's her name.
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