III. SOLICITUDE. WHY will you my paffion reprove? Why term it a folly to grieve? Ere I fhew you the charms of my love, II. O you that have been of her train, Come and join in my amorous lays ; That will fing but a song in her praise. III. For when Paridel tries in the dance Might she ruin the peace of my mind! And his crook is bestudded around; VOL. IV. IV. 'Tis IV. "Tis His with mock paffion to glow; V. To the grove or the garden he ftrays, And pillages every fweet; Then, fuiting the wreath to his lays He throws it at Phyllis's feet. "O Phyllis, he whifpers, more fair, "More fweet than the jeffamin's flow'r! "What are pinks, in a morn, to compare ? "What is eglantine after a fhow'r ? VI. "Then the lily no longer is white; "Then the rofe is depriv'd of its bloom; "Then the violets die with defpight, "And the wood-bines give up their perfume." Thus glide the foft numbers along, And he fancies no fhepherd his peer ; Yet I never fhould envy the fong, Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear. VI. Let VII. Let his crook be with hyacinths bound Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd, Or fure I muft envy the fong. Y E fhepherds give ear to my lay, And take no more heed of my sheep: She was fair and my paffion begun ; She smil❜d — and I could not but love ; She is faithlefs-and I am undone. II. Perhaps I was void of all thought; It banishes wifdom the while; III. She is faithlefs, and I am undone ; Ye that witness the woes I endure, Let reason inftruct you to fhun What it cannot inftruct you to cure. Beware how ye loiter in vain Amid nymphs of an higher degree: How fair, and how fickle they be. Alas! from the day that we met, The glance that undid my repose. The flow'r, and the fhrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, V. The sweets of a dew-fprinkled rofe, The found of a murmuring ftream, The peace which from folitude flows, Henceforth fhall be Corydon's theme. High transports are fhewn to the fight, But we are not to find them our own; Fate never bestow'd fsuch delight, As I with my Phyllis had known. VI. O ye VI. O ye woods, spread your branches apace; I would hide with the beafts of the chace; Yet my reed shall refound through the grove |