W

III. SOLLICITUDE.

HY will you my paffion reprove? Why term it a folly to grieve? Ere I fhew you the charms of my love,

She is fairer than you can believe. With her mien fhe enamours the brave; the free;

With her wit fhe engages
With her modefty pleases the grave;

She is ev'ry way pleasing to me.

you that have been of her train, Come and join in my amorous lays ; I could lay down my life for the fwain, That will fing but a fong in her praise. When he fings, may the nymphs of the town Come trooping, and liften the while ; Nay on him let not PHYLLIDA frown; But I cannot allow her to fmile.

For when PARIDEL tries in the dance
Any favour with PHYLLIS to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,

Might she ruin the peace of my mind!

In ringlets he dreffes his hair,.

And his crook is be-ftudded around; And his pipe-oh may PHYLLIS beware Of a magic there is in the found.

"Tis his with mock paffion to glow;
'Tis his in fmooth tales to unfold,
How her face is as bright as the fnow,
And her bofom, be fure, is as cold:
How the nightingales labour the strain,
With the notes of his charmer to vie ;
How they vary their accents in vain,
Repine at her triumphs, and die.

To the grove or the garden he strays,
And pillages every sweet;
Then, fuiting the wreath to his lays,
He throws it at PHYLLIS's feet.
O PHYLLIS, he whispers, more fair,
More sweet than the jeffamin's flow'r!
What are pinks, in a morn, to compare?
What is eglantine, after a show'r?

Then the lily no longer is white;

Then the rofe is depriv'd of its bloom;

G

Then

Then the violets die with despight,

And the woodbines give up their perfume. Thus glide the foft numbers along,

And he fancies no fhepherd his peer;

Yet I never fhould envy the song,

Were not PHYLLIS to lend it an ear.

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So PHYLLIS the trophy defpife;
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they fhine not in PHYLLIS's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart
Is a ftranger to PARIDEL's tongue;

Yet may fhe beware of his art,

Or fure I muft envy the song.

IV. DISAPPOINTMENT.

Y

E fhepherds give ear to my lay,

And take no more heed of my sheep:

They have nothing to do, but to ftray;
I have nothing to do, but to weep.
Yet do not my folly reprove;

She was fair and my paffion begun;

She

She fmil'd, and I could not but love;
She is faithlefs, and I am undone.

Perhaps I was void of all thought;
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,

That a nymph fo compleat would be fought,
By a fwain more engaging than me.
Ah! love ev'ry hope can inspire :
It banishes wisdom the while;

And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.

She is faithlefs, and I am undone ;
Ye that witness the woes I endure,
Let reafon inftruct you to fhun

What it cannot inftru&t you to cure.
Beware how you loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of an higher degree: It is not for me to explain

How fair, and how fickle they be.

Alas! from the day that we met,
What hope of an end to my woes ?
When I cannot endure to forget
The glance that undid my repose.

Yet time may diminish the pain:

The flower, the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me.

The fweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,
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 beftow'd fuch delight,

As I with my PHYLLIS had known.

O ye

woods, fpread your branches apace; To your deepest receffes I fly;

;

I would hide with the beafts of the chace;
I would vanish from every eye.
Yet my reed fhall refound thro' the grove
With the fame fad complaint it begun;
How fhe fmil'd, and I could not but love;
Was faithlefs and I am undone !

SHENSTONE.