Till urg'd too far-revenge, he cries!
A fatal shaft he drew,
Which took its passage through your eyes,
And to my heart it flew :
To tear it thence I tried in vain,
To strive, I quickly found,
Was only to encrease my pain,
And mortify the wound;
Too well, alas! I fear you know,
What anguish I endure,
Since what your eyes alone could do,
Your heart alone can cure.
I'LL range around the shady bow'rs,
And gather all the sweetest flow'rs;
I'll strip the garden and the grove,
To make a garland for my love.
When in the sultry heat of day,
My thirsty nymph does panting lay,
I'll hasten to the fountain's brink,
And drain the stream that she may drink,
At night, when she shall weary prove,
A grassy bed I'll make my love,
And with green boughs I'll form a shade,
That nothing may her rest invade.
And, whilst dissolv'd in, sleep she lies,
Myself shall never close these eyes;
But gazing still with fond delight,
I'll watch my charmer all the night.
And then, as soon as cheerful day
Has chas'd the gloomy shades away,
Forth to the forest I'll repair,
And find provision for my fair.
Thus will I spend the day and night,
Still mixing labour with delight,
Regarding nothing I endure,
So I can ease for her procure.
But if the maid whom thus I love,
Should e'er unkind or faithless prove,
I'll seek some dismal distant shore,
And never think of woman more.
WHEN gay Philander fell a prize
To Amoretta's conquering eyes,
He took his pipe, he sought the plain,
Regardless of his growing pain,
And resolutely bent to wrest
The bearded arrow from his breast.
Come, gentle gales, the shepherd cried,
Be Cupid and his bow defied :
But as the gales obsequious flew
With flow'ry scents and spicy dew,
He did unknowingly repeat,
The breath of Amoret is sweet.
His pipe again the shepherd tried,
And warbling nightingales replied.
Their sounds in rival measures move,
And meeting echoes charm the grove.
His thoughts that rov❜d again repeat,
The voice of Amoret is sweet.
Since ev'ry fair and lovely view
The thoughts of Amoret renew,
From flow'ry lawn and shady green
To prospect gloomy change the scene":
Sad change for him! for, sighing, there
He thought of lovers in despair,
Convinc'd, the sad Philander cries,
Now, cruel god, assert your prize,
For love its fatal empire gains;
Yet grant, in pity to my pains,
These lines the nymph may oft repeat,
And own Philander's lays are sweet.
WITH amorous wiles and perjur'd eyes,
False Damon did me move Like charming winds his kindling sighs First fann'd me into love; My thriving passion he did feed
Whilst it was young and slight;
But ah! when there was greatest need, Alas! he starves it quite.
Was ever more injustice known,
Oh, Damon, prithee say,
To fit my heart for thee alone,
And cast it now away:
Henceforth my passion I shall hate,
: 'Cause it gain'd none for me;
Yet love it too, such is my fate,
Because it was for thee.
Thy heart I never will upbraid,
Altho' it mine did kill;
Ah! think upon an injur'd maid
That's forc'd to love thee still.
But justice may the tables turn
In vindicating me ;
And thou with equal torments burn
For one who loves not thee.
WITH Women I have pass'd my days,
And ev'ry minute bless'd: No secret sigh controll'd my ease, No wish disturb'd my rest. Thus void of care my hours have flown, For still I found my heart my own.
I often prais'd a handsome face,
Extoll'd a sparkling eye,
And safe, examin'd ev'ry grace
Without a real sigh.
Thus void of care my hours have flown,
For still I found my heart my own.
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