When Collin is absent 'tis winter all round,
How faint is the funshine! how barren the ground!
Inftead of the linnet and nightingales fong,
I hear the hoarfe raven croak all the day long.
'Tis love, like the fun, &c.
O'er hill, dale, and valley, my Phebe and I
Together will wander, and Love shall be by:
Her Collin fhall guard her safe all the long day,
And Phebe at night all his pains shall repay.
By moonlight, when shadows glide over the plain,
His kiffes fhall chear me, his arm shall sustain;
The dark haunted grove I can trace without fear,
Or fleep in a church-yard, if Collin is near.
'Tis love, like the fun, &c.
Ye fhepherds that wanton it over the plain,
How fleeting your tranfports! how lafting your pain!
Inconftancy fhun, and reward the kind fhe,
And learn to be happy of Phebe and me.
Ye nymphs, who the pleasures of love never tried,
Attend to my ftrains, and take me for your guide;
Your hearts keep from pride and inconftancy free,
And learn to be happy of Collin and me.
"Tis love, like the fun, that gives light to the year,
The sweetest of bleffings that life can endear;
Our pleasures it brightens, drives forrow away,
Gives joy to the night, and enlivens the day.
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
NOME live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleafures prove
That vallies, groves, or hills and fields,
And all the steepy mountain yields.
One of our earliest dramatic writers, and a perfon of great genius; which this beautiful paftoral, had he compofed nothing elfe, would fufficiently evince. It has been generally attributed to Shakspeare, whofe fame requires not any addition from other peoples performances. The author was killed, by a strange accident, in a brothel, 1593.
And we will fit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By fhallow rivers, to whofe falls
Melodious birds fing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of rofes
And a thousand fragrant pofies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined flippers for the cold,
With buckles of the pureft gold;
A belt of straw, and ivy buds,
With coral clafps, and amber ftuds:
And if thefe pleafures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and fing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
THE NYMPHS REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD.
F all the world and love were young,
And truth in every fhepherds tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The reft complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reck'ning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancys fpring, but forrows fall.
Thy gowns, thy fhoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy pofies,
Soon break, foon wither, foon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds,
Thy coral clafps, and amber ftuds,
All these in me no means can move,
To come to thee, and be thy love.
But could youth laft, and love ftill breed,
Had joy no date, nor age no need ;
Then thefe delights my mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.
WHERE the light cannot pierce, in a grove of tall trees,
With my fair-one as blooming as May,
Undisturb'd by all found but the fighs of the breeze,
Let me pass the hot noon of the day.
When the fun, lefs intenfe, to the weftward inclines,
For the meadows the groves we'll forfake,
And fee the rays dance, as inverted he shines,
On the face of fome river or lake.
Where my fairest and I, on its verge as we pass,
(For 'tis fhe that muft ftill be my theme)
Our shadows may view on the watery glafs,
While the fish are at play'in the ftream.
May the herds cease to low, and the lambkins to bleat,
When the fings me fome amorous ftrain;
All be filent and hufh'd, unless Echo repeat
The kind words and sweet sounds back again.
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