Not a shrub that I heard her admire, To prune the wild branches away. From the plains, from the woodlands, and groves, From thickets of roses that blow! I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed. I have heard her with sweetness unfold, And she call'd it the sister of Love. But her words such a pleasure convey, Let her speak, and whatever she say, Can a bosom so gentle remain Soft scenes of contentment and ease! But where does my Phyllida stray? And where are her grots and her bow'rs? Are the groves and the valleys as gay, And the shepherds as gentle as ours? The groves may perhaps be as fair, And the face of the valleys as fine; The swains may in manners compare, But their love is not equal to mine. III. SOLICITUDE. WHY will you my passion reprove? With her wit she engages the free; With her modesty pleases the grave; O you, that have been of her train, For when Paridel tries in the dance Might she ruin the peace of my mind! In ringlets he dresses his hair, And his crook is bestudded around; And his pipe-oh, my Phillis! beware Of a magic there is in the sound. 'Tis his with mock passion to glow; 'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, "How her face is as bright as the snow, And her bosom, be sure, 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, Then, suiting the wreath to his lays, "O Phyllis," he whispers, "more fair, More sweet than the jessamine's flower! What are pinks in the morn to compare? What is eglantine after a shower? "Then the lily no longer is white; Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom; Then the violets die with despite, And the woodbines give up their perfume." Thus glide the soft numbers along, And he fancies no shepherd his peer: Yet I never should envy the song, Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear. Let his crook be with hyacinths bound, Or sure I must envy the song. IV. DISAPPOINTMENT. YE Shepherds, give ear to my lay, She was fair and my passion begun; Perhaps I was void of all thought; That a nymph so complete would be sought She is faithless, and I am undone; Let reason instruct you to shun What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain Amid nymphs of a higher degree: It is not for me to explain How fair, and how fickle they be. |