All the swains on you attending

Show how much your charms deserve;
But, miser like, for fear of spending,
You amidst your plenty starve.

While a thousand freer lasses,

Who their youth and charms employ, Though your beauty theirs surpasses, Live in far more perfect joy.

XXI.

HASTE, my Nannette, my lovely maid,
Haste to the bower thy swain has made;
For thee alone I made the bower,
And strew'd the couch with many a flower.
None but my sheep shall near us come :
Venus be prais'd! my sheep are dumb.
Great god of love! take thou my crook,
To keep the wolf from Nannette's flock.
Guard thou the sheep, to her so dear;
My own, alas! are less my care.
But, of the wolf if thou'rt afraid,
Come not to us to call for aid;

For with her swain my love shall stay,
Though the wolf prowl, and the sheep stray.

XXII.

SET BY MR. DE FESCH.

SINCE by ill fate I'm forc'd away,

And snatch'd so soon from those dear arms; Against my will I must obey,

And leave those sweet endearing charms.

Yet still love on; and never fear,
But you and constancy will prove
Enough my present flame to bear,

And make me, though in absence, love.

For, though your presence fate denies,
I feel, alas! the killing smart;

And can with undiscerned eyes
Behold your picture in my heart.

XXIII.

SET BY MR. DE FESCH.

In vain, alas! poor Strephon tries
To ease his tortur'd breast;
Since Amoret the cure denies,
And makes his pain a jest.

Ah! fair one, why to me so coy?

And why to him so true,

Who with more coldness slights the joy,

Than I with love pursue?

Die then, unhappy lover! die;

For, since she gives thee death, The world has nothing that can buy A minute more of breath.

Yet, though I could your scorn outlive, "Twere folly; since to me

Not love itself a joy can give,
But, Amoret, in thee.

XXIV.

SET BY MR. DE FESCH.

WELL! I will never more complain,
Or call the fates unkind;
Alas! how fond it is, how vain !
But self-conceitedness does reign
In every mortal mind.

'Tis true they long did me deny,
Nor would permit a sight;
I rag'd; for I could not espy,
Or think that any harm could lie
Disguis'd in that delight.

At last, my wishes to fulfill,

They did their power resign;
I saw her; but I wish I still
Had been obedient to their will,

And they not unto mine.

Yet I by this have learnt the wit,
Never to grieve or fret:
Contentedly I will submit,

And think that best which they think fit,
Without the least regret.

XXV.

SET BY MR. C. R.

CHLOE beauty has and wit,

And an air that is not common; Every charm in her does meet,

Fit to make a handsome woman.

But we do not only find

Here a lovely face or feature;
For she's merciful and kind,
Beauty's answer'd by good nature.

She is always doing good,

Of her favours never sparing,
And, as all good christians should,
Keeps poor mortals from despairing.

Jove the power knew of her charms,
And that no man could endure them,

So, providing 'gainst all harms,

Gave to her the power to cure them.

And 'twould be a cruel thing,

When her black eyes have rais'd desire,

Should she not her bucket bring,

And kindly help to quench the fire.

XXVI.

SINCE, Moggy, I mun bid adieu,
How can I help despairing?

Let cruel fate us still pursue,

There's nought more worth my caring.

'Twas she alone could calm my soul,
When racking thoughts did grieve me;
Her eyes my trouble could control,
And into joys deceive me.

Farewell, ye brooks; no more along
Your banks mun I be walking:
No more you'll hear my pipe or song,
Or pretty Moggy's talking.

But I by death an end will give
To grief, since we mun sever:
For who can after parting live,
Ought to be wretched ever.

XXVII.

SOME kind angel, gently flying,
Mov'd with pity at my pain,

Tell Corinna, I am dying,

Till with joy we meet again.