Nor can thy Beds of State fo grateful be,
• As thofe of Mofs, and new-fall'n Leaves with me..
Now tow'rds the Beach we go, and all the Way
The Groves, the Fern, dark Woods, and Springs furvey;
That were fo often confcious to the Rites
Of facred Love, in our dear ftol'n Delights.
With Eyes all languishing, each Place you view,
And fighing, cry'd, Adieu, dear Shades Adieu!
Then 'twas thy Soul e'en doubted which to do,
Refuse a Crown, or those dear Shades forego!
Glory and Love the great Dispute parfa'd!
But the falle Idol foon the God fubdu’d.
And now on Board you go, and all the Sails
Are loofen'd, to receive the flying Gales;
Whilft I half dead on the forfaken Strand,
Beheld thee fighing on the Deck to stand,
Wafting a thousand Kiffes from thy Hand.
And whilft I cou'd the leffening Veffel fee,
I gaz'd, and fent a thousand Sighs to thee;
And all the Sea-born Nereids implore,
Quick to return thee to our Ruftick Shore.
Now like a Ghost I glide thro' ev'ry Grove,
Silent, and fad as Death, about I rove,
And vifit all our Treasuries of Love!
This Shade th' account of thousand Joys does hide,
As many more this murm'ring River's fide,
Where the dear Grafs, as facred, does retain
The Print, where thee and I fo oft have lain.
Upon this Oak thy Pipe and Garlands plac'd,
That Sycamore is with thy Sheep-hook grac’d.
Here feed thy Flocks, once lov'd, tho' now thy scorn;
Like me forfaken, and like me forlorn!
A Rock there is, from whence I cou'd furvey
Far from the blueish Shore, and distant Sea,
Whofe hanging Top with Toil I climb each Day,
With greedy View I run the Profpect o'er,
To fee what wish'd-for Ships approach our Shore,
One Day all hopeless on its Point I stood,
And faw a Vessel bounding o'er the Flood,
And as it nearer drew, I cou'd discern
Rich Purple Sails, Silk Cords, and Golden Stern,
Upon the Deck a Canopy was fpread
Of Antick Work in Gold and Silver made,
Which,mix'd withSun-beams,dazzling Light difplay'd,
But oh! beneath this glorious Scene of State
(Curft be the Sight) a fatal Beauty fate,
And fondly you were on her Bofom lay'd,
Whilft with your perjur'd Lips her Fingers play'd:
Wantonly curl'd and dally'd with that Hair
Of which, as facred Charms, I Bracelets wear.
Oh! hadft thou feen me then in that mad State,
So ruin'd, so defign'd for Death and Fate,
Fix'd on a Rock, whofe horrid Precipice
In hollow Murmurs wars with angry Seas,
Whilft the bleak Winds aloft my Garments bear,
Ruffling my careless and dishevel'd Hair,
I look'd like the fad Statue of Despair.
With out-ftretch'd Voice I cry'd, and all around
The Rocks and Hills my dire Complaints refound.
I rend my Garments, tear my flatt'ring Face,
Whofe falfe deluding Charms my Ruin was.
Mad as the Seas in Storms, I breathe Despair,
Or Winds let loofe in unrefifting Air,
Raging and frantick through the Woods I fly,
And Paris! lovely, faithlefs Paris! cry.
But when the Echo's found thy Name again,
I change to new Variety of Pain.
For that dear Name fuch Tenderness infpires,
As turns all Paffion to Love's fofter Fires.
With Tears I fall to kind Complaints again;
So Tempefts are allay'd by Show'rs of Rain.
Say, lovely Youth, why wouldst thou thus betray My eafy Faith, and lead my Heart aftray?
I might fome humble Shepherd's Choice have been,
Had I that Tongue ne'er heard, those Eyes ne'er seen;
And in fome homely Cott, in low Repose,
Liv'd undisturb'd with broken Vows and Oaths:
All Day by fhaded Springs my Flocks have kept,
And in fome honeft Arms at Night have flept,
Then unupbraided with my Wrongs thou'dit been
Safe in the Joys of the fair Grecian Queen.
What Stars do rule the Great? No fooner you
Became a Prince, but you were perjur'd too :
Are Crowns and Falfhoods then, confiftent Things?
And must they all be faithlefs who are Kings?
The Gods be prais'd that I was humbly born,
Even tho' it renders me my Paris' Scorn.
And I had rather this Way wretched prove,
Than be a Queen, and faithless in
Not my fair Rival wou'd I wish to be,
To come prophan'd by others Joys to thee.
A spotless Maid into thy Arms I brought,
Untouch'd in Fame, ev'n Innocent in Thought.
Whilft she with Love has treated many a Guest,
And brings thee but the Leavings of a Feaft:
With Thefeus from her Country made Escape,
Whilft she mifcall'd the willing Flight, a Rape:
So now from Atreus' Son, with thee is fled,
And still the Rape hides the adult'rous Deed.
And is it thus great Ladies keep entire
That Virtue they fo boaft, and you admire?
Is this a Trick of Courts ? Can Ravishment
Serve for a poor Evasion of Confent?
Hard shift to fave that Honour priz'd fo high,
Whilft the mean Fraud's the greater Infamy.
How much more happy are we rural Maids,
Who know no other Palaces than Shades?
Who want no Titles to enflave the Crowd,
Left they shou'd babble all our Crimes aloud:
No Arts our Good to show, our Ills to hide,
Nor know to cover Faults of Love with Pride.
I lov'd, and all Love's Dictates did purfue,
And never thought it cou'd be Sin with you.
To Gods, and Men, I did my Love proclaim;
For one foft Hour with thee, my charming Swain,
Wou'd recompence an Age to come of Shame,
Cou'd it as well but fatisfy my Fame.
But oh those tender Hours are fled and loft,
And I no more of Fame, or thee, can boast!
'Twas thou wert Honour, Glory, all to me:
'Till Swains had learn'd the Vice of Perjury,
No yielding Maids were charg'd with Infamy.
'Tis falfe and broken Vows make Love a Sin,
Hadft thou been true, we innocent had been.
But thou lefs Faith than Autumn Leaves dost show,
Which every Blast bears from their native Bough.
Lefs Weight, lefs Conftancy, in thee is born,
Than in the flender mildew'd Ears of Corn.
Oft when you Garlands wove to deck my Hair,
Where mystick Pinks and Dazies mingled were,
You fwore 'twas fitter Diadems to bear:
And when with eager Kiffes preft my Hand,
Have faid, How well a Scepter 'twou'd Command :
And if I danc'd upon the flow'ry Green,
With charming, wishing Eyes furvey my Mien,
And cry, The Gods defign'd thee for a Queen!
Why then for Helen doft thou me forfake?
Can a poor empty Name fuch Diff'rence make?
Befides, if Love can be a Sin, thine's one,
Since Helen does to Menelaus belong.
Be Juft, reftore her back, she's none of thine,
And, charming Paris, thou art only mine.
"Tis no ambitious Flame that makes me fue
To be again belov'd, and blest with you;
No vain Defire of being ally'd t' a King;
Love is the only Dowry I can bring,
And tender Love is all I ask again.
Whilft on her dang'rous Smiles fierce War must wait
With Fire and Vengeance at your Palace Gate,
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