O lovely Boy, presume not on thy Form,
The fairest Flow'rs are fubject to a Storm:
Thou both difdain'ft my Person and my Flame,
Without fo much as asking who I am!
How rich in Heifers, all as white as Snow,
Or Cream, with which they make my Dairies flow.
A thousand Ewes within my Paftures breed,
And all the Year upon New-milk I feed.
Befides, the fam'd Amphion's Songs I fing,
That into Theban Walls the Stones did bring.
Nor am I fo deform'd; for t'other Day,
When all the dreadful Storm was blown away,
As on the Clifts, above the Sea I ftood,
I view'd my Image in the Sea-green Flood;
And if I look as handfome all the Year,
To vie with Daphnis felf, I wou'd not fear.
Ah! wou'dft thou once in Cottages delight,
And love, like me, to wound the Stag in flight!
Where wholfome Mallows grow our Kids to drive,
And in our Songs with Pan himself to ftrive!
From Pan the Reed's firft ufe the Shepherd knew,
'Tis Pan preserves the Sheep and Shepherd too.
Difdain not then the tuneful Reed to ply,
Nor fcorn the Paftime of a Deity.
What task would not Amyntas undergo,
For half the noble Skill I offer you?
A Pipe with Quills of various fize I have,
The Legacy Dametas dying gave;
And faid, poffefs thou this, by right 'tis thine;
Amyntas then stood by, and did repine:
Befides two Kids that I from danger bore,
With ftreak of lovely white enamell'd o'er;
Who drein the bagging Udder twice a-day,
And both at home for thy Acceptance stay.
Oft Theftylis for them has pin'd, and the
Shall have them, fince thou fcorn'ft my Gifts and me.
Come to my Arms, thou lovely Boy, and take
The richest Presents that the Spring can make.
See how the Nymphs with Lillies wait on thee:
Fair Naïs, fcarce thy felf fo fair as she,
With Poppies, Daffadils and Violets join'd,
A Garland for thy fofter Brow has twin'd.
My felf with downy Peaches will appear,
And Chefnuts, Amaryllis dainty Chear:
I'll crop my Laurel, and my Myrtle Tree,
Together bound, because their sweets agree.
Unbred thou art, and homely, Corydon,
Nor will Alexis with thy Gifts be won :
Nor canft thou hope, if Gifts his Mind cou'd sway,
That rich Iolas wou'd to thee give way.
Ah me! while I fond wretch indulge my Dreams,
Winds blaft my Flow'rs, and Boars bemire my Streams.
Whom fly'ft thou? Gods themselves have had aboad
In Woods, and Paris, equal to a God.
Let Pallas in the Towns fhe built, refide,
To me a Grove's worth all the World befide:
Lions chafe Wolves, thofe Wolves a Kid in prime,
That very Kid seeks Heaths of Flow'ring time,
While Corydon pursues with equal Flame,
Alexis, thee; each has his feveral Game.
See how the Ox unyok'd brings home the Plow,
The Shades increasing as the Sun goes low.
Bleft Fields reliev'd by Night's approach fo foon,
Love has no Night! 'tis always raging Noon!
Ah Corydon what frenzy fills thy Breaft?
Thy Vineyard lies half prun'd and half undreft.
Luxurious sprouts fhut out the rip'ning Ray,
The Branches fhorn, not yet remov'd away.
Recal thy Senfes, and to work with speed,
Of many Utenfils thou ftand'ft in need.
Fall to thy Labour, quit the peevish Boy;
Time, or fome new Defire shall this deftroy,
English'd by Mr. CREECH.
The Shepherd Corydon wooes Alexis; but finding he could not prevail, he refolves to follow his Affairs, and forget his Paffion.
Young (hard of all the Plain;
Oung Corydon (hard Fate) an humble Swain
He lov'd, but could not hope for Love again;
Yet every day through Groves he walk'd alone,
And vainly told the Hills and Woods his Moan:
Cruel Alexis can't my Verfes move!
Haft thou no Pity? muft I die for Love?
Just now the Flocks pursue the fhades and cool,
And every Lizard creeps into his Hole:
Brown Theftylis the weary Reapers feeks,
And brings their Meat, their Onions and their Leeks:
And whilst I trace thy Steps, in every Tree
And every Bush, poor Infects figh with me:
Ah! had it not been better to have born
The peevish Amaryllis Frown and Scorn,
Or elfe Menalcas, than this deep defpair?
Though he was black, and thou art lovely fair!
Ah charming Beauty! 'tis a fading Grace,
Truft not too much, fweet Youth, to that fair Face::
Things are not always us'd that please the fight,
We gather Black-berries when we fcorn the white.
Thou dost defpife me, thou doft fcorn my Flame,
Yet doft not know me, nor how rich I am:
A thousand tender Lambs, a thousand Kine,
A thoufand Goats I feed, and all are mine:
My Dairy's full, and my large Herd affords,
Summer and Winter, Cream, and Milk, and Curds,
I pipe as well, as when through Theban Plains,
Amphion fed his Flocks, or charm'd the Swains.
Nor is my Face fo mean, I lately food,
And view'd my Figure in the quiet Flood,
And think my felf, though it were judg'd by you,
As fair as Daphnis, if that Glafs be true.
Oh that with me, thee humble Plains would please,
The quiet Fields, and lowly Cottages!
Oh that with me you'd live, and hunt the Hare,
Or drive the Kids, or spread the fowling Snare!
Then you and I would fing like Pan in fhady Groves ;
Pan taught us Pipes, and Pan our Art approves:
Pan both the Sheep and harmless Shepherd loves.
Nor muft you think the Pipe too mean for you,
To learn to Pipe, what won't Amyntas do?
I have a Pipe, well feafon'd, brown, and try'd;
Which good Dametas left me when he dy'd':
He faid, Here, take it for a Legacy,
Thou art my Second, it belongs to thee,
He faid, and dull Amyntas envy'd me.
Befides, I found two wanton Kids at play
In yonder Vale, and thofe I brought away,
Young Sportive Creatures, and of spotted hue,
Which fuckle twice a day, I keep for you:
Thefe Theftylis hath begg'd, and begg’d in vain,
But now they're hers, fince you my gifts difdain :
Come, lovely Boy, the Nymphs their Baskets fill,
With Poppy, Violet, and Daffadil,
The Rofe, and thousand other fragrant Flowers,
To please thy Senses in thy softest hours;
These Naïs gathers to delight my Boy,
Come dear Alexis, be no longer coy.
I'll feek for Chefnuts too in every Grove,
Such as my Amaryllis us'd to love.
The gloffie Plumbs, and juicy Pears I'll bring,
Delightfull All, and many a pretty thing:
The Lawrel and the neighb'ring Myrtle Tree,
Confus'dly planted 'cause they both agree [thee.
And prove more fweet, shall send their boughs to
Ah Corydon! thou art a foolish Swain,
Ard coy Alexis doth thy Gifts disdain;
Or if Gifts could prevail, if Gifts could wooe,
Iolas can prefent him more than you.
What doth the mad Man mean? He idly brings
Storms on his Flowers, and Boars into his Springs.
Ah! whom doft thou avoid; whom fly the Gods
And charming Paris too, have liv'd in Woods:
Let Pallas, fhe, whose Art first rais'd a Town,
Live there, let us delight in Woods alone:
The Boar the Wolf, the Wolf the Kid pursues,
The Kid her Thyme, as fast as t'other do's,
Alexis Corydon, and him alone,
Each hath his Game, and each pursues his own:
Look how the weary'd Ox brings home the Plow,
The Sun declines, and Shades are doubled now:
And yet my Paffion nor my Cares remove,
Love burns me ftill, what flame fo fierce as Love!
Ah Corydon! what fury's this of thine!
On yonder Elm, there hangs thy half prun'd Vine:
Come, rather mind thy useful work, prepare
Thy Harveft Baskets, and make those thy care,
Come, mind thy Plow, and thou shalt quickly find
Another, if Alexis proves unkind.
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