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At last, my wishes to fulfil,

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 learn'd the wit

Never to grieve or fret;
Contentedly I will submit,
And think that best which they think fit,

Without the least regret.


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 answered 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.

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.

Some kind angel, gently flying,

Moved with pity at my pain, Tell Corinna I am dying,

Till with joy we meet again. Tell Corinna, since we parted

I have never known delight;
And shall soon be broken-hearted,

If I longer want her sight.
Tell her how her lover, mourning,

Thinks each lazy day a year,
Cursing every morn returning,
Since Corinna is not here.

Tell her too, not distant places,

(Will she be but true and kind) Join'd with time and change of faces,

E’er shall shake my constant mind,

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 praised

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 stroll,

And the sheep stray.

WHILST others proclaim
This nymph or that swain,

Dearest Nelly the lovely I'll sing;
She shall grace every verse,
I'll her beauties rehearse,

Which lovers can't think an ill thing.
Her eyes shine as bright
As stars in the night;

Her complexion divinely is fair ;
Her lips red as a cherry,
Would a hermit make merry,

And black as a coal is her hair.
Her breath, like a rose,
Its sweets does disclose,


ravish a kiss;
Like ivory inchased,
Her teeth are well placed;

An exquisite beauty she is.
She's blooming as May,
Brisk, lively, and gay,

The Graces play all round about her;
She's prudent and witty,
Sings wondrously pretty,

And there is no living without her,





Behind an unfrequented glade,
Where yew and myrtle mix their shade,
A widow Turtle pensive sate,
And wept her murder'd lover's fate.
The Sparrow chanced that way to walk,
(A bird that loves to chirp and talk)
Be sure he did the Turtle greet,
She answer'd him as she thought meet:
Sparrows and Turtles, by the by,
Can think as well as you or I;
But how they did their thoughts express,
The margin shows by T. and S.

T. My hopes are lost, my joys are fled,
Alas! I weep Columbo dead:
Come, all ye winged lovers, come,
Drop pinks and daisies on his tomb;
Sing, Philomel, his funeral verse,
Ye pious Redbreasts, deck his hearse;
Fair Swans, extend your dying throats,
Columbo's death requires your notes ;

1 This piece was written upon the sincere affection shown by Queen Anne for the loss of her royal consort, Prince George of Denmark, 1708,

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