A Cantata

R ECITATIVE

The fair Pastora
Sat in a shady grove,
With Coridon her darling swain
Prostrate before her.
A thousand tales of love the shepherd told,
But the relentless fair,
With air disdainful,
Thus answered all his protestations.

A IR

The groves, the plains,
The nymphs, the swains,
The silver streams, the cooling shade,
All, all declare
How false you are,
How many hearts you have betray'd.
Ungrateful, go;
Too well I know
Your fatal, false, deluding art;
To ev'ry she
As well as me
You make an off'ring of your heart.

Slow A IR

Yes, I will leave you, cruel maid;
Your dread command shall be obey'd;
But know, thou charming tyrant, know,
From you to certain death I go.

R ECIT .

This said, with eyes expressing deadly resolution,
The melancholy shepherd took his leave.
The artful shepherdess is at a stand;
Resolv'd, howe'er she will not lose him so,
With looks alluring and a syren voice
She kindly thus recalls him.

A IR

Turn, turn again,
My dearest swain.
Gentler usage you shall find.
You have my heart,
But want the art
Of truly reading womankind.