Young Corydon (hard Fate) an humble Swain
Alexis lov'd, the joy of all the Plain;
He lov'd, but could not hope for Love again;
Yet every day through Groves he walkt alone,
And vainly told the Hills and Woods his Moan;
Cruel Alexis ! can't my Verses move!
Hast thou not pitty! must I dye for Love?
Just now the Flocks pursue the shades and cool,
And every Lizzard creeps into his hole:
Brown Thestylis the weary Reapers seeks,
And brings their Meat, their Onions and their Leeks:
And whilst I trace thy steps in every Tree
And every Bush, poor Insects sigh with Me:
And had it not been better to have born
The peevish Amaryllis ' Frowns and Scorn,
Or else Menalcas , than this deep despair?
Though He was black, and Thou art lovely fair!
Ah charming Beauty! 'tis a fading Grace,
Trust not too much, sweet Youth, to that fair face:
Things are not always us'd that please the sight,
We gather Black berries when we scorn the white.
Thou dost despise me, Thou dost scorn my flame,
Yet dost not know me, nor how rich I am:
A thousand tender Lambs, a thousand Kine,
A thousand 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 so mean, I lately stood,
And view'd my Figure in the quiet Flood,
And think my self, though it were judg'd by you,
As fair as Daphnis ', if that glass be true.
Oh that with me, the 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 sing like Pan in shady Groves;
Pan taught us Pipes, and Pan our Art approves:
Pan both the Sheep and harmless Shepherd loves.