Because he follow'd Diana's train, His life he loft, his life he loft, Her love to gain. CA Caft away Care. I. Are, away gae thou frae me, If I want, I care to get, II. The more I have, the more I fret ; The moir I have I think I'm poor : III. Is not this warld a slidd'ry ball? Well then, ay learn to kraw thyfelf, The Co The Invitation. I. Ome, love, let's walk by yonder spring, The robin-red-breaft and the thrush, And nightingale in thorny bush, II. See where the nymph, with all her train, III. In yonder dale are finest flowers, Bathes her there. IV. All her delight is as ye fee, This way to sport, and here to be Delyting in this caler spring, Only to bathe herself therein, Until Acteon her espy'd ; Then to the thicket, then to the thicket Did the glyde. V. And there by magic art the wrought, Because His thoughts on bonour always run, He ne'er cou'd bow to love, II. Amongst the nymphs where Kath'rine came, And fweeter than a rofe: Although the was of mean degree, III. But foon her eyes their luftre loft, Her time in fighs and floods of tears, IV. Once in a dream fhe cry'd aloud, V. A tender friend that watch'd the fair To Henry hy'd away. My Lord, fays fhe, we've found the cause Of Kath'rine's quick decay : She in a dream the fecret told, Till now no mortal knew: Alas! fhe now expiring lies, And dies for love of you The The gen'rous Henry's foul was touch'd, Ah, poor unhappy maid! he cry'd, Yet I am not to blame. Ah Kathrine! too too modeft maid, I'll eafe your pain and swift as wind VII. Awake! awake! he fondly cry'd, I come to fave thee from defpair, VIII. Thefe words reviv'd the dying fair, She started from the bed. Around his neck her arms the flung, Will you be kind? Will you indeed? My love! and fo fhe died. The Milking-pail. I. E nymphs and filvan gods, YE That love green fields and woods, When fpring newly born herfelf does adorn Come fing in the praife, while flocks do graze Of thofe that chofe to milk their ewes, II. You goddess of the morn, With blufhes you adorn, And take the fresh air, whilft linnets prepare 'The blackbird and thrush, on every bush, In merry vein, their throats do ftrain, Of those of the milking-pail. III. When cold bleak winds do roar, 4 The fields that were feen fo pleasant and green, See how the town-lafs looks with her white face, But it is not fo with those that go IV. The mife of courtly mold, Adorn'd with pearl and gold, With washes and paint her skin does so taint, While the of commode puts on a cart-load, What joys are found in rufhy ground, V. You girls of Venus game, That venture health and fame, In practifing feats, with cold and heats, If men were fo wife to value the prize What ftore of beaux would daub their cloaths, Who carry the milking-pail? The |