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And for our sweet refreshments
The earth affords us bowers :
The cuckoo and the nightingale
Full merrily do sing, High trolollie, lollie, lol ; high trolollie, lee;
And with their pleasant roundelays
Bid welcome to the spring :
This is not half the happiness
The countryman enjoys, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high troiollie, lee;
Though others think they have as much,
Yet he that says so lies:
Dr. R. HUGHES, From Lawes's Third Book of Ayres, 1653.
CHLORIS, now thou art fled away,
The maypole, where thy little feet
Upon these banks you used to thread
grow. O Chloris ! Chloris! come away, And hear Amintor's— Well-a-day!
NICHOLAS Rowe, born 1673, died 1718.
DESPAIRING beside a clear stream
A shepherd forsaken was laid ;
A willow supported his head.
To his sighs with a sigh did reply, And the brook, in return to his pain,
Ran mournfully murmuring by.
Alas! silly swain that I was,
Thus sadly complaining, he cried, When first I beheld that fair face,
'Twere better by far I had died. She talk’d, and I bless'd her dear tongue;
When she smil'd, 'twas a pleasure too great; I listen'd, and cried, when she sung,
Was nightingale ever so sweet?
Ilow foolish was I to believe
She could doat on so lowly a clown, Or that her fond heart would not grieve
To forsake the fine folk of the town : To think that a beauty so gay,
So kind and so constant would prove, Or go clad, like our maidens, in grey,
Or live in a cottage on love!
What though I have skill to complain,
Though the Muses my temples have crown'd; What though, when they hear my soft strain,
The virgins sit weeping around?
Ah, Colin! thy hopes are in vain;
Thy pipe and thy laurel resign;
Whose music is sweeter than thine.
All you, my companions so dear,
Who sorrow to see me betray'd,
Forbear to accuse the false maid.
'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly;
'Tis mine to be constant and die.
If while my hard fate I sustain,
In her breast any pity is found,
And see me laid low in the ground:
Is to shade me with cypress and yew;
Let her own that her shepherd was true.
Then to her new love let her go,
And deck her in golden array ;
And frolic it all the long day:
No more shall be talk'd of or seen,
His ghost shall glide over the green.
This song is usually sung to the ancient melody enti'led “Grim King of the Ghosts.” The author is supposed to have alluded in this pastoral to his own disappointment in gaining the affections of the Countess Dowager of Warwick, afterwards married to Joseph Addison.
AS I WALKED FORTH ONE SUMMER'S DAY.
From PLAYFORD'S “ Airs and Dialogues," 1676,
As I walk'd forth one summer's day
Where oft in tears a maid would cry,
Then o'er the grassy fields she'd walk,
And as she pull’d them, still cried she,
Such flowers as gave the sweetest scent
Alas, alas !” still sobbed she,
When she had filled her apron full
Then down she laid, nor sigh'd nor spake,-
THE SUN WAS SUNK BENEATH THE HILL.
Anonymous, but often attributed to John Gay,
The sun was sunk beneath the hill,
The western clouds were lin’d with gold,
The flocks were pent within the fold;
Who seeks to pluck the fragrant rose
From the bare rock or oozy beach,
Expects the grape or blushing peach,
I have no herds, no fleecy care,
No fields that wave with golden grain, No pastures green or gardens fair,
A woman's venal heart to gain; Then all in vain my sighs must prove, For I, alas ! have nought but love.
How wretched is the faithful youth,
Since women's hearts are bought and sold !
Whene'er they sigh, they sigh for gold.
To buy the gems of India's coast,
What wealth, what treasure can suffice ?
The living lustre in thine eyes ;
Then, Sylvia, since nor gems nor ore
Can with thy brighter self compare,
Than glittering gems—a soul sincere :