 | The Poems of Robert Fergusson |  |
[From Act II. Scene IX.]
QUARTETTO
Amint.
Ah! Eliza, did you know
How you fill my breast with woe,
You'd cease to wound my heart,
Or cruel sounds impart.
Hear me, then, ye Fates above,
Send fresh comfort to my love,
And crown my soul with peace,
Her mind with friendly ease.
How you fill my breast with woe,
You'd cease to wound my heart,
Or cruel sounds impart.
Hear me, then, ye Fates above,
Send fresh comfort to my love,
And crown my soul with peace,
Her mind with friendly ease.
234
While shepherds cruel prove,
Slighting their former love,
Tell me, Amintas, then,
Are you still that humble swain,
Who by me your flocks wou'd feed,
Playing on your tuneful reed;
Am I banish'd from your mind?
Shall I no more favour find?
Slighting their former love,
Tell me, Amintas, then,
Are you still that humble swain,
Who by me your flocks wou'd feed,
Playing on your tuneful reed;
Am I banish'd from your mind?
Shall I no more favour find?
Amint. and Agen.
Lets away, and sigh alone,
All our former peace is gone;
Joy fills the peasants breast,
They alone are truly blest;
When the Nobles' births are crost,
And in many troubles lost.
Don't move us with your tears,
Free our sad soul from fears.
All our former peace is gone;
Joy fills the peasants breast,
They alone are truly blest;
When the Nobles' births are crost,
And in many troubles lost.
Don't move us with your tears,
Free our sad soul from fears.
Tham.
Are the Fates so unkind?
Are our vows out of mind?
Are you so cruel grown,
Your true lover to disown?
Tell my why you thus complain,
Frowning on us with disdain?
Shall we our sufferings know,
The source of all our woe?
Are our vows out of mind?
Are you so cruel grown,
Your true lover to disown?
Tell my why you thus complain,
Frowning on us with disdain?
Shall we our sufferings know,
The source of all our woe?
CHORUS.
Cruel Fortune, cease to frown,
Take again your subtle crown;
Let gay looks from lovers dart,
And enliven every heart:
Let our souls be freed from grief,
And each lover find relief;
That Shepherds ever may be blest,
And Shepherdesses sweet carest.
Take again your subtle crown;
Let gay looks from lovers dart,
And enliven every heart:
Let our souls be freed from grief,
And each lover find relief;
That Shepherds ever may be blest,
And Shepherdesses sweet carest.
| The Poems of Robert Fergusson | |