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Pastorals

After the Simple Manner of Theocritus. By Mr. Purney

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Soft simpering saiden this the lovely Maid.
While Paplet 'tween her twey her hand fair had;
Who oft would turn and shift, as ill at ease:
Cubbin did too to see't. Ah careful Case!
Paplet.
Stay, Soflin, list! Heard I not some one sneeze
'Twas 'mong the Sedge; fast by those murmuring Bees!

Soflin.
Poor Chick, how thou dost quake! prethee leave quake.
Sooth 'twas some Bird but chirp'd in th' bushie brake


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Paplet.
Much Wonder give it me, my gentle Dear!
Thou nought, ne any one, suspectest 'ere.

Soflin.
Why wouldst have fear? I wonder why dost warn!
When I have wrong'd, then I to fear will learn.
Sure Soflin none will harm; if Soflin none;
And well I ween, I never any one.
But look, ah me! how Flow'rs be blown out hair;
And bosom too!—But Lovie likes it bare.

Paplet.
Then do Lads like in sooth, or seemen they?
I've heard say, Youngling Swain will harm Young Mey.
Yet Florrey looks so pretty and so pert,
Nought I know how, fancy he could not hurt.
And Collikin, O me! but Collikin,
Of all the Swains, for me—he is the Swain!


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Soflin.
O simple he's of Chear, and meek of Mein;
All-fine his Flesh, and sooth as soft his Skin!
So prettily his Words slip off his Tongue,
With a little waggish Lisp emong!
But when he sooths too pleasant 'tis to bear!
He kisses, I ask if a rosie be near!
But see there! Lallet's Cade! how that came there?
Sure by the Lamb the Lassie should be near!
Oh! Well beween'd! We bath in Brook this Eve
You see where Sprays so sweet a shadow give.
You're one; and Lallet Lass so heavenly hewn;
And Poppit maiden ripe as Rose in June.
This Florey loves; and Fauney fresh love that;
Cuddleit say some. Up Lass! mayhap they wait


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They go: Their Bosoms ope to th' Evening Air:
And dip their blooming Beautys fresh and fair:
They pretty play and paddle in the Wet:
And strow with fairest Flow'rs the Streamulet.
But Paplet wistful was; On bank she set,
Siping the Honeysukles juicie Sweet.
But ah, her mind elsewhere! alass on love!
Oh Soflin, thou hast wrong'd a tender Dove!
When parted All; and All hied home; she made
As if she too; but silent by Moonshade,
Stale back to th' Bush; with hands in bosom laid,
(Those hands all fair as flower) and hanging head.
Mayhap (soft said she) now He goes to Bed.
I wonder how He lyes when there he's laid!

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Besure He mind's not me when 'mong the Swains.
O could I touch Him but, just touch meseems!
Yet looked she at Moonshine on the Stream;
That twinkled fair, and strove not think on him.
Mused too on th' varying Figures made on Grass,
By th' Light, that 'tween the waving Trees did pass.
Where fancyeth she depainten this and that,
(But all of Love) atill to th' Bush did get.
There blush'd when first it saw to think that she
Should so steal back to th' place where Colly lay.
And am I then? And am I grown, she sain,
(With that gan pretty finger put in Eyen).
So sly and false? Oh Heav'n! don't see! or do,
Forgive!—small weeneth Soflin where I now.

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So saying on the bank adown she laid.
Just where the Swainet lean'd, as Soflin said.
Then, smiling, thus: Mayhap his head was put
Where mine is now: Who knows? O happy Root!
This gentle Cubbinet did see and hear,
Waiting abie, the pretty Heart to chear.
He went to sooth her soft, and warn her how
She thought on Collikin. All would not do.
Soon as she saw, she started from her seat:
Ne would she hear him Pipe, ne talk awhit.
So that he made as if went strait away;
But went no farther then afore he lay.
The dainty-limbed Lass, as soft to see,
As springing Flowrets in the Month of May,
Smooth laid her slender Features down again,
All on the sweetness of the Flowrie Plain.

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Ah gentle Heart! ah Heart of prettiness!
Where is the Dalliance, and the tender Kiss?
Then sigh'd out this the rosie-liped Lass,
Soft as her Eye on Heaven yfixen was.
What aileth, O what aileth thee, my Heart;
Now sooth meseem's thou be'st not as thou wer't.
Be Collikin (ah would he other was!)
Far fairer than the fairest Lad or Lass,
Yet what have I to do with Collikin?
Let me not be, e're be for Softie's Pain!
Tho', methinks, were he not her's, I could well
Wish he were mine, Oh me, how wish him well!
Thus sate the Youngling Mey, till far the Night
Was spent, and sooth the Moon nigh lost her light.
Then up gan rise; but 'ere she 'gan up rise,
Tuck'd up her Hair, and wiped her dewie Eyes.

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The Softheart Swain (for Swainets all are so)
Staid till he wept, and when he wept did go.
Unhappy Soflin! Now there love's with thee,
The sweetest Mey that ever Sun did see.
All he had seen or heard, in head kept he,
To cut on Crook, or mark upon his Tree.
For sure there is not who can envy that;
Not one, I ween, can envy Lasse's Chat.
But why so fond of Lasses Chat, say you.
Oh, had you seen 'em, you'd ha' been so too!
Ye gentle Youths! who rove where led by chance,
Ifbe on Paplet's grief your Eye should glance,
Think the poor Lass mishap enough has had;
Ah don't you add, by hating what she said!
Ween, if ye maken mock at it, ye make
At Paplet mock; don't so, for Pappie's sake!