University of Virginia Library

Young Corydon, a poor inamour'd Swain,
The Fair Miranda lov'd, but lov'd in vain.
With Gifts he brib'd her; and with Songs he strove
To tune her Heart to the soft Notes of Love.
But still successless the fond Shepherd woo'd:
The Wanton faster fled, the more persu'd.

With Grief and Shame, and hot Desire he press'd,
(Tyrants that rul'd by Turns within his Breast.)
Pensive and sad he sought the silent Grove;
And thus in artless Numbers mourn'd his Love.
Ungrateful Nymph, and oh too rudely coy!
Thy fierce Unkindness will my Life destroy.
No Tongue can speak the Torments I endure.
So deep the Wound that I despair a Cure.
Fool that I am, on certain Fate to run,
And court the Mischief that I ought to shun.
The Flocks and Herds oppress'd with sultry Heat,
To the thick Shades, and cooling Springs retreat,
And the green Lizard, and the painted Snake
Find a kind Refuge in some neighb'ring Brake.
But where, alas I can wretched I retire?
No Shades can cool, no Streams can quench my Fire.
Careless and unconcern'd I could have born
Dorinda's Hate, or Saccharissa's Scorn.
Those vulgar Beauties scarce our Passions move
But you inspire me with the Rage of Love.
Yet know, Fond Maid, tho' so divinely Fair,
That with'ring Time will all thy Charms impair.
How gay the Lilly, and how sweet the Rose,
When the young Months their Virgin Bloom disclose.
But soon as e'er they feel the chilling Frost,
Their Leaves are blasted, and their Odours lost.
Consider, Beauty will not always last,
Then lay out ev'ry happy Hour in haste.
That lovely Face proclaims a gentler Mind:
The Gods who form'd you Fair, design'd you Kind.
Return, dear Fugitive, return again;
And bless, at last, thy much-enduring Swain.
Regard your Lover with impartial Eyes;
And see that Wealth, which you unknown despise.
Here mantling Vines the rising Hills adorn,
There the glad Vallies smile with rip'ning Corn.
My num'rous Flocks o'er-spread the flow'ry Plains,
And I'm the Envy of my Fellow Swains.
Content already with my present Store,
For your Sake only I could wish for more.
Secure and happy in yon little Cell,
Like Sylvan Gods we might together dwell.
With chearful Hounds we'd rise e'er Morning Dawn
To course the Hare, or chase the nimble Fawn.
In Rural Sports, and harmless Wanton play,
Unmark'd the swift-wing'd Hours would glide away.
No busy Cares shou'd our soft Thoughts annoy,
But all our Life be Gentleness and Joy.
Ah Coridon! thy airy Hopes restrain,
Nor feast with flatt'ring Dreams thy Mind in vain.
Int'rest, you see, prevails o'er all Mankind;
And Gold so Dazzles, that it makes Love blind.
Thy Wealthier Rival, tho' Deform'd and Old,
Does thy Heart's Darling from thy Arms with-hold.
Go, prune thy Vines, or tend thy woolly Care;
Nor waste thy Youth in Mourning and Despair.
Let no false Raptures discompose thy Mind,
Forget the Cruel, and embrace the Kind.