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SCENE I.

SYLVIA.
RECITATIVE.
All Nature seems in universal Glee;
How blithe the Songsters hop from Tree to Tree!
What vernal Fragrance scents the ambient Air!
Yet nought can soften my extreme Despair.
AIR.
Ye Warblers! no longer your liquid Throats strain,
No longer your Sonnets can please,
For such were the Sounds of the roving young Swain,
Who robs my poor Bosom of Ease:
When Phœbus makes Love in your little Hearts glow,
A Song can your Meanings declare;
The Sweets of the Passion untainted ye know,
And never, like me, feel the Care.
Tho' Blasts may destroy all the Flow'rets, that here
Perfume the pure Æther around,
Bright Spring shall again bid their Beauties appear,
And paint, as before, the gay Ground:
But when a poor Nymph's wrong'd of all she could boast,
And left to lament and complain,
Her greatest Charm's gone; when her Virtue is lost
No Spring can renew it again.
The Riv'lets run purling along the cool Mead,
To sooth me in sorrowful Tone;
The Zephyrs, affectedly, onward proceed
To waft the Deceiver my Moan.
Ye Powers! who govern the Works ye have made,
Relieve the deep Woe of my Mind;
As Sylvia through Pity alone was betray'd,
In-pity let Colin, be kind.

[Exit.