AT the break of morning light, | |
| When the marbled Sky look gay; | |
| Nature self all perfect bright, | |
| Smiled to see the God of Day: | |
| Charming prospect, verdant Trees, | 5 |
| Azure Hill, enamelled Sky; | |
| Birds with warbling Throats to please, | |
| Striving each which shall outvie. | |
| |
| Lisbea then with wond’rous haste, | |
| O’er a green sword Plain she flew; | 10 |
| Thus my Angel as she past, | |
| The Eyes of ev’ry Shepherd drew: | |
| When they had the Nymph espied, | |
| All amazed cried there she goes; | |
| Thus by blooming Beauty tried, | 15 |
| Thought a second Sun arose. | |
| |
| Ev’ry Swain the Sun mistook, | |
| Dazzled by refulgent Charms; | |
| And with Joy their Flocks forsook, | |
| For to follow Love’s Alarms: | 20 |
| All ’till now were perfect Friends, | |
| Bound by Innocence and Truth; | |
| ’Till sly Love to gain his ends, | |
| Made a difference ’twixt each Youth. | |
| |
| Each expected which should be, | 25 |
| Made the happy Man by Love; | |
| While for want of Liberty, | |
| None could truly happy prove; | |
| But at length they all arriv’d, | |
| To a charming easy Grove; | 30 |
| Where the Nymph had well contriv’d, | |
| To be happy with her Love. | |
| |
| There in amorous folding twin’d, | |
| Strephon with his Lisbea lay; | |
| Both to mutual Joys enclin’d, | 35 |
| Let their Inclinations stray: | |
| As the curling Vines embracing, | |
| Fondly of the Oak around; | |
| So the blooming Nymph’s caressing, | |
| Of her Swain with pleasure crown’d. | 40 |
| |
| How surpriz’d were e’ry Swain, | |
| When they found the Nymph engaged; | |
| Disappointment heightened Pain, | |
| Till it made them more enraged: | |
| Arm your self with Resolution, | 45 |
| Cried the most revengeful he; | |
| We’ll contrive her Swain’s Confusion, | |
| Let him fall as much as we. | |
| |
| Several Punishments they Invented, | |
| For to Torture helpless he; | 50 |
| All revengeful, ne’er contented, | |
| Cruel to a vast Degree: | |
| One more envious in the rear, | |
| Thus his Sentiments let slip; | |
| Make him like the Cavalier, | 55 |
| And for the Opera him Equip. | |
| |
