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Thy lovely lays here mayst thou freely boaft: But I, unhappy man! whom cruel fate,
And angry Gods pursue from coast to coast, Can no where find, to shroud my luckless pate.
Leave me those hills, where harbroughnis to see, Nor holly-bush, nor brere, nor winding ditch ;
And to the dales resort, where shepherds rich, And fruitful flocks been every where to see :
Here no night-ravens lodge, more black than pitch, Nor elvilh ghosts, nor ghafly owls do flee.
Bat friendly fairies met with many graces, And light-foot nymphs can chace the ling'ring night,
With heydeguies, and trimly trodden traces ;, Whilit fifters nine, which dwell on Parnass' hight,
Do make them music, for their more delight; And Pan himself to kiss their chrystal faces,
Will pipe and daunce, when Phæbe shineth bright : Such peerless pleasures have we in these places.
COLIN. And I, whilst youth, and course of careless years, Did let me walk withouten links of love,
In such delights did joy amongst my peers : But riper age such pleasures doth reprove,
My fancy eke from former follies move To strayed fteps : for time in passing wears
(As garments doen, which waxen old above) And draweth new delights with hoary hairs.
Tho couth I fing of love and tune my pipe Unto my plantive pleas in verses made
Tho would I seek for queen-apples unripe, To give my Rosalind, and in sommer shade
Dight gawdy girlonds, was my common trade, To crown her golden locks : but years more ripe,
And loss of her, whose love as life I wayde, Those weary wanton toys away did wipe.
I more delight, than lark in sommer days :
And taught the birds, which in the lower Ipring
Frame to thy fong their cheerful cheriping
I saw Calliope with muses moe,
Their ivory lutes and tamburins forgo:
Ren after haftily thy silver sound.
They drew a back, as half with shame confound,
COL I N.
And holden scorn of homely fhepherds quill :
Which bim to much rebuke and danger drove, I never lift presume to Parnass?
But piping low, in fhade of lowly grove, I play to please myself, albeit ill.
Nought weigh I, who my song doth praise or blame, Ne strive to win renown, or pass the rest :
With Mepherds fits not follow Aying fame,
I wote my rimes been rough, and rudely dreft ;
Enough is me to paint out my unreft,
The God of shepherds, Tityrus is dead,
He, whilft he lived was the sovereign head Of shepherds all, that been with love ytake.
Well couth he wail his woes, and lightly flake The flames, which love within his heart had bred,
And tell us merry tales, to keep us wake, The while our Sheep about us safely fed.
Now dead he is, and lieth wrapt in lead, (O why should death on him such outrage show!
And all his pafling skill with him is filed, The fame whereof doth daily greater grow.
But if on me some little drops would low Of that the spring was in his learned hed,
I soon would learn these woods to wail my woe, And teach the trees their trickling tears to shed.
Then should my plaints, caus'd of discourtesee, As messengers of this my painful plight,
Fly to my love, wherever that the be. And pierce her heart with point of worthy wight;
As the deserves, that wrought so deadly spight. And thou, Menalcas, that by treachery
Didft underfong my lass to wax so light, Should'It well be known for such thy villiany.
But fince I am not, as I wish I were, Ye gentle Shepherds, which your flocks do feed,
Whether on hills or dales, or other where, Bear witness all of this so wicked deed :
And tell the lass, whose flower is woxe a weed, And faultless faith is turn'd to faithless feere,
That she the truest shepherd's heart made bleed, That lives on earth, and loved her most dear.
O! careful Colin, I lament thy case, Thy tears would make the hardest Aint to flow!
Ah! faithless Rosalind, and void of grace, That are the root of all this rueful woe!
But now is time, I guess, homeward to go: Then rise, ye blessed flocks, and home apace,
Left night with stealing steps do you foreslo, And wet your tender lambs, that by you trace.
By the following eclogue the reader will perceive that Mr. Philips has, in imitation of Spencer, preserved in his Paltorals many antiquated words, which, tho' they are discarded from polite conversation, may naturally be sup. posed ftill to have place among the shepherds, and other rusticks in the country. We have made choice of his se. cond eclogue, because it is brought home to his own business, and contains a complaint against those who had spoken ill of him and his writings.
Mr. PHILIP s's second Paftoral.
THE NOT, COLIN E T.
of late bedims my sight?
COLIN E T.
Τ Η Ε Ν ο 1.
But tell me then ; it may relieve thy woe,
THE NOT. See Lightfoot; he shall tend them close: and I, 'Tween whiles, a-cross the plain will glance mine eye.
COLIN E T. Where to begin I know not, where to end. Does there one smiling hour my youth attend ? Though few my days, as well my follies show, Yet are those days all clouded o’er with woe : No happy gleam of fun-fhine doth appear, My low'ring ky, and wint'ry months to cheer. My piteous plight in yonder naked tree, Which bears the thunder-scar, too plain I see : Quite deftitute it ftands of shelter kind, The mark of storms, and sport of every wind: The riven trunk feels not th’approach of spring ; Nor birds among the leafless branches sing : No more, beneath thy shade, shall shepherd's throng With jocund tale, or pipe, or pleafing song. Ill-fated tree ! and more ill-fated I ! From thee, from me, alike the shepherds fly.
Τ Η Ε Ν ο Τ. Sure thou in hapless hour of time was born, When blightning mildews spoil the rising corn, Or blafting winds o'er blossom'd hedge-rows pass, To kill the promis'd fruits, and scorch the grass, Or when the moon, by wizard charm’d, foreshows, Blood-stain'd in foul eclipse, impending woes. Untimely born, ill luck betides thee fiil.
COLIN E T.