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O Amaryllis love compels my way,
My browzing goats upon the mountains

stray : o Tityrus, tend them well, and see them fed In pastures fresh, and to their watering led ; And 'ware the ridgling with his budding head. Ah beauteous nymph! can you forget your love, The conscious grottos, and the shady grove; Where stretch'd at ease your tender limbs were

Your nameless beauties nakedly display'd ?
Then I was callid your darling, your desire,
With kisses such as set my soul on fire:
But you are chang’d, yet I am still the same s
My heart maintains for both a double flame ;
Griev'd, but unmov'd, and patient of your

scorn: So faithful I, and you so much forsworn!

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I die, and death will finish all my pain ;
Yet, ere I die, behold me once again :
Am I so much deform'd, so chang’d of late ?
What partial judges are our love and hate !
Ten wildings have I gather'd for

How ruddy like your lips their streaks appear !
Far-off you view'd them with a longing eye
Upon the topmost branch (the tree was high):
Yet nimbly up, from bough to bough I swerv'd,
And for to-morrow have ten more reserv'd.
Look on me kindly, and some pity shew,
Or give me leave at least to look on you,
Some God transform me by his heav'nly pow'r
Ev'n to a bee to buzz within
The winding ivy-chaplet to invade,
And folded fern that your fair forehead shade,
Now to my cost the force of love I find;
The heavy hand it bears on human kind.
The milk of tigers was his infant food,
Taught from his tender years the taste of blood;
His brother whelps and he ran wild about the

wood. Ah nymph, train'd

up in his tyrannic court, To make the sufferings of your slaves

your sport! Unheeded ruin! treacherous delight! O polish'd hardness soften’d to the fight!

your bow'r,


foul away.

Whose radiant eyes your ebon brows adorn,
Like midnight those, and these like break of

Smile once again, revive me with your charms ;
And let me die contented in your arms.
I would not ask to live another day,
Might I but sweetly kiss my
Ah, why am I from empty joys debarr'd ?
For kisses are but empty when compar'd.
I rave, and in my raging fit shall tear
The garland, which I wove for you to wear,
Of parlly, with a wreath of ivy bound,
And border'd with a rofy edging round.
What pangs I feel, unpity'd and unheard !
Since I must die, why is my fate deferr’d!
I strip my body of my shepherd's frock:
Behold that dreadful downfal of a rock,


old fisher views the waves from high!
'Tis that convenient leap I mean to try.
You would be pleas’d to see me plunge to shore,
But better pleas'd if I should rise no more.
I might have read my fortune long ago,
When, seeking my success in love to know,
I try'd th' infallible prophetic way,
A poppy-leaf upon my palm to lay:

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