Aminta.
But, oh! what Nymph e're saw the noble youth
That was not to eternal Love betray'd?
Damon.
And, oh! what swain e're saw the Lovely maid,
That wou'd not plight her his eternal faith!
Not unblown Roses, or the new-born day
Or pointed Sun-beams, when they gild the skys,
Are half so sweet, are half so bright and gay,
As young Clemena's charming Face and Eyes!
Aminta.
Not full-blown flowrs, when all their luster's on
Whom every bosom longs to wear,
Nor the spread Glories of the mid-days sun
Can with the charming Lysidus compare.
Damon.
Not the soft gales of gentle breez
That whisper to the yeilding Trees,
Nor songs of Birds that thrô the Groves rejoyce,
Are half so sweet, so soft, as young Clemena's voyce.
Aminta.
Not murmurs of the Rivulets and Springs,
When thrô the glades they purling glide along
And listen when the wondrous shepherd sings,
Are half so sweet as is the Shepherds song.