After them Damon Piping came,
Who laughs at Cupid and his Flame;
Swears, if the Boy should him approach,
He'd burn his Wings with his own Torch:
But he's too young for Love t' invade,
Though for him languish many a Maid.
His lovely Ayr, his chearful Face,
Adorn'd with many a Youthful Grace,
Beget more Sighs then if with Arts
He should design to conquer Hearts:
The Swains as well as Nymphs submit
To's Charms of Beauty and of Wit.
He'll sing, he'll dance, he'll pipe and play,
And wanton out a Summer's day;
And wheresoever Damon be,
He's still the Soul o'th' Companie.
My dear Amoret, Mrs. B.
Next Amoret, the true Delight
Of all that do approach her sight:
The Sun in all its Course ne'er met
Ought Fair or Sweet like Amoret.
Alone she came, her Eyes declin'd,
In which you'll read her troubled Mind;
Yes, Silvia, for she'l not deny
She loves, as well as thou and I.
'Tis Philocles, that Proud Ingrate,
That pays her Passion back with Hate;
Whilst she does all but him despise,
And clouds the lustre of her Eyes:
But once to her he did address,
And dying Passion too express;
But soon the Amorous Heat was laid,
He soon forgot the Vows he'd made;
Whilst she in every Silent Grove,
Bewails her easie Faith and Love.
Numbers of Swains do her adore,
But she has vow'd to love no more.
Mr. J. B.
Next Jolly Thirsis came along,
With many Beauties in a Throng.
Mr. Je. B.
With whom the young Amyntas came,
The Author of my Sighs and Flame:
For I'll confess that Truth to you,
Which every Look of mine can show.
Ah how unlike the rest he appears!
With Majesty above his years!
His Eyes so much of Sweetness dress,
Such Wit, such Vigour too express;
That 'twou'd a wonder be to say,
I've seen the Youth, and brought my Heart away.
Ah Cloris! Thou that never wert
In danger yet to lose a Heart,
Guard it severely now, for he
Will startle all thy Constancy:
For if by chance thou do'st escape
Unwounded by his Lovely Shape,
Tempt not thy Ruine, lest his Eyes
Joyn with his Tongue to win the Prize:
Such Softness in his Language dwells,
And Tales of Love so well he tells,
Should'st thou attend their Harmony,
Thou'dst be Undone, as well as I;
For sure no Nymph was ever free,
That could Amyntas hear and see.
Mr. N. R. V.
With him the lovely Philocless,
His Beauty heightned by his Dress,
If any thing can add a Grace
To such a Shape, and such a Face,
Whose Natural Ornaments impart
Enough without the help of Art.
His Shoulders cover'd with a Hair,
The Sun-Beams are not half so fair;
Of which the Virgins Bracelets make,
And where for Philocless's sake:
His Beauty such, that one would swear
His face did never take the Air.
On's Cheeks the blushing Roses show,
The rest like whitest Daisies grow:
His Lips, no Berries of the Field,
Nor Cherries, such a Red do yield.
His Eyes all Love, Soft'ning Smile;
And when he speaks, he sighs the while:
His Bashful Grace, with Blushes too,
Gains more then Confidence can do.
With all these Charms he does invade
The Heart, which when he has betray'd,
He slights the Trophies he has won,
And weeps for those he has Undone;
As if he never did intend
His Charms for so severe an End.
And all poor Amoret can gain,
Is pitty from the Lovely Swain:
And if Inconstancy can seem
Agreeable, 'tis so in him.
And when he meets Reproach for it,
He does excuse it with his Wit.