Till on a time the hapless Maid
Retir'd to shun the Heat o'th' Day
Into a Grove, beneath whose shade
Strephon the careless Shepherd sleeping lay:
But O such Charms the Youth adorn,
Love is reveng'd for all her Scorn.
III.
Her Cheeks with Blushes cover'd were,
And tender Sighs her Bosom warm,
A Softness in her Eyes appear;
Unusual Pain she feels from ev'ry Charm:
To Woods and Ecchoes now she cries,
For Modesty to speak denies.
SONG.
I.
Ah! what can mean that eager Joy
Transports my Heart when you appear?
Ah, Strephon! you my Thoughts imploy
In all that's Charming, all that's Dear.
When you your pleasing Story tell,
A Softness does invade each Part,
And I with Blushes own I feel
Something too tender at my Heart.
II.
At your approach my Blushes rise,
And I at once both wish and fear;
My wounded Soul mounts to my Eyes,
As it would prattle Stories there.
Take, take that Heart that needs must go;
But, Shepherd, see it kindly us'd:
For who such Presents will bestow,
If this, alas! should be abus'd?