The sprightly Beau, and rustic clown,
Of Nelly’s charms delight to tell.
Dear maid, it is for you alone,
They spend whole days and nights in sighs;
And will you disregard their moan,
And all their plaintive notes despise?
’Tis Autumn now, the fertile field,
Rich Ceres decks with yellow grain;
With joy we would our sickles wield,
If Nelly deign’d to grace the plain.