DAMON.
THE sun with keenness darts his sultry ray;
To some cool shade Philander haste away,
Nigh yon smooth riv’let, where the southern breeze
So softly plays among the bord’ring trees.
Beneath yon spreading elm let’s rest a while,
And with our songs the tedious hours beguile:
There will I tune my pipe to Delia’s praise,
While ev’ry swain’s attentive to my lays.