O Damon! how insipid is thy theme?
Philander’s sick of thy lov’d Delia’s name:
Nor can the fairest nymph enslave my heart;
Man’s soul was form’d to act a nobler part.
This gewgaw train can ne’er my thoughts employ;
Such would dispel but can’t augment my joy.
I’ll sing the beauties of the breathing spring,
The treasures Autumn to my barns will bring.
To notes of transport ever tune my reed,
While on the plains my num’rous flocks I feed.