Blest with my Delia on this happy plain,
Where peace and pleasure in perfection reign,
I’ll more serenely pass life’s hours away,
Than without her, though crown’d with princely sway.
To please my charmer all my care shall be;
Can I be wretched when she smiles on me?
But we must go, our fleecy charge attend.
Farewell, Philander, I am still thy friend.
The maid whose real charms the heart can hold,
Must not be deem’d one whit the worse for gold.