Bring back each sprightly grace:
I yield up to your charming reign
That sweet enchanting face.
I take no outward shows amiss;
Rove where you will, her eyes:
Still let her smiles each shepherd bless,
So that she hear my sighs.
If this piece be deficient in fire or polish, it has at least the merit of simplicity, and of not being a slavish
adaptation to the formal taste of the age. The following pieces will scarcely perhaps be thought worthy of the like qualified praise.
Tell me, Clarinda, why this scorn,