Was Cloris, Cloris, welladay.
4.
Upon those banks you us’d to tread,
He ever since hath laid his head,
And whisper’d there such pining wo,
That not one blade of grasse will grow.
Oh Cloris, Cloris, come away,
And hear Aminta’s welladay.
5.
The embroyder’d scrip he us’d to weare