It made thine bright, mine gloomy days;
To Sylvia beauty gave, and riches store;
All Celadon's offence is, he is poor.
X.
Unlucky stars poor shepherds have,
Whose love is fickle Fortune's slave:
Those golden days are out of date,
When every turtle chose his mate:
Cupid, that mighty Prince, then uncontroll'd,
60Now like a little negro's bought and sold.