Tho’ I spoke what the shepherds opine,
A fop were asham’d to repeat.
She is soft as the dew-drops that fall
From the lip of the sweet-scented pea;
Perhaps, when she smil’d upon all,
I have thought that she smil’d upon me.
But why of her charms should I tell?
Ah me! when her charms have undone!
Yet I love the reflection too well,
The painful reflection to shun.