TELL me ye Sicilian Swains,
Why this Mourning’s o’er your Plains;
Where’s your usual Melody?
Why are all your Shepherds mad,
And your Shepherdesses sad?
What can the mighty meaning be?
Chorus. Sylvia the Glory of our Plains;
Sylvia the Love of all our Swains;
That blest us with her Smiles:
Where ev’ry Shepherd had a Heart,
And ev’ry Shepherdess a Part;
Slights our Gods, and leaves our Isle,
Slights our Gods, and leaves our Isle.
A SONG.
[[Listen]]
