W

HAT Beauties does Flora difclofe?

How sweet are her Smiles upon Tweed
Yet Mary's, ftill fweeter than those,

Both Nature and Fancy exceed.
Nor Daify, nor fweet-blushing Roff
Nor all the gay Flow'rs of the Field,
Not Tweed gliding gently thro' thofe,

Such Beauty and Pleasure does yield.

The Warblers are heard in the Grove,
The Linnet, the Lark, and the Thrush;
The Black-bird, and fweet-cooing Dove,
With Mufick inchant ev'ry Bush.
Come let us go forth to the Mead,

Let us fee how the Primroses spring

We'll lodge in fome Village on Tweed,
And love where the Feather'd Folks fing.

How does my Love pass the long Day?
Does Mary not tend a few Sheep?
Do they never carelesly stray,

While happily fhe lies asleep?

Tweed's

Q

[amænum,

UAS aperit Veneres! quàm Flora arridet

Ad placidam Tuedæ lene fluentis aquam! His tamen, his cunctis, formofior una Maria, Natura pariter vincit & Artis opes. Non Rofa, non Viola, non picto margine Totaque Luxuries, quâ variatur humus; [Bellis, Non, quæ fubrepens blando interlabitur agros Flumine, tam fuavi Tueda decore nitet.

Sylva choris avium refonat vocalis; & omne
Virgultum harmoniâ fervet, & omne nemus.
Mifcent & Merula numeros, gemitufque Palumbes;.
Defuper aerios addit Alauda modos.

Vernantem in campum mecum defcende, novique

Videris, ut furgat Primula, veris honos.

Dum populus circum cantat pennatus, Amori
Quàm mecum ad Tuedam lenta vacare potes!

Quo minuit ftudio, quo longas decipit horas ?

Nonne aliquot teneras Lux mea fervat oves? Nullus eas felix, nullus brevis abftrahit error, Dum furtim fomnus lumina claudit here?

Taweed's Murmurs fhould lull her to Reft,,
Kind Nature indulging my Bliss ;
To relieve the foft Pains of my Breaft,
I'd fteal an ambrofial Kifs.

Tis fhe does the Virgins excell,

No Beauty with Her may compare ; Love's Graces all round her do dwell;

She's faireft, where Thousands are fair. Say, Charmer, where do thy Flocks stray? Oh! tell me at Noon where they feed? Shall I feek them on fweet-winding Tay, Or the pleasanter Banks of the Tweed?

Murmure jucundo mollem fuadere foporem
Si poffit votis Tueda fecunda meis ;
Ambrofiam labiis, animum quæ mulceat ægrum,
Latufque & tacitus, furripuisse velim.

Vulgares inter flammas meus emicat Ignis,

Ut nufquam formâ Nympha fit ulla pari:
Pluribus à pulchris, & mille & mille venuftis,
Diftinguunt Vitam Gratia multa meam.
Suaviolum, quin fare, meum; Quæ pafcua malunt,
Aut ubi, fub medio Sole, vagantur oves?
Ad Tavæ errantes quaram finuofa fluenta?
Quaramue ad Tuede candidioris aquam ?

AMOR

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