Ah, Colin thy hopes are in vain,
Thy pipe and thy laurel resign,
Thy false one inclines to a swain,
Whose music is sweeter than thine.
All you, my companions so dear,
Who sorrow to see me betray'd,
Whatever I suffer, forbear,
Forbear to accuse the false maid. Tho' thro' the wide world I should range, 'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly; "Twas hers to be false and to change, "Tis mine to be constant and die.
I while my hard fate I sustain,
In her breast any pity is found,
Let her come with the nymphs of the plain,
And see me laid low in the ground:
The last humble boon that I crave,
Is to shade me with eypress and yew; And when she looks down on my grave, Let her own that her shepherd was true.
Then to her new love let her go,
And deck her in golden array;
Be finest at every fine show,
And frolic it all the long day:
While Colin, forgotten and gone,
No more shall be talk'd of or seen,
Unless when beneath the pale moon,
His ghost shall glide over the green.
THO' cruel you seem to my pain,
And hate me because I am true;
Yet Phillis, you love a false swain,
Who has other nymphs in his view.
Enjoyment's a trifle to him,
To me what a heaven 'twould be!
To him but a woman you seem,
But ah! you're an angel to me!
Those lips which he touches in haste,
To them I for ever could grow,
Still clinging around that dear waist,
Which he spans as beside him you go;
That arm, like a lily so white,
Which over his shoulder you lay,
My bosom could warm it all night,
My lips they could press it all day.
Were I like a monarch to reign,
Were graces my subjects to be,
I'd leave them, and fly to the plain,
To dwell in a cottage with thee.
But if I must feel your disdain,
If tears cannot cruelty drown,
O! let me not live in this pain,
But give me my death in a frown.
MILNER AND SOWERBY, PRINTERS, HALIFAX.
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