Page:Pastorals - Philips (1710).djvu/5

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THE FIRST

PASTORAL.

LOBBIN.
If we, O Dorset, quit the City ThrongTo meditate in Shades the Rural SongBy your Commands; be present: And, O, bringThe Muse along! The Muse to you shall sing. Begin.—A Shepherd Boy, one Ev'ning fair,As Western Winds had cool'd the Sultry Air,When as his Sheep within the Fold were pent,Thus plain'd him of his dreary Discontent;So pitiful, that all the Starry ThrongAttentive seem'd to hear his mournful Song. Ah well a Day! How long must I endureThis pining Pain? Or who shall work my Cure? Fond Love no Cure will have; seeks no Repose;Delights in Grief; nor any Measure knows. And now the Moon begins in Clouds to rise;The twinkling Stars are lighted in the Skies;The Winds are hush'd; the Dews distil; and SleepWith soft Embrace has seiz'd my weary Sheep. I only, with the prouling Wolf, constrain'dAll Night to wake. With hunger is he pain'd,And I with Love. His Hunger he may tame:But who in Love can stop the growling Flame? Whilome did I, all as this Pop'lar fair,Up raise my heedless Head, devoid of Care,'Mong rustick Routs the chief for wanton Game;Nor could they merry make 'till Lobbin came.
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