B ENEATH the shade of waving beech, The warblers hufh'd their tuneful throats, His pipe and crook were laid befide, Ye fwains, who feed your fnowy flocks • Where mazy Windrush strays; • And ye who love imperial Thames, • Or Ifis crown'd with bays! With pity hear a fhepherd's tale, So fhall the fod that greens my grave, • So may you meet a happier fate, • Nor feel a pang like me ; • So Venus hear your fond requests, And fet her fuppliants free! • Once, blefs'd as Æther's painted tribes, When balmy zephyrs play; To reft I gave the starry night, To fong the funny day. T 2 • The • The various sweets that Nature shew'd, I faw, and lov'd-bear witness, Heav'n!- • And Love is eloquent in fpeech, And fmoothes th' untutor'd tongue. In fofteft terms I told my flame, • She fmil'd and blush'd to hear; • For Innocence had all her heart, And that has nought to fear. Nor blame, ye prudes, to cenfure prone, Or ye who flutter round the ring, Unlike her fortune, and her fate, • Unlike her guiltless heart; • She never wore the fpecious look, Or language cloath'd with art! And now each day came wing'd with joy, • And when the shades began to fall, • On Windruth banks I clafp'd my fair, And hung on ev'ry charm: Our plighted faith bright Venus heard, And vows with rapture warm. • And • And when next moon should fill her horns • With filver's gentle light, My Delia vow'd to blefs these arms, • In Hymen's holy rite. • But, ah! why bleeds my heart afresh! • Her dying lips I fondly kife'd, • Heard fainting Nature fpeak my name, Wrapp'd in an agony of woe, * And oft I curs'd my ling'ring fate, And oft my wav'ring fancy faw • Nor can the lapfe of time affuage The current of my grief; • As loft for ever is my love, • So loft be all relief. And now I feel Death's leaden hand Arreft my vital tide; Nor half fo bitter is the pang, • As when my Delia dy'd. • But < But live, ye fwains! fee happy days: For me, this boon I crave; As Love had twin'd our hearts in one, • So be the fame our grave. • There let the year's first violets blow, And ev'ry month be spring; • There let the fhepherds love to rest, • And Delia's beauties fing. There let the maiden make her moan, PLAIN TRUTH. BY HENRY FIELDING, ESQ S Bathian Venus t'other day A Invited all the gods to tea, Her maids of honour, the Mifs Graces, Their godfhips gave a loose to mirth, As we at Butt'ring's here on earth. Minerva, in her ufual way, Rallied the daughter of the fea. Is lately fallen from it's duty, And triumphs more in wit than beauty; 'Tis Dalfton's; you, Apollo, know him. • Little perfuafion fure invites • Pallas to read what Dalfton writes: Nay, |