SONG. VIII. The MUTUAL SYMPTOMS

Ah! Who in all these happy Plains With Colin can compare, A Youth esteem'd by all the Swain, Belov'd by all the Fair, I think he's free from artful Wiles, For oft with tearful Eye. He fond—ly looks at me and smiles, He does I know not why He do's I know not why.

He press'd my Hand—I blush'd and sigh'd, Yet hope he did not see, And then to speak, he vainly try'd, But gently sigh'd like me, Methinks this wary Heart should know, If Colin feign'd the Sigh, Yet where he's nam'd it Flutters so, It does—I know not why.

Say gentle God whose mighty Laws, Prevail o'er Nymphs and Swains, O shew my Heart the secret Cause, Of Colin's tender Pain, Say rather why this Heart entreats, The Cause of Colin's Woe? And why it Flutters why it beats, Alas! too well I know.