SONG XIII. DAMON and CINTHIA

Turn dearest, Cinthia, turn—and see, A Youth who dies for Love of thee, Reflect with Pity on my Pain, Nor let me longer plead in vain, Canst thou behold me pine and grieve, Yet know it is godlike to relieve.

Nay prithee spare me gentle Youth. Can Damon doubt of Cinthia's Truth, Be gone—I told thee once before. My Heart was thine what wou'dst thou more, I will not thus be teaz'd and prest. 'Tis Time alone must do the rest:

Oh! Think that Sentence too severe. I love—and Love's a Slave to Fear; Should some more wealthy Rival come, 'Twou'd quickly fix poor Damon's Doom. Who then might tend his paultry Sheep, And o'er his willow Garland weep.

I swear by all the Powers above, But first and chiefly by mighty Love; 'Tis not the tinsel Pride of State; Or being what the World calls great, That ever shall debauch my Heart, To act so base so vile a Part,

Then let us in chaste Hymen's Bands This Instant join our willing Hands, Content beneath the humble Shed, We'll toil to earn our Babies Bread; With mutual Kindness bear, Love's Yoke. And pity greater finer Folk.