SONG XLIV. Fye for Shame

As thro the groves I chanc'd to stray, I met young Phillis on her way; I slew like lightning to her arms, And gaz'd in rapture on her charms; Her looks reveal'd a modest flame, Yet still she cry'd, O fye for shame. With eager haste I stole a kiss, Which blushing Phillis took amiss; She push'd me from her with a frown, And call'd me bold presuming clown; While I confess'd myself to blame, But still she cry'd, O fye for shame.

In tender sighs I told my love, And pledg'd my faith on things above; But she, like all her sex, was coy. And tho I swore, would not comply: Yet I perceiv'd she met my flame, But still she cry'd, O fye for shame.

When this I saw, I quickly cry'd, Will lovely Phillis be my bride? For hark! I hear the tinkling bell; To church let's go—It pleas'd her well, And soon a kind compliance came, But still she cry'd, O fye for shame.

Now Hymen's bands have made us one, The joys we taste to few are known; No jealous fears our bosoms move For constant each, we truly love; She now declares I'm not to blame, No longer cries, O fye for shame.