R157

Song I.

A Nymph of the Plain, By a jolly young Swain, By a jolly young Swain, Was address’d to be kind: But relentless I find To his Prayers she appear’d, Tho’ himself he endear’d, In a Manner so soft, so engaging and sweet, As soon might perswade her his Passion to meet.

How much he ador’d her, How of the implor’d her, How of the implor’d her, I cannot express; But he lov’d to Excess, And swore he would die, If she would not comply, In a Manner so soft, so engaging and sweet, As soon might perswade her his Passion to meet.

While Blushes like Roses, Which Nature composes, Which Nature composes, Vermilion’d her Face, With an Ardure and Grace, Which her Lover improv’d, When he found he had mov’d, In a Manner so soft, so engaging and sweet, As soon might perswade her his Passion to meet.

When wak’d from the Joy, Which their Souls did imploy, Which their Souls did imploy; 30 From her ruby warm Lips, Thousand Odours he sips, At the Sight of her Eyes He faints and he dies, In a Manner so soft, so engaging and sweet, 35 As soon might perswade her his Passion to meet.

But how they shall part, Now becomes all the Smart, Now becomes all the Smart, ‘Till he vow’d to his Fair, That to ease his own Care, He would meet her again, And ‘till then be in Pain, In a Manner so soft, so engaging and sweet, As soon might perswade her his Passion to Meet.