Coridon and Parthenia, the Languishing Shepherd Made Happy

When busie Fame o're all the Plain,
Parthenia's Praises rung,
And on the Oaten Pipe each Swain;
her matchless Beauties Sung:
The envious Nymphs were forc'd to yeild,
she had the sweetest face,
No Emulor'd Disputes were held,
but for the Second place,

Young Coridon whose stubborn heart,
no Beauties e're could move,
But smil'd at Cupids Bow and Dart,
and brave the God of Love:
He'd view this Nymph, and pleas'd at first,
such silent Charms to see,
With wonder gaz'd, then sigh'd and Curst,
his Curiosity.

Crying alas, I am undone,
so Powerful are her eyes,
Those killing Charms prevail'd above,
and all my thoughts surprize:
In coolest shades fierce feavors burn,
martyr'd by Love I fry,
And now except Parthenia Turn,
and smile on me I dye.

My Hood be here for ever laid,
and on this Ferdant Plain.
Beneath this spreading Mirtle Shade,
till death I must remain:
My Snowy Flocks may freely stray,
whilst here I gazing lye,
And dare not move from hence away,
for if I do I dye.

Parthenia cruel Nymph no more,
turn hence that Angel face,
Which Coridon must still adore,
as cheif of Mortal Race:
Oh! from the Groves sad Eccho's sound,
and say in vain I try,
Nay, still augment the Fatal wound,
I must Loves Martyr dye.

What doleful tunes 'mongst pleasant Reeds
my Bleeting Flocks complain,
Whilst wolves invade them as they feed,
all scater'd through the Plain:
Here Chain'd by Love by cruel Love,
on earth I mourning lye,
And though my Couch sweet Violets prove,
yet Languishing I dye.

Whilst in sad strains the Winged Quire,
my doleful Requies Sing
And Chaunt how I for Love expire,
unto the blooming Spring:
Let purling streams likewise declare,
as they run murmering by,
How for Parthenia I dispair,
and thus dispairing dye.

Ah hark, what sad Laments are these,
what mournful sounds are here:
What dying Sounds my fancy sees,
what sighs invade my Ear?
'Tis this Mirtle Grove i'le seek,
tis sure some Lover nigh,
I'le find, and to him Comfort speak,
before for Love he dye.

Oh it is Coridon kind Swain,
from whence proceeds your grief?

By you I wounded here remain,
'tis you can yield relief:
Conquer'd by your prevailing Charms,
and by your starry eyes,
For you unless you raise my Arms,
a faithful Shepherd dies.

Alas poor Swain, for me I swear,
by Cupid all above,
You shall not languish nor dispair,
but first enjoy my Love:

Parthenia kind 'tis sure I dream,
O Angel form draw nigh,
Speak speak again that saving Theam,
that will not let me dye,

Rise Shepherd, rise, and freely take,
since thou dost constant prove,
Those chast delights, which for thy sake
I have design'd in Love:

Oh i'm so Ravisht with this voice
that dangers I defie,
And in Parthenia's Love rejoyce,
which will not let me dye.

Come, come my, Coridon, let's haste,
unto yon pleasing Bower;
For Lovers should no moments waste,
whilst joyes in plenty showre:
But folded in each others Arms,
loves utmost Forces try;
whilst warbling noats augments our charms
and we in pleasure dye.