To Pesibles Tune

‘Twas when the Fields were gay,
The Groves and every Tree:
Just when the God of Day,
Grown weary of his Sway,
Descended to the Sea,
And Gloomy Light around did all the World survey.
‘Twas then the Hapless Swain,
Amyntas, to Complain
Of Silvia’s cold Disdain,
Retir’d to Silent Shades;
Where by a Rivers Side,
His Tears did swell the Tide,
As he upon the Brink was lay’d.

Ye Gods, he often cry’d,
Why did your Powers design
In Silvia so much Pride,
Such Falshood too beside,
With Beauty so Divine?
Why should so much of Hell with so much Heaven joyn?
Be witness every Shade,
How oft the lovely Maid
Her tender Vows has paid;
Yet with the self-same Breath,
With which so oft before,
And solemnly she swore,
Pronounces now Amyntas Death.

But, Charming Nymph, beware,
Whilst I your Victim die,
Some One, my Perjur’d Fair,
Revenging my Despair,
Will prove as false to thee;
Which yet my wandring Ghost wou’d look more pale to see.
For I shall break my Tomb,
And nightly as I rome,
Shall to my Silvia come,
And show the Piteous Sight;
My bleeding Bosom too,
Which wounds were given by you;
Then vanish in the Shades of Night.