A Paraphrase on the Twenty-third Idyl of Theocritus

AN amorous little Swain
Was set to keep
His Father's goodly Flock of Sheep,
In the Arcadian Plain:
By chance a beauteous She came by,
Whom when his watchful Eyes did spy,
His Guardian Eyes
That there stood Centinel, with wonder and surpize,
Marking the beauty of her Angel's face,
Set off with a sweet Carriage, and a heavenly Grace,
Blest with a pleasant Mein, and sprightly Air,
And all the dear Enchantments of the Fair;
Well satisfy'd, they let her pass:
Who thus admitted, did impart
The secret to his wounded Heart.
Charm'd with the lovely Maid, that Fate had thither brought,
Whose Beauty did surpass desire or thought;
In making whom,
Nature for once did thus presume
To go beyond her Rule, and place
On a sweet Virgin's Body, a Cherub's Face;
Or rather to adorn
With more than heavenly Beauty, a Terrestrial form.

But ah! her Mind
Not like to her Seraphick Face, proud, scornful, and unkind;
Despising those whom Passion,
Whom resistless Passion mov'd,
To humble Adoration,
Those who disdain'd her most, she above all things lov'd.
She knew not, nor desir'd to know
The fatal power of Cupid's Bow,
How oft, and how infallibly he throws
An amorous golden Dart,
To pierce the refractory Heart
That dare his injur'd Deity expose;
Cruel in deed and word:
Ne're the least hopes of comfort would discover,
To a despairing, burning, dying Lover.
But in her Veins, Fury for Passion boils,
No rosie Lips, no pleasant Smiles,
No blushing Cheeks, no languishing Eyes,
That might seem to sympathize;
But as a chased Boar that fills
With roaring all the neighbouring Hills,
With Vengeance casts his Eyes around,
And foaming, tears the groaning ground;
Till distant Vales the Eccho trembling take;
The Forest all and every Creature shake:
So she, glances her Eyes upon the Swain,
With desperate Disdain,
Adding more fewel to his never dying Pain.

With scorn her Countenance turn'd pale,
And all her other Charms began to fail;
Disdain had banish'd every Grace,
Those blazing Comets of her Face,
Pride and Contempt took place.
Yet the Shepherd finds no Arms
For these fainting, sickly Charms.
Her divine Sweetness he must still admire,
Struck blind from Heaven with Cupid's fire,
The flashes of an impotent desire.
Alas! how vain does speechless Reason prove!
When enter'd in that Tyrant's Schools,
We learn his Epidemick Rules;
And fetter'd in the Chains of Love,
Turn Fashionable Fools:
We cannot call our selves our own,
But our affections pay obeysance to another's Crown.

No longer able to contain,
Thô all in vain,
Thô all his words were Offerings to the Wind,
Deaf as she was unkind!
Tears like the Torrent of a swelling Floud,
Tears from the Heart exhal'd, and drops of Bloud,
Their sinking banks did overflow,
And drown the famish'd Vales below.
Trembling with dread and awful fear,
At last he ventur'd to draw near
The Object of his Love, the Cause of his Despair.
First he presumes to kiss
The sacred ground whereon he with Devotion trod,
As in the presence of an angry God,
And then he strove to speak;
But conscious Jealousie oft gave a check,
And made his half-out-lisping words draw back.
Stam'ring at last he forc'd out such a Speech as this.

"Inexorable, cruel, stony Saint!
"Blind to my Tears, and deaf to my Complaint!
"Sure of some Lioness, or Tyger born,
"Unworthy of my Love, as I unworthy of your Scorn!
"A grateful Present to your Shrine I bring,
"The Welcome, and the only welcome thing,
" That to my comfort, must remain,
"To ease me of my Pain,
"To ease me of my Love, and you of your Disdain;
"And Lo! proud haughty Nymph, and Lo!
"How willingly I go,
"How willingly I go, and take delight
"In your Commands, thô banish'd from your sight.
"I go where every Love-sick mind
"An universal Remedy may find;
"The place is call'd Oblivion's Land,
"And Lethe's lazy Lake i'th' midst does stand;
"Which were it possible that I could dry,
"In flames unquenchable I still should fry;
"Nor could I yet forget thy Name,
"So oft have I repeated o're the same.
"But find alas! no Water that can quench my Flame.

"Adieu, fair Virgin! and eternally adieu!
"Yet thou proud Anaxarete! learn what doom
"Undoubtedly shall on thy Beauty come,
"And from my dying mouth believe it true.
"The pleasant Day is quickly done,
"Flowers in the Morning fresh, cut down by Noon;
"The blushing Roses fade, and wither soon;
"White Snow that melts before the scorching Sun,
"So youthful Beauty's full of Charms, all in a moment gone
" The time will come, when you your self will prove
"How great a Deity is Love,
"Beauty, or Wit, will ev'n that scornful Soul alarm,
"A wanton Ovid, or a fair Adonis Charm;
"You'll offer Hecatombs of Prayers,
"Bedew your Sacrifice with flouds of tears,
"Day and night sigh would, but you dare not woo,
"For all's in vain that you can do,
"No greater pity will you find than I from you.
"Then will your tortur'd Conscience bring me into mind,
"Not to encourage you, but serve you in your kind;
"My restless Ghost shall come,
"Not with soft Sighs, but Io's loud at your deserved doom.

"And yet grant me but this, ev'n this at least,
"I'll ask no more, but grant me this Request,
"Pull out the fatal Dagger from my Breast,
"And come and sigh and mourn a while;
"I ask not (what I long'd for once) a Smile:
"But pull the Dagger from the Wound,
"And close, and close embrace me round:
"Thy Veil over my lifeless Body spread,
"Give me one kiss, one kiss when I am dead.
"I ask no more, coy Daphne! grant but this,
"A meeting, parting Kiss,
" Seal my cold Lips with thine,
"When thou hast suckt up all my dying breath,
"And mournful Cypress round my Temples twine,
"When to th' Elysian Mansions I am fled.
"Nor needst thou fear, thus summon'd after death,
"My ravisht Sould should come again;
"No, all thy Courtship is in vain,
"All cannot draw me from the Joys of the Elysian Plain.

Then build me up a stately Tomb,
For a close Retiring Room;
In it place a Downy Bed,
Where Love may lay his sworn Confederate's head;
And leave me, after thou hast three times said,
My Duserastes, He! Soul of my Soul, is dead.
Ah, cruel Death! that couldst us two divide,
Had Jove but pleas'd that I for thee had di'd!
Write this upon my Monument, to prove
Your own Unworthy Scorn, my Constant Love:
Here lies a Lover, Kill'd by deep Despair;
Stay Reader, stay,
And only be so kind to say,
Alas! he lov'd, alas! he lov'd a Cruel Fair.