r,
Pleasures imparted to a friend, increase,
Perhaps divided sorrow may grow less.

STREPHON.

Others as fair, to others eyes may seem,
But she has all my love and my esteem:
Her bright idea wanders in my thought,
At once my poison, and my antidote.

THIRSIS.

Our hearts are paper, beauty is the pen,
Which writes our loves, and blots 'em out agen.
Phillis is whiter than the rising swan,
Her slender waist confin'd within a span:
Charming as nature's face in the new spring,
When early birds on the green branches sing.
When rising herbs and buds begin to hide,
Their naked mother, with their short-liv'd pride,
Chloe is ripe, and as the autumn fair,
When on the elm the purple grapes appear,
When trees, hedge-rows, and every bending bush,
With rip'ning fruit, or tasteful berries blush,
Lydia is in the summer of her days,
What wood can shade us from her piercing rays?
Her even teeth, whiter than new yean'd lambs,
When they with tender cries pursue their dams.
Her eyes as charming as the evening sun,
To the scorch'd labourer when his work is done,
Whom the glad pipe, to rural sports invites,
And pays his toil with innocent delights.
On some of these fond swain fix thy desire,
And burn not with imaginary fire.

STREPHON.

The flag shall sooner with the eagle soar,
Seas leave their fishes naked on the shore;
The wolf shall sooner by the lamkin die,
And from the kid the hungry lion fly,
Than I abandon Galatea's love,
Or her dear image from my thoughts remove.

THIRSIS.

Damon this evening carries home his bride,
In all the harmless pomp of rural pride:
Where, for two spotted lambkins, newly yean'd,
With nimble feet and voice, the nymphs contend:
And for a coat, thy Galatea spun,
The Shepherds wrestle, throw the bar, and run.

STREPHON.

At that dear name I feel my heart rebound,
Like the old steed, at the fierce trumpet's sound;
I grow impatient of the least delay,
No bastard swain shall bear the prize away.

THIRSIS.

Let us make haste, already they are met;
The echoing hills their joyful shouts repeat.

* * * * *

JOHN CROWNE

Was the son of an independent minister, in that part of North America,
which is called Nova Scotia. The vivacity of his genius made him soon
grow impatient of the gloomy education he received in that country;
which he therefore quitted