The Frantick Shepherd:
OR,
FLOROMELLO's Matchless Cruelty.
To an Excellent New Tune: or, Only tell her, etc.
Licensed according to Order.
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I.
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MUst I wear the Wreath of Willow,
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tell me now you Gods on high?
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Or will fairest Floromello
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love so mean a Swain as I?
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Can she the cool Shades admire,
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and my Rural, Oaten Reed?
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Can she quit her rich Attire,
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for a homely Shepherd's Weed.
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II.
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If she will, I must adore her,
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for there's none so fair as she:
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Cupid 's sweets shall fall before her,
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own for her for a Deity:
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E'ery Golden Bow and Quiver,
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at her Feet they low shall lay,
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Yielding true Submission ever
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and her awfull Will obey.
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III.
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Her desiring youthfull Beauty,
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make it lawful they should give
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Floromello Love and Duty
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while she has a day to live;
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Who with Love can Man inspire,
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with the Glances from her Eyes;
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I her Vertues do admire,
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more than any Golden Prize.
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IV.
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O ye Gods! I do implore you
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for to stand a Shepherd's Friend;
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Here in Sighs I fall before you,
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let my Sorrows have an end.
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Tell her how I dearly love her,
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like a faithful Loyal Swain,
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Let me her sweet Smiles discover,
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to restore my Joys again.
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V.
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When in Shades I did behold her,
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like a Saint she did appear;
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Then when melting Tears I told her,
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that my Grief was most severe:
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Captive-like I did intreat her
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for to give some present ease;
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For why should so sweet a Creature,
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let me tell such Griefs as these?
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VI.
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When the Shades I first frequented,
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then my Heart from Tears was free,
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But I soon to Love consented,
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then I lost my Liberty:
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Day and Night I spend in weeping,
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since I see my Charming Saint,
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Who has my kind Heart in keeping,
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seems to laugh at my Complaint.
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VII.
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Rather then I would demean her,
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many Deaths I could endure;
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Yes would I had never seen her,
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so should I have liv'd secure,
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On the Plains with Peace and Pleasure,
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where my little Lambs I fed,
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But my Grief is out of measure,
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all those happy days are fled.
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VIII.
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This sad Grief which I lye under,
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robs me of my Senses quite;
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Thus in frantick Fits I wander
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over Mountains day and night.
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The cold Earth is now my Pillow,
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when I to a slumber goe,
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'Tis my fairest Floromello
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that has caused all this Woe.
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