Strephon and Cloris,
OR,
The Coy Shepherd and Kind Shepherdess.
He's fearful that his Flocks should go astra[y]
And from her kind embraces would away,
But she with charms doth him so fetter,
That for to stay he finds it is the better
When flocks & herds & concerns do fail
Love must be satisfied and will prevail.
To the Tune of, Love will find out the way.
This may be Printed, R.P.
|
AH, Cloris awake,
|
it is all abroad day,
|
If you sleep any longer,
|
our Flocks they will stray:
|
Lye still my dear Shepherd,
|
and do not rise yet,
|
For 'tis a cold windy Morning,
|
and besides it is wet.
|
My Cloris make haste,
|
for it is no such thing,
|
Our time we do waste,
|
for the Lark is on Wing:
|
Besides I do fancy
|
I hear the young Lambs,
|
Cry, ba, ba, ba, ba,
|
for the loss of their Dams.
|
MY Shepherd I come,
|
though i'm all over sorrow,
|
But I swear I'll not love you,
|
if you rise so tomorrow:
|
For methinks 'tis unkind,
|
thus early to rise,
|
And not bid me good-morrow,
|
brings tears from my eyes.
|
O hark my dear Cloris,
|
before thou shalt weep,
|
I'll stay to embrace thee,
|
neglecting my sheep:
|
My Flocks they may wander
|
one hour, two, or three,
|
But if I loose thy favour,
|
I ruin'd shall be.
|
I joy my dear Shepherd,
|
to hear thee say so,
|
It eases my heart of
|
much sorrow and woe:
|
And for thy reward
|
I will give thee a Kiss,
|
And then thou shalt taste
|
of a true lovers Bliss.
|
But Cloris behold how
|
bright Phoebus his Beams,
|
Invites us to go
|
to the murmering streams:
|
I hear the brave Huntsmen
|
doth follow the Cry,
|
And makes the Woods ring,
|
yet how sluggish am I.
|
The Hounds and the Huntsmen,
|
may follow the Chase,
|
Whilst we enjoy pleasure
|
in a far better place:
|
Thou know'st my dear shepherd,
|
there is no delight,
|
Like Lovers enjoyment
|
from Morning till Night.
|
Alas! my dear Cloris,
|
what dost thou require,
|
The care of my Flocks
|
doth abate my desire;
|
The Lambs are new yeaned,
|
and tender for prey,
|
And I fear the slye Woolf
|
he should bear them away.
|
My love do not fear it,
|
the Woolf he is fled,
|
To take up his Lodging
|
in his Mossy Bed;
|
Then let me Imbrace thee,
|
whilst we do agree,
|
And I do promise to go,
|
thou shalt after be free.
|
Ah! Cloris thy words
|
are so powerful to me,
|
That I could be willing
|
to tarry with thee:
|
Therefore to content thee,
|
one hour I will stay,
|
But I vow by God Cupid,
|
I will then go away.
|
Now I have my wishes,
|
dear Shepherd we'l part,
|
Although thou dost carry
|
away my poor heart:
|
I bless the great Gods
|
that to Lovers are kind,
|
To bring us together,
|
such Bliss for to find.
|
Then farewel dear Cloris,
|
till I see thee again,
|
For now I will haste to
|
my Flocks on the Plain;
|
Where I will record
|
thy true love in such Rhimes,
|
For Shepherds do admire
|
in succeding times.
|
|
|
|
|
|