I do as I will with my
SWAIN.
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I Do as I will with my Swain,
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He never once thinks I am wrong,
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He likes none so well on the plain,
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I please him so much with my song.
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A song is the Shepherd's delight,
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He hears me with joy all the day:
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He's sorry when comes the dull night,
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That hastens the end of my lay.
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With spleen and with care not opprest,
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He ask'd me to sooth him the while,
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My voice set his mind all at rest,
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And the shepherd wou'd instantly smile
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Since when, or in mead or in grove,
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By his flocks or the clear river's side,
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I sing my best songs to my love,
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And to charm him is grown all my pride.
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No beauty had I to endear,
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No treasures of nature or art,
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But my voice that had gain'd on his ear,
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Soon found out the way to his heart:
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To try if that voice wou'd not please,
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He took me to join the gay throng,
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I won the rich prize all with ease,
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And my fame's gone abroad with my song.
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But let me not jealousy raise,
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I wish to enchant but my swain?
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Enough then for me is his praise,
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I sing for him the lov'd strain;
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When youth, wealth, and beauty may fail,
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And your shepherds elude all your skill,
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Your sweetness and song may prevail,
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And gain all your swains to your will.
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