Classic Poem

Whilst Flora thro' the mantling bow'rs,
In elegant array;
Bestrews a thousand fragrant flow'rs,
In compliment to May.

This oaten-pipe, so long forsook,
I'll tune to playful strains;
Such CORYDON [dear shepherd] took,
Who charm'd the list'ning swains.

Where TEESE's silver currents flow,
By FRIERAGE banks along;
And willows dank, and sedges grow,
Shall nurse the artless song.

But chief thy praise, O fairest maid,
The shepherd must rehearse;
Whose labours all are overpaid,
When PHILLIS reads his verse.

Oft, as a cooing constant pair ,
In yonder elm I see;
Their joys I fondly would compare,
To those I prove with THEE.

But, not the sweetly billing doves,
In beauty's happiest train;
Are half so fond, can boast such loves,
As PHILLIS and her SWAIN.