(5)
The bluntneſs of her ſhafts ſhe fears,
and try them on herſelf ſhe will.
Take heed ſweet nymph, try not thy ſhafts,
each little touch will pierce thy heart;
Alas! thou know’ſt not Cupid's craft;
revenge is joy; the end is ſmart.
Yet try ſhe will, and pierce ſome bare:
her hands were glov'd, but next hand,
Was that fair breaſt, that breaſt ſo rare,
that made the ſhepherd ſenſeleſs ſtand.
That breaſt ſhe pierc'd, and thro' that breaſt,
love found an entry to her heart;
At feeling of this new come gueſt,
oh! how this gentle nymph did ſtart!
She runs not now; ſhe ſhoots no more;
away ſhe throws both ſhaft and bow;
She ſeeks for what ſhe ſhun'd before,
ſhe thinks the ſhepherd's haſte too ſlow.
Though mountains meet not, lovers may;
what other lovers do, did they;
The God of love ſat on a tree,
and laugh'd that pleaſant ſight to ſee.
⟨The⟩ SAILOR'S JOURNAL.
’TWAS poſt meridian half paſt four,
by ſignal I from Nancy parted,
At fix ſhe linger'd on the ſhore,
with uplift hands, and broken hearted;
