A pastoral ballad in seven anapestic quatrains, not signed. In one of the more inane examples of the genre, the hapless poet pursues the cruel Kitty to no avail: "Whenever I see her I run | To tell her how great is my pain; | But she flieth, my presence to shun, | Or treateth my vows with disdain."
My Kitty is chearful and gay,
She's lovely and charming to me;
She's sweet as the flowers in May,
That gather their scents for the bee.
Such graces her person adorn,
As render the virgin compleat;
The rose when refresh'd by the morn,
Is neither so blooming nor sweet.
I've told this fair maid that I love,
But ah! she will grant no relief:
And I've try'd all entreaties to move
Her to pity and banish my grief.
Each morning as soon as 'tis day,
She drives forth her flocks to the mead;
Where sweetly she carols the lay,
Or jocundly pipes on the reed.
Whenever I see her I run
To tell her how great is my pain;
But she flieth, my presence to shun,
Or treateth my vows with disdain.
Come Cupid and wound her fond heart,
And make it no stranger to love:
That she may more kindness impart,
And every sorrow remove.
Then succour would come to my breast,
And my pipe should resound through the plains;
With "Kitty her shepherd has blest,
And made him the happiest of swains."