A pastoral ballad in ten anapestic quatrains, signed "W. S." Phillis, presumably not the same Phillis whose death W. S. had lamented in the London Magazine for July, is proving most unkind: "And all ye fair nymphs of the grove, | Come join with lost Damon, forlorn, | To wail and bemoan, for his love | Hath repaid his addresses with scorn."
How languid and dull is my lay,
How gloomy and sad is my mind,
No pleasures my grief can allay,
Since Phillis proves false and unkind.
How faded appears the fresh green,
How dreary's the landscape to view,
And all seems a desolate scene,
Since Phillida's bid me adieu.
Her beauties enraptur'd my theme
With joy so extatick, that I
Could for ever have dwelt on the strain,
Had the fair one but deign'd to stand by.
Her presence enliven'd my flock,
And shade them all sportively gay,
But since she's their Damon forgot,
Alas! they're all wander'd astray.
Nor do them, ye shepherds, e'er seek,
But let them dejectedly rove,
And haste to your Damon and weep,
For Phillis hath slighted his love.
And all ye fair nymphs of the grove,
Come join with lost Damon, forlorn,
To wail and bemoan, for his love
Hath repaid his addresses with scorn.
Your pastimes no more can invite
My presence, to blend in the throng,
Nor can the sweet wood-larks delight
Mine ear, to attend to their song.
And when I retire to the shade,
Where myrtles and amaranths grow,
Where first I beheld the fair maid,
It only increaseth my woe.
Oh! would she but kindly approve
The passion that glows in my breast,
With purity, friendship, and love,
I then should be happily blest.
My time then unclouded wou'd roll
With pleasure delightful away,
And Phillis, the wish of my soul,
Wou'd heighten the bliss of each day.