A neatly distilled pastoral ballad in four anapestic quatrains, not signed.
Ye shepherds that dwell on the plains
Attend to a swain in despair,
Attend to my mournful love strains,
Fair Phyllis is false, I declare.
No longer she hears my love tale,
Nor lists to my pastoral song,
She dances with Will of the dale,
How sweetly she trips it along!
Reclin'd on the banks of a stream,
Our flocks feeding carelessly by,
With Phyllis, when love was the theme,
How chearful and happy was I.
No more will I join the gay throng,
That merrily dance on the plain,
Adieu! my lov'd pastoral song,
Of Phyllis I'll never complain.