Five anapestic quatrains signed "J. H—n." Phillida has died: "In vain may I utter my grief, | Her loss the whole world can't supply; | Death only will give me relief, | To him then with pleasure I fly."
Ye swains who inhabit the green,
Ye have heard that my Phillida's dead!
In your looks the sad tidings are seen,
And her worth in your grief may be read.
Oh! was she not lovely and fair!
Has she scarce left such beauty behind!
And yet what was that to compare
With the graces which dwelt in her mind?
But let me not think of her charms,
How I lov'd her my verse cannot tell;
Death has snatch'd her away from my arms,
With angels alone must she dwell.
In vain may I utter my grief,
Her loss the whole world can't supply;
Death only will give me relief,
To him then with pleasure I fly.
Oh! shew me the way to my fair;
Lead me on to the regions of bliss;
And, sure as my love was sincere,
I will praise thee, kind victor, for this.