A pastoral ballad in six anapestic quatrains, signed "Lucidas." A very bashful swain begs Chloe to prefer his suit to the flatter offered by his competitors: "Yet think not that shepherd e'er loves, | Who courts in an elegant strain; | He most his sincerity proves | Who least can his passion explain."
Ah Chloe! reject not my pray'r,
Tho' simple and aukward my strain,
I'll answer 'tis full as sincere
As any that visit the plain.
They all with assurance can meet
The glances that dart from your eye;
They all can with elegance greet
The voice that attunes them to joy.
Yet why should my fair-one despise,
The bashful reserve of her swain?
He cannot resist her bright eyes,
He cannot reply to her strain.
When he fain would with fluency speak,
And view with his fellows so gay,
His heart seem'd with throbbing to break,
His tremulous voice dies away.
They banter the blushes that rise,
When I see her advance on the plain;
And she too in secret enjoys
The merriment made at my pain.
They approach her with ease in their mien,
They address'd her in phrases polite,
And Chloe seems proud to be seen,
For their flatt'ry gives her delight.
Yet think not that shepherd e'er loves,
Who courts in an elegant strain;
He most his sincerity proves
Who least can his passion explain.