His Heart e'en broke with sighing,
Beneath a Willow--shade,
Despairing, almost dying,
Was love--sick Strephon laid:
His Sheep their Food forsaking,
Went straggling o'er the Plain,
All mournfully partaking
The Sorrows of the Swain.

A--down his Cheeks fast flowing,
His Tears the Grass bedew:
A woeful Object! showing
What luckless Love can do.
Tow'rd Cloe's Habitation
A wishful Glance he sent,
And full of Lamentation
Began his sad Complaint.

O Cloe! most inhuman!
O most unhappy Me!
But soon, (O cruel Woman!)
Kind Death will sot me free;
Tho' You with Frowns receive me,
And treat me with Disdain,
He kindly will relieve me,
And end my raging Pain.

How happy is the Shepherd
Who pipes in yonder Grove:
His Shepherdess, good--natur'd,
With Love repays his Love!
But Cloe! Cruel Cloe!
My Passion does despise,
Will never hear my Story,
But scornful from Me flies.

Full gayly past each Season,
Ere she, relentless Fair!
Bereav'd Me of my Reason,
And doom'd Me to Despair:
But now, my Reed rejected,
Lies useless on the Ground,
My once lov'd Flocks neglected,
At random wander round.

O Cloe! from thy Lover
Turn not thine Eyes away,
When Him Thou shalt discover
A Lifeless Lump of Clay:
But grant my last Petition,
The Boon I dying crave,
To pity my Condition,
And follow to my Grave.

Where Cloe's Sheep are feeding,
He turns his streaming Eyes,
And sees Amyntas, speeding
To where the Fair One lies:
The much--lov'd Youth expecting,
Upon the Grass she lay,
All--pensive, and reflecting,
And wish'd the closing Day.

Poor Strephon saw their Greeting:
What Tongue can tell his Pain!
Embraces oft repeating,
They tript along the Plain;
Sunk down with Grief and Wonder,
Adieu, vain World! he cry'd,
His Heart--strings burst in--sunder,
And groaning thrice he dy'd.