Ranging the Plain, one Summer's Night,
To pass a vacant hour,
I fortunately chanced to light
The Nymph adorned with Thousand Charms
In expectation sate,(1)
To meet such joys in
As Tongue can ne'er Relate
Upon her hand She leaned her Head,
Her Breasts did gently rise,
And every Lover might have read
Her wishes in her Eyes;
With every breath that moved the Trees,
She suddenly would Start,
A Cold on all her Body seized,
A Trembling on her Heart.
But He that knew how well she Loved,
Beyond his Hour had stayed,
Which both with Fear and Anger moved,
The Melancholic Maid.
You Gods she said! how oft he Swore,
He would be here by One;
And now, alas! 'Tis Six and more,
And yet He is not come.