Beneath a spreading Willow's shade,
, a harmless Maid,
Sat rifling Nature's store
Of every Sweet, with which she made
A Garland for her
As Gay as ever Shepherd wore.
She seemed to know no other Care,
But whether Pinks, or Roses there,
Or Lillies looked most sweet,
Scarce thinking on her Faithless Swain,
Who Ranging on the neighb'ring Plain,
A wanton Shepherdess did meet.
But by Mischance, he led her near
Th'Unlucky, Fatal Willow, where
He told the Kindness that she showed,
Boasted the Favors she bestowed,
And gloried that he was ingrate.
The Angry Nymph, did rudely tear
Her Garland first, and then her Hair,
To hear her Self abused:
Oh Love! (she said) is it the Fate
Of all that Love, to meet with Hate,
And be like me, unkindly used?