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THE NYMPH'S REPLY.

IF that the world and love were young,
And truth in every ſhepherd's tongue,
Theſe pretty pleaſures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.
But time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And all complain of cares to come.

The flow'rs do fade, and wanton fields,
To wayward winter reck’ning yields;
A honey tongue and heart of gall,
May pleaſures turn to ſorrows all:
Thy gowns, thy ſhoes, thy beds of roſes,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy poſies,
Soon break, ſoon wither, ſoon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reaſon rotten.

Thy beds of ſtraw, and ivy buds,
Thy coral claſps, and amber ſtuds,
All theſe in me no means can move,
To come to thee and be thy love.
But could love laſt, and love ſtill breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need;
Then theſe delights my mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Glaſgow, Printed by J. & M. Robertſon,
Saltmarket, 1799.