I’LL range around the shady bowers,
And gather all the sweetest flowers;
I’ll strip the garden and the grove,
To make a garland for my love.
When in the sultry heat of day,
My thirsty nymph does panting lay,
I’ll hasten to the fountains brink,
And drain the stream that she may drink.
At night, when she shall weary prove,
A grassy bed I’ll make my love,
And with green boughs I’ll form a shade,
That nothing may her rest invade.
And whilst dissolv’d in sleep she lyes,
Myself shall never close these eyes;
But gazing still with fond delight,
I’ll watch my charmer all the night.
And then, as soon as chearful day
Dispells the gloomy shades away,
Forth to the forest I’ll repair,
And find provision for my fair.
Thus will I spend the day and night,
Still mixing pleasure with delight;
Regarding nothing I endure,
So I can ease for her procure.
But if the maid whom thus I love,
Shou’d e’er unkind and faithless prove,
I’ll seek some dismal distant shore,
And never think of woman more.