My Chloris

My Chloris, mark how green the groves,The primrose banks how fair:The balmy gales awake the flowers,And wave thy flaxen hair.

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,And o'er the cottage sings:For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,To shepherds as to kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' stringIn lordly lighted ha';The shepherd stops his simple reed,Blithe, in the birken shaw.

The princely revel may surveyOur rustic dance wi' scorn;But are their hearts as light as oursBeneath the milk-white thorn?

The shepherd, in the flowery glen,In shepherd's phrase will woo:The courtier tells a finer tale,But is his heart as true?

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deckThat spotless breast o' thine:The courtiers' gems may witness love―But 'tis na love like mine.