And there, for her abode, built shady Bow'rs,And stately Palaces, and lofty Tow'rs.And therefore I so much prefer aboveThe smoaky City, the delightfull Grove;And in these Shades how happy could I be,Disdainfull Nymph, wer't not for Love of thee:'Tis that, 'tis that which thus my Rest destroys,'Tis that that ruins all my rural Ioys;To thee I am so prone, so bent to thee,I cannot tast the least felicitie.Not lying Wolves by the fierce Lyoness,Are hotlier pursu'd; nor are Kids lessFollow'd by chasing Wolves, nor can Kids beMore fond of Cytisus than I of thee.All follow that in which they most delight,But you alone can my Desires invite.Ah, foolish Swain, what renzy haunts thy mind?Canst thou no ease, no moderation ind?Will not thy Love one minutes rest allow?Behold the lab'ring Ox has left the PlowAnd now the Sun hasts to his Ev'ning bed,By low degrees still doubling ev'ry shade.0