With broken words, and down-cast eyes,
  Poor Colin spoke his passion tender:
And, parting with his [Grisy]1, cries,
  Ah! woe's my heart that we should sunder.

To others I am cold as snow,
  But kindle with thine eyes like tinder;
From thee with pain I'm forc'd to go:
  It breaks my heart that we should sunder.

Chain'd to thy charms I cannot range,
  No beauty new my love shall hinder,
Nor time nor place shall ever change
  My vows, tho' we're oblig'd to sunder.

The image of thy graceful air,
  And beauties which invite our wonder,
Thy lively wit, and prudence rare, 
  Shall still be present, tho' we sunder. 

Dear nymph, believe thy swain in this,
  You'll ne'er engage a heart that's kinder;
Then seal a promise with a kiss,
  Always to love me, tho' we sunder.

Ye Gods! take care of my dear lass,
  That as I leave her I may find her:
When that blest time shall come to pass,
  We'll meet again, and never sunder.