When forced from dear Hebe to go,
What anguish I felt at my heart,
And I thought, but it might not be so,
She was sorry to see me depart,
She cast such a languishing view,
My path I could scarcely discern,
So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade me return.

Methinks she might like to retire,
To the grove I had labour'd to rear,
For what ever I heard her admire,
I hasted and planted it there,
Her voice such a pleasure conveys,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak and whatever she says,
I'm sure to love her the more.

To see when my charmer goes by,
Some hermit peeps out of his cell,
How he thinks of his youth with a sigh,
How fondly he wishes her well,
On him she may smile if she please,
'Twill warm the cold bosom of age,
But cease gentle Hebe O cease,
Such softness will ruin the sage.

And now e'er I haste to the plain,
Come shepherds and talk of her ways,
I could lay down my life for the swain,
That would sing me a song in her praise,
While he sings, may the maids of the town,
Come flocking and listen awhile,
Nor on him let Hebe once frown,
But I cannot allow her to smile.

I've stole from no flow'rets that grow,
To paint the dear charms I approve
For what can a blossom bestow,
So sweet, so delightful as love,
I sing in a rustical way,
A shepherd and one of the throng,
Yet Hebe approves of my lay,
Go poets and envy my song.