Pastora's beauties when unblown,
 E'er yet the tender bud did cleave,
 To my more early love were known,
 Their fatal pow'r I did perceive,
 How often in the dead of night,
 When all the world lay hush'd in sleep,
 Have I thought this my chief delight,
 To sigh for you, for you to weep?

 Upon my heart, whose leaves of white
 No letter yet did ever stain,
 Fate (whom none can control) did write,
 "The fair Pastora here must reign."
 Her eyes, those darling suns shall prove
 Thy love to be of noblest race,
 Which took its flight so far above
 All human things on her to gaze.

 How can you then a love despise?
 A love that was infus'd by you;
 You gave breath to its infant sighs,
 And all its griefs that did ensue.
 The pow'r you have to wound, I feel,
 How long shall I of that complain?
 Now show the pow'r you have to heal,
 And take away the tott'ring pain.