Hail to the myrtle shade,
All hail to the nymphs of the fields!
Kings will not here invade,
Though virtue all freedom yields:
Beauty here opens her arms
To soften the languishing mind,
And Phyllis unlocks her charms;
Ah! Phyllis, ah! why so kind?

Phyllis, thou soul of love,
Thou joy of the neighb'ring swains:
Phyllis, that crowns the grove, 
And Phyllis, that gilds the plains:
Phyllis, that ne'er had the skill
To paint and to patch and be fine;
Yet Phyllis, whose eyes can kill,
Whom Nature has made divine.

Phyllis, whose charming song
Makes labour and pains a delight:
Phyllis, that makes the day young,
And shortens the livelong night:
Phyllis, whose lips like May
Still laugh at the sweets that they bring,
Where love never knows decay,
But sets with eternal spring.