_He._ Whither away, fair Neat-herdess? _She._ Shepherd, I go to tend my kine. _He._ Stay thou, and watch this flock of mine. _She._ With thee? Nay, that were idleness. _He._ Thy kine will pasture none the less. _She._ Not so: they wait me and my sign. _He._ I'll pipe to thee beneath the pine. _She._ Thy pipe will soothe not their distress. _He._ Dost thou not hear beside the spring How the gay birds are carolling? _She._ I hear them. But it may not be. _He._ Farewell then, Sweetheart! Farewell now. _She._ Shepherd, farewell----Where goest thou? _He._ I go ... to tend thy kine for thee! A NEW SONG OF THE SPRING GARDENS. _To the Burden of "Rogues All."_ Come hither ye gallants, come hither ye maids, To the trim gravelled walks, to the shady arcades; Come hither, come hither, the nightingales call;-- Sing _Tantarara_,--Vauxhall! Vauxhall! Come hither, ye cits, from your Lothbury hives! Come hither, ye husbands, and look to your wives! For the sparks are as thick as the leaves in the Mall;-- Sing _Tantarara_,--Vauxhall! Vauxhall! Here the 'prentice from Aldgate may ogle a Toast! Here his Worship must elbow the Knight of the Post! For the wicket is free to the great and the small;-- Sing _Tantarara_,--Vauxhall! Vauxhall! Here Betty may flaunt in her mistress's sack! Here Trip wear his master's brocade on his back! Here a hussy may ride, and a rogue take the wall;-- Sing _Tantarara_,--Vauxhall! Vauxhall! Here Beauty may grant, and here Valour may ask! Here the plainest may pass for a Belle (in a mask)! Here a domino covers the short and the tall;-- Sing _Tantarara_,--Vauxhall! Vauxhall! 'Tis a type of the world, with its drums and its din; 'Tis a type of the world, for when once you come in You are loth to go out; like the world 'tis a ball;-- Sing _Tantarara_,--Vauxhall! Vauxhall! A LOVE-SONG. (XVIII. CENT.) When first in CELIA'S ear I poured A yet unpractised pray'r, My trembling tongue sincere ignored The aids of "sweet" and "fair." I only said, as in me lay, I'd strive her "worth" to reach; She frowned, and turned her eyes away,-- So much for truth in speech. Then DELIA came. I changed my plan; I praised her to her face; I praised her features,--praised her fan, Her lap-dog and her lace; I swore that not till Time were dead My passion should decay; She, smiling, gave her hand, and said 'Twill last then--for a DAY. OF HIS MISTRESS. (_After Anthony Hamilton._) To G. S. She that I love is neither brown nor fair, And, in a word her worth to say, There is no maid that with her may Compare.