If when the God of Day retires, The Pride of all the Spring decays and dies: Wanting those Life-begetting Fires From whence they draw their Excellencies; Each little Flower hangs down its Gawdy Head, Losing the Luster which it did Retain; No longer will its fragrant face be spread, But Languishes into a Bud again: So with the Sighing Crowd it fares Since you, _Amyntas_, have your Eies withdrawn, Ours Lose themselves in Silent Tears, Our days are Melancholy Dawn; The _Groves_ are Unfrequented now, The Shady Walks are all Forlorn; Who still were throng to gaze on you: With Nymphs, whom your Retirement has undone. II. Our Bag-pipes now away are flung, Our Flocks a Wandering go; Garlands neglected on the Boughs are hung, That us’d to adorn each Chearful Brow, Forsaken looks the enameld _May_: And all its wealth Uncourted dies; Each little Bird forgets its wonted Lay, That Sung Good Morrow to the welcome Day. Or rather to thy Lovely Eies. The Cooling Streams do backward glide: Since on their Banks they saw not thee, Losing the Order of their Tide, And Murmuring chide thy Cruelty; Then hast to lose themselves i’th’ Angry Sea. III. Thus every thing in its Degree, Thy sad Retreat Deplore; Hast then _Amyntas_, and Restore; The whole Worlds Loss in thee. For like an Eastern Monarch, when you go, (If such a Fate the World must know) A Beautious and a Numerous Host Of Love-sick Maids, will wait upon thy Ghost; And Death that Secret will Reveal, Which Pride and Shame did here Conceal; Live then thou Lovelyest of the Plaines, Thou Beauty of the Envying _Swaines_; Whose Charms even Death it self wou’d court, And of his Solemn Business make a Sport. IV. In Pitty to each Sighing Maid, Revive, come forth, be Gay and Glad; Let the Young God of Love implore, In Pity lend him Darts, For when thy Charming Eies shall shoot no more; He’ll lose his Title of the God of Hearts. In Pity to _Astrea_ live, _Astrea_, whom from all the Sighing Throng, You did your oft-won Garlands give: For which she paid you back in Grateful Song: _Astrea_ who did still the Glory boast, To be ador’d by thee, and to adore thee most. V.