The Sycamore-Shade

T' OTHER day as I sat in the Sycamore-shade,
Young Damon came whistling along,
I trembled—I blush'd—a poor mnocent maid!
And my heart caper'd up to my tongue:
"Silly heart, I cry'd, fie! What a flutter is here!
Young Damon designs you no ill;
The shepherd's so civil, you've nothing to fear,
Then prythee, fond urchin, lie still."

Sly Damon drew near, and knelt down at my feet,
One kiss he demanded—No more!
But urg'd the soft pressure with ardour so sweet,
I could not begrudge him a score:
My lambkins I've kiss'd, and no change ever found,
Many times as we play'd on the hill;
But Damon's dear lips made my heart gallop round,
Nor would the fond urchin lie still.

When the sun blazes fierce, to the Sycamore-shade
For shelter, I'm sure to repair;
And, virgins, in faith I'm no longer afraid,
Although the dear shepherd be there:
At every fond kiss that with freedom he takes,
My heart may rebound if it will;
There's something so sweet in the bustle it makes,
I'll die ere I bid it lie still.