Published in "A Collection of Songs with Symphonies", London, 1756.

Lyrics: Thomas Parnell

My days have been so wondrous free;
The little birds, that fly
With careless ease from tree to tree,
Were but as pleas'd as I.
Ask gliding waters if a tear
Of mine increas'd their stream;
Or ask the flying gales if e'er
I lent a sigh to them.

But now my former days retire,
And I'm by beauty caught;
The tender chains of sweet desire
Are fix'd upon my thought:
An eager hope within my breast
Does ev'ry doubt control,
And charming Nancy stands confess'd
The fav'rite of my soul.

Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines,
Ye swains that haunt the grove,
Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds,
Ye close retreats of love:
With all of nature, all of art
Assist the dear design;
Oh! teach a young unpractis'd heart
To make her ever mine.

The very thought of change I hate,
As much as of despair,
And hardly covet to be great,
Unless it be for her.
'Tis true, the passion in my mind
Is mix'd with soft distress;
Yet while the fair I love is kind,
I cannot wish it less.