Twelve songs set to music by William Jackson of Exeter. Op. 4. London, c.1775.

Lyrics: William Shenstone

Why will you my passion reprove?
Why term it a folly to grieve?
E'er I shew you the charms of my love,
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her mien she enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free;
With her modesty pleases the grave;
She is ev'ry way pleasing to me.

O you that have been of her train
Come and join in my amorous lays;
I could lay down my life for the swain
That will sing but a song in her praise.
When he sings may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and listen the while;
Nay, on him let not Phillida frown,
But I cannot allow her to smile.

For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favour with Phyllis to find,
O how with one trivial glance
Might she ruin the peace of my mind:
In ringlets he dresses his hair
And his crook is bestudded around;
And his pipe, Oh! may Phyllis beware
Of a magic there is in the sound.

Let his crook be with hyacinths found,
So Phyllis the trophy despise;
Let his forehead with laurels be crowned,
So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart
Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue,
Yet may she beware of his art
Or sure I must envy the song.