Published in "Twelve Songs with Symphonies", London, c.1750.

Lyrics: Anon

Possest of ev'ry blooming grace
That can adorn the fairest face,
Thy arts, fond maid, forbear;
Go view the rural prospects round,
Where varied nature decks the ground,
And scents the vernal air.

The rising hills, the plains below,
The streams by art untaught to flow,
That thro' the valleys glide,
Please more than all the labour'd scenes,
Of level walks and shapely greens,
The royal garden's pride.

Then wreathe, ah! wreathe, too curious fair,
The flowing ringlets of thy hair
With wanton skill no more;
No more the liquid odours shed
Profusely o'er thy comely head,
So well adorn'd before.