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

Lyrics: Anon

See Chloe, how the blooming morn
Sits sporting in the East,
Whilst rosy smiles her face adorn
To tempt to love thy breast.
My lambkins too, with sweet delight,
In wanton frolic play;
As by their sports they'd thee invite
Their guardian nymph to be.

Let these, my fair one, win a smile
To ease their master's pain,
And by thy vow his doubts beguile,
He'll triumph o'er the plain.
No busy cares his soul shall move
To envy monarch's state,
For to be blest with Chloe's love
Is more than to be great.

Then shall the birds, with joyful notes,
Their artless tunes prolong,
And warbling in their well-tun'd throats
Salute thee with a song:
The rural swains, the flow'ry green,
The groves and smiling field,
Shall welcome home their wish'd-for queen,
And early tributes yield.

These, with our loves, shall never cease
To bless our humble seat
With all that constancy and peace
Or beauty can create.
No discontent we e'er shall know,
But endless transports prove;
The comforts which from wedlock flow
When join'd with mutual love.