A
Pastoral
on
the
QUEEN
.
(
Phillis
.
)
WHy
(
Philomela
)
sleep
those
chearful
Strains
,
With
which
so
much
you
gratify'd
the
Plains
?
When
every
murmuring
stream
and
pretty
spring
Of
some
soft
Tale
would
stop
to
hear
thee
Sing
In
Notes
,
that
all
the
Nymphs
and
Shepherds
mov'd
;
And
Theron
too
,
had
he
been
by
,
had
Lov'd
.
But
ah
!
unwellcome
Alteration
,
now
No
pleasant
Smile
,
or
Wreath
,
adorns
thy
Brow
:
About
the
Plains
thy
Flocks
neglected
,
stray
;
And
thou
,
as
careless
and
forlorn
as
they
:
In
hollow
Rocks
,
and
Cypress
Shades
,
alone
,
Dost
Teach
the
Mournful
Dove
a
sadder
Mone
.
For
,
all
I
heard
from
thee
,
when
listning
by
,
Were
broken
Notes
,
of
some
sad
Elegy
:
But
such
a
great
and
unaffected
Air
Thy
Solitary
Lamentations
were
,
I
find
,
no
selfish
Grief
,
or
Interest
Cou'd
draw
those
Generous
Murmurs
from
thy
Breast
.
'Tis
sure
,
the
Publick
Loss
thou
dost
condole
;
'Tis
that
which
yet
lies
pressing
on
thy
Soul
.
(
Philomela
.
)
'Tis
that
indeed
,
our
common
loss
and
care
,
Which
,
in
my
Breast
,
claims
this
unvulgar
share
;
Too
sadly
claims
it
:
Oh
!
the
Queen
,
the
Queen
Has
left
the
World
:
but
Heaven
!
How
black
a
Scene
Her
Exit
makes
it
?
—
Oh
Illustrious
Saint
!
(
By
Death
,
from
our
most
warm
Caresses
rent
;
Could
I
but
speak
thy
Worth
:
But
that's
a
Theme
Too
mighty
for
my
boldest
Thoughts
to
Stem
:
Ev'n
my
own
Grief
,
I
have
no
words
to
Paint
,
Nor
find
my
Love
an
Elegant
Complaint
.
My
Lyre
it
self
no
more
can
give
me
ease
,
(
Nor
the
strong
Tumults
of
my
Soul
appease
;
No
more
can
give
my
swelling
Breast
relief
,
)
Then
Fate
reverse
the
Subject
of
my
Grief
:
'Tis
all
in
vain
—
Alass
!
the
Royal
Shepherdess
is
gone
;
And
,
with
her
,
the
Whole
Sex's
Glory
flown
.
Oh
!
Could
not
all
those
Heavenly
Virtues
Save
Divine
Maria
from
th'
Insatiate
Grave
?
Nor
her's
,
and
our
Dear
Hero's
Moving
Tears
?
Nor
all
the
poor
Lamenting
Nations
Fears
?
No
,
no
;
they
could
not
—
She
resigns
Her
Breath
;
The
Charming
QUEEN
a
Trophy
falls
to
Death
.