Myrtilla by Richard Rolt

Ye chearful virgins have ye seen
My fair Myrtilla pass the green,
To rose or jessamin bower?
Where does she seek the woodbine shade,
For sure you know the blooming maid,
Sweet as the May-born flow’r.

Her cheeks are like the blushing rose,
Join’d with the lily as it grows,
Where each alike surprise;
Like the bright dew-drops in the morn,
When Phœbus gilds the flow’ring thorn,
Health sparkles in her eyes.

Her song is like the linnet’s lay,
That warbles sweetly in the spray,
To hail the vernal beam,
Her heart is blyther than her song,
Her passions gently move along,
Like the smooth gliding stream.

From: Rolt, R. and Rolt, Mary (ed.) Select Pieces, by the Late R. Rolt, 1772, London, p. 189.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=a2pbAAAAQAAJ)

Date: 1756

By: Richard Rolt (1724-1770)

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