DAMON AND PHILANDER. Janet Little (later Richmond) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T126549 Little, Janet, 1759-1813. The Poetical Works of Janet Little, the Scotch Milkmaid. Air Printed by John & Peter Wilson 1792 pp. [50]-57.

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DAMON AND PHILANDER . DAMON . THE sun with keenness darts his sultry ray ; To some cool shade Philander haste away , Nigh yon smooth riv'let , where the southern breeze So softly plays among the bord'ring trees . Beneath yon spreading elm let's rest a while , And with our songs the tedious hours beguile : There will I tune my pipe to Delia's praise , While ev'ry swain's attentive to my lays . PHILANDER . O Damon ! how insipid is thy theme ? Philander's sick of thy lov'd Delia's name : Nor can the fairest nymph enslave my heart ; Man's soul was form'd to act a nobler part . This gewgaw train can ne'er my thoughts employ ; Such would dispel but can't augment my joy . I'll sing the beauties of the breathing spring , The treasures Autumn to my barns will bring . To notes of transport ever tune my reed , While on the plains my num'rous flocks I feed . DAMON . Let Damon's breast such trivial joys disdain ; What though my flocks o'erspread the wide domain ? What though my barns were with abundance stor'd , And gen'rous nectar ever grac'd my board ? Nor honour , riches , though their force unite , In Delia's absence ever can delight . O Delia ! sweeter than the op'ning dawn , More bright than rays that cheer the dewy lawn . Her sparkling eye the orient gem outshines , Or brightest lustre of Golconda's mines : Her cheeks of roseate hue , her flaxen hair , In easy curls , waves gently in the air . Her coral lips ambrosial sweets retain ; She rivals Juno in her air and mien ; She far exceeds what ancient painters drew , When fancy's flights the Cyprian queen pursue . Such excellence might grace a prince's arms ; Yet this must yield to her interior charms . In her fair bosom virtue bears the sway ; There wisdom sheds a pure unmingl'd ray . Truth , innocence , and modesty combine T' adorn her mind , where all perfections shine : Apollo's wit does to the maid belong ; Her voice more charming than the Syren's song . PHILANDER . Hold , hold , dear Damon , sure too much is said ; Your Delia's then a most bewitching maid : As blind men judge of colours , so you trace The matchless beauties of her charming face , Recount her virtues , and , with partial eyes , Admire in her what others would despise . A sad delirium sure has seiz'd thy brain , Which makes thee fancy what the poets feign , Of love , and such like vain fantastic whims , 'Tis wild chimera all , and idle dreams . DAMON . And dost thou doubt of such a thing as love ? If once thy breast , like mine , the smart should prove , More than is painted by the poet's art , In genuine colours will affect thy heart . But wherefore now contemn my rural lays ? Thy notes were swell'd once with Lucretia's praise ! Does she thy favours treat with disrespect , Which makes thee now all other maids neglect ! PHILANDER . Lucretia still appears in all her charms , A match most fitting for Philander's arms . What she possesses yields most solid joy , Since bags of wealth buy pleasures ne'er can cloy , These beauties catch ; they set my heart on fire ; Her farm , her flocks , are all I do admire : Her darts are powerful , of a yellowish hue , More fierce than those the fam'd Alcides threw . Her striking beauty in full bloom appears , At the dull period of full fifty years : Then Delia will no admiration claim , But dear Lucretia ever is the same . DAMON . For this you love her ; now I truly find , That none but gilded cords your heart can bind ; Nor wit nor beauty can obtain your vow ; At Mammon's shrine you still devoutly bow . PHILANDER . Vain would th' attempts of either be to hold My am'rous heart , without the force of gold : Beauty an empty trifle still I deem , A childish toy , unworthy of esteem . Its gaudy foliage may attract the eye ; But as the tulip it will fade and die : The glowing cheek enamour'd fops may prize , But men of sense can ruby lips despise . And what is wit ? a giddy flutt'ring thing , Which can no real satisfaction bring . A thousand ills attend his wretched life , Whose dear companion is a witty wife : Still she is right , and ever in the wrong , Such elocution dwells upon her tongue . But if assisted by the Muse's skill , He sure may dread the poison of her quill ; She with keen satire lashes all around , And with the rest her husband feels the wound . Should poverty , by sudden threats alarm , Can wit with all its power now prove a charm ? The fairest flowers Parnassus ere could boast , Yield to the treasures of the golden coast . The maid who comes fraught with that precious ore , Brings virtue , wit , and beauty all in store ; This gives the palid cheek a crimson glow , The tawny skin the tincture of the snow . This makes the dwarf complete in ev'ry part : She wounds most sure who throws the golden dart . Short of one foot , distorted of one eye , Struck by its lustre , no defects I spy . DAMON . Thus does Philander waste his wits to prove A happy marriage destitute of love . Gold , cursed gold , the bane of ev'ry bliss , Thy summum bonum , all thy happiness . Say , to what purpose do thy words avail ? Beauty and wit to give us joy may fail . Wit cease to please , and beauty may decay , Riches make wings and swiftly fly away ; Depriv'd of all , what will Philander say ? But to secure thee of thy darling's charms , Go to the mines , and lodge within her arms ; Enfold thy mistress in a fond embrace , For ever banish'd from the shepherd race . Nor quit thy mansion till thou breathe thy last : Such sordid souls no social joys should taste . Blest with my Delia on this happy plain , Where peace and pleasure in perfection reign , I'll more serenely pass life's hours away , Than without her , though crown'd with princely sway . To please my charmer all my care shall be ; Can I be wretched when she smiles on me ? But we must go , our fleecy charge attend . Farewell , Philander , I am still thy friend . The maid whose real charms the heart can hold , Must not be deem'd one whit the worse for gold .