WILLIAM AND MARY. 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. [75]-77.

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WILLIAM AND MARY . YOUNG William once the blithest of the swains , That grac'd the flow'ry bank , or trode the plains ; Not rustic , but from affectation free , Still courteous , kind , and affable was he . Of gentlest manners , ever form'd to please ; His mind unruffl'd , ever blest with ease ; His mien engaging , sweet beyond compare ; His breath delicious as the fragrant air ; His nature prone , attractive sweets t' impart , Good without shew , and lovely without art . Each nymph him priz'd , and oft they sought , in vain , The noble conquest of his heart to gain , Their gentlest arts unable were to move , His soul serene , yet undisturb'd by love . Ah ! transient happiness ! how short thy sway ! How swift thy flight ! how sudden thy decay ! Thy absence now the youth , dejected , mourns , While in his heart love's kindling passion burns . A lovely nymph , adorn'd with ev'ry grace , Fairer than fam'd , of old , Arcadia's race : An easy shape , and graceful in her air , The virgins' envy , and the swains ' despair . Her name was Mary , from the banks of Clyde , She came to taste the summer in its pride . One fatal eve , this charming youth pass'd by , And on this blooming damsel cast his eye : Her charms , resistless , smote his gen'rous heart , Surpris'd , confounded , then he felt the smart . Sometime with wonder on the maid he gaz'd , Then silence broke , and thus , like one amaz'd : " What do I feel ! from whence this magic spell ! Is this that love of which the poets tell ? It must be so ; else why this pleasing pain , These sweet enchanting hopes the nymph to gain ? This fear , this dread , which does my soul molest ? Such things till now were strangers to my breast . " He own'd 'twas love , and wish'd to find relief ; But warbling songsters can't assuage his grief . The sweets of Spring no pleasure now can yield , Nor all the verdure which adorns the field . To this lost passion all his powers gave way , And in his heart young Mary bore the sway . Go then , fond youth , and tell the maid thy care , Who knows , perhaps she may be kind as fair . Yes , Mary sure will hear thy plaintive strain ; 'Twas her who caus'd , she too must cure thy pain . Thy passion urg'd , her tender love confest , What maid so happy , or what swain so blest ?