The DYING KID. William Shenstone Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.005 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. V. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 36-37. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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The DYING KID. By the Same . Optima quaeque dies miseris mortalibus aevi Prima fugit — VIRG. A TEAR bedews my Delia's eye , To think yon playful kid must die ; From crystal spring , and flowery mead , Must , in his prime of life , recede ! Erewhile , in sportive circles round She saw him wheel , and frisk , and bound ; From rock to rock pursue his way , And , on the fearful margin , play . Pleas'd on his various freaks to dwell , She saw him climb my rustic cell ; Thence eye my lawns with verdure bright , And seem all ravish'd at the sight . She tells with what delight he stood , To trace his features in the flood : Then skip'd aloof with quaint amaze ; And then drew near , again to gaze . See tells me , how with eager speed He flew , to hear my vocal reed ; And how , with critic face profound , And stedfast ear , devour'd the sound . His every frolic , light as air , Deserves the gentle Delia's care ; And tears bedew her tender eye , To think the playful kid must die . — But knows my Delia , timely wise , How soon this blameless aera flies ? While violence and craft succeed ; Unfair design , and ruthless deed ! Soon would the vine his wounds deplore , And yield her purple gifts no more ; Ah soon , eras'd from every grove Were Delia's name , and Strephon's love . No more those bow'rs might Strephon see , Where first he fondly gaz'd on thee ; No more those beds of flow'rets find , Which for thy charming brows he twin'd . Each wayward passion soon would tear His bosom , now so void of care ; And , when they left his ebbing vein , What , but insipid age , remain ? Then mourn not the decrees of fate , That gave his life so short a date ; And I will join thy tenderest sighs , To think that youth so swiftly flies !