Classic Poem

Alone by a lonely willow
Poor Damon sighing lay.
The grass was his only pillow,
Alack, and well-a-day.

I came with my flask,
And I gave him a drink;
Had it been a whole cask
He'd have drunk it I think.

He danc'd and he sung,
And he caper'd like mad,
And swore he'd have more
If more could be had.

But Celia, with charms surrounded,
Came tripping it o'er the plain;
The shepherd afresh was wounded,
And all undone again.

He call'd her his goddess, she call'd him an ass;
I ply'd him again with a cherishing glass;
He laugh'd at her scorn, and her pow'r he defy'd,
And vow'd his dear bottle should alone be his bride.