Classic Poem

In the Simple Style

As musing I rang'd in the meads all alone,
A beautiful creature was making her moan;
O, the tears they did trickle full fast from her eyes,
And she pierced both the air and my heart with her cries.

I gently requested the cause of her moan;
She told me her lov'd Senesino was flown;
And in that sad posture she'd ever remain
Unless the dear creature would come back again.

Why, who is this mortal so cruel, said I,
That draws such a stream from so lovely an eye?
He must be a base and a false-hearted man.
This fann'd but her sorrow, and thus she began.

'Tis neither for man nor for woman, said she,
That thus with lamenting I water the lee;
But 'tis for a singer so charming and sweet,
Whose musick, Alas! I shall never forget.

Perhaps 'tis some linnet or blackbird, said I,
Perhaps 'tis your skylark has ta'en to the sky
Come, dry up your tears and abandon your grief;
Another I'll get but I'll give you relief.

No linnet, no blackbird, no skylark, said she,
But one who is better by far than all three;
My dear Senesino, for whom thus I cry,
Is sweeter than all the wing'd songsters that fly.

Perhaps, pretty creature, your parrot is flown,
Your monkey, your lapdog occasions your moan?
To all my surmises she answer'd me No,
And sobbed out eternally Se-ne-si-noh.

For Heaven's sake, dear creature, your sorrows unfold;
To ease you I'll spare not for silver or gold.
But still she replied Ah! Alas! 'tis in vain;
Nor silver nor gold can recall him again.

A curse upon silver, a curse upon gold,
That could not my dear Senesino withold;
'Twas gold that first tempted him over the main;
'Tis gold has transported him thither again.

Adieu to Faustina, Cuzzoni likewise,
Whom parties of courtiers extol to the skies;
Adieu to the op'ra, adieu to the ball!
My darling is gone, and a fig for them all.