On a mossy bank reclin'd,
Beauteous Chloe lay reposing,
O'er her breast each am'rous wind
Wanton play'd, its sweets disclosing;
Tempted with the swelling charms,
Colin, happy swain, drew nigh her,
Softly stole into her arms,
Laid his scrip and sheep-hook by her.

O'er her downy panting breast
His delighted fingers roving;
To her lips his lips he prest,
In the ecltasy of loving;
Chloe waken'd with his kiss,
Pleas'd, yet frowning to conceal it,
Cry'd, true lovers share the bliss?
Why then, Colin, would you steal it?