Mrs. Eliz. Wheeler, under the Name of the Lost Shepherdess.

Among the myrtles as I walk'dLove and my sighs thus intertalk'd:Tell me, said I, in deep distress,Where I may find my Shepherdess?--Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this?5In every thing that's sweet she is.In yond' carnation go and seek,There thou shalt find her lip and cheek;In that enamell'd pansy by,There thou shalt have her curious eye;10In bloom of peach and rose's bud,There waves the streamer of her blood.--'Tis true, said I; and thereuponI went to pluck them one by one,To make of parts an union;15But on a sudden all were gone.At which I stopp'd; Said Love, these beThe true resemblances of thee;For as these flowers, thy joys must die;And in the turning of an eye;20And all thy hopes of her must wither,Like those short sweets here knit together.