_By a dismal cypress lying,
Damon cried, all pale and dying,--
Kind is death, that ends my pain,
But cruel she I loved in vain.
The mossy fountains
Murmur my trouble,
And hollow mountains
My groans redouble:
Every nymph mourns me,
Thus while I languish;
She only scorns me,
Who caused my anguish.
No love returning me, but all hope denying;
By a dismal cypress lying,
Like a swan, so sung he dying,--
Kind is death, that ends my pain,
But cruel she I loved in vain._

_Pleas._ By these languishing eyes, and those _simagres_ of yours, we
are given to understand, sir, you have a mistress in this company;
come, make a free discovery which of them your poetry is to charm, and
put the other out of pain.

_Trick._ No doubt 'twas meant to Mrs Brainsick.

_Mrs Brain._ We wives are despicable creatures; we know it, madam,
when a mistress is in presence.

_Pleas._ Why this ceremony betwixt you? 'Tis a likely proper fellow,
and looks as he could people a new isle of Pines[7].