“ Farewell, sweet seat of innocence & mirth,
Where first my breast to youthful joys beat true:
O France! thou dearest region of the earth
And you, my early blissful days, adieu!
The bark that seems to bear me thus away.
Yet peans of me, poor exile, but a part;
In thy lov’d haunts, where I was wont to stray,
I've left the prime affections of my heart. ”

“ He offer’d to kiss me, I gave him a push;
Why can’t you be easy? I cry’d with a blush.
⁠One Sunday he came to intreat me to walk,
’Twas down in a meadow, of love was our talk.
He call d me his dearest—Pray, Damon, be, hush,
There‘s somebody coming, I cry‘d, with a blush.
⁠My mother she chides when I mention the swain,
Forbids me to go to the meadow again:
But sure, for his sake, I will venture a brush.
For love him I do, I confess with a blush.
⁠Thus warbled the fair, and my heart leapt for joy,
Tho’ little she thought that her Damon was nigh. ”

“ To such wretched passions we give no admission
⁠But leave them alone to the wise ones of state
We boast of no wealth, but contentment and health,
⁠In mirth and in friendship our moments employ,
Come, see, &c.
With reason we taste of each heart stirring pleasure ”