The last Time I came over the Moor.  

THe last Time I came over the Moor,  
I left my Love behind me;  
Ye Powers what Pains do I endure,  
When soft ideas mind me?  
Soon as the ruddy Morn displayed  
The beaming Day ensuing,  
I met betimes my lovely Maid,  
In fit Retreats for Wooing.   

Beneath the cooling Shades we lay,  
Gazing and chastened sporting,  
We kissed and passed the Time away,  
Till Night spread her black Courtain;  
I pitied all beneath the Skies,  
even Kings, when she was nigh me,  
In Raptures I beholded her Eyes,  
Which could but ill deny me.   

Should I be called where Cannons roar,  
Where mortal Steel may wound me,  
Or cast upon some distant Shore,  
Where Dangers may surround me;  
Yet Hopes again to see my Love,  
And feast on glowing Kisses,  
Shall make my Cares at Distance move,  
In Prospect of such Blesses.   

In all my Soul there's not one Place  
To let a Rival enter;  
Since she outshines in every Grace,  
In her my Love shall center:  
Sooner the Sea shall cease to flow,  
Its Waves the Alps shall cover,  
On Greenland Ice shall Roses grow,  
Before I cease to love her.   

The next Time I go over the Moor,  
She shall a Lover find me;  
And that my Faith is firm and sure,  
Tho I left her behind me:  
Then Hymen's sacred Band shall chain  
My Heart to her fair Bosom,  
And while my Being doth remain,  
My Love more fresh shall blossom.    
FINIS.