Pub. 1772. Vernon was a tenor at Vauxhall for eighteen seasons, who occasionally contributed his own compositions.

Lyrics: Anon

What shepherd or nymph of the grove
Can blame me for dropping a tear,
Or lamenting aloud as I rove,
Since Chloe no longer is here?
My flocks, if at random they stray,
What wonder? since she's from the plain;
Her hand they were wont to obey;
She rul'd both the sheep and the swain.

Can I ever forget how we stray'd
To the foot of yon neighbouring hill,
To the bow'r we had built in the shade,
Or the river that runs by the mill?
There, sweet by my side as she lay
And heard the fond stories I told,
How sweet was the thrush from the spray,
Or the bleating of lambs from the fold.

No changes of place or of time
I knew when my fair one was near;
Alike was each weather or clime,
Each season that chequer'd the year.
In winter's rude lap did we freeze,
Did we melt on the bosom of May;
Each morn brought contentment and ease,
If we rose up to work, or to play.

She was all my fond wishes could ask,
She had all the kind gods could impart;
She was nature's most beautiful task,
The despair and the envy of art.
There, all that is worthy to prize
In all that was lovely was dress'd;
For the graces were thron'd in her eyes
And the virtues all lodg'd in her breast.