A PASTORAL IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER.
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FROM THEOCRITUS, IDYLL. XX.
I
As late I strove Lucilla's lip to kiss,
She with discurtesee reprov'd my will;
Dost thou, she said, affect so pleasant bliss,
A simple shepherd, and a losell vile?
Not Fancy's hand should join my courtly lip
To thine, as I myself were fast asleep.
II
As thus she spake, full proud and boasting lasse,
And as a peacocke pearke, in dalliance
She bragly turned her ungentle face,
And all disdaining ey'd my shape askaunce:
But I did blush, with grief and shame yblent,
Like morning-rose with hoary dewe besprent.
III
Tell me, my fellows all, am I not fair?
Has fell enchantress blasted all my charms?
Whilom mine head was sleek with tressed hayre,
My laughing eyne did shoot out love's alarms:
E'en Kate did deemen me the fairest swain,
When erst I won this girdle on the plain.
IV
My lip with vermil was embellished,
My bagpipes notes loud and delicious were,
The milk-white lily, and the rose so red,
Did on my face depeinten lively cheere,
My voice as soote as mounting larke did shrill,
My look was blythe as Marg'ret's at the mill.
V
But she forsooth, more fair than Madge or Kate,
A dainty maid, did deign not shepherd's love;
Nor wist what Thenot told us swains of late,
That Venus sought a shepherd in a grove;
Nor that a heav'nly God, who Phœbus hight,
To tend his flock with shepherds did delight.
VI
Ah! 'tis that Venus with accurst despight,
That all my dolour and my shame has made!
Nor does remembrance of her own delight
For me one drop of pity sweet persuade!
Aye hence the glowing rapture may she miss,
Like me be scorn'd, nor ever taste a kiss!
