 | Pastorals |  |
Scene 3.
A Cave in middle of the Wood.
The gentle Lad, and Lass so fair,
Thus soft did sooth, for soft they were:
His Lips gan bloom with tender Hair,
Her Paps ysprouted fresh and fair.
At lenth the wailing Sweet One they
Bring where she safe and loose might lay.
Thus soft did sooth, for soft they were:
His Lips gan bloom with tender Hair,
Her Paps ysprouted fresh and fair.
At lenth the wailing Sweet One they
Bring where she safe and loose might lay.
A Cave there is by Idlehill,
Ye know the Place where Shepherds loll:
There Fauney often goes; I guess,
To hear the Lark, or toy with Lass.
Ye know the Place where Shepherds loll:
There Fauney often goes; I guess,
To hear the Lark, or toy with Lass.
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A Sweetbreer dainty o're it spread;
That Roses bore, and cast a Shade.
Abie it ran a Rivolet;
Painted with Sky and Flowers so sweet.
To this the lilly-finger'd Lass,
Soft wailing, pointed as did pass.
May seem she wish'd to set in th' Cave;
Her Love might thither hap to rove.
That Roses bore, and cast a Shade.
Abie it ran a Rivolet;
Painted with Sky and Flowers so sweet.
To this the lilly-finger'd Lass,
Soft wailing, pointed as did pass.
May seem she wish'd to set in th' Cave;
Her Love might thither hap to rove.
Thither the Silver-shapen Lass,
Soft triped it with easy Pace.
The Shrubs afore her sprinkled Dew;
As easy Air atween 'em flew.
Thro' Boughs the Moonlight fair beseen,
Sweet checkered the Grassie Green.
Cubbin went first to make the way;
And after trip'd the fine-limb Mey.
First gan ope Lip the little Lass,
The sweetest Lip that ever was.
See, gentle Wailer; See, my Sweet!
I've crop'd a Rose and Violet.
Here let me stick it in thy Breast!
She stuck it there, and then it kist.
Soft triped it with easy Pace.
The Shrubs afore her sprinkled Dew;
As easy Air atween 'em flew.
Thro' Boughs the Moonlight fair beseen,
Sweet checkered the Grassie Green.
Cubbin went first to make the way;
And after trip'd the fine-limb Mey.
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The sweetest Lip that ever was.
See, gentle Wailer; See, my Sweet!
I've crop'd a Rose and Violet.
Here let me stick it in thy Breast!
She stuck it there, and then it kist.
Well were, quoth Cubbin (all elong
Laying him soft) we had a Song.
Paplet shall shrill some lovely Lay;
And Paplet's sweet as Musk in May.
Then first the Dew-eye'd Wailer rear'd,
Her hanging Head as quick as Bird.
She lack'd 'em sore to sing, I weet,
Of Fauney; yet was shamed to say't.
Laying him soft) we had a Song.
Paplet shall shrill some lovely Lay;
And Paplet's sweet as Musk in May.
Then first the Dew-eye'd Wailer rear'd,
Her hanging Head as quick as Bird.
She lack'd 'em sore to sing, I weet,
Of Fauney; yet was shamed to say't.
Agreed, quoth sweet-lip'd Paplet quick;
But thou thy Undersong sha't make.
And sure we so shall Lallet please.
You lye on that side I on this.
Paplet.
But thou thy Undersong sha't make.
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You lye on that side I on this.
Arise my FairOne, come away!
Fresh be the Flowers the Groves as gay.
Early arise, e're Lark gin's sing!
We'll see how well the Violets spring.
Cubbin.
Come FairOne, be thou like the Roe!
That leaping o're the Hills doth go.
Come down the Gardens, to the Grove!
We'll hear the Turtle in his Love.
Then Fauney sang they, what he was;
And could such Lad 'ere leave his Lass?
Paplet.
And could such Lad 'ere leave his Lass?
Fauney doth rove like airy Roe;
Arm'd with a Quiver and a Bow.
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And bay's in every Streamulet.
Cubbin.
Fauney's the Joy of every Lass;
All meek's his Mind as fair his Face.
Fauney is fresh as Evening-Sky;
With small red Mouth and twinkling Eye.
Then soft they sang to shew the Lass,
No slight Mishaps made Love the less.
Paplet.
No slight Mishaps made Love the less.
Once clomb I for Maybough, by hap,
Cuddleit, the while, abie did trip.
He help'd me down, and sooth'd me sweet;
Shrew me if w'ont agen up get!
Cubbin.
Once Soflin tript, and fell elong;
I spy'd her lye sweet Flowers emong:
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Then lift her up and went away.
Thus sang the Twey their tender Tale;
Sweet as the Breath of Nightingale.
While the fair Wailer lowly laid,
And hung adown her pretty Head.
Then Cubbin took the Hand of th' Lass,
And said, soft-smiling in her Face.
I prethee Lallet go with me!
Why Fauney's far enough away!
Oh, kind my Lad! Leave ask, quoth she;
Or bid go lye on yon wet Lea!
Could I have Heart to pain poor Ele,
And shan't I have to pain my self?
Sweet as the Breath of Nightingale.
While the fair Wailer lowly laid,
And hung adown her pretty Head.
Then Cubbin took the Hand of th' Lass,
And said, soft-smiling in her Face.
I prethee Lallet go with me!
Why Fauney's far enough away!
Oh, kind my Lad! Leave ask, quoth she;
Or bid go lye on yon wet Lea!
Could I have Heart to pain poor Ele,
And shan't I have to pain my self?
She said; small thinking how the while
Fauney was near: Soft did he smile,
To hear the gentle-hearted Lass:
In Vest she wrapt her lilly Face.
Fauney was near: Soft did he smile,
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In Vest she wrapt her lilly Face.
Forth crep he soft, of lovely Look;
Pleas'd as the hunted Hart at Brook.
Cubbin and Paplet beck'ned first;
Then claspt his Arms round Lallet's Waste:
Pleas'd as the hunted Hart at Brook.
Cubbin and Paplet beck'ned first;
Then claspt his Arms round Lallet's Waste:
So loose her held the rosie Boy,
That she not dreamed any nigh.
That she not dreamed any nigh.
Anon adown her self she threw,
And gan to weep and wail anew.
Ah God! but how she looked then!
Is it? and is't my gentle Swain?
Like started Hare she leap'd aloft;
Like easy Sleep he seiz'd her soft.
And gan to weep and wail anew.
Ah God! but how she looked then!
Is it? and is't my gentle Swain?
Like started Hare she leap'd aloft;
Like easy Sleep he seiz'd her soft.
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Together thro' the Wood they pass;
With eachen Lad his pretty Lass.
Merry as Lamkins on the Lea,
And well ye know how merry they.
With eachen Lad his pretty Lass.
Merry as Lamkins on the Lea,
And well ye know how merry they.
So, all is well agen then now,
Lallet's as pleas'd as Bird on Bough.
Then what remains, ye Striplings, now;
But that you smile and be so too?
More bless'd to make's alone in you;
Can ye dislike what Lasses do?
Much Wo has had the fairfaced Dear,
Do, pity her because she's fair.
Lallet's as pleas'd as Bird on Bough.
Then what remains, ye Striplings, now;
But that you smile and be so too?
More bless'd to make's alone in you;
Can ye dislike what Lasses do?
Much Wo has had the fairfaced Dear,
Do, pity her because she's fair.
N. B. The Writer of these Pieces, has several of the like by him. His Friends were very importunate for their attending these into the World. But he thought if he could find Pardon for thrusting two upon the TOWN, 'twould be Honour enough. Nor had he consented so far, but thro' their representing to him, that Innocence and Simplicity were here set in an engaging Light. And would any one, thro' this slight Attempt, have a kinder Thought of that harmless Modesty in our CHARACTERS; or be hereby induced to desire our Age might, in some measure, resemble those drawn; our young Swain would think his first Step not entirely taken amiss.
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