Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Corydon.
Ho jolly Thyrsis whether in such hast?
I'st for a wager that you run so fast?
Or past past your hour below yon Hawthorn-tree
Doe's longing Gælatea look for thee?

Thyrsis.
No Corydon, I heard young Daphnis say
Alexis challeng'd Tityrus to day
Who best shall sing of Shepherds Art, and praise;
But heark I hear 'em listen to their layes.

Tityrus.
Alexis read, what means this mystique thing?
An Ewe I had two Lambs at once did bring;
Th'one black as jet, the other white as snow?
Say in just Providence how it could be so?

Alexis.
Will you Pan's goodnesse therefore partiall call,
That might as well have given thee none at all?

Tytirus.
Were they not both and by the selfe-same Ewe?
How could they ment then so different hue?
Poor Lamb alas; and couldst thou, yet unborn,
Sin to deserve the guilt of such a scorn!
Thou hadst not yet fowl'd a religious spring,
Nor fed on plots of hollowed grasse, to bring
Stains to thy fleece; nor browz'd upon a tree
Sacred to Pan, or Pales Deity.
The gods are ignorant, if they not foreknow;
And knowing, 'tis unjust to use thee so.

Alexis.
Tityr with me contend, or Corydon;
But let the gods, and their high wils alone:
For in our Flocks that freedom challenge wee;
This Kid is sacrific'd, and that goes free.

Tityrus.
Feed where you will my Lambs, what boots it us
To watch, and water, fold, and drive you thus.
This on the barren mountains flesh can glean,
That fed in flowry pastures will be lean.

Alexis.
Plow, sowe, and compasse, nothing boots at all,
Unlesse the dew upon the Tilth's do fall.
So labour silly Shepherds what we can
All's vain, unlesse a blessing drop from Pan.

Tityrus.
I'll thrive thy Ewes if thou these lyes maintain.

Alexis.
And may thy Goats miscarry sawcy swain.

Thyrsis.
Fie, Shepherds fie! while you these strifes begin,
Here creeps the Wolf, and there the Fox gets in.

To your vaine piping on so deep a Reed
The Lamkins listen, but forget to feed.
It gentle swains befits of Love to sing,
How Love left Heaven; and heavens immortall King.
His Coeternal Father. O admire,
Love is a Son as ancient as his Sire.
His Mother was a Virgin: how could come
A birth so great, and from so chast a womb?
His cradle was a manger; Shepherds see
True faith delights in poor simplicity.
He pres'd no grapes, nor prun'd the fruitfull vine,
But could of water make a brisker wine.
Nor did he plow the earth, and to his Barn
The harvest bring, nor thresh, and grinde the Corn.
Without all these Love could supply our need,
And with five Loavs, five thousand Hungers feed,
More wonders did he, for all which suppose
How he was crown'd, with Lilly or with Rose?
The winding Ivy, or the glorious Bay,
Or Mirtle, with the which Venus, they say,
Girts her proud Temples? Shepherds none of them
But wore (poor head) a thorny Diadem.
Feet to the Lame he gave, with which they run
To work their Surgeons last destruction.
The blinde from him had eyes; but us'd that light
Like Basilisques to kill him with their sight.
Lastly he was betrai'd (O sing of this)
How Love could be betrai'd! 'twas with a kisse.
And then his innocent hands, and guiltlesse feet
Were nail'd unto the crosse, striving to meet
In his spread arms his Spouse, so milde in show
He seem'd to court th'Imbraces of his foe.
Through his pierc'd side, through which a sphear was sent,

A torrent of all flowing Balsame went.
Run Amorillis run: one drop from thence
Cures thy sad soul, and drives all anguish hence.
Go sun-burnt Thestylis, go, and repair
thy beauty lost, and be again made fair,
Love-sick Amyntas get a Phyltrum here,
To make thee Lovely to thy truly dear.
But coy Licoris take the Pearl from thine,
And take the Blood-shot from Atexis eyne.
Weare this an Amulet against all Syrens smiles,
The stings of Snakes, and tears of Crocodiles,
Now Love is dead: Oh no, he never dies;
Three dayes he sleeps, and then again doth rise,
(Like fair Aurora from the Eastern Bay)
And with his beams drives all our clouds away:
This pipe unto our flocks, this sonnet get.
But ho, I see the Sun ready to set.
Good night to all, for the great night is come:
Flocks to your folds, and Shepherds high you home.
Tomorrow morning, when we all have slept,
Pan's Cornet's blowen, and the great Sheep-shears kept.