Marinda Poems and Translations upon Several Occasions [by Mary Monck] |
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Answer to the foregoing ECLOGUE.
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 | Marinda |  |
Answer to the foregoing ECLOGUE.
So much is said and sung of Plains,
Of Fields, of Groves, of Nymphs and Swains,
Of purling Streams, and Myrtle Shades,
Of listning Ecchoes and deaf Maids,
Of harder Hearts than hardest Rocks,
Of lowing Herds, and bleating Flocks;
On which the Nymph and Shepherd plays,
A constant Chime of rural Layes,
That vext at hearing the same Tune,
From Noon to Night, from Night to Noon.
Thirsis had long his Pipe laid by,
Quite tir'd with rustick Harmony.
Of Fields, of Groves, of Nymphs and Swains,
Of purling Streams, and Myrtle Shades,
Of listning Ecchoes and deaf Maids,
Of harder Hearts than hardest Rocks,
Of lowing Herds, and bleating Flocks;
On which the Nymph and Shepherd plays,
A constant Chime of rural Layes,
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From Noon to Night, from Night to Noon.
Thirsis had long his Pipe laid by,
Quite tir'd with rustick Harmony.
But when You to the Woods repair,
He thinks them worthy of his Care,
He thrusts into the list'ning Throng,
Charm'd with the Musick of your Song;
Where Two so Artfully contest,
That while each speaks, his Cause is best;
Palæmon needs must wrong decide,
Had he adjudg'd for either Side,
For when such Swains so well contend,
'Twere pity that the Strife shou'd end.
He thinks them worthy of his Care,
He thrusts into the list'ning Throng,
Charm'd with the Musick of your Song;
Where Two so Artfully contest,
That while each speaks, his Cause is best;
Palæmon needs must wrong decide,
Had he adjudg'd for either Side,
For when such Swains so well contend,
'Twere pity that the Strife shou'd end.
When Thirsis saw an Eclogue writ,
Simple and plain, and yet with Wit;
And that its Beauty did not lye
In the stale worn out Imagery,
Of Fields, Groves, Brooks and Shades, but found
New Musick, on a Pastoral Ground,
Inspir'd by you, th'inchanted Swain,
Resolves to try a rural Strain;
His Pipe refits, invokes the Nine,
And on a shady Bank recline,
He tells the Crowd, that round him wait,
That he'll Marinda Emulate.
But all in vain, his Oaten Reed
Breaths the Old Sounds, he then with speed
Snatches his Harp, which does alike succeed.
Th'impatient Shepherd full of Ire,
Rises, and breaks both Pipe and Lyre.
Simple and plain, and yet with Wit;
And that its Beauty did not lye
In the stale worn out Imagery,
Of Fields, Groves, Brooks and Shades, but found
New Musick, on a Pastoral Ground,
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Resolves to try a rural Strain;
His Pipe refits, invokes the Nine,
And on a shady Bank recline,
He tells the Crowd, that round him wait,
That he'll Marinda Emulate.
But all in vain, his Oaten Reed
Breaths the Old Sounds, he then with speed
Snatches his Harp, which does alike succeed.
Th'impatient Shepherd full of Ire,
Rises, and breaks both Pipe and Lyre.
| Marinda | |