The works of Allan Ramsay :: :: University of Virginia Library

A PASTORAL EPITHALIUM

Strephon
Ho, Coridon, come on this mossy bank,
Lean down and press primroses fresh and rank.
I'm glad to see thee fraught with blest content.
Thou lookst as thou some pleasing thought wouldst vent;
Say, lovely friend, and give a reason why
Ther's so much gladness dancing in thine eye.

Coridon
Yes, my dear Strephon, it's not without reason
That I'm so blyth when ther's good occasion.
Do not you know Menalcus, the brave swain
That feeds his flocks on the adjacent plain?
This day of shepherds none more happy is,
For he's attained unto his long'd for bliss,
A long'd for bliss which oft did rack his mind.
But now the god of love, not always blind,
Has unto his best wishes proven kind
And granted him a bride as bright as day,
Who will with pleasure all his cares allay.

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Strephon
O sweet surprise! I know the happy youth—
But who is she that will with softness soothe
His easy cares and with her pleasing charms
Clasp our dear friend within her snowy arms?

Coridon
With snow for whyteness they may well compare,
And all her frame so delicate and rare.
Her form all casten is in beauty's molds.
Thousands of lambs are lodg'd within her folds.
It's fair Melossa, who are fields did grace
With modest air and with a charming face.

Strephon
I've seen the fair Melossa—happy he,
If with her comely form her soul aggree!
Such a fair lodging surely was design'd
To harbor nothing but a virtuous mind.

Coridon
It was her bright virtue which did most commend
Her to the love of our discerning friend—
Thrice happy he, who hath the right to all
In this wise nymph, which we can virtue call.

Strephon
Well he deserves her, and the gods are just
To put so fair a jewell in his trust,

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Who knows to manage well what he intends.
His solid fancy flys with nimble wings
Through various tracts and to him knowledge brings—
Knowledge, which teacheth us with a sweet voice
What's bad, to shun; and what is good, to choice.

Coridon
Come, shepherd, rouse thee. This is not a day
To loyter in; tune up thy pipe and play,
And I will sing untill the rocks rebound
And th'echo thirds us in our joyfull sound.
The murmuring rivulet will be the bass
While she o're little cattarchs runs her race,
And the mild zephyr with his gentle breeze
Will give a soft sound soughing through the trees,
And on their tops or in the open sky
Will sour and sing the little feathered fry.
And let it be the subject of our theme
To blaze Menalcus' and Melossa's fame.

Strephon
May the great Pan preserve their breeding flocks
Of kine and sheep and goats that climb the rocks,
Let no wolf enter on their verdant spot,
And keep them free of all sickness and rot.
Jove grant them plenty of[f]spring to survive,
That on these plains their names may ever live
And by such generous worth bear up their fame
That ages after may still bless their name.