University of Virginia Library

Feed my dear Sheep, faithful Companions feed
Through all those verdant plaines from danger freed;
Thanks to my Shepherdess, we now behold
An Age, as glorious as that Age of Gold.
But on the Gilliflowers, and Roses feed,
That spring in ev'ry place, where Shee doth tread;
Taste without feare, no food so sweet will prove,
'Gainst Wolves; your Centinel's the God of Love;
He loves what She affects, and kindely looks
Upon her faithfull Sheepherd and his Flocks.
Flocks, which long since being marked for his owne,
Feel no diseases, that in Sheep are known.
Charita, thou faire Sheepherdesse, whom we
Adore, the flower and choice of all in Brie:
How powerfull thine eyes! how bright! how faire!
By which, thus to keep Sheep, thy Lovers are
Constrain'd! compar'd to their bright sparkling rayes,
The Sun it selfe a gloomy light displayes.
Whose weaker Beames are but Reflexions vaine,
When those of thy bright eyes begin to raigne.
Therefore, poore Sun, thy fault's beyond compare,
That still presum'st t'illuminate the aire;
Quit, quit that care to th'Object I adore,
Thy shame unto the world expose no more:
Lie close within the Seas, nor day, nor night
Thy Chrystall Palace quit, nor Amphitrite.
But since thou wilt goe on—'tis best for me
To feast my selfe with this frugalitie.
Feed, feed my pretty Lambs, while I like you
Thus sitting on the grasse, the same will doe.