University of Virginia Library

Scena 1.

Sylvia
discovered in her Bower singing.
The Song.
Come Shepherds come, impale your brows
With Garlands of the choicest flowers
The time allows.
Come Nymphs docks in your dangling hair,
And unto Sylvia's shady Bowers
With hast repair:
Where you shall see chast Turtles play,
And Nightingales make lasting May,
As if old Time his youthfull minde,
To one delightful season had confin'd.

Enter Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
1 Shep.
What Musick's this doth reach our ears?
Which sounds like that made by the Sphears,
And so affects the eager sence,
'Tis ravisht with its excellence.

2 Shep.
The ayr doth smell of Indian spies,
Or that the sences stupifies,
Which by Arabian winds is spread
From the ashes of a Phœnix dead.
Whence is this wonder.

3 Shep.
See, see, where
The lovely Goddess doth appear:
Fair Sylvia, she that orders how
Before Pans Altars we should bow,
And for propition every year
Of the choice fleese our sheep do bear:
Pay thank full Sacrifice, that he
May keep our flocks from danger free.
Instruct us Goddess what's thy will,

Sylv.
Upon this leavy wood-crown'd hill,
I do invite you to Pans feast,
Where each shall be a welcome Guest,
Then to the musique of my voice,
Move gently on each with his choice,
But so that no malicious eye
See ought to task your modesty;
For your delights must alway be
Attended on by chastity.

Dance.
Sylv.
'Tis time the Sacrifice begin,
Devotion must be done within;
Which done; you may of Ceres tast,
And Bacchus gifts, but make no wast:
For oft where plenty injur'd stands,
The bounteous Gods do shut their hands:
The snowy fleeces you have shorn,
And cropt the golden ears of corn;
Lyæus blood is prest and put
Into the safe preserving Butt:
There when the cold and blustring ayr
Invites you from the Plains, (yet fair)
To take warm shelters, that may keep
Your selves in health, and ek your sheep.
Will into your numb'd limbs inspire
An active and preserving fire;
Let your expeessions then be free,
And gently moving follow me
Ascends to her Bower singing.
She sings.
On Shepherds on, wee'l Sacrifice
Those spotless Lambs we prize
At highest rate, for Pan doth keep
From harm our scatt'ring sheep:
And hath deserved
For to be served
With those ye do esteem the best
Amongst the flock, as fittest for his feast.
Come Uirgins, bring your garlands here,
And hang them every where:
Then let his Altars be o'respread
With Roses fresh and red;
Burn Gums and Spice,
Rich Sacrifice.
The Gods so bounteous are, ye know
Ye mortals cannot pay them what ye owe.