A Pastorall sung to the King: Montano, Silvio, and Mirtillo, Shepheards.
Mon.
BAd are the times. Sil. And wors thenthey are we.
Mon.
Troth, bad are both; worse fruit, and ill the tree:
The feast of Shepheards fail. Sil. None crowns the cup
Of Wassaile now, or sets the quintell up:
And He, who us'd to leade the Country-round,
Youthfull Mirtillo, Here he comes, Grief drownd.
Ambo Lets cheer him up. Sil. Behold him weeping ripe.
Mirt.
Ah! Amarillis, farewell mirth and pipe;
Since thou art gone, no more I mean to play,
To these smooth Lawns, my mirthfull Roundelay. (sweet
Dear Amarillis! Mon. Hark! Sil. mark: Mir. this earth grew
Where, Amarillis, Thou didst set thy feet.
Ambo.
Poor pittied youth! Mir. And here the breth of kine
And sheep, grew more sweet, by that breth of Thine.
This flock of wooll, and this rich lock of hair,
This ball of Cow-slips, these she gave me here.
Sil.
Words sweet as Love it self. Montano, Hark.
Mirt.
This way she came, and this way too she went;
How each thing smells divinely redolent!
Like to a field of beans, when newly blown;
Or like a medow being lately mown.
Mon.
A sweet-sad passion.—
Mirt.
In dewie-mornings when she came this way,
Sweet Bents wode bow, to give my Love the day:
And when at night, she folded had her sheep,
Daysies wo'd shut, and closing, sigh and weep.
Besides (Aime!) since she went hence to dwell,
The voices Daughter nea'r spake syllable.
But she is gone. Sil. Mirtillo, tell us whether,
Mirt.
Where she and I shall never meet together.