Laurels for him, and tamarisk tears did pay,
And Menalus whil'st by a Rock he lay,
VVith cold Lycaus Clifts did him lament.
That sheep stand round us we do not repent;
Nor divine Poet dost thou flocks contemn:
The fair Adonis fed sheep near the stream.
The shepherds come, and the dull herds-men haste,
And fat Menalcas flies from winter maste.
All ask whence sprung this love; Apollo came,
And said, what madness Gallus doth inflame?
Thy dear Lycoris wanders through the snowes,
And through rough wayes after another goes.
Sylvanus comes adorn'd with rurall boughes,
Lillies, and fennel dangling on his browes.
Pan comes, Arcadia's God, whom we have spide,
With Synople, and blushing berries dide;
Betwixt extreams is there no mean? he sayes,
Love hath regard to no such things as these.
Not love with tears, nor grass with streams, nor bees
With thyme are satisfi'de, nor Goats with trees.
Pensive he said, O you Arcadians chant
About our hils, for you no cunning want.
Oh! then my ashes shall finde peacefull rest,
When by your quill my passions are exprest.
I would with you a shepherds life were mine,
To follow sheep, or prune the swelling vine:
Then Phyllis, or Amyntas were mine own,
Or some love (though I grant, Amyntas brown,
Dark are the violets, so the bilberrie)
Would mongst soft vines and sallowes rest with me.
Phyllis should wreath me flowres, Amyn••as sing.
Lycoris, here are meads, here the cool spring,
Thou far from home. (I wish it were not so)
Seest without me, cold Rhine, and Alpine snow: