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Thus sweetly did the gentle Shepherd sing,
And heavy Woe within soft Numbers bring:
And now that Sheep-Hook for my Song I crave.
And heavy Woe within soft Numbers bring:
And now that Sheep-Hook for my Song I crave.
ARGOL.
Not this, but one much fairer shalt thou have,
Of season'd Elm; where Studs of Brass appear,
To speak the Giver's Name the Month and Year;
The Hook of polish'd Steel, the Handle turn'd,
And richly by the Graver's Skill adorn'd.
O, Colinet, how sweet thy Grief to hear!
How does thy Verse subdue the list'ning Ear!
Not half so sweet the Midnight Winds, that move
In drowsie Murmurs o'er the waving Grove;
Nor dropping Waters, that in Grots distil,
And with a tinkling Sound their Caverns fill:
So sing the Swans, that in soft Numbers waste
Their dying Breath, and warble to the last.
And next to thee shall Mico bear the Bell,
That can repeat thy peerless Verse so well.
But see; the Hills increasing Shadows cast:
The Sun, I ween, is leaving us in haste:
His weakly Rays faint glimmer thro' the Wood,
And blueish Mists arise from yonder Flood.
Not this, but one much fairer shalt thou have,
Of season'd Elm; where Studs of Brass appear,
To speak the Giver's Name the Month and Year;
The Hook of polish'd Steel, the Handle turn'd,
And richly by the Graver's Skill adorn'd.
O, Colinet, how sweet thy Grief to hear!
How does thy Verse subdue the list'ning Ear!
Not half so sweet the Midnight Winds, that move
In drowsie Murmurs o'er the waving Grove;
Nor dropping Waters, that in Grots distil,
And with a tinkling Sound their Caverns fill:
So sing the Swans, that in soft Numbers waste
Their dying Breath, and warble to the last.
And next to thee shall Mico bear the Bell,
That can repeat thy peerless Verse so well.
But see; the Hills increasing Shadows cast:
The Sun, I ween, is leaving us in haste:
His weakly Rays faint glimmer thro' the Wood,
And blueish Mists arise from yonder Flood.
MICO.
Then send our Curs to gather up the Sheep:
Good Shepherds with their Flocks betimes should sleep:
For, he that late lies down, as late will rise,
And, Sluggard like, till Noon-day snoring lyes,
While in their Folds his injur'd Ewes complain,
And after dewy Pastures bleat in vain.
Then send our Curs to gather up the Sheep:
Good Shepherds with their Flocks betimes should sleep:
For, he that late lies down, as late will rise,
And, Sluggard like, till Noon-day snoring lyes,
While in their Folds his injur'd Ewes complain,
And after dewy Pastures bleat in vain.
THE
