The
MONTH
of
AUGUST
.
Sylvanus
,
a
Courtier
.
Phillis
,
a
Country
Maid
.
SYLVANUS
.
HAIL
,
Phillis
,
brighter
than
a
Morning
Sky
,
Joy
of
my
Heart
,
and
Darling
of
my
Eye
;
See
the
kind
Year
her
grateful
Tribute
yields
,
And
round-fac'd
Plenty
triumphs
o'er
the
Fields
.
But
to
yon
Gardens
let
me
lead
thy
Charms
,
Where
the
curl'd
Vine
extends
her
willing
Arms
:
Whose
purple
Clusters
lure
the
longing
Eye
,
And
the
ripe
Cherries
show
their
scarlet
Dye
.
PHILLIS
.
Not
all
the
Sights
your
boasted
Gardens
yield
,
Are
half
so
lovely
as
my
Father's
Field
,
Where
large
Increase
has
bless'd
the
fruitful
Plain
,
And
we
with
Joy
behold
the
swelling
Grain
,
Whose
heavy
Ears
towards
the
Earth
reclin'd
,
Wave
,
nod
,
and
tremble
to
the
whisking
Wind
.
SYLVANUS
.
But
see
,
to
emulate
those
Cheeks
of
thine
,
On
yon
fair
Tree
the
blushing
Nect'rins
shine
:
Beneath
their
Leaves
the
ruddy
Peaches
glow
,
And
the
plump
Figs
compose
a
gallant
Show
.
With
gaudy
Plumbs
see
yonder
Boughs
recline
,
And
ruddy
Pears
in
you
Espalier
twine
.
There
humble
Dwarfs
in
pleasing
Order
stand
,
Whose
golden
Product
seems
to
court
thy
Hand
.
PHILLIS
.
In
vain
you
tempt
me
while
our
Orchard
bears
Long-keeping
Russets
,
lovely
Cath'rine
Pears
,
Pearmains
and
Codlings
,
wheaten
Plumbs
enough
,
And
the
black
Damsons
load
the
bending
Bough
.
No
Pruning-knives
our
fertile
Branches
teaze
,
While
yours
must
grow
but
as
their
Masters
please
.
The
grateful
Trees
our
Mercy
well
repay
,
And
rain
us
Bushels
at
the
rising
Day
.
SYLVANUS
.
Fair
are
my
Gardens
,
yet
you
slight
them
all
;
Then
let
us
haste
to
you
majestick
Hall
,
Where
the
glad
Roofs
shall
to
thy
Voice
resound
,
Thy
Voice
more
sweet
than
Musick's
melting
Sound
:
Now
Orion's
Beam
infests
the
sultry
Sky
,
And
scorching
Fevers
through
the
Welkin
fly
;
But
Art
shall
teach
us
to
evade
his
Ray
,
And
the
forc'd
Fountains
near
the
Windows
play
;
There
choice
Perfumes
shall
give
a
pleasing
Gale
,
And
Orange-flow'rs
their
od'rous
Breath
exhale
,
While
on
the
Walls
the
well-wrought
Paintings
glow
,
And
dazzling
Carpets
deck
the
Floors
below
:
O
tell
me
,
Thou
whose
careless
Beauties
charm
,
Are
these
not
fairer
than
a
Thresher's
Barn
?
PHILLIS
.
Believe
me
,
I
can
find
no
Charms
at
all
In
your
fine
Carpets
and
your
painted
Hall
.
'Tis
true
our
Parlour
has
an
earthen
Floor
,
The
Sides
of
Plaster
and
of
Elm
the
Door
:
Yet
the
rub'd
Chest
and
Table
sweetly
shines
,
And
the
spread
Mint
along
the
Window
climbs
:
An
aged
Laurel
keeps
away
the
Sun
,
And
two
cool
Streams
across
the
Garden
run
.
SYLVANUS
.
Can
Feasts
or
Musick
win
my
lovely
Maid
?
In
both
those
Pleasures
be
her
Taste
obey'd
.
The
ransack'd
Earth
shall
all
its
Dainties
send
,
Till
with
its
Load
her
plenteous
Table
bend
.
Then
to
the
Roofs
the
swelling
Notes
shall
rise
,
Pierce
the
glad
Air
and
gain
upon
the
Skies
,
While
Ease
and
Rapture
spreads
itself
around
,
And
distant
Hills
roll
back
the
charming
Sound
.
PHILLIS
.
Not
this
will
lure
me
,
for
I'd
have
you
know
This
Night
to
feast
with
Corydon
I
go
:
To
Night
his
Reapers
bring
the
gather'd
Grain
,
Home
to
his
Barns
,
and
leave
the
naked
Plain
:
Then
Beef
and
Coleworts
,
Beans
and
Bacon
too
,
And
the
Plumb-pudding
of
delicious
Hue
,
Sweet-spiced
Cake
,
and
Apple-pies
good
Store
,
Deck
the
brown
Board
;
who
can
desire
more
?
His
Flute
and
Tabor
too
Amyntor
brings
,
And
while
he
plays
soft
Amaryllis
sings
.
Then
strive
no
more
to
win
a
simple
Maid
,
From
her
lov'd
Cottage
and
her
silent
Shade
.
Let
Phillis
ne'er
,
ah
never
let
her
rove
From
her
first
Virtue
and
her
humble
Grove
.
Go
seek
some
Nymph
that
equals
your
Degree
,
And
leave
Content
and
Corydon
for
me
.