[ PASTORAL 04 ] THE FOURTH PASTORAL . MICO . ARGOL . MICO . This Place may seem for Shepherds Leisure made , So lovingly these Elms unite their Shade . Th' ambitious Woodbine , how it climbs , to breathe Its balmy Sweets around on all beneath ! The Ground with Grass of cheerful Green bespread , Thro' which the springing Flow'r up-rears its Head . Lo here the King-Cup , of a golden Hue , Medly'd with Daisies white and Endive blue . Hark how the gaudy Goldfinch , and the Thrush , With tuneful Warblings fill that Bramble-Bush ! In pleasing Consorts all the Birds combine , And tempt us in the various sSng to join . Up , Argol , then ; and to thy Lip apply Thy mellow Pipe , or vocal Musick try : And since our Ewes have graz'd , no harm , if they Lye round and listen , while their Lambkins play . ARGOL . The Place indeed gives Pleasance to the Eye ; And Pleasance works the Singer's Fancy high : The Fields breath sweet , and how the gentle Breez Moves ev'ry Leaf , and trembles thro' the Trees . So sweet a Scene ill suits my rugged Lay , And better fits the Musick thou can'st play . MICO . No Skill of Musick can I , simple Swain , No fine Device thine Ear to entertain ; Albeit some deal I pipe , rude tho' it be , Sufficient to divert my Sheep and me , Yet Colinet ( and Colinet has Skill ) My Fingers guided on the tuneful Quill , And try'd to teach me on what sounds to dwell , And where to sink a Note , and where to swell . ARGOL . Ah Mico ! half my Flock would I bestow , Would Colinet to me his Cunning show . So trim his Sonnets are , I prithee , Swain , Now give us once a Sample of his Strain : For , Wonders of that Lad the Shepherds say , How sweet his Pipe , how ravishing his Lay : The Sweetness of his Pipe and Lay rehearse , And ask what Gift thou pleasest for thy Verse . MICO . Since then thou list , a mournful Song I chuse ; A mournful Song relieves a mournfull Muse . Fast by the River on a Bank he sate , To weep the lovely Maid's untimely Fate , Fair Stella hight : a lovely Maid was she , Whose Fate he wept , a faithful Shepherd he . Awake my Pipe ; in ev'ry Note express Fair Stella's Death , and Colinet's Distress . O woful Day ! O Day of Woe ! quoth he ; And woful I , who live the Day to see ! That ever she could die ! O most unkind , To go , and leave thy Colinet behind ! And yet , why blame I her ? Full fain would she , With dying Arms , have clasp'd her self to me : I clasp'd her too ; but Death was all too strong , Nor Vows , nor Tears could fleeting Life prolong . Teach me to grieve , with bleating Moan , my Sheep ; Teach me , thou ever-flowing Stream , to weep ; Teach me ye faint , ye hollow Winds , to sigh , And let my Sorrows teach me how to die : Now Flock , nor Stream , nor Winds can e'er relieve A Wretch like me , for ever born to grieve . Awake , my Pipe ; in ev'ry Note express Fair Stella's death , and Colinet's Distress . Ye brighter Maids , faint Emblems of my Fair , With Looks cast down , and with dishevel'd Hair , In bitter Anguish beast your Breasts , and moan Her Hour untimely , as it were your own . Alas the fading Glories of your Eyes In vain we doat upon , in vain you prize : For tho' your Beauty rule the silly Swain , And in his Heart like little Queens you reign ; Yet Death will ev'n that ruling Beauty kill , As ruthless Winds the tender Blossoms spill . If either Musick's Voice , or Beauty's charms , Could make him mild , and stay his lifted Arms ; My Pipe her Face , her Face my Pipe should save , Redeeming thus each other from the Grave . For see ( O baleful Sight ! ) See where she lyes ! The budding Flow'r , unkindly blasted , dies . Awake , my Pipe ; in ev'ry Note express Fair Stella's Death , and Colinet's Distress . Unhappy Colinet ! What boots thee now To weave fresh Garlands for the Damsel's Brow ? Throw by the Lilly , Daffadil and Rose ; One of black Yew , and Willow pale , compose , With baneful Henbane , deadly Night-shade drest ; A Garland that may witness thy Unrest . My Pipe , whose soothing Sound could Passion move , And first taught Stella's Virgin Heart to love , Untun'd , shall hang upon this blasted Oak , Whence Owls their Dirges sing , and Ravens croak : Nor Lark , nor Linnet shall by Day delight , Nor Nightingale divert my Moan by Night ; The Night and Day shall undistinguish'd be , Alike to Stella , and alike to me . Thus sweetly did the gentle Shepherd sing , 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 torn'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 drousie Murmurs o'er the waving Grove ; Nor dropping Waters , that in Grots distil , And with a tinckling 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 bluey Mists arise from yonder Flood . MICO . Bid then our Curs to gather in the Sheep : Good Shepherds with their Flocks betimes should sleep : For , he that late lyes 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 .