[
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
.