Eclogue (Thyrsis, whilst our Flocks did bite)

Dam.
Thyrsis, whilst our Flocks did bite
The smiling Salads in our sight,
Thou then wer't wont to sing thy state
In Love, and Chloe celebrate;
But where are now the Love-sick laies
Whilom so sung in Chloe's praise?

Thyr.
'Las! who can sing? since our Pan dy'd
Each Shepherd's pipe is laid aside:
Our flocks they feed on parched ground,
Shelter, nor Water's for them found:
And all our sports are cast away,
Save when thou sing'st thy Caelia.

Dam.
Caelia, I do confess alone
My object is of Passion,
My Star, my bright Magnetick Pole,
And only Guidress of my Soul.

Thyr.
Let Caelia be thy Cynosure,
Chloe's my Pole too, though th' obscure:
For, though her self's all glorious,
My Earth 'twixt us does interpose.

Dam.
Obscure indeed, since she's but one
To mine a Constellation:
Her Lights throughout so glorious are,
That every part's a perfect Star.

Thyr.
Then Caelia's Perfections
Are scatter'd: Chloe's, like the Suns
United Light, compacted lye,
Whence all that feel their force, must dye.

Dam.
Caelia's Beauties are too bright
To be contracted in one Light;
Nor does my fair, her Rays dispence
With such a stabbing Influence,
Since 'tis her less imperious Will
To save her Lovers, and not kill.

Thyr.
Each beam of her united Light
Is, than the greatest Star more bright;
And, if she stay, it is from hence,
She darts too sweet an Influence,
We Surfeit with't: weak Eyes must shun
The dazling Glories of the Sun.
Perhaps, if Caelia do not kill,
'Tis want of Power, not of Will.

Dam.
I now perceive, thy Chloe's Eyes
To be no Stars, but Prodigies:
Comets, such as blazing stand
To threaten ruin to a Land:
Beacons of sulph'rous Flame they are,
Symptoms not of Peace, but War,
And thou I guess, by singing thus,
Thence stoll'st thine Ignis fatuus.

Thyr.
As th' vulgar are amaz'd at th' Sun,
When tripled by reflection;
Chloe's self, and glorious Eyes
To thee seem Comets in the Skies.
And true, they may portend some Wars
Such as 'twixt Venus, and her Mars,
But chast: whose captivating Bands
Would People, and not ruin Lands.
With such a Going fire I'll stray,
For who with it can lose his way?

Dam.
The Vulgar may perhaps be won
By thee to think her Sun, and Moon,
And so would I, but that my more
Convincing Caelia I adore.
Would we had both, that Chloe thine,
And my dear Caelia might be mine.
But if we should thus mix with Ray,
In Heav'n would be no Night, but Day;
For we should People all the Skies
With Plannet-Girls, and Starry-Boyes,
Chloe's a going-fire, we see,
Pray Pan, she do not go from thee.

Thyr.
Thanks, Damon, but she does, I fear,
The Shadows now so long appear:
Yet, if she do, we'll both find Day
[…]'[…]h' Sun-shine of thy Caelia.