To the Same (T. S.) (Damon, Thrice Happy Are Thy Layes)

Damon, thrice happy are thy layes
Which Amarillis deignes to praise,
And teachest them no restlesse flame,
But Centers thy love there whence first it came!

Her Soul she, and her wealthy flocks
Mingles with thine; Braids her bright locks
Becomingly with thy brown shade,
Whence the Morn is so sweetly doubtfull made.

Oh may that twisted twilights power
Infuse in each successive houre
Eternall calmes, untainted raies!
Your tresses rule her nights, and hers your dayes!

Whilst Thyrsis his sad reed inspires
With nought but sighs and hopelesse fires;
Yet glad to spy from his dark Cell
The dawn of Joy from others night expell.