Pastoral VII (Dryden): Meliboeus

BEneath a Holm, repair'd two jolly Swains;
Their Sheep and Goats together graz'd the Plains.
Both young Arcadians, both alike inspir'd
To sing, and answer as the Song requir'd.
Daphnis, as Umpire, took the middle Seat;
And Fortune thether led my weary Feet.
For while I fenc'd my Myrtles from the Cold,
The Father of my Flock had wander'd from the Fold.
Of Daphnis I enquir'd; he, smiling, said,
Dismiss your Fear, and pointed where he fed.
And, if no greater Cares disturb your Mind,
Sit here with us, in covert of the Wind.
Your lowing Heyfars, of their own accord,
At wat'ring time will seek the neighb'ring Ford.
Here wanton Mincius windes along the Meads,
And shades his happy Banks with bending Reeds:
And see from yon old Oak, that mates the Skies,
How black the Clouds of swarming Bees arise.
What shou'd I do! nor was Alcippe nigh,
Nor absent Phillis cou'd my care supply,
To house, and feed by hand my weaning Lambs,
And drain the strutting Udders of their Dams?
Great was the strife betwixt the Singing Swains:
And I preferr'd my Pleasure to my Gains.
Alternate Rhime the ready Champions chose:
These Corydon rehears'd, and Thyrsis those.

CORYDON
Yee Muses, ever fair, and ever young,
Assist my Numbers, and inspire my Song.
With all my Codrus O inspire my Breast,
For Codrus after Phoebus sings the best.
Or if my Wishes have presum'd too high,
And stretch'd their bounds beyond Mortality,
The praise of artful Numbers I resign:
And hang my Pipe upon the Sacred Pine.

THYRSIS
Arcadian Swains, your Youthful Poet crown
With Ivy Wreaths; tho surly Codrus, frown.
Or if he blast my Muse with envious Praise,
Then fence my Brows with Amuletts of Bays.
Lest his ill Arts or his malicious Tongue
Shou'd poyson, or bewitch my growing Song.

CORYDON
These Branches of a Stag, this tusky Boar
(The first essay of Arms untry'd before)
Young Mycon offers, Delia, to thy Shrine;
But speed his hunting with thy Pow'r divine,
Thy Statue then of Parian Stone shall stand;
Thy Legs in Buskins with a Purple Band.

THYRSIS
This Bowl of Milk, these Cakes, (our Country Fare,)
For thee, Priapus, yearly we prepare.
Because a little Garden is thy care.
But if the falling Lambs increase my Fold,
Thy Marble Statue shall be turn'd to Gold.

CORYDON
Fair Galathea, with thy silver Feet,
O, whiter than the Swan, and more than Hybla sweet;
Tall as a Poplar, taper as the Bole,
Come charm thy Shepherd, and restore my Soul.
Come when my lated Sheep, at night return;
And crown the silent Hours, and stop the rosy Morn.

THYRSIS
May I become as abject in thy sight,
As Sea-weed on the Shore, and black as Night:
Rough as a Bur, deform'd like him who chaws
Sardinian Herbage to contract his Jaws;
Such and so monstrous let thy Swain appear,
If one day's Absence looks not like a Year.
Hence from the Field, for Shame: the Flock deserves
No better Feeding, while the Shepherd starves.

CORYDON
Ye mossy Springs, inviting easie Sleep,
Ye Trees, whose leafy Shades those mossy Fountains keep,
Defend my Flock, the Summer heats are near,
And Blossoms on the swelling Vines appear.

THYRSIS
With heapy Fires our chearful Hearth is crown'd;
And Firs for Torches in the Woods abound:
We fear not more the Winds, and wintry Cold,
Than Streams the Banks, or Wolves the bleating Fold.

CORYDON
Our Woods, with Juniper and Chesnuts crown'd,
With falling Fruits and Berries paint the Ground;
And lavish Nature laughs, and strows her Stores around.
But if Alexis from our Mountains fly,
Ev'n running Rivers leave their Channels dry.

THYRSIS
Parch'd are the Plains, and frying is the Field,
Nor with'ring Vines their juicy Vintage yield.
But if returning Phillis bless the Plain,
The Grass revives; the Woods are green again;
And Jove descends in Show'rs of kindly Rain.

CORYDON
The Poplar is by great Alcides worn:
The Brows of Phoebus his own Bays adorn.
The branching Vine the jolly Bacchus loves;
The Cyprian Queen delights in Mirtle Groves.
With Hazle, Phillis crowns her flowing Hair,
And while she loves that common Wreath to wear;
Nor Bays, nor Myrtle Bows, with Hazle shall compare.

THYRSIS
The towring Ash is fairest in the Woods;
In Gardens Pines, and Poplars by the Floods:
But if my Lycidas will ease my Pains,
And often visit our forsaken Plains;
To him the tow'ring Ash shall yield in Woods;
In Gardens Pines, and Poplars by the Floods.

MELIBOEUS
I've heard: and, Thyrsis, you contend in vain:
For Corydon, young Corydon shall reign,
The Prince of Poets, on the Mantuan Plain.