A Dialogue Song between Sylvanus and Arsilius

Syl. Shepherd, why dost thou hold thy peace?
Sing, and thy joy to us report.
Arsil. My joy, good shepherd, should be less.
If it were told in any sort;
Syl. Though such great favours thou dost win.
Yet deign thereof to tell some part.
Arsil. The hardest thing is to begin
In enterprises of such art.
Syl. Come, make an end, no cause omit.

Of all the joys that thou art in.
Arsil. How should I make an end of it.
That am not able to begin?
Syl. It is not just we should consent
That thou shouldst not thy joys recite.
Arsil. The soul that felt the punishment.
Doth only feel this great delight.
Syl. That joy is small, and nothing fine.

That is not told abroad to many.
Arsil. If it be such a joy as mine,
It never can be told to any.
Syl. How Can this heart of thine contain
A joy that is of such great force?
Arsil. I have it, where I did retain
My passions of so great remorse.
Syl. So great and rare a joy is this.

No man is able to withhold.
Arsil. But greater that a pleasure is,
The less it may with words be told.
Syl. Yet have I heard thee heretofore.
Thy joys in open songs report.
Arsil. I said, I had of joy some store,
But not how much, nor in what sort.
Syl. Yet when a joy is in excess.
Itself it will oft-times unfold.
Arsil. Nay, such a joy would be the less.
If but a word thereof were told.