Sil.  Ile bring her to a bower beset with greene.

Ge.  And I an arbour may delight a Queene.

Sil.  Her dyet shall be Venson at my boord.

Ge.  Young Kid and Lambe we shepheards can affoord.

Sil.  And nothing else?

Ge.  Yes; raunging, now and then A Hog, a Goose, a Capon, or a Hen.

Sil.  These walkes are mine amongst the shadie trees.

Ge.  For that I haue a garden full of Bees, Whose buzing musick with the flowers sweet Each euen and morning shall her sences greet.

Sil.  The nightingale is my continuall clocke.

Ge.  And mine the watchfull sin-remembring cocke.

Sil.  A Hunts vp[99] I can tune her with my hounds.

Ge.  And I can shew her meads and fruitfull grounds.

Sil.  Within these woods are many pleasant springs.

Ge.  Betwixt yond dales the Eccho daily sings.

Sil.  I maruell that a rusticke shepheard dare
With woodmen then audaciously compare. 
Why, hunting is a pleasure for a King,
And Gods themselves sometime frequent the thing.
Diana with her bowe and arrows keene
Did often vse the chace in Forrests greene,
And so, alas, the good Athenian knight
And swifte Acteon herein tooke delight,
And Atalanta, the Arcadian dame,
Conceiu’d such wondrous pleasure in the game
That, with her traine of Nymphs attending on,
She came to hunt the Bore of Calydon.

Ge.  So did Apollo walke with shepheards crooke,
And many Kings their sceptres haue forsooke
To lead the quiet life we shepheards tooke (?),
Accounting it a refuge for their woe.

Sil.  But we take choice of many a pleasant walke,
And marke the Deare how they begin to stalke;
When each, according to his age and time,[100]
Pricks vp his head and bears a Princely minde. 
The lustie Stag, conductor of the traine,
Leads all the heard in order downe the plaine;
The baser rascals[101] scatter here and there
As not presuming to approach so neere.

Ge.  So shepheards sometimes sit vpon a hill
Or in the cooling shadow of a mill,
And as we sit vnto our pipes we sing
And therewith make the neighboring groues to ring;
And when the sun steales downward to the west
We leave our chat and whistle in the fist,
Which is a signall to our stragling flocke
As Trumpets sound to men in martiall shocke.

Sil.  Shall I be thus outfaced by a swaine? 
Ile haue a guard to wayt vpon her traine,
Of gallant woodmen clad in comely greene,
The like whereof hath seldome yet bene seene.

Ge.  And I of shepheards such a lustie crew
As neuer Forrester the like yet knew,
Who for their persons and their neate aray
Shal be as fresh as is the moneth of May. 
Where are ye there, ye merry noted swaines? 
Draw neare a while, and whilst vpon the plaines
Your flocks do gently feed, lets see your skill
How you with chaunting can sad sorrow kill.