Enter A SHEPHERD, who says—­

  Nay, listen, friends!  Fair auspices are given,
  Since Mercury to earth hath come from heaven.

  SCENE I

  MOPSUS, an old shepherd.

  Say, hast thou seen a calf of mine, all white
    Save for a spot of black upon her front,
    Two feet, one flank, and one knee ruddy-bright?

ARISTAEUS, a young shepherd.

Friend Mopsus, to the margin of this fount
No herds have come to drink since break of day;
Yet may’st thou hear them low on yonder mount. 
Go, Thyrsis, search the upland lawn, I pray! 
Thou Mopsus shalt with me the while abide;
For I would have thee listen to my lay.

[Exit THYRSIS.

’Twas yester morn where trees yon cavern hide,
I saw a nymph more fair than Dian, who
Had a young lusty lover at her side: 
But when that more than woman met my view,
The heart within my bosom leapt outright,
And straight the madness of wild Love I knew. 
Since then, dear Mopsus, I have no delight;
But weep and weep:  of food and drink I tire,
And without slumber pass the weary night.

  MOPSUS.

  Friend Aristaeus, if this amorous fire
      Thou dost not seek to quench as best may be,
      Thy peace of soul will vanish in desire. 
  Thou know’st that love is no new thing to me: 
      I’ve proved how love grown old brings bitter pain: 
      Cure it at once, or hope no remedy;
  For if thou find thee in Love’s cruel chain,
      Thy bees, thy blossoms will be out of mind,
      Thy fields, thy vines, thy flocks, thy cotes, thy grain

  ARISTAEUS.

  Mopsus, thou speakest to the deaf and blind: 
      Waste not on me these winged words, I pray,
      Lest they be scattered to the inconstant wind,
  I love, and cannot wish to say love nay;
      Nor seek to cure so charming a disease: 
      They praise Love best who most against him say. 
  Yet if thou fain wouldst give my heart some ease,
      Forth from thy wallet take thy pipe, and we
      Will sing awhile beneath the leafy trees;
  For well my nymph is pleased with melody.

  THE SONG.

  Listen, ye wild woods, to my roundelay;
  Since the fair nymph will hear not, though I pray.

  The lovely nymph is deaf to my lament,
      Nor heeds the music of this rustic reed;
  Wherefore my flocks and herds are ill content,
      Nor bathe their hoof where grows the water weed,
      Nor touch the tender herbage on the mead;
  So sad, because their shepherd grieves, are they.

  Listen, ye wild woods, to my roundelay;
  Since the fair nymph will hear not, though I pray.

  The herds are sorry for their master’s moan;
      The nymph heeds not her lover though he die,
  The lovely nymph, whose heart is made of stone—­
    Nay steel, nay adamant!  She still doth fly
    Far, far before me, when she sees me nigh,
  Even as a lamb flies fern the wolf away.