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

  Nay, tell her, pipe of mine, how swift doth flee
    Beauty together with our years amain;
  Tell her how time destroys all rarity,
    Nor youth once lost can be renewed again;
    Tell her to use the gifts that yet remain: 
  Roses and violets blossom not alway.

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

  Carry, ye winds, these sweet words to her ears,
    Unto the ears of my loved nymph, and tell
  How many tears I shed, what bitter tears! 
    Beg her to pity one who loves so well: 
    Say that my life is frail and mutable,
  And melts like rime before the rising day.

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

  MOPSUS.

  Less sweet, methinks the voice of waters falling
    From cliffs that echo back their murmurous song;
    Less sweet the summer sound of breezes calling
    Through pine-tree tops sonorous all day long;
    Than are thy rhymes, the soul of grief enthralling,
    Thy rhymes o’er field and forest borne along: 
  If she but hear them, at thy feet she’ll fawn.—­
  Lo, Thyrsis, hurrying homeward from the lawn!

  [Re-enters THYRSIS.

  ARISTAEUS.

  What of the calf?  Say, hast thou seen her now?

  THYRSIS, the cowherd.

  I have, and I’d as lief her throat were cut! 
  She almost ripped my bowels up, I vow,
  Running amuck with horns well set to butt: 
  Nathless I’ve locked her in the stall below: 
  She’s blown with grass, I tell you, saucy slut!

  ARISTAEUS.

  Now, prithee, let me hear what made you stay
  So long upon the upland lawns away?

  THYRSIS.

  Walking, I spied a gentle maiden there,
    Who plucked wild flowers upon the mountain side: 
    I scarcely think that Venus is more fair,
    Of sweeter grace, most modest in her pride: 
    She speaks, she sings, with voice so soft and rare,
    That listening streams would backward roll their tide: 
    Her face is snow and roses; gold her head;
    All, all alone she goes, white-raimented,

  ARISTAEUS.

  Stay, Mopsus!  I must follow:  for ’tis she
    Of whom I lately spoke.  So, friend, farewell!

  MOPSUS.

  Hold, Aristaeus, lest for her or thee
  Thy boldness be the cause of mischief fell!

  ARISTAEUS.

  Nay, death this day must be my destiny,
  Unless I try my fate and break the spell. 
  Stay therefore, Mopsus, by the fountain stay! 
  I’ll follow her, meanwhile, yon mountain way.

  [Exit ARISTAEUS.

  MOPSUS.

  Thyrsis, what thinkest thou of thy loved lord? 
    See’st thou that all his senses are distraught? 
    Couldst thou not speak some seasonable word,
    Tell him what shame this idle love hath wrought?