Scene I

MOPSUS, an old shepherd. Say, hast thou seen a calf of mine, all whiteSave 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 fountNo 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.

'Twas yester morn where trees yon cavern hide,I saw a nymph more fair than Dian, whoHad 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 fireThou 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 wingèd 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 weWill 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 flyFar, far before me, when she sees me nigh,Even as a lamb flies from the wolf away.

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 fleeBeauty 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 tellHow 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 fallingFrom cliffs that echo back their murmurous song;Less sweet the summer sound of breezes callingThrough 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!

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 staySo 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 sheOf whom I lately spoke. So, friend, farewell!

MOPSUS. Hold, Aristaeus, lest for her or theeThy 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.

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?

THYRSIS. Free speech and servitude but ill accord,Friend Mopsus, and the hind is folly-fraughtWho rates his lord! He's wiser far than I.To tend these kine is all my mastery.