And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale

Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilst the landscape round it measures;

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Russet lawns, and fallows gray,

Where the nibbling flocks do stray,

Mountains, on whose barren breast

The lab'ring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some Beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighb'ring eyes.
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savoury dinner set

Of herbs, and other country messes,

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Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;
And then in haste her bow'r she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;

Or, if the earlier season lead,

To the tann'd haycock in the mead,

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85 messes] Sylv. Du Bartas, p. 171.

"Yielding more holesom food then all the messes,

That now taste-curious wanton Plenty dresses.' Warton.

Sometimes with secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound

To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday,

Till the live-long daylight fail;

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,

With stories told of many a feat,

How fairy Mab the junkets eat;
She was pinch'd, and pull'd she said,
And he by friars' lanthorn led
Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat,
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn,
That ten day-lab'rers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubber fiend,

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And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength,

And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep.

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110 lubber] There is a pretty tale of a witch that had the devil's mark about her, God bless us, that had a gyaunt to her son, that was called Lob-lye-by-the-fire.' Knight of the B. Pestle, act iii. sc. 1. Warton.

Tower'd cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,

Where throngs of knights and barons bold
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while both contend
To win her grace, whom all commend.
There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique pageantry,
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,

If Jonson's learned sock be on,

Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.

And ever against eating cares,

Lap me in soft Lydian airs,

Married to immortal verse;

Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,

120 weeds] Troilus and Cressida, act iii. sc. 3. 'Great Hector in his weeds of peace.' 122 Rain] From the Messaggiero of Tasso. della lor virtu.' Black's Life of Tasso, ii. 476.

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135

140

Piovano quaggiu

Untwisting all the chains that tie

The hidden soul of harmony;

That Orpheus' self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed

Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free

His half regain'd Eurydice.

These delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

147 Elysian flowers] See Par. Lost, iii. ver. 359.

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ARCADES.

Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby, at Harefield, by some noble persons of her family; who appear on the scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat of state, with this song.

SONG I.

Look Nymphs, and Shepherds look,
What sudden blaze of majesty

Is that which we from hence descry,
Too divine to be mistook;

This, this is she

To whom our vows and wishes bend;
Here our solemn search hath end.

Fame, that her high worth to raise,
Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse,
We may justly now accuse
Of detraction from her praise;
Less than half we find express'd,
Envy bid conceal the rest.

5 This] Jonson's Ent. at Altrope, 1603.

'This is shee,

This is shee,

In whose world of grace,' &c. Wartı

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