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But love, too hateful love, with pleasing spite,

And spiteful pleasare, thus hath bred thy harms;
And seeks thy mirth with pleasance to destroy :-
Tis love, my Thomalin, my liefest boy;
Tis love robs me of thee, and thee of all thy joy.

Thomalin.

Thirsil, I ken not what is hate or love,

Thee well I love, and thou lor'st me as well; Yet joy, no torment, in this passion prove;

And often have I heard the fishers tell He's not inferior to the almighty Jove ;

Jove heaven rules; Love Jore, heaven, earth, and

hell :

Tell me, my friend, if thou dost better know :
Men

say he goes arm’d with his shafts and bow; Two darts, one swift as fire, as lead the other slow.

Thirsil.

Ah, heedless boy ! Love is not such a lad

As he is fancied by the idle swain ;
With bow and shafts, and purple feathers clad;

Such as Diana, who with buskin'd train
Of armed nymphs along the forest glade

With golden quivers, in Thessalian plain,
In level race outstrips the jumping deer
With nimble feet; or, with a mighty spear,
Flings down a bristled boar, or else a squalid bear.

Love's sooner felt than seen; his substance thin

Betwixt those snowy mounts in ambush lies : Oft in the eyes he spreads his subtle gin;

He therefore soonest wins that fastest flies.

Fly thence my dear; fly fast my

Thomalin :
Who him encounters once, for ever dies :
But if he lurk within the ruddy lips,
Unhappy soul that thence his nectar sips,
While down into his heart the sugar'd poison slips.

Oft in a voice he creeps down through the ear;

Oft from a blushing cheek he lights his fire; Oft shrouds his golden flame in likest hair ;

Oft in a soft smooth skin doth close retire; Oft in a smile; oft in a silent tear:

And if all fail, yet Virtue's self he'll hire : Himself's a dart when nothing else can move : Who then the captive soul can well reprove, When Love and Virtue's self become the darts of love?

Thomalin.

Then love it is which breeds this burning fever:

For late, yet all too soon, on Venus' day,
I chanc'd, oh! cursed chance, yet blessed ever!

As careless on the silent shore I stray,
Five nymphs to see, five fairer saw I never,

Upon the golden sand to dance and play; The rest among, yet far above the rest, Sweet Melite.

Thirsil.

Thomalin, too well that bitter sweet I know,

Since fair Nicæa bred my pleasing smart: But better times did better reason show,

And cur'd those burning wounds with heav'nly art:

These storms of baser fire are laid full low,

And higher love safe anchors in my heart : So now a quiet calm does safely reign : And if my friend think not my counsel vain, Perhaps my art may cure, or much assuage thy pain.

So did I quickly heal this strong infection,

And to myself restor'd myself apace :
Yet did I not my love extinguish quite ;
I love with sweeter love and more delight,
But most I love the love which to my love has right.

Thomalin.

Thrice happy thou that could'st! my weaker mind

Can never learn to climb so lofty flight.

Thirsil.

If from this love thy will thou can’st unbind,

To will is here to can; will gives thee might;
Tis done, if once thou wilt ;-'tis done I find.-

Now let us home : for see, the weeping night
Steals from those farther waves upon the land.
To morrow shall we feast; then, hand in hand
Free will we sing and dance along the golden sand.

The “ feast of the morrow” accordingly takes place, and has for its object, the awardment of the prizę,”. which gives name to the seventh and last Eclogue. Aurora from old Tithon's frosty bed

(Cold wintry-witherd Tithon) early creeps; Her cheek with grief was pale, with anger red;

Out of her window close she blushing peeps ;

Her weeping eyes in pearled dew she steeps ;

Casting what sportless nights she ever led;

She dying lives, to think he's living dead. Curst be, and cursed is, that wretched sire That yokes green youth with age, want with desire ; Who ties the sun to snow, or marries frost to fire.

The morn saluting, up I quickly rise,
And to the green I post; for, on this day,

Shepherd and Fisher-boys had set a prize
Upon the shore, to meet in gentle fray,
Which of the two should sing the choisest lay.
Daphnis the Shepherd lad, whom Mira's eyes

Had kill'd; yet with such wound he gladly dies :
Thomalin, the Fisher, in whose heart did reign
Stella, whose love is life, and whose disdain
Seems worse than angry skies, or never-quiet main.

There soon I view the merry shepherd swains March three by three, clad all in youthful green ;

And while the sad recorder sweetly plains, Three lovely nymphs, each several row between, More lovely nymphs could nowhere else be seen,

Whose faces' snow their snowy garments staios;

With sweeter voices fit their pleasing strains. Their flocks flock round about; the horned rams And ewes go silent by, while wanton lambs, Dancing along the plains forget their milky dams.

Scarce were the shepherds set, but straight in sight The fisher-boys came driving up the stream;

Themselves in blue; and twenty sea-nymphs bright, In curious robes that well the waves might seem;

All dark below, the top like frothy cream :
Their boats and masts with flow'rs and garlands

dight;
And round the swans guard them, with armies white :
Their skiffs by couples dance to sweetest sounds,
Which running cornets breathe to full plain grounds,
That strike the river's face, and thence more sweet

rebounds.

And now the nymphs and swains had took their place; First those two boys ; Thomalin the fishers' pride ; Daphnis, the shepherds': nymphs their right hand

grace; And choicest swains shut up the other side : So sit they down in order fit apply'd :

Thirsil betwixt them both, in middle space Thirsil, their judge, who now's a shepherd base, But late a fisber-swain; 'till envious Chame Had rent his nets, and sank his boat with shame; So robb’d the boys of him, and him of all his game.

So as they sit, Thirsil begins the lay ;-
You lovely boys the woods' and oceans' pride,

Since I am judge of this sweet peaceful fray,
First tell us, where and when your

loves

you spy'd : And when in long discourse you well are try'd,

Then in short verse, by turns we'll gently play:

In love begin, in love we'll end the day.Daphnis thou first :

both are dear: Ah! if I might, I would not judge, but hear; Nought have I of a judge but an impartial ear.

to me you

Here again it would seem from the reference to the “envious Chame," and from the former employment of

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