CHORUS OF NYMPHS AND SHEPHERDS. Rector Chori. To-day old Janus opens the new year, And shuts the old. Haste, haste, all loyal swains, That know the times and seasons when t' appear, And offer your just service on these plains; Best kings expect first-fruits of your glad gains. 1 Shep. Pan is the great preserver of our bounds. 2 Shep. To him we owe all profits of our grounds. 3 Shep. Our milk. 9 Shep. See where he walks with Mira by his side. Cho. Sound, sound his praises loud, and with his hers divide. Of Pan we sing, the best of hunters, Pan, Shep. And in the chase, more than Sylvanus can. Cho. Hear, O ye groves, and, hills, resound his praise. Of brightest Mira do we raise our song, Sister of Pan, and glory of the spring; Nym. Who walks on earth, as May still went along. Cho. Rivers and valleys, echo what we sing. Cho. of Shep. Of Pan we sing, the chief of leaders, Pan That leads our flocks and us, and calls both forth To better pastures than great Pales can: Hear, O ye groves, and, hills, resound hist worth. Cho. of Nym. Of brightest Mira is our song; the grace Of all that Nature yet to life did bring; And were she lost, could best supply her place; Rivers and valleys, echo what we sing. 1. Where'er they tread the enamored ground, The fairest flowers are always found: 2. As if the beauties of the year Still waited on 'em where they were. 1. He is the father of our peace; 2. She to the crown hath brought increase. 1. We know no other power than his; Pan only our great shepherd is, Cho. Our great, our good. dressed Where one's In truth of colors, both are best. Rect. Chor. Haste, haste you hither, all you gen tler swains, That have a flock or herd upon these plains; Your teeming ewes, as well as mounting rams; And hunting, Pan, exceedeth thee: Rect. Cho. Where'er he goes, upon the ground Than ever Pales could, or Pan; He drives diseases from our folds, Cho. 'Tis he, 'tis he, &c. AN ELEGY. 120 Fair friend, 'tis true your beauties move 120 This piece occurs in this place without any title, and following the last with only a blank space, so that to the eye it belongs to it. Gifford prefixed the general title of An Elegy. Too little to be paid with love, I neither love, nor yet am free; It little wants of love but pain; "Tis not a passion's first access, Ready to multiply; But like love's calmest state it is It is like love to truth reduced, 'Tis either fancy or 'tis fate, To love you more than I; I love you at your beauty's rate, Like unstamped gold, I weigh each grace, So that you may collect Safely from my respect. And this respect would merit love, Payment enough; for who dare move ON THE KING'S BIRTHDAY. Rouse up thyself, my gentle Muse, 121 Though now our green conceits be gray, To take thy Phrygian harp, and play Long may they both contend to prove, Make first a song of joy and love, And sweet conjunctions grace the skies. To this let all good hearts resound, Whilst diadems invest his head; Long may he live, whose life doth bound 121 This is probably Ben's last tribute of duty to his royal master; it is not his worst; it was, perhaps, better as it came from the poet, for a stanza has apparently been lost, or confounded with the opening one. G. |