Hymen O Hymenaeus, O Hymen come Hymenaeus.
YOUTHS.
Look as a lone lorn vine in a bare field sorrily growing,
(50) Never an arm uplifts, no grape to maturity ripens,
60 Only with headlong weight her tender body declining,
Bows, till topmost spray and roots meet feebly together;
Her no peasant swain, nor bullock tendeth her ever;
Yet to the bachelor elm if marriage-fortune unite her,
(55) Many a peasant tills and bullocks many about her;
65 Such is a maid untoy'd with as yet, in loneliness aging;
Wins she a bridegroom meet, in time's warm fulness arriving,
So to the man more dear, and less unlovely to parents.
O then, clasp thy love, nor fight, fair maiden, against him.
(60) Sin 'twere surely to fight; thy father gave to his arms thee,
70 Father's self and mother; obey nor wrongly defy them.
. . . . . . . . . .
Virgin's crown thou claim'st not alone, but partly the parents,
Father's one whole part, one goes to the mother allotted,
Rests one only to thee; O fight not with them alone thou,
75 (65) Both to a son their rights and both their dowry deliver.
Hymen O Hymenaeus, O Hymen come Hymenaeus.