While thou thy lively voice didst loud advance
Their tickled bloud for joy would inly dance.
But now, alas! poore solitarie man!
In lonesome desert thou dost wander wide
To seek and serve thy disappearing Pan,
Whom no man living in the world hath eyde:
For Pan is dead but I am still alive,
And live in men who honour to me give:
They honour also those that honour me
With sacred songs. But thou now singst to trees