The Muse herself, for her enchanting son,
Whom universal nature did lament, 60
When, by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His gory visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Alas! [what boots it] with [uncessant care]
[To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd’s trade,] 65
[And strictly meditate] the thankless Muse?
[Were it not better done], as others use,
To sport with [Amaryllis] in the shade,