Naijs. The Faires are hopping,
The small Flowers cropping,
And with dew dropping,
Skip thorow the Greaues.
Cloe. At Barly-breake they play
Merrily all the day,
At night themselues they lay
200Vpon the soft leaues.
Naijs. The gentle winds sally,
Vpon every Valley,
And many times dally
And wantonly sport.
Cloe. About the fields tracing,
Each other in chasing,
And often imbracing,
In amorous sort.
Naijs. And Eccho oft doth tell
210Wondrous things from her Cell,
As her what chance befell,
Learning to prattle.
Cloe. And now she sits and mocks
The Shepherds and their flocks,
And the Heards from the Rocks
Keeping their Cattle.
When to these Maids the Muses silence cry,
For 'twas the opinion of the Company,
That were not these two taken of, that they
220Would in their Conflict wholly spend the day.
When as the Turne to Florimel next came,
A Nimph for Beauty of especiall name,
Yet was she not so Iolly as the rest:
And though she were by her companions prest,
Yet she by no intreaty would be wrought
To sing, as by th' Elizian Lawes she ought:
When two bright Nimphes that her companions were,
And of all other onely held her deare,
Mild Claris and Mertilla, with faire speech
230Their most beloued Florimel beseech,
T'obserue the Muses, and the more to wooe her,
They take their turnes, and thus they sing vnto her.
Cloris. Sing, Florimel, O sing, and wee
Our whole wealth will giue to thee,
We'll rob the brim of euery Fountaine,
Strip the sweets from euery Mountaine,
We will sweepe the curled valleys,
Brush the bancks that mound our allyes,
We will muster natures dainties
240When she wallowes in her plentyes,
The lushyous smell of euery flower
New washt by an Aprill shower,
The Mistresse of her store we'll make thee
That she for her selfe shall take thee;
Can there be a dainty thing,
That's not thine if thou wilt sing.
Mertilla. When the dew in May distilleth,
And the Earths rich bosome filleth,
And with Pearle embrouds each Meadow,
250We will make them like a widow,
And in all their Beauties dresse thee,
And of all their spoiles possesse thee,
With all the bounties Zephyre brings,
Breathing on the yearely springs,
The gaudy bloomes of euery Tree
In their most beauty when they be,
What is here that may delight thee,
Or to pleasure may excite thee,
Can there be a dainty thing
260That's not thine if thou wilt sing.
But Florimel still sullenly replyes
I will not sing at all, let that suffice:
When as a Nimph one of the merry ging
Seeing she no way could be wonne to sing;
Come, come, quoth she, ye vtterly vndoe her
With your intreaties, and your reuerence to her;
For praise nor prayers, she careth not a pin;
They that our froward Florimel would winne,
Must worke another way, let me come to her,
270Either Ile make her sing, or Ile vndoe her.