1.
Satyrs, sing, let sorrow keep her cell,
Let warbling Echoes ring,
And sounding music yell[150]
Through hills, through dales, sad grief and care to kill
In him long since, alas! hath griev'd his fill.
2.
Sleep no more, but wake and live content,
Thy grief the Nymphs deplore:
The Sylvan gods lament
To hear, to see thy moan, thy loss, thy love,
Thy plaints to tears the flinty rocks do move.
3.
Grieve not, then; the queen of love is mild,
She sweetly smiles on men,
When reason's most beguil'd;
Her looks, her smiles are kind, are sweet, are fair:
Awake therefore, and sleep not still in care.
4.
Love intends to free thee from annoy,
His nymphs Sylvanus sends
To bid thee live in joy,
In hope, in joy, sweet love, delight's embrace:
Fair love herself will yield thee so much grace.
[Exeunt the Nymphs and Satyrs.
SOPHOS.
What do I hear? what harmony is this,
With silver sound that glutteth Sophos' ears.
And drives sad passions from his heavy heart,
Presaging some good future hap shall fall,
After these blust'ring blasts of discontent?
Thanks, gentle Nymphs, and Satyrs too, adieu;
That thus compassionate a loyal lover's woe,
When heav'n sits smiling at his dire mishaps.