Here Phil'aret did give his Song an ending.
To which the Nymphs so seriously attending
About him sate, as if they had supposed
He still had somewhat more to be disclosed.
And, well they know not, whether did belong
Most praise unto the Shepherd, or his Song.
For though, they must confess, they often hear
Those Lays, which much more deeply learned are;
Yet, when they well considered of the place,
With how unlikely (in their thought) it was
To give them hope of hearing of such a Strain;
Or that so young, and so obscure a Swain
Should such a matchless Beauty's favour get;
And know her worth so well, to sing of it:
They wondered at it. And some thus surmised
That He a greater man was, so disguised;
Or else that She, whom he so much had praised,
Some goddess was, that those his Measures raised,
Of purpose, to that rare attainèd height
In Envy's, and presuming Art's despite.
But whilst they, musing with themselves, bethought
Which way, out of this Shepherd to have wrought
What Nymph this Fair One was? and where she lived?
Lo, at that very instant, there arrived
Three men that, by their habits, Courtiers seemed:
For, though obscure, by some, he is esteemed,
Among the Greatest: who do not contemn,
In his retirèd walks, to visit him;
And there, they taste those pleasures of the mind,
Which they can, nor in Court, nor City find.
Some news or message, these new guests had brought him;
And to make haste away, it seems, besought him:
For instantly he rose! And that his nurture
Might not be taxed by a rude departure,
Himself excusing; he, those Nymphs did pray
His noble friends might bring him on their way.
"Who, as it seems," said he, "were therefore come,
That they might wait upon him to their home."
So, with their favour, he departed thence;
And, as they thought, to meet her Excellence,
Of whom he sung. Yet many deem that this
But an Idea of a Mistress is:
Because to none, he yet had deigned the telling
Her proper name; nor shown her place of dwelling!
When he was gone, a Lady, from among
Those Nymphs, took up his lute, and sang this Song.
THE NYMPH'S SONG.
Gentle Swain! Good speed befall thee!
And in love still prosper thou!
Future Times shall happy, call thee!
Though thou lie neglected now.
Virtue's lovers shall command thee!
And perpetual fame attend thee!
Happy are these woody mountains,
In whose shadows, thou dost hide!
And as happy, are those fountains
By whose murmurs, thou dost 'bide!
For Contents are here excelling,
More than in a Prince's dwelling.