And all do love me well: but these that breathe the city air
Did never love me yet. And why? The cause is this I know.
That I a Neatherd am. They hear not how in vales below,
Fair Bacchus kept a herd of beasts. Nor can these nice ones tell
How Venus, raving for a Neatherd's love, with him did dwell
Upon the hills of Phrygia; and how she loved again
Adonis in the woods, and mourned in woods when he was slain.
Who was Endymion? Was he not a Neatherd? Yet the Moon
Did love this Neatherd so, that, from the heavens descending soon,
She came to Latmos grove where with the dainty lad she lay.