The Scene changes, presenting Ludlow town, and the President's castle; then come in country Dancers; after them, the ATTENDANT SPIRIT, with the two BROTHERS and the LADY. SONG. Spirit. Back, Shepherds! back; enough your play, Till next sun-shine holiday; Here be, without duck or nod, Other trippings to be trod This second Song presents them to their Father and Mother. Noble lord, and lady bright, I have brought ye new delight; 960 965 Here behold so goodly grown Three fair branches of your own: Heav'n hath timely tri'd their youth, 970 LYCIDAS. In this Monody the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish seas, 1637; and by occasion foretells the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their height. YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Begin then, sisters of the sacred well, That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; With lucky words favour my destin'd urn; And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill. What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, * Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the star that rose at ev'ning, bright, 30 Toward Heav'ns descent had slop'd his westering wheel. Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, Temper'd to th' oaten flute; Rough Satyrs danc't, and Fauns with clov'n heel From the glad sound would not be absent long, 35 But O the heavy change, now thou art gone! Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves, The willows, and the hazel copses green, Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie; Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high; Nor yet where Deva spreads her wisard stream: Had ye been there......for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,— When, by the rout that made the hideous roar, 60 To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade, 65 To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 70 Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumour lies; Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears, 75 80 As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed." O fountain Arethuse! and thou honour'd flood, 85 Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds! But now my oat proceeds, And listens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea ; He ask't the waves, and ask't the felon winds, And sage Hippotades their answer brings; 100 Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge, 105 Like to that sanguine flower inscrib'd with woe. "Ah! who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge?"—— Last came, and last did go, The pilot of the Galilean lake: Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain 110 (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). He shook his mitr'd locks, and stern bespake: "How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain, Enow of such as for their bellies' sake Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold! 115 Of other care they little reck'ning make, Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest: Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheephook, or have learn'd aught else the least 120 That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw: The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 125 But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: 130 |