Classic Poem

A Pastoral of Mons. de=Scudery's In the first volume of Almahide - Englished.

Slothfull deceiver, come away,
With me again the fields survey.
And sleep no more, unless it be
My Fortune thou should'st dream of me.

The Sky, from which the Night is fled,
Is painted with a matchless Red,
'Tis day; the morning greets my eys,
Thou art my sun, wilt thou not rise?

Now the black shaddows of the night
From heav'n & Earth, are put to flight,
Come & dispell each lingring shade,
With that Light which thy Ey's have made.

That Planett, which so like thee seems,
In his long and peircing beams,
At once Illuminates & Guilds.
All these valleys, and these Fields.

The winds doe rather sigh then blow,
And Rivers murmure as they goe,
And all things seem to thee to say,
Rise fayr one, 'tis a Lovely Day.

Come, & the liquid Pearls descry,
Which glittering mong the flowers lye;
Day finds them wet, when it appears,
And 'tis too often with my Tears.

Hearken, & thou wilt much approve
The warbling Concert of this Grove;
Compleat the pleasure of our Ears,
Mixing thy harmony with theirs.

Feather'd Musician, step aside.
Thy self within these bushes hide.
While my Aminta's voice affords
In charming Notes to cloth my words.

Hasten to sing them, then, my Faire.
And put this proud one to despair.
Whose Voice, the Base & trebles part,
With so marvellous an Art.

Come Philomel, & now make use.
Of all, thy practice can produce,
All the harmonious secrets, thou
Canst try, will doe no service now.

Thou must to her this glory give,
For nothing can thy fame relieve.
Then, e're thou dost the Conquest try,
Chuse, to be silent, here, or dy.

Come my Shepheardess, survey
(While a hundred pipes doe play,)
From every fold, & every Shed,
How the heards, & flocks are led.

Heare the pleasing, harmless voice,
Of thy lambs, now they rejoyce,
While with their bleating notes are mix'd,
Their pretty bounds, & leaps betwixt.

See, see! how from the Thatched Roomes
Of these our artless Cabins, comes
A Rustique troop of Jolly Swains,
From every side, unto the Plains.

Their sheephooks steel, so bright & cleare,
How it shines, both far & neare!
A Bagpipe heere, & there a flute,
With merryer whistles do dispute.

Hear thy flocks, which for thee bleat
In language innocent, & sweet;
See here thy Shepheard who attends 'em,
And from the ravenous wolf defends 'em.

Thy Melampus him endear's,
And leap's & sport's, when he appear's,
He complains it thy sloth is such,
And my poor heart does that as much.

Among the rest here's a Ram, we
So white, so blith, so merry see,
In all our flocks, there is not one,
Deserves such praise, as he alone.

On the grass he butt's, & leap's,
Flatters, & then away he skips,
So gentle, & yet proud is he,
That surely, he hath learn'd of Thee.

The fayrest Garlands we can find,
Unworthy are his horns to bind.
But flowers that death can never know,
Are fittest to adorn his brow.

He is full of modest shame,
And as full of amourous flame,
Astrologers in heaven see,
A Beast less beautifull then he.

I have for thee a sheephook brought,
On which thy Shepheard hard hath wrought.
Here he thy Character hath trac'd;
Is it not neatly interlac'd?

To that a skrip is ty'd for thee,
Which woven is so curiously,
That the Art does the stuff excell,
And Gold it self, look's not so well.

Here's in a Cage that he did make,
All the Birds that he could take,
How glorious is their Slavery,
If they be not despis'd by thee!

A Garland too, for thee hath stay'd,
And 'tis of fayrest flowers made;
Aurora had this offering kept,
And for its loss hath newly wept.

A lovely Fawn he brings along
Nimble as thy self, & yo u ng,
And greater presents he would bring,
But that a Shephard is no King.

Come away, my lovely bliss,
To such divertisement as this,
And bring none to these lovely places,
But only Venus, and the Graces.

What ever company were nigh,
Would tedious be, when thou art by,
Venus & Fortune would to me
Be troublesom, if I had Thee.

She comes! from far, the Lovely Mayd
Is by her shining charms betray'd.
See how the flowers sprout up, to meet
A noble ruine from her feet.

How sprightly, & how faire is she!
How much undone then must I be?
My torment is, I know, Severe,
But who can think on't, when she's neare?

My heart leaps up within my breast,
And sink's again with Joy opprest.
But in her sight to yeild my breath,
Would be an acceptable Death.

Come then, & in this shade, be sure
That thy fair skin shall be secure;
For els the Sun would wrong, I feare,
The colours which doe flourish there.

His flaming Steeds doe climb so fast,
While they to our horizon hast;
That by this time, his radiant Coach,
Does to his highest house approach.

His fiercer rays in heat, & length,
Begin to rob us of our strength.
Directly on the Earth they dart,
And all the shadows are grown short.

This valley hath a private seat,
Which is a cool, & moyst retreat;
Where th'angry Planet which we spy,
Can ne're invade us with his ey.

Behold this fresh, & florid Grass,
Where never yet a foot did pass,
A Carpet spreads for us to sit,
And to thy beauty offers it.

This delicate Apartement is
Roof'd o're with Aged stooping Trees,
Whose verdant [shadow] does secure
The Place a native furniture.

The Courts of Nayades are such,
In shades like these ador'd so much,
Where thousand fountains round about,
Perpetually gush water out.

How finely this [thick moss] doth look,
Which limits this transparent brook;
Whose sportfull wave does swell & spread,
And is on flags, & rushes shed.

Within this liquid Crystall, see
The cause of all my misery.
And judge by that, fair Murtheress,
If I could love that beauty less.

Thy either Ey does ray's dispence,
Of modesty & Innocence.
And with thy seriousness; we find
The gladness of an Infant Joyn'd.

Thy frowns delight, though they torment,
From thy looks Life & Death is sent.
And thy whole Aire does on us throw
Arrow's, which cureless wounds bestow.

The stature of a Mountain Pine,
Is crooked, when compar'd to thine,
Which does thy Sex to envy move,
As much as it does ours to love.

From thy dividing lips doe flye,
Those pointed shafts that make us dy.
Nor have our Gardens e're a Rose,
That to thy cheeks we dare oppose.

When by a happy Liberty,
We may thy lovely bosom see,
The whitest Curds, nor falling Snow,
Can no such fine complexion show.

Thyme, & Marjoram, whose scent,
Of all perfumes most innocent,
Less fragrancy then thy breath have,
Which all our senses does enslave.

Ev'n when thou scornest, thou can'st please,
And make us love our own disease.
The blushes that our Cherry's weare,
Do hardly to thy lips come neare.

When upon the smoother Plaines,
Thou to dance wilt take the pains,
No hind, when she employ's her feet,
Is half so gracefull, or so fleet.

Of thy garments faire, & white,
The neatness gives us most delight,
And I had rather them behold,
Then clothes embroyder e d with Gold.

I nothing in the world can see
So rare as unadorned Thee,
Who art, as it must be confess'd,
Not by thy clothes, but Beauty dress'd.

Thy lovely haire, thou up hast ty'd,
And in an unwrought vaile dost hide,
In the meane time thy single face,
All other beautys does deface.

Yes, yes, thy negligence alone,
Does more, then all their care hath done,
The Nimphs in all their pompous dress,
Do entertain my fancy less.

A nosegay all thy Jewel is,
And all thy art consists in this,
And what from this pure spring does pass
Is all thy paint, & all thy Glass.

Adored beauty, here may we
Our selves in lovely glasses see.
Come then, I pray thee, let us look,
Me in thy Eys, thou in the Brook.

Within this faithful Mirrour see
The object, which hath conquerd me:
Which though the stream does well impart,
'Tis better formed in my heart.

In th'entertainments of thy mind,
When 'tis to pensiveness inclin'd,
Count if thou canst these flow'rs, & thou
The summe of my desires wilt know.

Observe these Turtles, kind & true,
Hearken how fervently they woo.
They faithful Lovers are, & who
That sees thee, would not be so too?

Of them, my fair Aminta, learn
At length to grant me thy concern;
Follow what thou in them do'st see,
And thou wilt soon be kind to me.

These mighty Bulls are worth thy sight,
Who on the Plains so stoutly fight,
Fiercely each others brow they hit,
Where beauty does with anger meet.

Love is the quarrell they maintain,
As't was the reason of their pain.
So would thy faithfull Shepheard doe,
If he should meet his Rivall too.

Thy Shepheard, fair, & cruell one,
In all these Villages is known:
Such is his Fathers heard, & flock,
The Plain is cover'd with the stock.

He the convenient'st pastures know's,
And where the wholsom waters flow,
Know's where the coolest shaddows are,
And well hath learn'd a shepheards care.

Astrology he study's too,
As much as Shepheards ought to doe,
Nay Magick nothing hath so dim,
That can be long conceal'd from him.

When any doe these Secrets dread
He for himself, hath this to plead;
That he by them such hearbs can pick,
As cure his sheep, when they are sick.

He can foresee the coming storm,
Nor hayle, nor flouds, can do him harm,
And from their injury's can keep,
Safely enough, his lambs & Sheep.

He knows the Season of the yeare,
When Shepheards think it fit to sheare,
Such inoffensive sheep as these,
And strip them of their Silver fleece.

He knows the scorching time of day,
When he must lead his flock away.
To Valleys which are coole, & neare,
To chew the cud, & rest them there.

He dares the fiercest wolves engage,
When 'tis their hunger makes them rage;
The frighted Dogs, when they retire,
He with new courage can inspire.

He sings and dances very well,
And does in wrestling too excell.
Yes fair Mayd, & few that know him,
But these advantages allow him.

At our Feast, he gets the Praise,
For his enchanting Roundelay's,
And on his head have oft'nest been
The Garlands, & the Prizes seen.

When the Skrip, & crook he quits,
And free from all disturbance sets,
He can make the bag-pipes swell,
And oaten reeds his passion tell.

When his flame does him excite,
In amorous songs to doe thee right,
He makes the verses which he uses,
And borrows none of other Muses.

He neglects his own affaires,
To serve thee with greater care,
And many Shepheardesses would
Deprive thee of him if they could.

Of Alcestes he could tell
And Silvia's Ey, thou know'st it well,
But as his modesty is great,
He blushes if he them repeat.

When in the Crystall stream he looks,
If there be any truth in Brooks,
He finds, thy scorn can never be
Excus'd by his deformity.

His passion is so high for thee,
As 'twill admit no new degree,
Why wilt not thou his love requite,
Since Kindness gives so much delight?

Aminta hearken'd all this while,
Then with a dextrous, charming smile,
Against her will, she let him see,
That she would change his destiny.

I promise nothing, then said she,
With an obliging aire, & free,
But, I think, if you will try
The wolves are crueller than I.

When my sheep unhealthy are,
I have compassion, I have care;
Nor pains, nor Journeys then I grudge,
By which you may my nature Judge.

When any of them goes astray,
All the hamlets neare us, may
Perceive me, all in grief & feare,
Run, & search it every where.

And when I happen once to find
The object of my troubled Mind,
As=soon as ever it I spy,
O! how over-joy'd am I.

I flatter her, & I caress,
And let her ruffle all my dress,
The vagabond I kindly treat,
And Mint and Thyme, I make her eat.

When my Sparrow does me quit,
My throbbing heart, makes after it.
And nothing can relief afford,
For my fair, inconstant bird.

When my Dog hath me displeas'd,
I am presently appeas'd,
And a tear is in my Ey,
If I have but made him cry.

I never could a hatred keep,
But to the wolf that kills my sheep.
Gentle & kind, & soft I am,
And just as harmless as a Lamb.

Dispell thy feare, cease thy complaint,
O Shepheard timorous, & faint.
For I'me a Mistress very good,
If you'll but serve me as you should.

Words of a favourable strain!
(Cry'd out the now transported swain,)
Which doe in thy Leontius fate,
So glad and swift a change create.

But look about, for now I mark
The fields already growing dark,
And with those shaddows cover'd all,
Which from the neighbouring mountains fall.

The winged quire on every tree
By carolling melodiously,
Doe the declining Sun pursue,
With their last homage, & adieu.

From the next Cottages, I heare
Voices well known unto my Ear,
They are of our domesticks who
Do pipe, & hollow for us too.

The flocks & heards do homewards goe,
I hear them hither bleat, & low,
Thy Ey's which mine so much admire,
Tell me 'tis time we should retire.

Go then destroying Fair one, goe,
Since I perceive it must be soe,
Sleep sweetly all ye night, but be,
At least, so kind, to dream of Me.

A Pastoral of Mons de=Scudery's
In the first volume of Almahide - Englished.

Slothfull deceiver, come away,
With me again the fields survey.
And sleep no more, unless it be
My Fortune thou should'st dream of me

The Sky, from which the Night is fled,
Is painted with a matchless Red,
'Tis day; the morning greets my eys,
Thou art my sun, wilt thou not rise?

Now the black shaddows of the night
From heav'n & Earth, are put to flight,
Come & dispell each lingring shade,
With that Light which thy Ey's have made

That Planett, which so like thee seems,
In his long and peircing beams,
At once Illuminates & Guilds.
All these valleys, and these Fields.

The winds doe rather sigh then blow,
And Rivers murmure as they goe,
And all things seem to thee to say,
Rise fayr one, 'tis a Lovely Day.

Come, & the liquid Pearls descry,
Which glittering 'mong the flowers lye;
Day finds them wet, when it appears,
And 'tis too often with my Tears

Hearken, & thou wilt much approve
The warbling Concert of this Grove;
Compleat the pleasure of our Ears,
Mixing thy harmony with theirs

Feather'd Musician, step aside
Thy self within these bushes hide
While my Aminta's voice affords
In charming Notes to cloth my words

Hasten to sing them, then, my Faire
And put this proud one to despair
Whose Voice, the Base & trebles part,
With so marvellous an Art.

Come Philomel, & now make use.
Of all, thy practice can produce,
All the harmonious secrets, thou
Canst try, will doe no service now.

Thou must to her this glory give,
For nothing can thy fame relieve.
Then, e're thou dost the Conquest try,
Chuse, to be silent, here or dy

Come my Shepheardess, survey
(While a hundred pipes doe play,)
From every fold, & every Shed,
How the heards, & flocks are led

Heare the pleasing, harmless voice,
Of thy lambs, now they rejoyce,
While with their bleating notes are mix'd,
Their pretty bounds, & leaps betwixt

See, see! how from the Thatched Roomes
Of these our artless Cabins, comes
A Rustique troop of Jolly Swains,
From every side, unto the Plains

Their sheephooks steel, so bright & cleare,
How it shines, both far & neare!
A Bagpipe heere, & there a flute,
With merryer whistles do dispute

Hear thy flocks, which for thee bleat
In language innocent, & sweet;
See here thy Shepheard who attends 'em,
And from the ravenous wolf defends 'em

Thy Melampus him endear's,
And leap's & sport's, when he appear's,
He complains it thy sloth is such,
And my poor heart does that as much

Among the rest here's a Ram, we
So white, so blith, so merry see,
In all our flocks, there is not one,
Deserves such praise, as he alone.

On the grass he butt's, & leap's,
Flatters, & then away he skips,
So gentle, & yet proud is he,
That surely, he hath learn'd of Thee

The fayrest Garlands we can find,
Unworthy are his horns to bind
But flowers that death can never know,
Are fittest to adorn his brow

He is full of modest shame,
And as full of amourous flame,
Astrologers in heaven see,
A Beast less beautifull then he

I have for thee a sheephook brought,
On which thy Shepheard hard hath wrought.
Here he thy Character hath trac'd;
Is it not neatly interlac'd?

To that a skrip is ty'd for thee,
Which woven is so curiously,
That the Art does the stuff excell,
And Gold it self, look's not so well

Here's in a Cage that he did make,
All the Birds that he could take,
How glorious is their Slavery,
If they be not despis'd by thee!

A Garland too, for thee hath stay'd,
And 'tis of fayrest flowers made;
Aurora had this offering kept,
And for its loss hath newly wept

A lovely Fawn he brings along
Nimble as thy self, & young,
And greater presents he would bring,
But that a Shephard is no King.

Come away my lovely bliss,
To such divertisement as this,
And bring none to these lovely places,
But only Venus, and the Graces

What ever company were nigh,
Would tedious be, when thou art by,
Venus & Fortune would to me
Be troublesom, if I had Thee

She comes! from far, the Lovely Mayd
Is by her shining charms betray'd.
See how the flowers sprout up, to meet
A noble ruine from her feet.

How sprightly, & how faire is she!
How much undone then must I be?
My torment is, I know, Severe,
But who can think on't, when she's neare?

My heart leaps up within my breast,
And sink's again with Joy opprest.
But in her sight to yeild my breath,
Would be an acceptable Death

Come then, & in this shade, be sure
That thy fair skin shall be secure;
For els the Sun would wrong, I feare,
The colours which doe flourish there.

His flaming Steeds doe climb so fast,
While they to our horizon hast;
That by this time, his radiant Coach,
Does to his highest house approach.

His fiercer rays in heat, & length,
Begin to rob us of our strength
Directly on the Earth they dart,
And all the shadows are grown short.

This valley hath a private seat,
Which is a cool, & moyst retreat;
Where th'angry Planet which we spy,
Can ne're invade us with his ey.

Behold this fresh, & florid Grass,
Where never yet a foot did pass,
A Carpet spreads for us to sit,
And to thy beauty offers it

This delicate Apartement is
Roof'd o're with Aged stooping Trees,
Whose verdant [shadow] does secure
The Place a native furniture.

The Courts of Nayades are such,
In shades like these ador'd so much,
Where thousand fountains round about,
Perpetually gush water out.

How finely this [thick moss] doth look,
Which limits this transparent brook;
Whose sportfull wave does swell & spread,
And is on flags, & rushes shed.

Within this liquid Crystall, see
The cause of all my misery.
And judge by that, fair Murtheress,
If I could love that beauty less

Thy either Ey does ray's dispence,
Of modesty & Innocence.
And with thy seriouness; we find
The gladness of an Infant Joyn'd.

Thy frowns delight, though they torment,
From thy looks Life & Death is sent.
And thy whole Aire does on us throw
Arrow's, which cureless wounds bestow.

The stature of a Mountain Pine,
Is crooked, when compar'd to thine,
Which does thy Sex to envy move,
As much as it does ours to love.

From thy dividing lips doe flye,
Those pointed shafts that make us dy.
Nor have out Gardens e're a Rose,
That to thy cheeks we dare oppose

When by a happy Liberty,
We may thy lovely bosom see,
The whitest Curds, not falling Snow,
Can no such fine complexion show.

Thyme, & Marjoram, whose scent,
Of all perfumes most innocent,
Less fragrancy then thy breath have,
Which all our senses does enslave

Ev'n when thou scornest, thou can'st please,
And make us love our own disease
The blushes that our Cherry's weare,
Do hardly to thy lips come neare.

When upon the smoother Plaines,
Thou to dance wilt take the pains,
No hind, when she employ's her feet,
Is half so gracefull, or so fleet

Of thy garments faire, & white,
The neatness gives us most delight,
And I had rather them behold,
Then clothes embroyder e d with Gold

I nothing in the world can see
So rare as unadorned Thee,
Who art, as it must be confess'd,
Not by thy clothes, but Beauty dress'd.

Thy lovely haire, thou up hast ty'd,
And in an unwrought vaile dost hide,
In the meane time thy single face,
All other beautys does deface

Yes, yes, thy negligence alone,
Does more, then all their care hath done,
The Nimphs in all their pompous dress,
Do entertain my fancy less.

A nosegay all thy Jewel is,
And all thy art consists in this,
And what from this pure spring does pass
Is all thy paint, & all thy Glass.

Adored beauty, here may we
Our selves in lovely glasses see
Come then, I pray thee, let us look,
Me in thy Eys, thou in the Brook

Within this faithful Mirrour see
The object, which hath conquerd me:
Which though the stream does well impart,
'Tis better formed in my heart

In th'entertainments of thy mind,
When 'tis to pensiveness inclin'd,
Count if thou canst these flow'rs, & thou
The summe of my desires wilt know.

Observe these Turtles, kind & true,
Hearken how fervently they woo.
They faithful Lovers are, & who
That sees thee, would not be so too?

Of them, my fair Aminta, learn
At length to grant me thy concern;
Follow what thou in them do'st see,
And thou wilt soon be kind to me

These mighty Bulls are worth thy sight,
Who on the Plains so stoutly fight,
Fiercely each others brow they hit,
Where beauty does with anger meet

Love is the quarrell they maintain,
As't was the reason of their pain.
So would thy faithfull Shepheard doe,
If he should meet his Rivall too.

Thy Shepheard, fair, & cruell one,
In all these Villages is known:
Such is his Fathers heard, & flock,
The Plain is cover'd with the stock.

He the convenient'st pastures know's,
And where the wholsom waters flow,
Know's where the coolest shaddows are,
And well hath learn'd a shepheards care.

Astrology he study's too,
As much as Shepheards ought to doe,
Nay Magick nothing hath so dim,
That can be long conceal'd from him

When any doe these Secrets dread
He for himself, hath this to plead;
That he by them such hearbs can pick,
As cure his sheep, when they are sick.

He can foresee the coming storm,
Nor hayle, nor flouds, can do him harm,
And from their injury's can keep,
Safely enough, his lambs & Sheep

He knows the Season of the yeare,
When Shepheards think it fit to sheare,
Such inoffensive sheep as these,
And strip them of their Silver fleece.

He knows the scorching time of day,
When he must lead his flock away
To Valleys which are coole, & neare,
To chew the cud, & rest them there.

He dares the fiercest wolves engage,
When 'tis their hunger makes them rage;
The frighted Dogs, when they retire,
He with new courage can inspire.

He sings and dances very well,
And does in wrestling too excell.
Yes fair Mayd, & few that know him,
But these advantages allow him.

At our Feast, he gets the Praise,
For his enchanting Roundelay's,
And on his head have oft'nest been
The Garlands, & the Prizes seen

When the Skrip, & crook he quits,
And free from all disturbance sets,
He can make the bag-pipes swell,
And oaten reeds his passion tell.

When his flame does him excite,
In amorous songs to doe thee right,
He makes the verses which he uses,
And borrows none of other Muses.

He neglects his own affaires,
To serve thee with greater care,
And many Shepheardesses would
Deprive thee of him if they could

Of Alcestes he could tell
And Silvia's Ey, thou know'st it well,
But as his modesty is great,
He blushes if he them repeat

When in the Crystall stream he looks,
If there be any truth in Brooks,
He finds, thy scorn can never be
Excus'd by his deformity.

His passion is so high for thee,
As 'twill admit no new degree.
Why wilt not thou his love requite,
Since Kindness gives so much delight?

Aminta hearken'd all this while,
Then with a dextrous, charming smile,
Against her will, she let him see,
That she would change his destiny.

I promise nothing, then said she,
With an obliging aire, & free,
But, I think, if you will try
The wolves are crueller than I

When my sheep unhealthy are,
I have compassion, I have care;
Nor pains, nor Journeys then I grudge,
By which you may my nature Judge

When any of them goes astray,
All the hamlets neare us, may
Perceive me, all in grief & feare,
Run, & search it every where.

And when I happen once to find
The object of my troubled Mind,
As=soon as ever it I spy,
O! how over-joy'd am I.

I flatter her, & I caress,
And let her ruffle all my dress,
The vagabond I kindly treat,
And Mint and Thyme, I make her eat

When my Sparrow does me quit,
My throbbing heart, makes after it.
And nothing can relief afford,
For my fair, inconstant bird

When my Dog hath me displeas'd,
I am presently appeas'd,
And a tear is in my Ey,
If I have but made him cry

I never could a hatred keep,
But to the wolf that kills my sheep
Gentle & kind, & soft I am,
And just as harmless as a Lamb.

Dispell thy feare, cease thy complaint,
O Shepheard timorous, & faint
For I'me a Mistress very good,
If you'll but serve me as you should

Words of a favourable strain!
(Cry'd out the now transported swain,)
Which doe in thy Leontius fate,
So glad and swift a change create.

But look about, for now I mark
The fields already growing dark,
And with those shaddows cover'd all,
Which from the neighbouring mountains fall

The winged quire on every tree
By carolling melodiously,
Doe the declining Sun pursue,
With their last homage, & adieu.

From the next Cottages, I heare
Voices well known unto my Ear,
They are of our domesticks who
Do pipe, & hollow for us too

The flocks & heards do homewards goe,
I hear them hither bleat, & low,
Thy Ey's which mine so much admire,
Tell me 'tis time we should retire

Go then destroying Fair one, goe,
Since I perceive it must be soe,
Sleep sweetly all the night, but be,
At least, so kind, to dream of Me