SATYR

'Tis no matter, it not good, Mortal you must leave your wooing, Though there be alloy in doing, Yet it brings much grief, behind it, They best eel it, that do find it, See the day begins to break, And the light shutts Like a streak, Of subtle fire the wind blows cold, While the morning does unfold, Now the Birds begin to rouse, And the Squyrrill from the boughs, Leps to get him Nuts and fruit, The early Lark erst was mute, Carr lls to the Rising day, Many a Note, and many say, Therefore here I end my watch, Least the wandering Swain should catch, Harm or lose him self Amo : ah me. Yet more blood, Sure these wanton Swains are wood, Can there be a hand, or heart, Dare commit so vild a partly, As this Murder, by the Moon, That hydd her self when this was done, Never was a sweeter face, I will bear her to the place, Where my Goddess keeps and crave, Her to give her life, or graven, Who would have thought it, So fair a face: Here away me thinks I wind it. Stronger yet, O here they be, Here here in a hollow tree. Two found mortals have I found, By the fingers thus I wring ye, To my Goddess thus I bring ye. Strife is vain come gently in, I scented them, they are full of sin, From this glass I throw a drop, Of Crystal water on the top. Of every grass on flowers a pair: Send a fume and keep the Air, Pure and wholesome, sweet & blessed, Till this virgins wound be dressed, By Pan, I think she hath no sin. She is so light, lie on these leaves, Sleep that mortal sense deceives. Crown thine eyes, and ease thy pain, Mayest thou soon be well again, Shepherd come, In this flame his figer thrust, Stay fair Nymph, fly not so fast, We must try if yond be chaste: Heres a hand that quaks for fear, Sure she will not prove so clear: Thou divinest, fairest, brightest, Thou most powerful maid, and whitest. Thou most virtuous, and most blessed, Eyes of Stars and Golden Tressed, Like Apollo, tell me sweetest, What new service now is meetest. For thee Satire shall I stray, In the middle Air and stay, Thy Sailing Rack or nimbly take, Hold by the Moon, and gently make. Suit to the pale Queen of the night, For a Beam to give thee light, Shall I dive into the Sea, And bring the coral making way, Through the rising waves that fallen, In snowy fleeces, dearest shall, I catch the wanton fawns, or flies, Whose woven wings the Summer die, For many colours get thee fruit, Or steal from Heaven old Orpheus Lute All these I venture for and more, To do her service, all these Woods adore Holy virgin, I will dance, Round about these woods as quick, As the breaking light, and prick, Down the lawns, and down the vales, Faster then the Windmill sails. So I take my leave and pray, All the comforts of the day: Such as Phaebus heat does send, On the Earth may still be friend, Thee and this Arbour. Through yond same bending plain, That flings his arms down to the main, And through these thick woods have I run, whose bot ome neue kissed the Sun Since the lusty spring began, All to please my M ister Pan, Have I trotted without rest To get him fruit, for at a feast, He entertains this coming night, His Paramour the Syrinx bright: But behold a fairer sighed He stands amazed. By that heavenly form of thine, Brightest fair thou art divine: Sp ong from great immortal raze Of the G ds: for in thy face, Shines more awful majesty, Then dull weak mortality Dare with misty eyes behold And live, therefore on this mould, Lowly do I bend my knee, In worship of thy diety, Deign it Goddess from my hand, To receive what ere this land, From her firtile womb does send Of her choice fruits: and but lend, Belief to that the Satire tells, Fairer by the famous wells, To this present day never grew, Never better nor more true, Here be grapes whose lusty blood, Is the learned Poets good, Sweeter yet did never crown, The head of Bacchus, nuts more brown Then the squirrels teeth that crack them, Deign o fairest fair to take them, For these black eyed Driope, Hath often times commanded me, With my clasped knee to climb, See how well the lusty time, Hath decked their rising cheeks in read, Such as on your lips is spread, Here be berries for a Queen, Some be read, some be green: These are of that luscious meat, The great God Pan, himself does eat: All these, and what the woods can yield, The hanging mountain or the field, I freely offer, and ere long, Will bring you more, more sweet and strong. Till when humbly leave I take, Least the great Pan do awake: That sleeping lies in a deep glade, Unde a broad beeches shade: I must go, I must run, Swifter then the fiery Sun. Exit. Back again about this ground Sure I hear a mortal found, I bind thee by this powerful spell, By the waters of this well: By the glimmering moon beams bright, Speak again thou mortal wight. Speak again thou mortal wight, Here the foolish mortal lies, Sleeping on the ground, arise, The poor wight is almost dead, On the Ground his wounds have bled, And his Clothes fouled with his blood, To my Goddess in the wood, Will I led him, whose hands pure, Will help this mortal wight to cure, Softly gliding as I go; With this Burden full of woe; Through still silence of the night? Guided by the glooe-wormes light. Hither am I come at last; Many a Thicket have I passed; Not at twig that durst deny me; Nor a bush to at durst descry me. To the little Bird that sleeps: On the tender spray nor creeps, That hardly worm with pointed Tail; But if I be under sail; Flying faster then the wind; Leaving all the Clouds behind, But does hide her tender head, In some hollow Tree oh bed; Of eeded Nettells not a Hare Can be started from his fare; By my footing nor a wish; Is more sudden, nor a fish? Can be found; with greater ease, Cut the vast unbounded seas; Leaving neither print nor owned. Then I when nimbly on the ground, I measure many a league and hour; But behold the happy bower, That must ease me of my charge, And by holy hand enlardge; The oule of this sad man that yet, Lies fast bound in dead lysi to, Heaven and great Pan, sucker it, Hay e thou beauty of the Bower, Whither then the Paramour: Of my Master; let me crave, Thy virtuous help to keep from Grave, This poor Mortal that here lies, Waiting when thee destinies. Will undo his thread of life, Veiwe the wound by cruel knife, Trenched into him I will and when the weathe : See ves to Angle in the brook, I will bring a silver hook, With a line of finest silk, And a rod as white as mi ke, To deserve the little fish, So I take my leave and wish, On this bower may ever dwell, Spring, and summer. I am the Statyre that did fill, Your lap with early fruit and will, When I hap to gather more, Bring ye better, and more store: Yet I come not empty now, See a blossom from the bow, But be shrew his heart that pulled it, And his perfect Sighed that Culled it, From the other springing blooms For a sweeter youth the Gwomes Cannot show me nor the downs: Nor the many neighbouring Towns, Low in yonder glade I found him, Softly in mine Arms I bound him, Hither have I brought him sleeping, In a Trance, his wounds fresh weeping, In remembrance such youth may Spring and perish in a Day. The a hand some swain does stand, Stretching out a bloody hand. Now while theme one does rule the sky, And the stars, whose feeble light Give a pale shadow to the night, Are up, great Pan commanded me To walk this grove about, while he In a corner of the wood, Where never mortal foot hath stood, Keeps dancing, music and a feast, To entertain a lovely guest: Where he gives her many a rose Sweeter then the breath that blows The leaves: grapes, berries of the best, I never saw so great a feast. But to my charge: here must I stay, To see what mortals lose their way, And by a false fire seeming bright, Train them in and leave them right: Then must I watch if any be Forcing of a chastity, If I find it, then in haste, Give my wreathed horn a blast, And the fairies all will run, Wildly dancing by the moon, And will pinch him to the bone, Till his lustful thoughts be gone. Fairest Virgin do not fear, Me that does thy body bear, Not to hurt, but held to be, Men are ruder far then we. See fair Goddess in the wood, They have let out yet more blood: Some savage man hath struck her breast So soft and white, that no wild beast, Durst a touched asleep or wake, So sweet that Adder, Neut, or Snake. Would have lain from arm to arm, On her Bossome to be warm, All a night and being hight, Gone away and stung her not. Quickly clap herbs to her breast, A man sure is a kind of Beast, To her doom she dares not stand, But plucks away her tender hand: And the Taper darting sends, His hight beams at her fingers ends. Oh thou art foul within, and hast; A mind if nothing else unchaste. More tall sum e, 'Tis the blood of maiden pure That stains he so. Mortal stand. Till by fire, I have made known Whither thou be such a one, That mayest freely tread this place, Hold thy hand up, never was, More untainted flesh then this, Fairest he is fallen of bliss. Come forward Maiden, do not lurk Nor hide your face with grief & shame, Now or never get a name, That may raise thee, and recure, All thy li e that was impure, Hold your hand unto the flame, If thou be'st a perfect dame: Or hast truly vowed to mend, This pale fire will be thy friend. See the Taper hurts her not, Go thy ways let never spot, Henceforth cease upon thy blood. Thank the Gods and still be good. See he gathers up his spright And begins to hunt for light, Now a gapes and breathes again: How the blood runs to the vain: That east was imply. Sheapeard see what comes of kissing By my head it better missing, Bryghtest if there, be ramayning, Any service, without feigning, I will do it, were I set, To catch the nimble wind or get, Shadows gliding on the green, Or to steal from the great Queen, Of Fairies, all her Beauty, I would do it so much duty, Do I owe those precious Eyes, speak again what ere thou be, I am ready speak I say, By the dawning of the day, By the power of Night and Pan ; I enforce thee speak again, Heaven grant it may do good, I saw. His Eyelids moving.