PAN

Pan is a God, Apollo is no more. Comparisons cannot be odious, where the Dieties are equal. This pipe (my sweet pipe) was once a Nymph, a fair Nymph; once my lovely Mistress, now my heavenly music. Tell me Apollo, is there any instrument so sweet to play on, as ones Mistress? Had thy lute been of laurel, and the strings of Daphne's hair; thy tunes might have been compared to my notes: for then Daphne would have added to thy stroke sweetness, & to thy thoughts melody. Apollo, I told thee before that Pan was a God, I tell thee now again, as great a God as Apollo, I had all most said a greater: and because thou shalt know I care not to tell my thoughts, I say a greater. Pan feels the pass zions of love deeply engraved in his heart, with as fair Nymph's, with as great fortune, as Apollo, as Neptune, as Jove; and better than Pan can none describe love. Not Apollo, not Neptune, not Jove. My Temple is in Ar cady, where they burn continual flames to Pan. In Arcady is mine Oracle, where Erato the Nymph geeueth answers for Pan. In Arcady the place of Love, is the honour of Pan. I but I am God of hills. So I am Apollo, and that of Hills so high, as I can pry into the juggling of the highest Gods. Of woods? So I am Apollo, of woods so thick, that thou with thy beams canst not pierce them. I knew Apollo's prying, I knew mine own jealousy. Sun and shadow cousin one another. Be thou Sun still, the shadow is fast at thy heals Apollo. I as near to thy love, as thou to mine. A Carter with his whistle & his whip in true ear, moves as much as Phœbus with his fiery chariot, and winged horses. Love-leaves are as well for country porridge, as heavenly nectar. Love made Jupiter a goose, and Neptune a swine, and both for love of and earthly mistress. What hath made Pan, or any God on earth (for gods on earth can change their shapes) turn themselves for and heavenly Goddess? Believe me Apollo, our groves are pleasanter than your heavens, our Milkmaids than your Goddesses, our rude ditties to a pipe than your sonnets to a lute. Here is flat faith amo amas; where you cry, o utinam amarent vel non amassem. I let pass (Apollo) thy hard words, as calling Pan monster; which is as much, as to call all monsters: for Pan is all, Apollo but one. But touch thy strings, and let these Nymphs decide. There must be no condition, but judge My das, and judge Nymphs. Now let me tune my pipes. I cannot pipe & sing, thats the ods in the instrument, not the art: but I will pipe and then sing; and then judge both of the art and instrument. I, and done well, as I think. Blessed be Midas, worthy to be a God: these girls, whose ears do but itch with daintiness, gene the verdict without weighin the virtue; they have been brought up in chambers with soft music, not where I make the woods ring with my pipe, Midas. I cannot undo what Apollo hath done, nor give thee any amends, unless to those ears thou wilt have added these horns. Midas farewell.