CORYMBUS

Sacred Pilumnus —hail! And fruitful Sicily I kiss thy dust— Thrice the sun hath passed Through the twelve Inns of heaven, since my diligence Has been employed in quest of him, whose death Must give poor lovers life, the hateful Claius; Yet could I never hear of him:—The mean while How fare the poor Sicilians? Does awful Ceres Still bend her angry brow? Find the sad Lovers No rest, no quiet yet? The true sign, Pilumnus, Her wrath is not appeased. First shall our hives swarm in the venomous yew, And Goats shall browze upon our myrtle wands! —One of your blood, Pilumnus, (is it possible) Love Lalage and Claius brood? That makes it something better. With and Echo; Brave ones: Ladies with fans and feathers! dainty Fowls! There were brave taking Augury. See, Pilumnus, A virgin all in gore. The place So deer to Ceres, all defiled with blood. Speak his name Fair virgin. Why, who was it then? This is strange. Then I presage some ill! Who is this? Mopsus, my learned Augur? Why, whats the matter Mopsus? What with the Plague? Then never fear it, Mopsus, For I come home a fool just as I went. Yes. But Mopsus, why do you walk here alone! That's—dangerous too! Why I have herd your name Not mentioned any where in all my Travails. —Yo'are to hasty Mopsus, Not—without admiration. How should you know it? But how dare you converse with birds that travel? As tame as sparrows, and as sweet as Nightingales. All are hens. A fan's a—wing of one side. Like the copple-crowne The Lapwing has: With men they will; Like Peacocks, there's the head Of all their pride. Very right— Mopsus, I cannot stay, I must attend My carriage to the Temple: gentle Mopsus Farewell! Sad sad Pilumnus! And most distressed Sicilians! Other nations Are happy in their loves, you only are unfortunate! In all my travels never a spring but had Her pair of lovers, singing to that music The gentle bubbling of her waters made. Never a walk unstored with amorous couples, Twinned with so close embraces, as if both Me ant to grow one together! every shade Sheltered some happy loves, that counting dazies Scored up the sums on one another lips, That met so oft and close, as if they had Changed souls at every kiss. The married sort As sweet and kind as they: at every evening The loving husband and full breasted wife Walked on the Downs so friendly, as if that Had been their wedding day. The boys of five, And girls of four, ever that their lisping tongues Had learned to prattle plain, would prate of love, Court one another, and in wanton dalliance Return such innocent kisses, you'd have thought You had seen Tur less billing.