And they _that_ should _this triumph know_ Will or forget or not believe _it so_, Then to increase thy _glories_, &c.
Far from the court's ambitious noise Retir'd, to those more harmless joys Which the sweet country, pleasant fields, And my own court, a cottage, yields; I liv'd from all disturbance free, Though prisoner (Sylvia) unto thee; Secur'd from fears, which others prove, Of the inconstancy of Love; A life, in my esteem, more blest, Than e'er yet stoop'd to Death's arrest. 10
My senses and desires agreed, With joint delight each other feed: A bliss, I reach'd, as far above Words, as her beauty, or my love; Such as compar'd with which, the joys Of the most happy seem but toys: Affection I receive and pay, My pleasures knew not Grief's allay: The more I tasted I desir'd, The more I quench'd my thirst was fir'd. 20
Now, in some place where Nature shows Her naked beauty, we repose; Where she allures the wand'ring eye With colours, which faint art outvie; Pearls scatter'd by the weeping morn, Each where the glitt'ring flowers adorn; The mistress of the youthful year (To whom kind Zephyrus doth bear His amorous vows and frequent prayer) Decks with these gems her neck and hair. 30
Hither, to quicken Time with sport, The little sprightly Loves resort, And dancing o'er the enamel'd mead, Their mistresses the Graces lead; Then to refresh themselves, repair To the soft bosom of my fair; Where from the kisses they bestow Upon each other, such sweets flow As carry in their mixéd breath A mutual power of life and death. 40
Next in an elm's dilated shade We see a rugged Satyr laid, Teaching his reed, in a soft strain, Of his sweet anguish to complain; Then to a lonely grove retreat, Where day can no admittance get, To visit peaceful solitude; Whom seeing by repose pursu'd, All busy cares, for fear to spoil Their calmer courtship, we exile. 50
There underneath a myrtle, thought By Fairies sacred, where was wrought By Venus' hand Love's mysteries, And all the trophies of her eyes, Our solemn prayers to Heaven we send, That our firm love might know no end; Nor time its vigour e'er impair: Then to the wingéd God we sware, And grav'd the oath in its smooth rind, Which in our hearts we deeper find. 60