The musical Shepherdess, or, Dorindas lamentation for the loss of Amintas.
Amintor all Arcadias Glory was,
A youth so sweet that all he did surpass.
But Times all mowing Sith this flower did cut,
Fate to his days hath the last period put:
For musick, and for singing, who but he,
Was fit to help the Gods with harmony?
His fair Dorinda, seeing he was gone,
And she poor mournful Damsel left alone,
Invokes the Nymphs to sing his praise,
Whilst she a Garland weaves, then ends her days,
Resolving not to stay behind her Love,
She being denyd him here, mounts up above.
To a pleasant New Tune, called, Amintas farewel: or, Digbys farewel.
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ADieu to the Pleasures and follies of Love,
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For a passion more noble my fancy doth move,
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My Shepherd is dead, and I live to proclaim,
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The sorrowful notes of Amintas his name,
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The Wood-Nymphs reply when they hear me complain
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Thou never shalt see thy Amintas again,
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For death hath befriended him,
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Fate hath defended him,
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None, none, alive is so happy a Swain.
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You Shepherds and Nymphs that have dancd to his lays,
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Come help me to sing forth Amintas his praise,
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No Swain for the mirtle durst with him dispute,
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So sweet were his notes whilst he sung to his Lute,
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Then come to his Grave and your kindness pursue,
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To weave him a Garland of Cypress and Yew,
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For Life hath forsaken him,
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Death hath ore taken him,
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No Swain again will be ever so true.
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Then leave me alone to my wretched estate,
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I lost him too soon, and I lovd him too late,
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You ecchoes and fountains my witnesses prove
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How deeply I sigh for the loss of my Love,
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And now of our Pan whom we chiefly adore
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This favour I never will cease to implore
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That now I may go above,
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And there enjoy my Love,
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And live more happy then ever before.
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But if that old God should my wishes deny,
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My Soul through the clouds to my dearest shall flye,
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So swift that his Deity shall not restrain
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Me from the delights of so happy a Swain,
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Ile send my Petitions to Venus so fair,
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To secure my flight which I take in the air,
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Surely shel pitty take,
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And Lovers happy make,
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For she her self has been catcht in loves snare.
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How pleasantly did our blest time away creep,
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When Amintas and I did together keep Sheep,
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His musick and mine did so sweetly agree,
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When we sat in the vale under a shady tree,
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The pritty Lambs feeding did to us give ear,
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And the dainty young kids livd secure from fear,
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But now he is dead and gone,
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And I am left alone,
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In the Spring time of life he concluded the year.
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Now the flocks do lament that their pastor is fled,
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But I more am grievd that Amintas is dead,
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They miss him all day, but I miss him at night,
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To them he gave safety, but to me sweet delight
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All day free from danger of ravenous beast,
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They fed securely, and at night took their rest,
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But I miss him night and day,
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Now he is fled away,
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His lips were to me a continual feast.
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You pritty kind Nymphs that have heard of his fame
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I beg your assistance to sound forth his name,
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But if there be any that my Shepheard ner knew,
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His picture ile draw and present to their view,
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Though not half so lively the shaddow will be,
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Yet I know twill be pleasant some part for to see,
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Apollo ile compel,
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To help me to draw it well,
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And what there is wanting shall be made up in me.
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His cheeks red and white being free from all paint,
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And his looks so divine you would think him a Saint,
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A language so free, and so pleasant a voice,
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That I thought my self blest when I made him my choice,
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When he sung all the world did admire that song,
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All sorts for to hear him together did throng,
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His body strait and tall,
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With something best of all,
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Which shall be nameless for fear you should long,
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His musick so sweet that it ravisht each Soul,
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All creatures that heard it his loss do condole,
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But I most of all do lament for my dear,
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Who ner can enjoy my self whilst I live here,
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Two hearts once united by Loves lasting bands,
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Can ner be divided by deaths cruel hands;
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though he be gone before,
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he has my heart in store,
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Hark, Hark, he calls, i[]le obey his commands,
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I come, oh, I come, my Amintas, my love,
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My body ile leave here in this pleasant Grove,
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This little sharp knife to my heart I will send,
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To tell it tis time to make hast to its friend;
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Some kind Nymph will bury me when I am dead,
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And that my true soul to my Shepherd is fled;
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Now all the world adieu,
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My dearest ile pursue,
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This Garland shall crown my Amintas his head.
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