)
To all our joy a sweet-fac'd child was born,
More tender than the childhood of the morn.
To all our joy a sweet-fac'd child was born,
More tender than the childhood of the morn.
Robert Herrick
_ With all white luck to you.
_Mirt.
_ But say, what news
Stirs in our sheep-walk? _Amin. _ None, save that my ewes,
My wethers, lambs, and wanton kids are well,
Smooth, fair and fat! none better I can tell:
Or that this day Menalcas keeps a feast
For his sheep-shearers. _Mirt. _ True, these are the least;
But, dear Amintas and sweet Amarillis,
Rest but a while here, by this bank of lilies,
And lend a gentle ear to one report
The country has. _Amin. _ From whence? _Amar. _ From whence?
_Mirt. _ The Court.
Three days before the shutting in of May
(With whitest wool be ever crown'd that day!
)
To all our joy a sweet-fac'd child was born,
More tender than the childhood of the morn.
_Chor. _ Pan pipe to him, and bleats of lambs and sheep
Let lullaby the pretty prince asleep!
_Mirt. _ And that his birth should be more singular
At noon of day was seen a silver star,
Bright as the wise men's torch which guided them
To God's sweet babe, when born at Bethlehem;
While golden angels (some have told to me)
Sung out his birth with heavenly minstrelsy.
_Amin. _ O rare! But is't a trespass if we three
Should wend along his babyship to see?
_Mirt. _ Not so, not so.
_Chor. _ But if it chance to prove
At most a fault, 'tis but a fault of love.
_Amar. _ But, dear Mirtillo, I have heard it told
Those learned men brought incense, myrrh and gold
From countries far, with store of spices sweet,
And laid them down for offerings at his feet.
_Mirt. _ 'Tis true, indeed; and each of us will bring
Unto our smiling and our blooming king
A neat, though not so great an offering.
Stirs in our sheep-walk? _Amin. _ None, save that my ewes,
My wethers, lambs, and wanton kids are well,
Smooth, fair and fat! none better I can tell:
Or that this day Menalcas keeps a feast
For his sheep-shearers. _Mirt. _ True, these are the least;
But, dear Amintas and sweet Amarillis,
Rest but a while here, by this bank of lilies,
And lend a gentle ear to one report
The country has. _Amin. _ From whence? _Amar. _ From whence?
_Mirt. _ The Court.
Three days before the shutting in of May
(With whitest wool be ever crown'd that day!
)
To all our joy a sweet-fac'd child was born,
More tender than the childhood of the morn.
_Chor. _ Pan pipe to him, and bleats of lambs and sheep
Let lullaby the pretty prince asleep!
_Mirt. _ And that his birth should be more singular
At noon of day was seen a silver star,
Bright as the wise men's torch which guided them
To God's sweet babe, when born at Bethlehem;
While golden angels (some have told to me)
Sung out his birth with heavenly minstrelsy.
_Amin. _ O rare! But is't a trespass if we three
Should wend along his babyship to see?
_Mirt. _ Not so, not so.
_Chor. _ But if it chance to prove
At most a fault, 'tis but a fault of love.
_Amar. _ But, dear Mirtillo, I have heard it told
Those learned men brought incense, myrrh and gold
From countries far, with store of spices sweet,
And laid them down for offerings at his feet.
_Mirt. _ 'Tis true, indeed; and each of us will bring
Unto our smiling and our blooming king
A neat, though not so great an offering.
