Amaryllis, farewell mirth and pipe;
Since thou art gone, no more I mean to play
To these smooth lawns my
mirthful
roundelay.
Robert Herrick
A PASTORAL SUNG TO THE KING: MONTANO, SILVIO, AND MIRTILLO,
SHEPHERDS.
_Mon._ Bad are the times. _Sil._ And worse than they are we.
_Mon._ Troth, bad are both; worse fruit and ill the tree:
The feast of shepherds fail. _Sil._ None crowns the cup
Of wassail now or sets the quintell up;
And he who us'd to lead the country-round,
Youthful Mirtillo, here he comes grief-drown'd.
_Ambo._ Let's cheer him up. _Sil._ Behold him weeping-ripe.
_Mir._ Ah!
Amaryllis, farewell mirth and pipe;
Since thou art gone, no more I mean to play
To these smooth lawns my
mirthful
roundelay.
Dear Amaryllis! _Mon._ Hark! _Sil._ Mark! _Mir._ This earth grew sweet
Where, Amaryllis, thou didst set thy feet.
_Ambo._ Poor pitied youth! _Mir._ And here the breath of kine
And sheep grew more sweet by that breath of thine.
This flock of wool and this rich lock of hair,
This ball of cowslips, these she gave me here.
_Sil._ Words sweet as love itself. Montano, hark!
