And nuts, which squirrells cracking brought her; She softly layes her weary limbs, Whilst gentle slumber now beginnes To draw the curtaines of her eye; When straight awakend with a crie And bitter groan, again reposes, Again a deep sigh interposes. And now she heares a trembling voyce: Ah! can there ought on earth rejoyce! Why weares she this gay livery, Not black as her dark entrails be? Can trees be green, and to the ay'r Thus prostitute their flowing hayr? Why do they sprout, not witherd dy? Must each thing live, save wretched I? Can dayes triumph in blew and red, When both their light and life is fled? Fly Joy on wings of Popinjayes To courts of fools, where<33.12> as your playes Dye laught at and forgot; whilst all That's good mourns at this funerall. Weep, all ye Graces, and you sweet Quire, that at the hill inspir'd meet: Love, put thy tapers out, that we And th' world may seem as blind as thee; And be, since she is lost (ah wound!) Not Heav'n it self by any found. Now as a prisoner new cast,<33.13> Who sleepes in chaines that night, his last, Next morn is wak't with a repreeve, And from his trance, not dream bid live, Wonders (his sence not having scope) Who speaks, his friend or his false hope. So Amarantha heard, but feare Dares not yet trust her tempting care; And as againe her arms oth' ground Spread pillows for her head, a sound More dismall makes a swift divorce, And starts her thus:----Rage, rapine, force! Ye blew-flam'd daughters oth' abysse, Bring all your snakes, here let them hisse; Let not a leaf its freshnesse keep; Blast all their roots, and as you creepe, And leave behind your deadly slime, Poyson the budding branch in's prime: Wast the proud bowers of this grove, That fiends may dwell in it, and move As in their proper hell, whilst she Above laments this tragedy: Yet pities not our fate; oh faire Vow-breaker, now betroth'd to th' ay'r! Why by those lawes did we not die, As live but one, Lucasta! why---- As he Lucasta nam'd, a groan Strangles the fainting passing tone; But as she heard, Lucasta smiles, Posses<33.14> her round; she's slipt mean whiles Behind the blind of a thick bush, When, each word temp'ring with a blush, She gently thus bespake; Sad swaine, If mates in woe do ease our pain, Here's one full of that antick grief, Which stifled would for ever live, But told, expires; pray then, reveale (To show our wound is half to heale), What mortall nymph or deity Bewail you thus? Who ere you be, The shepheard sigh't,<33.15> my woes I crave Smotherd in me, me<33.16> in my grave; Yet be in show or truth a saint, Or fiend, breath anthemes, heare my plaint, For her and thy breath's symphony, Which now makes full the harmony Above, and to whose voice the spheres Listen, and call her musick theirs; This was I blest on earth with, so As Druids amorous did grow, Jealous of both: for as one day This star, as yet but set in clay, By an imbracing river lay, They steept her in the hollowed brooke,