To whom the Lot being cast doth fall, Doth thus begin the Game. _Silvius._ For my profession then, and for the life I lead, All others to excell, thus for my selfe I plead; I am the Prince of sports, the Forrest is my Fee, He's not vpon the Earth for pleasure liues like me; The Morne no sooner puts her rosye Mantle on, But from my quyet Lodge I instantly am gone, 50 When the melodious Birds from euery Bush and Bryer, Of the wilde spacious Wasts, make a continuall quire; The motlied Meadowes then, new vernisht with the Sunne Shute vp their spicy sweets vpon the winds that runne, In easly ambling Gales, and softly seeme to pace, That it the longer might their lushiousnesse imbrace: I am clad in youthfull Greene, I other colour, scorne, My silken Bauldrick beares my Beugle, or my Horne, Which setting to my Lips, I winde so lowd and shrill, As makes the Ecchoes showte from euery neighbouring Hill: 60 My Doghooke at my Belt, to which my Lyam's tyde, My Sheafe of Arrowes by, my Woodknife at my Syde, My Crosse-bow in my Hand, my Gaffle or my Rack To bend it when I please, or it I list to slack, My Hound then in my Lyam, I by the Woodmans art Forecast, where I may lodge the goodly Hie-palm'd Hart, To viewe the grazing Heards, so sundry times I vse, Where by the loftiest Head I know my Deare to chuse, And to vnheard him then, I gallop o'r the ground Vpon my wel-breath'd Nag, to cheere my earning Hound. 70 Sometime I pitch my Toyles the Deare aliue to take, Sometime I like the Cry, the deep-mouth'd Kennell make, Then vnderneath my Horse, I staulke my game to strike, And with a single Dog to hunt him hurt, I like. The Siluians are to me true subiects, I their King, The stately Hart, his Hind doth to my presence bring, The Buck his loued Doe, the Roe his tripping Mate, Before me to my Bower, whereas I sit in State. The Dryads, Hamadryads, the Satyres and the Fawnes Oft play at Hyde and Seeke before me on the Lawnes, 80 The frisking Fayry oft when horned Cinthia shines Before me as I walke dance wanton Matachynes, The numerous feathered flocks that the wild Forrests haunt Their Siluan songs to me, in cheerefull dittyes chaunte, The Shades like ample Sheelds, defend me from the Sunne, Through which me to refresh the gentle Riuelets runne, No little bubling Brook from any Spring that falls But on the Pebbles playes me pretty Madrigals. I' th' morne I clime the Hills, where wholsome winds do blow, At Noone-tyde to the Vales, and shady Groues below, 90 T'wards Euening I againe the Chrystall Floods frequent, In pleasure thus my life continually is spent. As Princes and great Lords haue Pallaces, so I Haue in the Forrests here, my Hall and Gallery