DORUS How oft, when reason saw, love of her harnessed With armour of my heart, he cried, “O vanity! To set a pearl in steel so meanly varnished? Look to thyself, reach not beyond humanity. Her mind, beams, state, far from the weak wings banished; And love which lover hurts is inhumanity.” Thus reason said: but she came, reason vanished; Her eyes so mastering me, that such objection Seem’d but to spoil the food of thoughts long famished. Her peerless height my mind to high erection Draws up; and if hope-failing end life’s pleasure, Of fairer death how can I make election? THYRSIS Once my well-waiting eyes espy’d my treasure, With sleeves turn’d up, loose hair, and breasts enlarged, Her father’s corn, moving her fair limbs, measure. “O,” cried I, “if so mean work be discharged: Measure my case how by thy beauty’s filling, With seed of woes my heart brim-full is charg’d. Thy father bids thee save, and chides for spilling; Save then my soul, spill not my thoughts well heap’d, No lovely praise was ever got by killing.” Those bold words she did bear, this fruit I reaped, That she whose look alone might make me blessed, Did smile on me, and then away she leaped. DORUS Once, O sweet once, I saw with dread oppressed Her whom I dread, so that with prostrate lying Her length, the earth in love’s chief clothing dressed, {101} I saw that riches fall, and fell a crying: “Let not dead earth enjoy so dear a cover, But deck therewith my soul for your sake dying: Lay all your fear upon your fearful lover: Shine eyes on me that both our lives be guarded; So I your sight, you shall yourselves recover.” I cry’d, and was with open eyes rewarded: But straight they fled summon’d by cruel honour, Honour, the cause desert is not regarded. THYRSIS This maid, thus made for joys, O Pan! bemoan her, That without love she spends her years of love: So fair a field would well become an owner. And if enchantment can a hard heart move, Teach me what circle may acquaint her sprite, Affection’s charms in my behalf to prove. The circle is my, round about her, sight, The power I will invoke dwells in her eyes: My charm should be, she haunt me day and night. DORUS Far other case, O Muse, my sorrow tries, Bent to such one in whom myself must say, Nothing can mend one point that in her lies. What circle then in so rare force bears sway? Whose sprite all sprites can foil, raise, damn, or save: No charm holds her, but well possess she may, Possess she doth, and makes my soul her slave, My eyes the bands, my thoughts the fatal knot. No thrall like them that inward bondage have.