ZELMANE Worthy shepherd by my song to myself all favour is happ’ned, That to the sacred Muse my annoys somewhat be revealed, Sacred Muse, who in one contains what nine do in all them. But O happy be you, which safe from fiery reflection Of Phoebus’ violence in shade of sweet Cyparissus, Or pleasant myrtle, may teach the unfortunate Echo In these woods to resound the renowned name of goddess. Happy be you that may to the saint, your only Idea, (Although simply attir’d) your manly affection utter. {105} Happy be those mishaps which justly proportion holding, Give right sound to the ears, and enter aright to the judgment: But wretched be the souls, which veil’d in a contrary subject, How much more we do love, so the less our loves be believed. What skill salveth a sore of wrong infirmity judged? What can justice avail to a man that tells not his own case? You though fears do abash, in you still possible hopes be: Nature against we do seem to rebel, seem fools in a vain suit. But so unheard, condemn’d, kept thence we do seek to abide in, Self-lost in wand’ring, banished that place we do come from, What mean is there alas, we can hope our loss to recover? What place is there left, we may hope our woes to recomfort? Unto the heav’ns? our wings be too short: earth thinks us a burden, Air? we do still with sighs increase: to the fire? we do want none, And yet his outward heat our tears would quench, but an inward Fire no liquor can cool: Neptune’s realm would not avail us. Happy shepherd, with thanks to the Gods, still think to be thankful, That to thy advancement their wisdoms have thee abased.