I told you Claius was the hapless wight, Who earnest found what they accounted play. He did not there do homage of his eyes, But on his eyes his heart did sacrifice. With gazing looks, short sighs, unsettled feet, He stood, but turn’d, as Gyrosol, to sun: His fancies still did her in half-way meet, His soul did fly as she was seen to run. In sum, proud Boreas never ruled fleet (Who Neptune’s web on danger’s distaff spun) With greater power, than she did make them wend Each way, as she that ages praise, did bend. ’Till ’spying well, she well nigh weary was, And surely taught by his love-open eye, His eye, that ev’n did mark her trodden grass, {117} That she would fain the catch of Strephon fly, Giving his reason passport for to pass Whither it would, so it would let him die; He that before shunn’d her, to shun such harms: Now runs, and takes her in his clipping arms. For with pretence from Strephon her to guard, He met her full, but full of warefulness, Within bow’d-bosom well for her prepar’d, When Strephon cursing his own backwardness, Came to her back, and so with double ward Imprison’d her who both them did possess As heart-bound slaves: and happy then embrace Virtue’s proof, fortune’s victor, beauty’s place. Her race did not her beauty’s beams augment, For, they were ever in the best degree, But yet a setting forth it someway lent, As rubies lustre when they rubbed be. The dainty dew on face and body went As on sweet flowers, when morning’s drops we see. Her breath then short, seem’d loth from home to pass, Which more it mov’d, the more it sweeter was. Happy, O happy! if they so might bide To see their eyes, with how true humbleness, They looked down to triumph over pride: With how sweet sauce she blam’d their sauciness, To feel the panting heart, which through her side, Did beat their hands, which durst so near to press, To see, to feel, to hear, to taste, to know More, than besides her, all the earth could show. But never did Medea’s golden weed On Creon’s child his poison sooner throw, Than those delights through all their sinews breed, A creeping serpent like of mortal woe, ’Till she broke from their arms (although indeed Going from them, from them she could not go) And fare-welling the flock, did homeward wend, And so that even the Barley-break did end. It ended, but the other woe began, Began at least to be conceiv’d as woe, For then wise Claius found no absence can Help him who can no more her sight forego. He found man’s virtue is but part of man, And part must follow where whole man doth go. He found that reason’s self now reasons found To fasten knots, which fancy first had bound. So doth he yield, so takes he on his yoke, Not knowing who did draw with him therein; Strephon, poor youth, because he saw no smoke, {118} Did not conceive what fire he had within: But after this to greater rage it broke,