’Till mine eyes had their curse from blessed eye. Be you with me while I unheard do cry, While I do score my losses on the wind, While I in heart my will write ere I die. In which, by will, my will and wits I bind, Still to be hers, about her aye to fly. As this same sprite about my fancies blind Doth daily haunt, but so, that mine become As much more loving, as less cumbersome. Alas! a cloud hath overcast mine eyes: And yet I see her shine amid the cloud. Alas! of ghosts I hear the ghastly cries: Yet there, meseems, I hear her singing loud. This song she sings in most commanding wise: ‘Come shepherd’s boy, let now thy heart be bow’d To make itself to my least look a slave: Leave sleep, leave all, I will no piecing have.’ I will, I will, alas, alas, I will: Wilt thou have more? more have, if more I be. Away ragg’d rams, care I what murrain kill? Our shrieking pipe, made of some witched tree: Go bawling cur, thy hungry maw go fill On your foul flock, belonging not to me.” With that his dog he henc’d, his flock he curs’d, With that, yet kissed first, his pipe he burst. This said, this done, he rose, even tir’d with rest, With heart as careful, as with careless grace, With shrinking legs, but with a swelling breast, {120} With eyes which threat’ned they would drown his face. Fearing the worst, not knowing what were best, And giving to his sight a wand’ring race, He saw behind a bush where Claius sat: His well-known friend, but yet his unknown mate. Claius the wretch, who lately yielden was To bear the bonds which time nor wit could break, (With blushing soul at sight of judgment’s glass, While guilty thoughts accus’d his reason weak) This morn alone to lovely walk did pass, Within himself of her dear self to speak, ’Till Strephon’s plaining voice him nearer drew, Where by his words his self-like case he knew. For hearing him so oft with words of woe Urania name, whose force he knew so well, He quickly knew what witchcraft gave the blow, Which made his Strephon think himself in hell. Which when he did in perfect image show To his own wit, thought upon thought, did swell, Breeding huge storms within his inward part, Which thus breath’d out, with earth-quake of his heart. As Lamon would have proceeded, Basilius knowing, by the wasting of the torches that the night also was far wasted, and withal remembering Zelmane’s hurt, asked her whether she thought it not better to reserve the complaint of Claius till another day. Which she, perceiving the song had already worn out much time, and not knowing when Lamon would end, being even now stepping over to a new matter, though much delighted with what was spoken, willingly agreed unto. And so of all sides they went to recommend themselves to the elder brother of death. [End of Book I] ARCADIA BOOK II {121}