_Satyr._ Through yon same bending plain That flings his arms down to the main, And through these thick woods have I run, Whose bottom never kist the Sun Since the lusty Spring began, All to please my master _Pan,_ Have I trotted without rest To get him Fruit; for at a Feast He entertains this coming night His Paramour, the _Syrinx_ bright: But behold a fairer sight! [_He stands amazed._ By that Heavenly form of thine, Brightest fair thou art divine, Sprung from great immortal race Of the gods, for in thy face Shines more awful Majesty, Than dull weak mortalitie Dare with misty eyes behold, And live: therefore on this mold Lowly do I bend my knee, In worship of thy Deitie; Deign it Goddess from my hand, To receive what e're this land From her fertil Womb doth send Of her choice Fruits: and but lend Belief to that the Satyre tells, Fairer by the famous wells, To this present day ne're grew, Never better nor more true. Here be Grapes whose lusty bloud Is the learned Poets good, Sweeter yet did never crown The head of _Bacchus_, Nuts more brown Than the Squirrels Teeth that crack them; Deign O fairest fair to take them. For these black ey'd _Driope_ Hath oftentimes commanded me, With my clasped knee to clime; See how well the lusty time Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red, Such as on your lips is spred, Here be Berries for a Queen, Some be red, some be green, These are of that luscious meat, The great God _Pan_ himself doth eat: All these, and what the woods can yield, The hanging mountain or the field, I freely offer, and ere long Will bring you more, more sweet and strong, Till when humbly leave I take, Lest the great _Pan_ do awake, That sleeping lies in a deep glade, Under a broad Beeches shade, I must go, I must run Swifter than the fiery Sun. [_Exit_.