Why then this dull retreat, if he be true, Or, _Amarillis_, is the change in you? You love some Swains more rich in Herds and Flocks, For none can be more powerful in his looks; His shape, his meen, his hair, his wondrous face, And on the Plaines, none _dances_ with his Grace; ‘Tis true, in _Piping_ he does less excell. _Amarillis._ The Musick of his _Voice_ can Charm as well, When tun’d to words of Love, and sighs among, With the soft tremblings of his bashful tongue, And, _Thirsis_, you accuse my Faith in vain, To think it wavering, for another Swain; ‘Tis admiration now that fills my soul, And does ev’n love suspend, if not controul. My thoughts are solemn all, and do appear With wonder in my Eyes, and not despair! My heart is entertain’d with silent Joys, And I am pleas’d above the Mirth of Noise. _Thirsis._ What new-born pleasure can divert you so? Pray let me hear, that I may wonder too. _Amarillis._ Last night, by yonder purling stream I stood, Pleas’d with the murmurs of the little Flood, Who in its rapid glidings bore away The Fringing Flow’rs, that made the Bank so gay, Which I compar’d to fickle _Swains_, who invade First this, then that deceiv’d, and yielding _Maid_: Whose flattering Vows an easie passage find, } Then unregarded leave ‘em far behind, } To sigh their Ruin to the flying Wind. } So the soild flow’rs their rifled Beaut[i]es hung, While the triumphant Ravisher passes on. This while I sighing view’d, I heard a voice That made the Woods, the Groves, and Hills rejoyce. Who eccho’d back the charming sound again, } Answering the Musick of each softning strain, } And told the wonder over all the Plain. } Young _Silvio_ ‘twas that tun’d his happy Pipe, The best that ever grac’d a Shepherds Lip! _Silvio_ of Noble Race, yet not disdains To mix his harmony with Rustic _Swains_, To th’ humble Shades th’ _Illustrious Youth_ resorts, } Shunning the false delights of gaudy Courts, } For the more solid happiness of Rural sports. } Courts which his _Noble Father_ long pursu’d, And Serv’d till he out-serv’d their gratitude. _Thirsis._ Oh _Amarillis_, let that tale no more Remembred be on the _Arcadian_ Shore, Lest Mirth should on our Meads no more be found, But _Stafford’s_ Story should throughout resound, And fill with pitying cryes the Echoes all around. _Amarillis._