In that sweet isle where Venus keeps her court, And every grace, and all the loves, resort; Where either sex is formed of softer earth, And takes the bent of pleasure from their birth; There lived a Cyprian lord above the rest, Wise, wealthy, with a numerous issue blessed. But as no gift of fortune is sincere, Was only wanting in a worthy heir; His eldest born, a goodly youth to view, Excelled the rest in shape, and outward shew; Fair, tall, his limbs with due proportion joined, But of a heavy, dull, degenerate mind. His soul belied the features of his face; Beauty was there, but beauty in disgrace. A clownish mein, a voice with rustic sound, And stupid eyes that ever loved the ground. He looked like nature's error, as the mind } And body were not of a piece designed, } But made for two, and by mistake in one were joined. } The ruling rod, the father's forming care, Were exercised in vain on wit's despair; The more informed, the less he understood, And deeper sunk by floundering in the mud. Now scorned of all, and grown the public shame, The people from Galesus changed his name, And Cymon called, which signifies a brute; So well his name did with his nature suit. His father, when he found his labour lost, And care employed, that answered not the cost, Chose an ungrateful object to remove, And loathed to see what nature made him love; So to his country farm the fool confined; Rude work well suited with a rustic mind. Thus to the wilds the sturdy Cymon went, A squire among the swains, and pleased with banishment. His corn and cattle were his only care, And his supreme delight, a country fair. It happened on a summer's holiday, } That to the green-wood shade he took his way; } For Cymon shunned the church, and used not much to pray. } His quarter-staff, which he could ne'er forsake, Hung half before, and half behind his back. He trudged along, unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought. By chance conducted, or by thirst constrained, The deep recesses of the grove he gained; Where in a plain defended by the wood, } Crept through the matted grass a crystal flood, } By which an alabaster fountain stood; } And on the margin of the fount was laid, (Attended by her slaves) a sleeping maid. Like Dian and her nymphs, when, tired with sport, To rest by cool Eurotas they resort. The dame herself the goddess well expressed, Not more distinguished by her purple vest, Than by the charming features of her face, And even in slumber a superior grace; Her comely limbs composed with decent care, } Her body shaded with a slight cymarr; } Her bosom to the view was only bare; } Where two beginning paps were scarcely spied, For yet their places were but signified: