A Countryman's Wooing
DAPHNIS. A MAIDEN.
How fell sage Helen? through a swain like thee.
Nay the true Helen's just now kissing me.
Satyr, ne'er boast: 'what's idler than a kiss?'
Yet in such pleasant idling there is bliss.
I'll wash my mouth: where go thy kisses then?
Wash, and return it- to be kissed again.
Go kiss your oxen, and not unwed maids.
Ne'er boast; for beauty is a dream that fades.
Past grapes are grapes: dead roses ...
That pine tree, goatherd, sings a rustling sweet
Beside the streams, and sweetly do you play
Your pipe. Behind Pan you'll take second prize.
If he take hornèd he-goat, you will take the she-,
If he take she-goat as his prize, to you falls he-,
And he-goat, 'til you milk him, has good meat.