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Rector Chori. To-day old Janus opens the new


And shuts the old. Haste, haste, all loyal


That know the times and seasons when t' appear, And offer your just service on these plains; Best kings expect first-fruits of your glad gains.

1 Shep. Pan is the great preserver of our bounds. 2 Shep. To him we owe all profits of our grounds. 3 Shep. Our milk.

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9 Shep. See where he walks with Mira by his


Cho. Sound, sound his praises loud, and with his

hers divide.

Of Pan we sing, the best of hunters, Pan,
That drives the hart to seek unused ways.

Shep. And in the chase, more than Sylvanus can.

Cho. Hear, O ye groves, and, hills, resound his praise.

Of brightest Mira do we raise our song,

Sister of Pan, and glory of the spring;

Nym. Who walks on earth, as May still went along.

Cho. Rivers and valleys, echo what we sing.

Cho. of Shep. Of Pan we sing, the chief of leaders, Pan

That leads our flocks and us, and calls both forth

To better pastures than great Pales can:

Hear, O ye groves, and, hills, resound hist worth.

Cho. of Nym. Of brightest Mira is our song; the grace

Of all that Nature yet to life did bring; And were she lost, could best supply her place; Rivers and valleys, echo what we sing.

1. Where'er they tread the enamored ground, The fairest flowers are always found: 2. As if the beauties of the year

Still waited on 'em where they were. 1. He is the father of our peace;

2. She to the crown hath brought increase. 1. We know no other power than his;

Pan only our great shepherd is,

Cho. Our great, our good.


Where one's

In truth of colors, both are best.

Rect. Chor. Haste, haste you hither, all you gen

tler swains,

That have a flock or herd upon these plains;
This is the great preserver of our bounds,
To whom you owe all duties of your grounds;
Your milks, your fells, your fleeces, and first

Your teeming ewes, as well as mounting rams;
Whose praises let's report unto the woods,
That they may take it echoed by the floods.
Cho. "Tis he, 'tis he; in singing he,

And hunting, Pan, exceedeth thee:
He gives all plenty and increase,
He is the author of our peace.

Rect. Cho. Where'er he goes, upon the ground
The better grass and flowers are found.
To sweeter pastures lead he can,

Than ever Pales could, or Pan;

He drives diseases from our folds,
The thief from spoil his presence holds;
Pan knows no other power than his,
This only the great shepherd is.

Cho. 'Tis he, 'tis he, &c.


Fair friend, 'tis true your beauties move
My heart to a respect,

120 This piece occurs in this place without any title, and following the last with only a blank space, so that to the eye it belongs to it. Gifford prefixed the general title of An Elegy.

Too little to be paid with love,
Too great for your neglect!

I neither love, nor yet am free;
For though the flame I find
Be not intense in the degree,
'Tis of the purest kind.

It little wants of love but pain;
Your beauty takes my sense,
And lest you should that price disdain,
My thoughts too feel the influence.

"Tis not a passion's first access,

Ready to multiply;

But like love's calmest state it is
Possessed with victory.

It is like love to truth reduced,
All the false values gone,
Which were created, and induced
By fond imagination.

'Tis either fancy or 'tis fate,

To love you more than I;

I love you at your beauty's rate,
Less were an injury.

Like unstamped gold, I weigh each grace,

So that you may collect
Th' intrinsic value of your face,

Safely from my respect.

And this respect would merit love,
Were not so fair a sight

Payment enough; for who dare move
Reward for his delight?


Rouse up thyself, my gentle Muse,


Though now our green conceits be gray,
And yet once more do not refuse

To take thy Phrygian harp, and play
In honor of this cheerful day:

Long may they both contend to prove,
That best of crowns is such a love.

Make first a song of joy and love,
Which chastely flames in royal eyes,
Then tune it to the spheres above,
When the benignest stars do rise,

And sweet conjunctions grace the skies.
Long may, &c.

To this let all good hearts resound,

Whilst diadems invest his head;

Long may he live, whose life doth bound
More than his laws, and better led
By high example, than by dread.
Long may, &c.

121 This is probably Ben's last tribute of duty to his royal master; it is not his worst; it was, perhaps, better as it came from the poet, for a stanza has apparently been lost, or confounded with the opening one.


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