[Chorus. Endymion. Luna.]
Th' Astrologers own Eyes are set, And even Wolves the Sheep forget; Only this Shepherd, late and soon, Upon this Hill outwakes the Moon. Heark how he sings, with sad delight, Thorough the clear and silent Night.
Cynthia, O Cynthia, turn thine Ear, nor scorn Endymions plaints to hear. As we our Flocks, so you command The fleecy Clouds with silver wand.
The Shepherd, since he saw thine Eyes, And Sheep are both thy Sacrifice. Nor merits he a Mortal's name, That burns with an immortal Flame.
Since thou disdain'st not then to share On Sublunary things thy Care; Rather restrain these double Seas, Mine Eyes uncessant deluges.
If therefore thy resplendent Ray Can make a Night more bright then Day; Shine thorough this obscurer Brest, With shades of deep Despair opprest. Chorus. Courage, Endymion, boldly Woo, Anchises was a Shepheard too: Yet is her younger Sister laid Sporting with him in Ida's shade: And Cynthia, though the strongest, Seeks but the honour to have held out longest.
Here unto Latmos Top I climbe: How far below thine Orbe sublime? O why, as well as Eyes to see, Have I not Armes that reach to thee?
The Stars are fix'd unto their Sphere, And cannot, though they would, come near. Less Loves set of each others praise, While Stars Eclypse by mixing Rayes.