[Hobbinol. Phillis. Tomalin.]
Phillis, Tomalin, away: Never such a merry day. For the Northern Shepheards Son Has Menalca's daughter won.
If Thou would'st a Garland bring, Philiis you may wait the Spring: They ha' chosen such an hour When She is the only flow'r.
Fear not; at Menalca's Hall There is Bayes enough for all. He when Young as we did graze, But when Old he planted Bayes.
Here She comes; but with a Look Far more catching then my Hook. 'Twas those Eyes, I now dare swear, Led our Lambs we knew not where.
Not our Lambs own Fleeces are Curl'd so lovely as her Hair: Nor our Sheep new Wash'd can be Half so white or sweet as She.
Joy to that happy Pair, Whose Hopes united banish our Despair. What Shepheard could for Love pretend, Whil'st all the Nymphs on Damon's choice attend? What Shepherdess could hope to wed Before Marina's turn were sped? Now lesser Beauties may take place, And meaner Virtues come in play; While they, Looking from high, Shall grace Our Flocks and us with a propitious Eye. But what is most, the gentle Swain No more shall need of Love complain; But Virtue shall be Beauties hire, And those be equal that have equal Fire. Or who despair, now Damon does enjoy? Marina yields. Who dares be coy? Joy to that happy Pair, Whose Hopes united banish our Despair.