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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115400" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Aglaia: a Pastoral</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sylvan Muses, can ye sing<br>Of the beauty of the Spring?<br>Have ye seen on earth that sun<br>That a heavenly course hath run?<br>Have ye lived to see those eyes<br>Where the pride of beauty lies?<br>Have ye heard that heavenly voice<br>That may make Love's heart rejoice?<br>Have ye seen Aglaia, she<br>Whom the world may joy to see?<br>If ye have not seen all these,<br>Then ye do but labour leese;<br>While ye tune your pipes to play<br>But an idle roundelay;<br>And in sad Discomfort's den<br>Everyone go bite her pen;<br>That she cannot reach the skill<br>How to climb that blessed hill<br>Where Aglaia's fancies dwell,<br>Where exceedings do excell,<br>And in simple truth confess<br>She is that fair shepherdess<br>To whom fairest flocks a-field<br>Do their service duly yield:<br>On whom never Muse hath gazèd<br>But in musing is amazèd;<br>Where the honour is too much<br>For their highest thoughts to touch;<br>Thus confess, and get ye gone<br>To your places every one;<br>And in silence only speak<br>When ye find your speech too weak.<br>Blessèd be Aglaia yet,<br>Though the Muses die for it;<br>Come abroad, ye blessèd Muses,<br>Ye that Pallas chiefly chooses,<br>When she would command a creature<br>In the honour of Love's nature,<br>For the sweet Aglaia fair<br>All to sweeten all the air,<br>Is abroad this blessèd day;<br>Haste ye, therefore, come away:<br>And to kill Love's maladies<br>Meet her with your melodies.<br>Flora hath been all about,<br>And hath brought her wardrobe out;<br>With her fairest, sweetest flowers,<br>All to trim up all your bowers.<br>Bid the shepherds and their swains<br>See the beauty of their plains;<br>And command them with their flocks<br>To do reverence on the rocks;<br>Where they may so happy be<br>As her shadow but to see:<br>Bid the birds in every bush<br>Not a bird to be at hush:<br>But to sit, and chirp, and sing<br>To the beauty of the Spring:<br>Call the sylvan nymphs together,<br>Bid them bring their musicks hither.<br>Trees their barky silence break,<br>Crack yet, though they cannot speak<br>Bid the purest, whitest swan<br>Of her feathers make her fan;<br>Let the hound the hare go chase;<br>Lambs and rabbits run at base;<br>Flies be dancing in the sun,<br>While the silk-worm's webs are spun;<br>Hang a fish on every hook<br>As she goes along the brook;<br>So with all your sweetest powers<br>Entertain her in your bowers;<br>Where her ear may joy to hear<br>How ye make your sweetest quire;<br>And in all your sweetest vein<br>Still Aglaia strike her strain;<br>But when she her walk doth turn,<br>Then begin as fast to mourn;<br>All your flowers and garlands wither<br>Put up all your pipes together;<br>Never strike a pleasing strain<br>Till she come abroad again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Nicholas+Breton">Nicholas Breton</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115400" data-title="Aglaia: a Pastoral de Nicholas Breton" data-description="Sylvan Muses, can ye sing/Of the beauty of the Spring?/Have ye seen on earth that sun/That a heavenly course hath run?/Have ye lived to see those eyes/Where the pride of beauty lies?/Have ye heard that heavenly voice/That may make Love's heart rej..."></div>
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