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When we our shearing Feast and Harvest keep,
To speed the Plow, and bless our thriving Sheep.
While Mallow Kids and Endive Lambs pursue;
While Bees love Thyme, and Locusts sip the Dew;
While Birds delight in Woods their Notes to strain,
Thy Name and sweet Memorial shall remain.


The Fourth Pastoral.


MICO.ARGOL.

MICO.
This Place may seem for Shepherds Leisure made,
So lovingly these Elms unite their Shade.
Th' ambitious Woodbine, how it climbs, to breathe
Its balmy Sweets around on all beneath!
The Ground with Grass of chearful Green bespread,
Thro' which the springing Flow'r up-rears its Head.
Lo here the King-Cup, of a golden Hue,
Medly'd with Daisies white, and Endive blue.
Hark how the gaudy Gold-finch, and the Thrush,
With tuneful Warblings fill that Bramble-Bush!
In pleasing Consorts all the Birds combine,
And tempt us in the various Song to join.
Up, Argol, then; and to thy Lip apply
Thy mellow Pipe, or Vocal Musick try:
And, since our Ewes have graz'd, no harm, if they
Lye round and listen, while their Lambkins play.

ARGOL.
The Place indeed gives Pleasance to the Eye;
And Pleasance works the Singer's Fancy high:
The Fields breath sweet; and now the gentle Breez
Moves ev'ry Leaf, and trembles thro' the Trees.
So sweet a Scene ill Suits my rugged Lay,
And better fits the Musick thou canst play.

MICO.
No Skill of Musick can I, simple Swain,
No fine Device thine Ear to entertain;

Albeit