1 Shep. Tell me, thou gentle shepherd swain,
Who’s yonder in the vale is set?
2 Shep. Oh, it is she, whose sweets do stain
The lily, rose, the violet!
1 Shep. Why doth the sun against his kind,
Fix his bright chariot in the skies?
2 Shep. Because the sun is stricken blind
With looking on her heavenly eyes.
1 Shep. Why do thy flocks forbear their food,
Which sometime were thy chief delight?
2 Shep. Because they need no other good
That live in presence of her sight.
1 Shep. Why look these flowers so pale and ill,
That once attired this goodly heath?
2 Shep. She hath robb’d Nature of her skill,
And sweetens all things with her breath.
1 Shep. Why slide these brooks so slow away,
Whose bubbling murmur pleased thine ear?
2 Shep. Oh, marvel not although they stay,
When they her heavenly voice do hear!
1 Shep. From whence come all these shepherd swains,
And lovely nymphs attired in green?
2 Shep. From gathering garlands on the plains,
To crown our fair the shepherds’ queen.
Both. The sun that lights this world below,
Flocks, flowers, and brooks will witness bear:
These nymphs and shepherds all do know,
That it is she is only fair.