A Bucolic Betwixt Two: Lacon & Thyrsis

LACON.  For a kiss or two, confess,

What doth cause this pensiveness,

Thou most lovely neat-herdess?

Why so lonely on the hill?

Why thy pipe by thee so still,

That erewhile was heard so shrill?

Tell me, do thy kine now fail

To fulfil the milking-pail?

Say, what is't that thou dost ail?

THYR.  None of these; but out, alas!

A mischance is come to pass,

And I'll tell thee what it was:

See, mine eyes are weeping ripe.

LACON.  Tell, and I'll lay down my pipe.

THYR.  I have lost my lovely steer,

That to me was far more dear

Than these kine which I milk here;

Broad of forehead, large of eye,

Party-colour'd like a pye,

Smooth in each limb as a die;

Clear of hoof, and clear of horn,

Sharply pointed as a thorn;

With a neck by yoke unworn,

From the which hung down by strings,

Balls of cowslips, daisy rings,

Interplaced with ribbonings;

Faultless every way for shape;

Not a straw could him escape,

Ever gamesome as an ape,

But yet harmless as a sheep.

Pardon, Lacon, if I weep;

Tears will spring where woes are deep.

Now, ai me!  ai me!  Last night

Came a mad dog, and did bite,

Ay, and kill'd my dear delight.

LACON  Alack, for grief!

THYR.  But I'll be brief.

Hence I must, for time doth call

Me, and my sad playmates all,

To his evening funeral.

Live long, Lacon; so adieu!

LACON Mournful maid, farewell to you;

Earth afford ye flowers to strew!