(7)
Wind me into the eaſie hearted man,
And hug him into ſnares; when once her eye
Hath met the vertue of this Magick duſt,
I ſhall appeare ſome harmleſſe Villager
Whom thrift keepes up about his Country geare
But here ſhe comes, I fairly ſtep aſide
And hearken, if I may, her buiſneſſe here.
The Ladie enters.
This way the noiſe was, if mine eare be true
My beſt guide now, me thought it was the ſound
Of Riot, and ill manag'd Merriment,
Such as the jocund Flute, or gameſome Pipe
Stirs up among the looſe unleter'd Hinds
When for their teeming Flocks, and granges full
In wanton dance they praiſe the bounteous Pan,
And thanke the gods amiſſe. I ſhould be loath
To meet the rudeneſſe and ſwill'd inſolence
Of ſuoh late Waſſailers; yet ô where elſe
Shall I informe my unacquainted feet
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?
My Brothers when they ſaw me wearied out
With this long way, reſolving here to lodge
Under the ſpreading favour of theſe Pines
Stept as they ſe'd, to the next Thicket ſide
To bring me Berries, or ſuch cooling fruit
As the kind hoſpitable woods provide.
They left me then, when the gray-hooded Ev'n
Like a ſad Votariſt in Palmers weeds
Roſe from the hindmoſt wheels of Phœbus waine.
But where they are, and why they came not back
Is now the labour of my thoughts, 'tis likelieſt
