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Co: Due west it rises from this shrubby point.

La: To find out that, good Shepherd, I suppose,
In such a scant allowance of Star-light,
Would overtask the best Land-Pilots art,
Without the sure guess of well-practiz’d feet, 310

Co: I know each lane, and every alley green
Dingle, or bushy dell of this wilde Wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood,
And if your stray attendance be yet lodg’d,
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know
Ere morrow wake, or the low roosted lark
>From her thatch’t pallat rowse, if otherwise
I can conduct you Lady to a low
But loyal cottage, where you may be safe 320
Till further quest.
La: Shepherd I take thy word,
And trust thy honest offer’d courtesie,
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds
With smoaky rafters, then in tapstry Halls
And Courts of Princes, where it first was nam’d,
And yet is most pretended: In a place
Less warranted then this, or less secure
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.
Eie me blest Providence, and square my triall
To my proportion’d strength. Shepherd lead on.– 330

The Two Brothers.

Eld. Bro: Unmuffle ye faint stars, and thou fair Moon
That wontst to love the travailers benizon,
Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,
And disinherit Chaos, that raigns here
In double night of darknes, and of shades;
Or if your influence be quite damm’d up
With black usurping mists, som gentle taper
Though a rush Candle from the wicker hole
Of som clay habitation visit us
With thy long levell’d rule of streaming light. 340
And thou shalt be our star of Arcady,
Or Tyrian Cynosure.
2. Bro: Or if our eyes
Be barr’d that happines, might we but hear
The folded flocks pen’d in their watled cotes,
Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops,
Or whistle from the Lodge, or village cock
Count the night watches to his feathery Dames,
‘Twould be som solace yet, som little chearing
In this close dungeon of innumerous bowes.
But O that haples virgin our lost sister 350
Where may she wander now, whether betake her
>From the chill dew, amongst rude burrs and thistles?
Perhaps som cold bank is her boulster now
Or ‘gainst the rugged bark of som broad Elm
Leans her unpillow’d head fraught with sad fears.
What if in wild amazement, and affright,
Or while we speak within the direfull grasp
Of Savage hunger, or of Savage heat?

Eld. Bro: Peace brother, be not over-exquisite
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils; 360
For grant they be so, while they rest unknown,
What need a man forestall his date of grief
And run to meet what he would most avoid?
Or if they be but false alarms of Fear,
How bitter is such self delusion?
I do not think my sister so to seek,
Or so unprincipl’d in vertues book,
And the sweet peace that goodnes boosoms ever,
As that the single want of light and noise
(Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) 370
Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts,
And put them into mis-becoming plight.
Vertue could see to do what vertue would
By her own radiant light, though Sun and Moon
Were in the salt sea sunk. And Wisdoms self
Oft seeks to sweet retired Solitude,
Where with her best nurse Contemplation
She plumes her feathers and lets grow her wings
That in the various bustle of resort
Were all too ruffled and sometimes impaired. 380
He that has light within his own deer brest
May sit i’th center, and enjoy bright day,
But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts
Benighted walks under the mid-day Sun;
Himself is his own dungeon.