SATYR: Through yon same bending plain, 
That flings his arms down to the main, 
And through these thick woods have I run, 
Whose bottom never kissed the sun 
Since the lusty spring began; 
All to please my master Pan, 
Have I trotted without rest 
To get him fruit, for at a feast 
He entertains this coming night 
His paramour, the Syrinx bright.-- 
But behold, a fairer sight!
By that heavenly form of thine, 
Brightest fair, thou art divine, 
Sprung from great immortal race 
Of the gods; for in they face 
Shines more awful majesty 
Than dull weak mortality 
Dare with misty eyes behold, 
And live. Therefore on this mold 
Lowly to I bend my knee 
In worship of thy deity. 
Deign it, goddess, from my hand 
To receive whate'er this land 
From her fertile womb doth send 
Of her choice fruits, and but lend belief to that the satyr tells: 
Fairer by the famous wells 
To this present day ne'er grew, 
Never better nor more true. 
Here be grapes, whose lusty blood 
Is the learned poets' good, 
Sweeter yet did never crown 
The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown 
Than the squirrel's teeth that crack them. 
Deign, O fairest fair, to take them! 
For these black-eyed Dryope 
Hath oftentimes commanded me 
With my claspéd knee to climb-- 
See how well the lusty time 
Hath decked their rising cheeks in red, 
Such as on your lips is spread! 
Here be berries for a queen-- 
Some be red, some be green; 
These are of that luscious meat 
The great god Pan himself doth eat; 
All these, and what the woods can yield, 
The hanging mountain, or the field, 
I freely offer, and ere long 
Will bring you more, more sweet and strong, 
Till when, humbly leave I take, 
Lest the great Pan do awake, 
That sleeping lies in a deep glade 
Under a broad beech's shade. 
I must go, I must run 
Swifter than the fiery sun.