Piscator and Corydon. 69 



SONG. 



Cloris. f~iReat Pan, to thee we all oblations pay 



Father of Gods and Men, to thee we pray. 

 No Wolves offend our fold while we 

 Are absent at our Husbandry , 

 Still may our bleating sheep, bring- tender Lambs 

 And mighty Fleeces from our Ewes and Rams, 

 Thou art their Father, with Paternal care 

 Protect them and their off-spring fair. 

 While Ceres bounty daily we attend, 

 Let thy all seeing eye, so far extend, 

 In Loving rays upon our Flocks, 

 Preserve and keep their dew'y locks. 

 Which we in stormy weather gently cull, 

 Then Card and Twist the glorious silver Wool, 

 The Weavers art, our want supplys, 

 Beyond the Ruby Tinctured Dyes. 

 Homeborn our Souls, and so our lives we lead, 

 We know no Citys, nor the Courtly breed, 

 Nor ne'er desire they should prevail, 

 Over the Dutys to the Milking Pail. 



Piscator, your turn's next, I pray you Sing, 

 Your Angling pastime, or the Fishes King. 

 What Kings they have, or what you please belong 

 To Angling, make the burden of your Song. 

 But first to clear your Pipes .we'll drink, 

 No time is lost in that I justly think. 



Propitious 



