A Pastoral Upon the Birth of Prince Charles. Presented to the King, and Set by Mr. Nic. Laniere

The Speakers, Mirtillo, Amintas and Amarillis.Amin. Good-day, Mirtillo. Mirt. And to you no less,And all fair signs lead on our shepherdess.Amar. With all white luck to you. Mirt. But say, what newsStirs in our sheep-walk? Amin. None, save that my ewes,My wethers, lambs, and wanton kids are well,Smooth, fair and fat! none better I can tell:Or that this day Menalcas keeps a feastFor his sheep-shearers. Mirt. True, these are the least;But, dear Amintas and sweet Amarillis,Rest but a while here, by this bank of lilies,And lend a gentle ear to one reportThe country has. Amin. From whence? Amar. From whence? Mirt. The Court.Three days before the shutting in of May(With whitest wool be ever crown'd that day!)To all our joy a sweet-fac'd child was born,More tender than the childhood of the morn.Chor. Pan pipe to him, and bleats of lambs and sheepLet lullaby the pretty prince asleep!

Mirt. And that his birth should be more singularAt noon of day was seen a silver star,Bright as the wise men's torch which guided themTo God's sweet babe, when born at Bethlehem;While golden angels (some have told to me)Sung out his birth with heavenly minstrelsy.Amin. O rare! But is't a trespass if we threeShould wend along his babyship to see?Mirt. Not so, not so.Chor. But if it chance to proveAt most a fault, 'tis but a fault of love.Amar. But, dear Mirtillo, I have heard it toldThose learned men brought incense, myrrh and goldFrom countries far, with store of spices sweet,And laid them down for offerings at his feet.Mirt. 'Tis true, indeed; and each of us will bringUnto our smiling and our blooming kingA neat, though not so great an offering.Amar. A garland for my gift shall beOf flowers ne'er suck'd by th' thieving bee;And all most sweet; yet all less sweet than he.Amin. And I will bear, along with you,Leaves dropping down the honeyed dew,With oaten pipes as sweet as new.Mirt. And I a sheep-hook will bestow,To have his little kingship know,As he is prince, he's shepherd too.Chor. Come, let's away, and quickly let's be dress'd,And quickly give—the swiftest grace is best.And when before him we have laid our treasures,We'll bless the babe, then back to country pleasures.