A PASTORAL Occasioned by the ARRIVAL OF His ROYAL HIGHNESS Prince GEORGE Of DENMARK, etc.  
Designed to Marry Her HIGHNESS THE LADY AND, DAUGHTER to that Heroic PRINCE, JAMES, Duke of YORK and ALBANY.  
Printed by N. Thompson, at the Entrance into the Old-Spring-Garden near Charing-Cross, MDCLXXXIII.   

A PASTORAL.  Tomalin, 

Welcome Great Man! But stay, I hear  
Some of my fellow-Swains draw near,  
With them I'll mingle Joys, and We  
(With Shepherd's Art, and Melody)  
Will join to sing his Praise, and make  
The neighbouring Woods and Groves partake.   

What makes you now so dull? behold, the Sun  
Is halfway up the Hill of Heaven run.  
Is this a time to lagg, when all the Plain  
Does echo with the Godlike Shepherd's name?  
The Brisk, the Noble Damon's, who does cheer  
Each Shepherd's heart, and glad our Hemisphere.   Willie, 

Oh Tomalin! you can't believe  
With what glad heart I did receive  
The happy News No sound did e'er  
Unto my ravished ears more welcome bear:  
The bravest Youth that ever took  
Into his hand a Spear or Crook.  
Oh, with what Pride (methinks) I see,  
What Noble Godlike Gallantry,  
He walks, and traces o'er the Plain,  
While every wondering Rural Swain  
With willing heart does homage pay,  
And at his feet their humble Offerings lay.   Hobbinol, 

All this, my Tomalin, is true;  
But what's the cause Him hither drew?  
Was it to show His comely Grace,  
Or Noble Form, or Manly Face;  
Or how to dance it o'er the Lays,  
On Summer-nights and holidays;  
Or with his Oaten-pipe and Quill,  
With artful Swains to try his Skill?  
No; 'Twas the charming SYLVIA drew the Swain,  
The Crown and Glory of the Plain,  
Like Roses blushing, and more fair  
Than Down of Swans, or Lilies are:  
Great Nature's best! more brisk and gay  
Than bright Aurora, or the Day.  
Had Paris seen Her, without doubt  
she'd merited the Golden Fruit,  
And those fair Goddesses had been  
But Dowdies to our Rural Queen.   Tomalin, 

No Shepherdess was ever yet  
Like Her so Nobly Good and Great;  
No Beauty but to her would yield,  
She is the Goddess of the Field:  
How many Garlands have I seen  
Presented Her upon the Green!  
And with what awful Fear and Love  
Each Swain who most should serve her strove!  
No Madrigal or Sonnet e'er  
Was sung, but still in Praise of Her,  
Nor Oaten-pipe was ever made,  
But to delight her in the Shade;  
All that the Shepherd's Wit or Skill  
Can do, was done to please her still.   Willie, 

This is a happy day indeed!  
Let's leave our Flocks alone to feed,  
And join our homely Rural Lays,  
To welcome HIM, and sing HER praise.   Hobbinol, 

Happy! In truth you well may say  
It is the happiest happy day;  
We shall not only have a Swain  
To Rule, and to secure the Plain,  
One that is skilled in every Art,  
Can use the Crook as well as Dart,  
Will clear our Folds from Wolves and Thiefs,  
That killed our Lambs, and stole our Beefs:  
But Sylvia too will have no less  
Than perfect Joy and Happiness;  
How pleased She looks; how Sweet and Grave,  
To see so Great a Man Her Slave:  
Oh! what must we expect and find  
From such a Noble Pair, and so combined!   Tomalin, 

Behold, the damsels all appear,  
Each one a Garland too does bear,  
To dress the Fields more fine and gay,  
And make this Shepherd's Holiday.   Willie, 

They ne'er more reason had than now,  
Since Sylvia does to Cupid bow;  
Each one may now go choose her Mate,  
And so submit to Love and Fate.   Tomalin, 

And now weare all together met,  
Beneath this shady Grove let's sit,  
Adorned in harmless Shepherd's Weed,  
And tune each Oaten-pipe and Reed,  
And with our Songs and Roundelays  
To sing the Noble Damon's Praise;  
Sylvia shall be our Theme, and then  
To both we'll play, of both we'll sing again;  
To both we'll wish a happy Fate,  
And both their happy Joys Congratulate.   Hobbinol, 

Come bring our Instruments before us,  
And let each honest Heart  
And artful Hand now bear a part,  
To make a joyful Chorus:  
Auspicious Pan! look down, and be  
Propitious to our Harmony;  
Assist each Oaten-pipe and Quill,  
And teach us Thy diviner Skill,  
That we in Rural Sonnets may set forth  
The Praise of DAMON, and Fair SYLVIAS Worth.   

SONG.  Tomalin, 

I.  
YE Powers that influence  Loves,  
And You that rule o'er Meads and Groves,  
Look down, and see,  
And let this Pair  
As happy be,  
As She's most Good, most excellently Fair.   Willie, 

II.  
Never before in Albion's Plain  
Appeared so brisk, so gay a Swain;  
So Princely brave,  
His look does awe  
Each Rural Slave,  
Whose every Word to every Swain's a Law.   Hob. 

III.  
Sylvia, the Goddess of the Groves,  
That reigns in all our Hearts and Loves,  
To Her this day  
We celebrate,  
And sing and play,  
To wish Her joy in Her now happy Fate.   CHORUS. 

May all the Joys that Heaven can give light here,  
Blest with a Godlike Father's tender Care,  
Under the Wings of Mighty PAN, may You  
All His, and your Great Father's Foes subdue,  
That all the World may see what You and Heaven can do.    

SONG.  Tom. 
Your Flocks shall all increase,  Wil 
And you shall live in Peace;  Hob. 
Your Sheep shall never stray;  Wil 
Your Lambs  Hob. 
The Wolf shall never slay;  Wil 
Their Dams  Tom. 
Shall always fruitful be;  Wil 
Each Swain  Tom. 
Shall Offerings bring to Thee;  Wil 
The Plain,  All. 
And neverdying loud-mouthed Fame,  
Shall still resound with Noble Damon's Name.  Tom. 
Sylvia shall be,  
Thou Mighty Man, to Thee  
A Blessing,  Hob. 
Possessing  
Moore Charms  
In Her Arms  
Than e'er blessed Swain before.  Wil 
Every Field  
Still shall yield  
Somewhat more,  
To Thy Store.  All. 
Whole Nature shall conspire  
To fulfil  
Thy great Will,  
And more Noble Desire.  Tom. 
In this great Union, We  
Expect not only Happiness,  
But that in future Ages it should bless,  
And send down Joys to our Posterity.  Willie. 
Ne'er may you want a Son,  
To grace the fertile Albion Plain;  
How wonderfully blest would be each Swain,  
To pay their Homage at His Rural Throne.  CHORUS by All. 
May every thing assist your Love;  
May all the Powers that rule above  
Conspire together how to bless,  
And give You everlasting Happiness.   Hobbinol, 
'Twas well performed; but before we sleep  
Let's careful be to fold our Sheep:  
Then practice o'er our Rural Lays  
We sung to day in DAMON'S Praise.  Willie, 
Agreed, my Hobbinol, we will,  
And every day increase our Skill;  
And every year, more brisk and gay,  
Welcome this happy Pair, this Shepherd's Holiday.  
FINIS: