A Pastoral ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF Mr. THOMAS CREECH.   

DAPHNIS: OR, A Pastoral ELEGY Upon the Unfortunate and much-lamented DEATH OF Mr. THOMAS CREECH.  
— Negat quis Carmina Gallo?  
Hunc etiam Lauri, hunc etiam flevere Myricae.  Virgil. 
LONDN, Printed for John Deeve at Bernard's Inn-Gate in Holborn, 1700   

DAPHNIS, etc.  THYRSIS. ALEXIS. 
THE Rosy Morning with prevailing Light  
Had now dispelled the humid Shades of Night,  
And smiling Phoebus spread his Thirsty Beams  
To drink the Dew, and taste the Silver Streams:  
When on a rising Mountain's fragrant Side  
By Flora decked in all her gaudy Pride;  
The mourning Shepherd, young Alexis lay,  
Sickening at Light, and weary of the Day:  
On conscious Heaven he fixed his weeping Eyes,  
As if he sought his Daphnis in the Skies.  
Daphnis, who from the Earth was lately fled;  
Daphnis, (he living) loved, and mourned for Daphnis dead.  
When Generous Fortune kindly brought that way  
Sad Thyrsis to assist the pensive Boy,  
To be the kind Companion of his Woe;  
That both their Tears might in one Current flow:  
Thus than the Youth began a doleful Strain,  
And thus bespoke the Sympathising Swain.  Alexis. 
Ah Thyrsis! hast thou heard the dismal Tale?  
How Daphnis died in yonder Gloomy Vale!  
Say, couldst thou think that he, whose Verse could move  
A Rock to Pity, or a Stone to Love.  
Who could, like Ovid, tenderest Thoughts instill  
Should fall a Victim to a Woman's Will?  Thyrsis. 
Yes, Shepherd, yes; the Story is too true!  
Look, how the Groves have changed their verdant hue!  
The withered Leaves lie scattered all around,  
And blasted Flowers disgrace the sacred Ground.  
Yes, he is dead! the poor unhappy Swain,  
Loved beauteous LALAGE, but loved in vain;  
Fantastic, proud, and conscious of her Charms,  
She scorned his Love, and fled his wishing Arms.  
Nought could prevail, tho' all Love's Arts he tried:  
She sacrificed the Shepherd to her Pride.  
Ungentle Nymph, to thee we own his Death,  
'Twas LALAGE that robbed poor Daphnis of his Breath.  Alex. 
Ah cruel Nymph! 've lost the learned'st Swain  
That ever sung on our Arcadia's Plain:  
What sprightly Thoughts, what Joy did he inspire!  
When with such Art he touched the Roman Lyre?  
What tender Pity did our Souls invade,  
When he bewailed the Royal Grecian Maid?  
How well his Muse the fatal Story told,  
When she the poor Lucretia's Fate condoled?  
When Daphnis Sung, how did our Groves rejoice,  
And Grottos Echo to his charming Voice?  
How slow did silent Ousa roll along,  
When Daphnis taught us great Lucretia's Song?  
Where wand'ring Atoms in Confusion hurled,  
Agreed by Chance, and so composed a World.  
Whilst Nervous Numbers with harmonious Feet,  
In such a soft, and tuneful Cadence meet;  
As (to his lasting Honour) fully prove  
Chance could not in such Beauteous Order move.  
Then, Cruel Nymph, how could thy Pride refuse  
So soft a Lover and so sweet a Muse?  
Hadst thou but yielded to our Daphnis Love,  
On every Green, in every blooming Grove,  
The Nymphs and Swains had blessed thy happy Name,  
And LALAGE, and Daphnis filled the Mouth of Fame.  
But now both Nymphs, and Swains unite their Breath,  
To Curse thy Scorn, and mourn the Shepherd's Death:  
Whose Shade now wand'ring in the pensive Grove,  
Still, still complains of LALAGE, and Love.  
Daphnis farewel, farewell unhappy Swain!  
May'st thou in Lethe's Lake forget thy Pain,  
And in oblivion sleep, till thou no more  
Remember what thou didst, or what thou wert before.  Thyrsis. 
See yonder Sheep, how ragged now and bare,  
A happy Flock, whilst they were Daphnis Care,  
But now they mope, and straggling o'er the Plain  
Lament all Day, and mourn their absent Swain:  
No more they Joy to Crop the tender Buds,  
Nor seek at Noon cool Springs, and shady Woods.  
In neither Sun, nor Shade, they now delight,  
Nor dread the Foxes, or the Wolves by Night.  
here pined to Death, a harmless Lambkin lies,  
And there for Grief his bleating Mother dies.  
As if she did with her departing Breath  
Invoke just Heaven t'avange her Masters Death.  Alex. 
And Pan will sure revenge the Shepherd's Fate  
Although perhaps his vengeance comes but late.  
Last Night returning home, in yonder Grove,  
Where we were used to sing, and talk of Love,  
I heard great Pan, and all the Sylvan Train  
Of Daphnis Love, and Daphnis death complain.  
The weeping heavens a Shower of Tears distilled,  
And all the Woods were with loud Sorrow filled.  
Whilst mournful Echoes all their Sighs rebound,  
Wishing they had been something more than Sound.  
Pan most of all the Shepherd's Death deplored,  
He Daphnis loved, and Daphnis him adored.  
Oh (my dear Boy) he cried, why wouldst thou dare  
To view a Face so tempting, and so Fair?  
Why, why didst thou indulge the secret Fire?  
Ah! why wouldst thou admit the fond desire,  
And hope th' imperious LALAGE to move?  
Why didst thou die? (alas!) why didst thou Love?  
But 'tis in vain to ask; 'twas so decreed,  
So I coy Syrnix chased, and caught a trembling Reed.  
Fair Fatal Sex! who can our Souls surprise  
With tender Looks, and soft bewitching Eyes,  
Were you but half as pitiful and kind,  
The God of Love had not been counted blind.  
On you we Gaze, and feel a pleasing Pain  
Steal to our Hearts, and glide through every Vein.  
Till drunk with Love our weakness we betray;  
And die, if you refuse to yield the Joy!  
More had he spoke; but Words began to fail,  
And breathless Echoes murmured in the Vale;  
Convulsive Sorrow swelled his throbbing Breast,  
Adieu! adieu! he cried, and sighed the rest.  Thyr. 
But say what chance, what luckless Fortune drew  
The scornful Virgin to the Shepherd's View?  
Where did his fatal Passion first begin?  
Ah! Where was she by wretched Daphnis seen.  Alexis. 
Beneath a Shade to shun the Heat of Day,  
On Ousa's flowery Banks our Daphnis lay;  
Whilst his glad Flocks around their Master feed,  
Charmed with the Music of his Voice, and Reed:  
Of Chaos first he sung, and boundless Space,  
Before the Birth of Matter, Time, or Place;  
Before Old Night had felt the piercing Ray  
Of Light, and yielded to invading Day.  
Then, how the wondrous Universe began,  
What Order through the newmade Structure ran;  
The Birth of Nature, and the Birth of Man.  
Then changed his Subject, and in softer Strains  
Discovered Grecian Loves, to British Swains.  
Whilst LALAGE from an adjacent Glade,  
(Where trembling Boughs composed a moving Shade)  
With Pleasure listened to his warbling Airs,  
And drunk the pleasing Tales with greedy Ears:  
Then o'er the Lawns she trips with nimble Feet  
To know who 'twas sung so divinely Sweet;  
And as she passed along, th' impatient Maid  
With curious Eyes each secret Place surveyed,  
Still following Echo as a faithful Guide,  
Till she at distance had the Shepherd spied.  Thyrsis. 
Ah happy Swain!  
Hadst thou but fled from that unhappy Place,  
And never seen her fair enchanting Face,  
Thou yet hadst been the Lord of all our Plains,  
And we yet heard thy soft harmonious Strains.  Alexis. 
But Daphnis to his Fate with Pleasure run,  
He saw the Nymph, he loved, and was undone.  
With haughty Looks, and a disdainful Mien  
Apace she walked, and crossed the shaded Green;  
The Shepherd viewed her as she passed along,  
Dropped down his Reed, and straight forgot his Song,  
With wishing Eyes he gazed upon her Charms,  
And would have died t'have died within her Arms;  
Deep draughts of Love he drunk, and strong desire,  
His Breast, like Aetna, glowed with inward Fire,  
Which when the Nymph perceived, more proud and coy  
She looked, and smiled with a malicious Joy.  
Nor could he since the cruel Tyrant move  
(Obdurate Maid) to Pity or to Love.  
The sad, the direful Passion still increased,  
Ten Thousand raging Thoughts distract his Breast.  
His Flock and darling Muse no longer were  
His dear delight, his Pleasure, and his Care;  
The Nymph, the Nymph, he thinks of nought but her.  
But hapless Youth!—  
The more he loved, the more she scorned his Flame,  
And seemed to hate both Love and Daphnis Name.  
Then from our Groves to yonder Wood he flies,  
(Strange Power of Love!) and there despairing dies.  Thyrsis. 
The last time I the wretched Swain beheld,  
Was on a Sunny Bank in Aegon's Field;  
All Fire himself, he minded not to shun  
The Heat of Day, or fly the scorching Sun;  
Wildly he stared, his Face looked pale, and wan,  
He sighed, and languished like a dying Man.  
When to him thus I spoke—  
Unhappy Youth!— and can there be no Cure,  
What Tortures dost thou feel, what Pains endure?  
Whilst by a cruel unrelenting Maid,  
Thou art to Misery, and Death betrayed.  
Ah, canst thou not forget her fatal Charms,  
And take some kinder Beauty to thy Arms?  
Return, return to our abandoned Grove;  
And there thou mayst be happy in thy Love.  
For thee in amorous Fires Lycoris burns,  
For thee the lovely Galetea mourns.  
Were't thou from this inglorious Bondage free,  
A Thousand Blessings wait to fall on thee.  
The Jolly Troops that used to hear thy Lays,  
And crown thy Brows with Wreaths of verdant Bays:  
In Sighs and Tears of thy hard Fate complain,  
Begging kind Heaven to break the subtle Chain  
Which holds thy Heart; and thy sweet Muse restore;  
That thou mayst charm them, as thou didst before.  
Thy scattered Flooks too o'er the Forests roam,  
Wanting their Shepherd to compel them home.  
Rise then dear Daphnis, give this Fondness o'er,  
And think of cruel LALAGE no more.  
Thus I— and thus replied the sighing Swain,  
Ah Thyrsis, if thou wouldst remove my Pain,  
Give me my Love, so may I soothe my Grief,  
Forget my Cares, and grow more fond of Life:  
For tho' so proud, disdainful, and unkind,  
Without her I can hope no Peace to find;  
My wand'ring Thoughts her Form does still pursue,  
And still my Soul has LALAGE in view.  
Ah savage Fair, wouldst thou this bounty give,  
(For since thou wilt not Love, I cannot Live)  
Wouldst thou but deign to close my trembling Eyes,  
Or drop a Tear or two, as Daphnis dies:  
With Joy, I'd meet the cold Embrace of Death,  
And bless my Charmer with my latest Breath.  
Didst thou but Rage with such a fierce desire,  
I'd rush through foaming Seas, and Storms of Fire,  
Attempt the greatest Dangers, and not grieve  
To part with Life, so LALAGE might Live.  
But thou malicious fair one, with Disdain!  
Laughs at my Grief, and smiling mockest my Pain.  
Be gone ye Quacks, your Arts no longer boast,  
In spite of all your Medicines I am lost;  
Be gone ye Cheats, who with vain Charms pretend  
To make departed Shades again ascend:  
Be gone ye Zealots, who at Altars bow;  
The Gods are deaf, and cannot hear you now.  
I rave, I rage, I burn, oh! let me fly  
To some dark desert Place, and there I'll die.  
Thus spoke the Swain, and acted as he said,  
Raving to yonder gloomy Wood he fled.  
Where, for a while, with piercing Sighs and Groans  
He fills the Shades, and his dire Fate bemoans;  
Repeating still the cruel Charmer's Name,  
And on each Tree records his hapless Flame.  
Till quite overwhelmed with Woe and drowned in Grief,  
He thus gave up the sad remains of Life.  
Farewell ye Swains! to Death's dark Courts I go  
To mourn amongst the weeping Shades below.  
Farewell ye Streams, and conscious Groves, he cried:  
So did the dreadful work of Fate, and died.  Alex. 
Unhappy Youth! What could the Fates design  
To bless the World with such a Muse as thine,  
Yet suffer Death to ravish her away,  
 she could half her smiling Charms display?  
What Star, what baleful Planet ruled thy Birth?  
Shedding malignant Rays upon the Earth,  
That thou shouldst die amidst thy Vernal Bloom,  
Before thy Muse had brought her Harvest home!  
But 'twas a dismal, sad, untimely Death  
That robbed so soon the Shepherd of his Breath.  
Thus blooming Trees are nipped with kill Frost,  
Thus budding Flowers harsh Mildews often blast.  
Hadst thou survived, what Wonders had we seen!  
What listening Crowds had thronged each Grove and Green.  
Upon thy Voice the Nymphs and Swains had hung,  
As when before great Tytyrus sweetly sung.  Thyrsis. 
But Tityrus is gone, and Daphnis fled,  
And all our Hopes are with the Shepherds, dead.  
Farewell dear Youth, so fast my Tears do flow,  
That Words are wanting to express my Woe.  
As Hebrus stopped for Grief his golden Side,  
When on its Banks the tuneful Orpheus died;  
So do our Groves, and Rivers seem to mourn,  
In silent Sorrow, for their Swains return.  

But thou canst ne'er return—  
For thou hast crossed the irreameable Lake,  
And Charon's Boat comes always empty back.   

Here did the Swains their mournful Theme give o'er,  
Sighs stopped their Words, and they could speak no more.   
FINIS.   

Lately Printed, 
 KIng Henry iv with the Humours of Sir John Falstaff. A Tragicomedy, as it is Acted at the Theatre in Little Lincolns-Inn-Fields. Revived, with Alterations. Printed for John Deeve at Bernard's Inn-Gate in Holborn: 
 Where you may be furnished with most Plays.