  VENATOR, AMATOR, EBRIOLUS. Venator. Good morrow, good morrow! say whither ye go,— To the chase above, or the woods below? Brake and hollow their quarry hold, Streams are bright with backs of gold: 'Twere shame to lose so fair a day,— So, whither ye wend, my masters, say. Amator. The dappled herd in peace may graze, The fish fling back the sun's bright rays; I bend no bow, I cast no line, The chase of Love alone is mine. Ebriolus. Your venison and pike Ye may get as ye like, They grace a board right well; But the sport for my share Is the chase of old Care, When the wine-cup tolls his knell. Venator. Give ye good-den, my masters twain, I'll flout ye, when we meet again: Sad lover, lay thee down and pine; Go thou, and blink o'er thy noon-day wine; I'll to the woods. Well may ye fare With two such deer, as Love and Care. |
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