William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Elizabethan Verse. 1907.
Hymn to PanJohn Fletcher (15791625)
S
Our flocks from harm,
Pan, the father of our sheep;
And arm in arm
Tread we softly in a round,
Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground
Fills the music with her sound.
Thus do we sing!
Thou who keep’st us chaste and free
As the young spring:
Ever by thy honour spoke
From that place the morn is broke
To that place day doth unyoke!