Swain

Like as a fire, when Southern gusts are rude, / falls on the standing harvest of the plain, / or torrent, hurtling with a mountain flood, / whelms field and oxen's toil and smiling grain, / and rolls whole forests headlong to the main, / while, weetless of the noise, on neighbouring height, / tranced in mute wonder, stands the listening swain.

theſe that ſeeme but ſilly country Swaines, May haue the leading of so great an hoſte, As with their waight ſhal make the mountains quake.

Why thus from the Plain does my Shepherdess rove Forsaking Her Swain and neglecting his love?

You're the belle of the ball, and these are all your swains, hoping for a glimpse of ankle.