University of Virginia Library

The Fovrth Song.

The Argvment.

The Cornish Swaines and Brittish Bard
Thetis hath with attention heard.
And after meets an aged man
That tels the haplesse loue of Pan:
And why the flockes doe liue so free
From Wolues within rich Britannie.
Looke as a Louer with a lingring kisse
About to part with the best halfe that's his,
Faine would he stay but that he feares to doe it,
And curseth time for so fast hastning to it:
Now takes his leaue, and yet begins anew
To make lesse vowes then are esteemed true:
Then saies he must be gone, and then doth finde
Something he should haue spoke that's out of minde;
And whilst he stands to look for't in her eyes,
Their sad-sweet glance so tye his faculties
To thinke from what he parts, that he is now
As farre from leauing her, or knowing how,
As when he came; begins his former straine,
To kisse, to vow, and take his leaue againe:
Then turns, comes back, sighes, parts, & yet doth go,
Apt to retire, and loath to leaue her so.
Braue Streame, so part I from thy flowrie banke,
Where first I breath'd, and (though vnworthy) dranke
Those sacred waters which the Muses bring
To wooe Britannia to their ceaslesse spring.

Vide de amœnitate loci. Malmesb. 2. lib. de gest. Pontif. fo. 146.

Now would I on, but that the crystall Wels,
The fertill Meadowes and their pleasing smels,
The Woods delightfull and the scatt'red Groues,
(Where many Nymphs walk with their chaster Loues)
Soone make me stay: And think that Ordgar's

Ordulphus.

son
(Admonish'd by a heauenly vision)
Not without cause did that apt fabricke reare,
(Wherein we nothing now but Eccho's heare
That wont with heauenly Anthemes daily ring
And duest praises to the greatest King)
In this choise plot. Since he could light vpon
No place so fit for contemplation.
Though I a while must leaue this happy soyle,
And follow Thetis in a pleasing toyle,
Yet when I shall returne, Ile striue to draw
The Nymphs by Thamar, Tauy, Ex and Tau,
By Turridge, Otter, Ock, by Dert and Plym,
With all the Nayades that fish and swim
In their cleare streames, to these our rising Downes,
Where while they make vs chaplets, wreaths and crowns,
Ile tune my Reed vnto a higher key,
(And haue already cond some of the Lay)
Wherein (as Mantua by her Virgils birth
And Thames by him that sung her Nuptiall mirth)
You may be knowne (though not in equall pride)
As farre as Tiber throwes his swelling Tide.
And by a Shepherd (feeding on your plaines)
In humble, lowly, plaine, and ruder straines,
Heare your worths challenge other floods among,
To haue a period equall with their song.
Where Plym and Thamar with imbraces meet,
Thetis weighes ancor now, and all her Fleet:
Leauing that spacious

Plymouth.

Sound, within whose armes
I haue those Vessels seene, whose hot alarmes
Haue made Iberia tremble, and her towres
Prostrate themselues before our iron showres
While their proud builders hearts haue been inclinde
To shake (as our braue Ensignes) with the winde.
For as an Eyerie from their Seeges wood
Led o're the Plaines and taught to get their food:
By seeing how their Breeder takes his prey
Now from an Orchard doe they scare the Iey,
Then o're the Corne-fields as they swiftly flye,
Where many thousand hurtfull Sparrowes lye
Beating the ripe graine from the bearded eare,
At their approach, all (ouer-gone with feare)
Seeke for their safetie: some into the dike,
Some in the hedges drop, and others like
The thick-growne corne as for their hiding best,
And vnder turfes or grasse most of the rest;
That of a flight which couer'd all the graine,
Not one appeares, but all or hid, or slaine:
So by Heröes were we led of yore,
And by our drums that thundred on each shore,
Stroke with amazement Countries farre and neere;
Whilst their Inhabitants like Heards of Deere,
By kingly Lyons chas'd, fled from our Armes.
If any did oppose, instructed swarmes
Of men immail'd; Fate drew them on to be
A greater Fame to our got Victory.
But now our Leaders want; those Vessels lye
Rotting, like houses through ill husbandry;
And on their Masts where oft the Ship-boy stood,
Or siluer Trumpets charm'd the brackish Flood,
Some wearied Crow it set; and daily seene
Their sides instead of pitch calk'd o're with greene:
Ill hap (alas) haue you that once were knowne
By reaping what was by Iberia sowne.
By bringing yealow sheaues from out their plaine,
Making our Barnes the store-house for their graine:
When now as if we wanted land to till,
Wherewith we might our vselesse Souldiers fill:
Vpon their Hatches where halfe-pikes were borne,
In euery chinke rise stems of bearded corne:
Mocking our idle times that so haue wrought vs,
Or putting vs in minde what once they brought vs.
Beare with me Shepherds if I doe digresse,
And speake of what our selues doe not professe:
Can I behold a man that in the field,
Or at a breach hath taken on his Shield
More Darts then euer

M. Scena.

Roman; that hath spent
Many a cold December in no Tent
But such as Earth and Heauen make; that hath beene
Except in Iron Plates not long time seene;
Vpon whose body may be plainly told
More wounds then his lanke purse doth almes-deeds hold.
O! can I see this man (aduentring all)
Be onely grac'd with some poore Hospitall,
Or may be worse, intreating at his doore
For some reliefe whom he secur'd before,
And yet not shew my griefe? First may I learne
To see, and yet forget how to discerne;
My hands neglectfull be at any need,
Or to defend my body, or to feed,
Ere I respect those times that rather giue him
Hundreds to punish, then one to relieue him.
As in an Euening when the gentle ayre
Breathes to the sullen night a soft repaire,
I oft haue set on Thames sweet banke to heare
My Friend with his sweet touch to charme mine eare,
When he hath plaid (as well he can) some straine
That likes me, streight I aske the same againe,
And he as gladly granting, strikes it o're
With some sweet relish was forgot before:
I would haue beene content if he would play
In that one straine to passe the night away;
But fearing much to doe his patience wrong,
Vnwillingly haue ask'd some other song.
So in this diffring Key, though I could well
A many houres but as few minutes tell,
Yet lest mine owne delight might iniure you
(Though loath so soone) I take my Song anew.
Yet as when I with other Swaines haue beene
Invited by the Maidens of our greene
To wend to yonder Wood, in time of yeare
When Cherry-trees inticing burdens beare,
He that with wreathed legs doth vpwards goe,
Pluckes not alone for those which stand below;
But now and then is seene to picke a few
To please himselfe as well as all his crew:
Or if from where he is he doe espie
Some Apricocke vpon a bough thereby,
Which ouerhangs the tree on which he stands,
Climbs vp and striues to take it with his hands:
So if to please my selfe I somewhat sing,
Let it not be to you lesse pleasuring.
No thirst of glory tempts me: for my straines
Befit poore Shepherds on the lowly Plaines;
The hope of riches cannot draw from me
One line that tends to seruile flatterie,
Nor shall the most in titles on the earth
Blemish my Muse with an adulterate birth,
Nor make me lay pure colours on a ground
Where nought substantiall can be euer found.
No; such as sooth a base and dunghill spirit,
With attributes fit for the most of merit,
Cloud their free Muse; as when the Sun doth shine
On straw and durt mixt by the sweating Hyne,
It nothing gets from heapes so much impure
But noysome steames that doe his light obscure.
My free-borne Muse will not like Danae be,
Won with base drosse to clip with slauery;
Nor lend her choiser Balme to worthlesse men,
Whose names would dye but for some hired pen.
No: if I praise, Vertue shall draw me to it,
And not a base procurement make me doe it.
What now I sing is but to passe away
A tedious houre, as some Musitians play;
Or make another my owne griefes bemone;
Or to be least alone when most alone.
In this can I as oft as I will choose,
Hug sweet content by my retired Muse,
And in a study finde as much to please
As others in the greatest Pallaces.
Each man that liues (according to his powre)
On what he loues bestowes an idle houre;
In stead of Hounds that make the woodded hils
Talke in a hundred voyces to the Rils,
I like the pleasing cadence of a line
Strucke by the consort of the sacred Nine.
In lieu of Hawkes, the raptures of my soule
Transcend their pitch and baser earths controule.
For running Horses, Contemplation flyes
With quickest speed to win the greatest prize.
For courtly dancing I can take more pleasure
To heare a Verse keepe time and equall measure.
For winning Riches, seeke the best directions
How I may well subdue mine owne affections.
For raising stately piles for heires to come,
Here in this Poem I erect my toombe.
And time may be so kinde in these weake lines
To keepe my Name enroll'd past his that shines
In guilded Marble, or in brazen leaues:
Since Verse preserues, when Stone & Brasse deceiues.
Or if (as worthlesse) Time not lets it liue
To those full dayes which others Muses giue,
Yet I am sure I shall be heard and sung
Of most seuerest eld, and kinder young
Beyond my daies; and, maugre Enuies strife,
Adde to my name some houres beyond my life.
Such of the Muses are the able powres,
And since with them I spent my vacant houres,
I finde nor Hawke, nor Hound, nor other thing,
Turnies nor Reuels, pleasures for a King,
Yeeld more delight; for I haue oft possest
As much in this as all in all the rest,
And that without expence, when others oft
With their vndoings haue their pleasures bought.
On now, my loued Muse, and let vs bring
Thetis to heare the Cornish Michael sing;
And after him to see a Swaine vnfold
The Tragedie of Drake in leaues of gold.
Then heare another Greenvils name relate,
Which times succeeding shall perpetuate,
And make those two the Pillers great of Fame,
Beyond whose worths shall neuer sound a Name,
Nor Honour in her euerlasting story
More deeper graue for all ensuing glory.
Now Thetis staies to heare the Shepherds tell
Where Arthur met his death, and Mordred fell:)
Of holy Vrsula (that fam'd her age)
With other Virgins in her pilgrimage:
And as she forwards steeres is showne the Rocke
Maine-Amber, to be shooke with weakest shocke,
So equall is it poiz'd; but to remoue
All strength would faile, and but an infants proue.
Thus while to please her some new Songs deuise,
And others Diamonds (shaped angle-wise,
And smooth'd by Nature, as she did impart
Some willing time to trim her selfe by Art)
Sought to present her and her happy crew:
She of the Gulfe and Syllies tooke a view.
And doubling then the point, made on away
Tow'rds goodly Seuerne and the Irish Sea,
There meets a Shepherd that began sing o're
The Lay which aged

Robert of Glocester.

Robert sung of yore,
In praise of England and the deeds of Swaines
That whilome fed and rul'd vpon our plaines.
The Brittish Bards then were not long time mute,
But to their sweet Harps sung their famous Brute:
Striuing in spight of all the mists of eld,
To haue his Story more authenticke held.
Why should we enuy them those wreaths of Fame:
Being as proper to the Troian name,
As are the dainty flowres which Flora spreads
Vnto the Spring in the discoloured Meads?
Rather afford them all the worth we may,
For what we giue to them adds to our Ray.
And, Brittons, thinke not that your glories fall,
Deriued from a meane originall;
Since lights that may haue powre to check the darke,
Can haue their lustre from the smallest sparke.
“Not from Nobilitie doth Vertue spring,
“But Vertue makes fit Nobles for a King.
“From highest nests are croaking Rauens borne,
“When sweetest Nightingales sit in the Thorne.
From what low Fount soe're your beings are
(In softer peace and mighty brunts of warre)
Your owne worths challenge as triumphant Bayes
As euer Troian hand had power to raise.
And when I leaue my Musiques plainer ground,
The world shall know it from Bellona's sound.
Nor shall I erre from Truth; for what I write
She doth peruse, and helps me to indite.
The small conuerse which I haue had with some,
Branches which from those gallant trees haue come,
Doth what I sing in all their acts approue,
And with more daies increase a further loue.
As I haue seene the Lady of the May
Set in an Arbour (on a Holy-day)
Built by the May-pole, where the iocund Swaines
Dance with the Maidens to the Bagpipes straines,
When enuious Night commands them to be gone,
Call for the merry youngsters one by one,
And for their well performance soone disposes:
To this a Garland interwoue with Roses.
To that a carued Hooke or well-wrought Scrip,
Gracing another with her cherry lip:
To one her Garter, to another then
A Hand-kerchiefe cast o're and o're agen:
And none returneth emptie that hath spent
His paines to fill their rurall merriment:
So Nereus Daughter, when the Swaines had done
With an vnsparing, liberall hand begun
To giue to euery one that sung before,
Rich orient Pearles brought from her hidden store,
Red branching Corrall, and as precious Iems
As euer beautifide the Diadems:
That they might liue what chance their sheepe betide,
On her reward, yet leaue their heires beside.
Since when I think the world doth nothing giue them
As weening Thetis euer should relieue them.
And Poets freely spend a golden showre,
As they expected Her againe each houre.
Then with her thanks and praises for their skill
In tuning numbers of the sacred Hill.
She them dismist to their contented Coates;
And euery Swaine a seuerall passage floates
Vpon his Dolphin. Since whose safe repaire,
Those Fishes like a well composed ayre.
And (as in loue to men) are euer seene
Before a tempests rough regardlesse teene,
To swim high on the waues: as none should dare
Excepting fishes to aduenture there.
When these had left her, she draue on in pride
Her prouder Coursers through the swelling tyde,
To view the Cambrian Cliffes, and had not gone
An houres full speede, but neere a Rocke (whereon
Congealed frost and snow in Summer lay,
Seldome dissolued by Hyperions ray)
She saw a troope of people take their seat,
Whereof some wrung their hands, and some did beat
Their troubled brests, in signe of mickle woe,
For those are actions griefe inforceth to.
Willing to know the cause, somewhat neere hand
She spies an aged man sit by the strand,
Vpon a greene hill side (not meanly crown'd
With golden flowres, as chiefe of all the ground):
By him a little Lad, his cunning heire,
Tracing greene Rushes for a Winter Chaire.
The old man while his sonne full neatly knits them
Vnto his worke begun, as trimly fits them.
Both so intending what they first propounded,
As all their thoghts by what they wrought were boūded.
To them She came, and kindly thus bespake:
Ye happy creatures, that your pleasures take
In what your needes inforce, and neuer aime
A limitlesse desire to what may maime
The setled quiet of a peacefull state,
Patience attend your labours! And when Fate
Brings on the restfull night to your long daies,
Wend to the fields of blisse! Thus Thetis prayes.
Faire Queene, to whom all dutious praise we owe,
Since from thy spacious Cesterne daily flow
(Repli'd the Swaine) refreshing streames that fill
Earth's dugs (the hillocks) so preseruing still
The infant grasse, when else our Lambs might bleat
In vaine for suke, whose Dams haue nought to eat:
For these thy praiers we are doubly bound,
And that these Cleeues should know; but (ô) to sound
My often mended Pipe presumption were,
Since Pan would play if thou wouldst please to heare.
The louder blasts which I was wont to blow
Are now but faint, nor doe my fingers know
To touch halfe part those merry tunes I had.
Yet if thou please to grace my little Lad
With thy attention, he may somewhat strike
Which thou from one so young maist chance to like.
With that the little Shepherd left his taske,
And with a blush (the Roses onely maske)
Deni'd to sing. Ah father (quoth the Boy),
How can I tune a seeming note of ioy?
The worke which you command me, I intend
Scarce with a halfe bent minde, and therefore spend
In doing little, now, an houre or two,
Which I in lesser time could neater doe.
As oft as I with my more nimble ioints
Trace the sharpe Rushes ends, I minde the points
Which Philocel did giue; and when I brush
The prittie tuft that growes beside the rush,
I neuer can forget (in yonder layre)
How Philocel was wont to stroake my haire.
No more shall I be tane vnto the Wake,
Nor wend a fishing to the winding Lake,
No more shall I be taught on siluer strings
To learne the measures of our banquettings:
The twisted Collers and the ringing Bels:
The Morrice Scarfes and cleanest drinking shels
Will neuer be renew'd by any one;
Nor shall I care for more when he is gone.
See! yonder hill where he was wont to sit,
A cloud doth keepe the golden Sun from it,
And for his seat (as teaching vs) hath made
A mourning couering with a scowling shade.
The dew on euery flowre this morne hath laine
Longer then it was wont, this side the plaine;
Belike they meane, since my best friend must die,
To shed their siluer drops as he goes by.
Not all this day here, nor in comming hither,
Heard I the sweet Birds tune their Songs together,
Except one Nightingale in yonder Dell
Sigh'd a sad Elegie for Philocel;
Neere whom a Wood-Doue kept no small adoe,
To bid me in her language Doe so too,
The Weathers bell that leads our flocke around
Yeelds as me thinkes this day a deader sound.
The little Sparrowes which in hedges creepe,
Ere I was vp did seeme to bid me weepe.
If these doe so, can I haue feeling lesse,
That am more apt to take and to expresse?
No: let my owne tunes be the Mandrakes grone
If now they tend to mirth when all haue none.
My pritty Lad (quoth Thetis) thou dost well
To feare the losse of thy deere Philocel.
But tell me, Sire, what may that Shepherd be?
Or if it lye in vs to set him free,
Or if with you yond people touch'd with woe
Vnder the selfe same load of sorrow goe.
Faire Queene (replide the Swaine) one is the cause
That moues our griefe, & those kind shepherds draws
To yonder rocke. Thy more then mortall spirit
May giue a good beyond our power to merit.
And therefore please to heare while I shall tell
The haplesse Fate of hopelesse Philocel.
Whilome, great Pan, the Father of our flocks
Lou'd a faire lasse so famous for her locks,
That in her time all women first begun
To lay their looser tresses to the Sun.
And theirs whose hew to hers was not agreeing,
Were still roll'd vp as hardly worth the seeing.
Fondly haue some beene led to thinke, that Man
Musiques invention first of all began
From the dull Hammers stroke; since well we know
From sure tradition that hath taught vs so,
Pan sitting once to sport him with his Fayre
Mark'd the intention of the gentle ayre,
In the sweet sound her chaste words brought along,
Fram'd by the repercussion of her tongue:
And from that harmony begun the Art
Which others (though vniustly) doe impart
To bright Apollo from a meaner ground:
A sledge or parched nerues; meane things to found
So rare an Art on; when there might be giuen
All earth for matter with the gyre of heauen.
To keepe her slender fingers from the Sunne,
Pan through the pastures oftentimes hath run
To plucke the speckled Fox-gloues from their stem,
And on those fingers neatly placed them.
The Hony-suckles would he often strip,
And lay their sweetnesse on her sweeter lip:
And then as in reward of such his paine,
Sip from those cherries some of it againe.
Some say that Nature, while this louely Maid
Liu'd on our plaines, the teeming earth araid
With Damaske Roses in each pleasant place,
That men might liken somewhat to her face.
Others report: Venus, afraid her sonne
Might loue a mortall as he once had done,
Preferr'd an earnest sute to highest Ioue,
That he which bore the winged shafts of loue,
Might be debarr'd his sight, which sute was sign'd,
And euer since the God of Loue is blinde.
Hence is't he shoots his shafts so cleane awry:
Men learne to loue when they should learne to dye.
And women, which before to loue began
Man without wealth, loue wealth without a man.
Great Pan of his kinde Nymph had the imbracing
Long, yet too short a time. For as in tracing
These pithfull Rushes, such as are aloft
By those that rais'd them presently are brought
Beneath vnseene: So in the loue of Pan
(For Gods in loue doe vndergoe as man),
She whose affection made him raise his song,
And (for her sport) the Satyres rude among
Tread wilder measures then the frolike guests,
That lift their light heeles at Lyëus feasts:
Shee by the light of whose quick-turning eye
He neuer read but of felicitie:
She whose assurance made him more than Pan,
Now makes him farre more wretched then a man.
For mortals in their losse haue death a friend,
When gods haue losses, but their losse no end.
It chanc'd one morne (clad in a robe of gray,
And blushing oft as rising to betray)
Intic'd this louely Maiden from her bed
(So when the Roses haue discouered
Their taintlesse beauties, flyes the early Bee
About the winding Allies merrily.)
Into the Wood, and 'twas her vsuall sport,
Sitting where most harmonious Birds resort,
To imitate their warbling in a quill
Wrought by the hand of Pan, which she did fill
Halfe full with water: and with it hath made
The Nightingale (beneath a sullen shade)
To chant her vtmost Lay, nay, to inuent
New notes to passe the others instrument,
And (harmelesse soule) ere she would leaue that strife,
Sung her last song, and ended with her life.
So gladly chusing (as doe other some)
Rather to dye then liue and be o're come.
But as in Autumne (when birds cease their noates,
And stately Forrests d'on their yealow coates:
When Ceres golden locks are nearely shorne
And mellow fruit from trees are roughly torne),
A little Lad set on a banke to shale
The ripened Nuts pluck'd in a wooddy Vale,
Is frighted thence (of his deare life afeard)
By some wilde Bull lowd bellowing for the heard:
So while the Nymph did earnestly contest
Whether the Birds or she recorded best,
A Rauenous Wolfe, bent eager to his prey
Rush'd from a theeuish brake; and making way,
The twined Thornes did crackle one by one,
As if they gaue her warning to be gone.
A rougher gale bent downe the lashing boughes,
To beat the beast from what his hunger vowes.
When she (amaz'd) rose from her haplesse seat
(Small is resistance where the feare is great),
And striuing to be gone, with gaping iawes
The Wolfe pursues, and as his rending pawes
Were like to seise, a Holly bent betweene;
For which good deed his leaues are euer greene.
Saw you a lusty Mastiue at the stake,
Throwne from a cunning Bull, more fiercely make
A quicke returne? yet to preuent the goare
Or deadly bruize which he escap'd before,
Winde here and there, nay creepe if rightly bred,
And proffring otherwhere, fight still at head:
So though the stubborn boughes did thrust him back,
(For Nature, loath so rare a Iewels wracke,
Seem'd as she here and there had plash'd a tree,
If possible to hinder Destiny.)
The sauage Beast foaming with anger flyes
More fiercely then before, and now he tries
By sleights to take the Maid; as I haue seene
A nimble Tumbler on a burrow'd greene,
Bend cleane awry his course, yet giue a checke
And throw himselfe vpon a Rabbets necke.
For as he hotly chas'd the Loue of Pan,
A heard of Deere out of a thicket ran,
To whom he quickly turn'd, as if he meant
To leaue the Maid, but when she swiftly bent
Her race downe to the Plaine, the swifter Deere
He soone forsooke. And now was got so neere
That (all in vaine) she turned to and fro
(As well she could) but not preuailing so,
Breathlesse and weary calling on her Loue
With fearefull shrikes that all the Ecchoes moue
(To call him to) she fell downe deadly wan,
And ends her sweet life with the name of Pan.
A youthfull Shepherd of the neighbour Wold,
Missing that morne a sheepe out of his Fold,
Carefully seeking round to finde his stray,
Came on the instant where this Damsell lay.
Anger and pitty in his manly brest
Vrge yet restraine his teares. Sweet Maid, possest
(Quoth he) with lasting sleepe, accept from me
His end, who ended thy hard destinie!
With that his strong Dog of no dastard kinde
(Swift as the Foales conceiued by the winde)
He sets vpon the Wolfe, that now with speed
Flies to the neighbour-wood; and lest a deed
So full of ruth should vnreuenged be,
The Shepherd followes too, so earnestly
Chearing his Dog, that he ne're turn'd againe
Till the curst Wolfe lay strangled on the plaine.
The sable mantle of the silent night
Shut from the world the euer-ioysome light;
Care fled away, and softest slumbers please
To leaue the Court for lowly Cottages;
Wilde beasts forsooke their dens on wooddy hils,
And sleightfull Otters left the purling Rils;
Rookes to their Nests in high woods now were flung
And with their spread wings shield their naked yong.
When theeues from thickets to the crosse-wayes stir,
And terror frights the loanely passenger.
When nought was heard but now & then the howle
Of some vilde Curre, or whooping of the Owle.
Pan, that the day before was farre away
At shepherds sports, return'd; and as he lay
Within the bowre wherein he most delighted,
Was by a gastly vision thus affrighted:
Heart-thrilling grones first heard he round his bowre,
And then the Schrich-owle with her vtmost powre
Labour'd her loathed note, the forrests bending
With winds, as Hecate had beene ascending.
Hereat his curled hayres on end doe rise,
And chilly drops trill o're his staring eyes.
Faine would he call, but knew not who, nor why,
Yet getting heart at last would vp and try
If any diuellish Hag were come abroad
With some kinde Mothers late deliuer'd load,
A ruthlesse bloudy sacrifice to make
To those infernall Powres that by the Lake
Of mighty Styx and blacke Cocytus dwell,
Aiding each Witches Charme and misticke Spell.
But as he rais'd himselfe within his bed,
A sudden light about his lodging spread,
And therewithall his Loue, all ashie pale
As euening mist from vp a watry Vale,
Appear'd; and weakly neere his bed she prest,
A rauell'd wound distain'd her purer brest
(Brests softer farre then tufts of vnwrought silke):
Whence had she liu'd to giue an infant milke,
The vertue of that liquor (without ods)
Had made her babe immortall as the Gods.
Pan would haue spoke, but him she thus preuents:
Wonder not that the troubled Elements
Speake my approach; I draw no longer breath,
But am inforced to the shades of death.
My exequies are done, and yet before
I take my turne to be transported o're
The neather floods among the shades of Dis
To end my iourney in the fields of blisse:
I come to tell thee that no humane hand
Made me seeke waftage on the Stygian strand;
It was an hungry Wolfe that did imbrue
Himselfe in my last bloud. And now I sue
In hate to all that kinde, and shepherds good
To be reuenged on that cursed brood.
Pan vow'd, and would haue clipt her, but she fled,
And as she came, so quickly vanished.
Looke as a well-growne stately headed Bucke
But lately by the Wood-mans arrow strucke,
Runs gadding o're the Lawnes, or nimbly straies
Among the combrous Brakes a thousand wayes,
Now through the high-wood scowres, then by the brooks,
On euery hill side, and each vale he lookes,
If 'mongst their store of simples may be found
An hearbe to draw and heale his smarting wound,
But when he long hath sought, and all in vaine,
Steales to the Couert closely backe againe,
Where round ingirt with Ferne more highly sprung,
Striues to appease the raging with his tongue,
And from the speckled Heard absents him till
He be recouer'd somewhat of his ill:
So wounded Pan turnes in his restlesse bed,
But finding thence all ease abandoned,
He rose, and through the wood distracted runs:
Yet carries with him what in vaine he shuns.
Now he exclaim'd on Fate: and wisht he ne're
Had mortall lou'd, or that he mortall were.
And sitting lastly on an Oakes bare trunke
(Where raine in Winter stood long time vnsunke)
His plaints he gan renew, but then the light
That through the boughes flew from the Queene of night,
(As giuing him occasion to repine)
Bewraid an Elme imbraced by a Vine,
Clipping so strictly that they seem'd to be
One in their growth, one shade, one fruit, one tree,
Her boughes his armes, his leaues so mixt with hers,
That with no winde he mou'd, but streight she stirs.
As shewing all should be, whom loue combinde:
In motion one, and onely two in kinde.
This more afflicts him while he thinketh most
Not on his losse, but on the substance lost.
O haplesse Pan, had there but beene one by,
To tell thee (though as poore a Swaine as I)
Though (whether casuall meanes or death doe moue)
“We part not without griefe things held with loue:
“Yet in their losse some comfort may be got
“If we doe minde the time we had them not.
This might haue lessen'd somewhat of thy paine,
Or made thee loue as thou mightst loose againe.
If thou the best of women didst forgoe,
Weigh if thou foundst her, or did'st make her so;
If she were found so, know there's more then one;
If made, the Worke-man liues, though she be gone.
Should from mine eyes the light be tane away,
Yet night her pleasures hath as well as day;
And my desires to heauen yeeld lesse offence,
Since blindnesse is a part of Innocence.
So though thy Loue sleepe in eternall night,
Yet there's in loannesse somewhat may delight.
Instead of dalliance, partnership in woes
It wants, the care to keepe, and feare to lose.
For iealousies and fortunes baser pelfe,
He rest inioyes that well inioyes himselfe.
Had some one told thee thus, or thou bethought thee
Of inward helpe, thy sorrow had not brought thee
To weigh misfortune by anothers good:
Nor leaue thy seat to range about the wood.
Stay where thou art, turne where thou wert before,
Light yeelds small comfort, nor hath darknesse more.
A wooddy hill there stood, at whose low feet
Two goodly streames in one broad channell meet,
Whose fretfull waues beating against the hill,
Did all the bottome with soft muttrings fill.
Here in a nooke made by another mount,
(Whose stately Oakes are in no lesse account
For height or spreading, then the proudest be
That from Oëta looke on Thessaly)
Rudely o'rehung there is a vaulted Caue,
That in the day as sullen shadowes gaue,
As Euening to the woods. An vncouth place,
(Where Hags and Goblins might retire a space)
And hated now of Shepherds, since there lies
The corps of one (lesse louing Deities
Then we affected him) that neuer lent
His hand to ought but to our detriment.
A man that onely liu'd to liue no more,
And di'd still to be dying. Whose chiefe store
Of vertue was, his hate did not pursue her,
Because he onely heard of her, not knew her;
That knew no good, but onely that his sight
Saw euery thing had still his opposite;
And euer this his apprehension caught,
That what he did was best, the other naught;
That alwaies lou'd the man that neuer lou'd,
And hated him whose hate no death had mou'd;
That (politique) at fitting time and season
Could hate the Traitor, and yet loue the Treason;
That many a wofull heart (ere his decease)
In peeces tore to purchase his owne peace;
Who neuer gaue his almes but in this fashion,
To salue his credit, more then for saluation;
Who on the names of good-men euer fed,
And (most accursed) sold the poore for bread.
Right like the Pitch-tree, from whose any limbe
Comes neuer twig, shall be the seed of him.
The Muses scorn'd by him, laugh at his fame,
And neuer will vouchsafe to speake his Name.
Let no man for his losse one teare let fall,
But perish with him his memoriall!
Into this caue the God of Shepherds went;
The Trees in grones, the Rocks in teares lament
His fatall chance: the Brookes that whilome lept
To heare him play while his faire Mistresse slept,
Now left their Eddyes and such wanton moods,
And with loud clamours fild the neighbring woods.
There spent he most of night: but when the day
Drew from the earth her pitchie vaile away,
When all the flowry plaines with Carols rung
That by the mounting Larke were shrilly sung,
When dusky mists rose from the crystall floods,
And darknesse no where raign'd but in the woods;
Pan left the Caue, and now intends to finde
The sacred place where lay his loue enshrinde:
A plot of earth, in whose chill armes was laid
As much perfection as had euer Maid;
If curious Nature had but taken care
To make more lasting, what she made so faire.
Now wanders Pan the arched Groues, and hils
Where Fayeries often danc'd, and Shepherds quils
In sweet contentions pass'd the tedious day:
Yet (being early) in his vnknowne way
Met not a Shepherd, nor on all the Plaine
A Flocke then feeding saw, nor of his traine
One iolly Satyre stirring yet abroad,
Of whom he might inquire; this to the load
Of his affliction addes. Now he inuokes
Those

Hamadriades.

Nymphs in mighty Forrests, that with Oakes
Haue equall Fates, each with her seuerall Tree
Receiuing birth, and ending Destinie:
Cals on all Powres, intreats that he might haue
But for his Loue the knowledge of her graue;
That since the Fates had tane the Iem away,
He might but see the Carknet where it lay,
To doe fit right to such a part of mold,
Couering so rare a piece that all the Gold
Or Diamond Earth can yeeld, for value ne're
Shall match the treasure which was hidden there!
A hunting Nymph awakned with his mone,
(That in a bowre neere-hand lay all alone,
Twining her small armes round her slender waste,
That by no others vs'd to be imbrac'd)
Got vp, and knowing what the day before
Was guiltie of; she addes not to his store
As many simply doe, whose friends so crost
They more afflict by shewing what is lost.
But bad him follow her. He, as she leads,
Vrgeth her hast. So a kinde mother treads
Earnest, distracted, where with bloud defil'd
She heares lyes dead her deere and onely childe.
Mistrust now wing'd his feet, then raging ire,
“For Speed comes euer lamely to Desire.
Delayes, the stones that waiting Suiters grind,
By whom at Court the poore mans cause is sign'd.
Who to dispatch a suit, will not deferre
To take death for a ioynt Commissioner.
Delay, the Wooers bane, Reuenges hate,
The plague to Creditors decaid estate,
The Test of Patience, of our Hopes the Racke,
That drawes them forth so long vntill they cracke:
Vertues best benefactor in our times,
One that is set to punish great mens crimes,
She that had hindred mighty Pan a while,
Now steps aside: and as ore-flowing Nyle
Hid from Clymene's sonne his reeking head
So from his rage all opposition fled,
Giuing him way to reach the timelesse Toombe
Of Natures glory, for whose ruthlesse doome
(When all the Graces did for mercy pleade,
And Youth and Goodnesse both did intercede)
The Sons of Earth (if liuing) had beene driuen
To heape on hils, and warre anew with heauen.
The Shepherds which he mist vpon the Downes
Here meets he with: for from the neighbring Townes
Maidens and Men resorted to the graue
To see a wonder more then time e're gaue.
The holy Priests had told them long agone
Amongst the learned Shepherds there was one
So giuen to pietie, and did adore
So much the name of Pan, that when no more
He breath'd, those that to ope his heart began,
Found written there with gold the name of Pan.
Which vnbeleeuing man that is not mou'd
To credit ought, if not by reason prou'd,
And ties the ouer-working powre to doe
Nought otherwise then Nature reacheth to,
Held as most fabulous: Not inly seeing,
The hand by whom we liue, and All haue being,
No worke for admirable doth intend,
Which Reason hath the powre to comprehend,
And Faith no merit hath from heauen lent
Where humane reason yeelds experiment.
Till now they durst not trust the Legend old,
Esteeming all not true their Elders told,
And had not this last accident made good
The former, most in vnbeliefe had stood.
But Fame that spread the bruit of such a wonder,
Bringing the Swaine[s] of places farre a sunder
To this selected plot (now famous more
Then any Groue, Mount, Plaine, had bin before
By relicke, vision, buriall or birth
Of Anchoresse, or Hermit yet on earth):
Out of the Maidens bed of endlesse rest
Shewes them a Tree new growne, so fairely drest
With spreading armes and curled top that Ioue
Ne're brauer saw in his Dodonian Groue;
The hart-like leaues oft each with other pyle,
As doe the hard scales of the Crocodyle;
And none on all the tree was seene but bore
Written thereon in rich and purest Ore
The name of Pan; whose lustre farre beyond
Sparkl'd, as by a Torch the Dyamond;
Or those bright spangles which, faire Goddesse, doe
Shine in the haire of these which follow you.
The Shepherds by direction of great Pan
Search'd for the root, and finding it began
In her true heart, bids them againe inclose
What now his eyes for euer, euer lose.
Now in the selfe-same Spheare his thoughts must moue
With

Xerxes.

him that did the shady Plane-tree loue.
Yet though no issue from her loines shall be
To draw from Pan a noble peddigree,
And Pan shall not, as other Gods haue done,
Glory in deeds of an heroicke Sonne,
Nor haue his Name in Countries neere and farre
Proclaim'd, as by his Childe the Thunderer:
If Phœbus on this Tree spread warming rayes,
And Northerne blasts kill not her tender sprayes,
His Loue shall make him famous in repute,
And still increase his Name, yet beare no fruit.
To make this sure (the God of Shepherds last,
When other Ceremonies were o're past),
And to performe what he before had vow'd
To dire Reuenge, thus spake vnto the crow'd:
What I haue lost, kinde Shepherds, all you know,
And to recount it were to dwell in woe:
To shew my passion in a Funerall Song,
And with my sorrow draw your sighes along.
Words, then, well plac'd might challenge somewhat due,
And not the cause alone, win teares from you.
This to preuent, I set Orations by
“For passion seldome loues formalitie.
What profits it a prisoner at the Barre,
To haue his iudgement spoken regular?
Or in the prison heare it often read,
When he at first knew what was forfeited?
Our griefes in others teares, like plates in water,
Seeme more in quantitie. To be relator
Of my mishaps, speaks weaknesse, and that I
Haue in my selfe no powre of remedy.
Once (yet that once too often) heretofore
The siluer Ladon on his sandy shore
Heard my complaints, and those coole groues that be
Shading the brest of louely Arcady
Witnesse the teares which I for Syrinx spent:
Syrinx the faire, from whom the instrument
That fils your feasts with ioy (which when I blow
Drawes to the sagging dug milke white as snow),
Had his beginning. This enough had beene
To shew the Fates (my

Pronapis in suo Protocosmo.

deemed sisters) teene.
Here had they staid, this Adage had beene none:
“That our disasters neuer come alone.
What boot is it though I am said to be
The worthy sonne of winged Mercury?
That I with gentle Nymphs in Forrests high
Kist out the sweet time of my infancie?
And when more yeeres had made me able growne,
Was through the Mountains for their leader known?
That high-brow'd Mænalus where I was bred,
And stony hils not few haue honoured
Me as protector by the hands of Swaines,
Whose sheepe retire there from the open plaines?
That I in Shepherds cups (

Apollonius Smyrnæus.

reiecting gold)
Of milke and honie measures eight times told
Haue offred to me, and the ruddy wine
Fresh and new pressed from the bleeding Vine?
That gleesome Hunters pleased with their sport
With sacrifices due haue thank'd me for't?
That patient Anglers standing all the day
Neere to some shallow stickle or deepe bay,
And Fishermen whose nets haue drawne to land
A shoale so great it well-nye hides the sand,
For such successe some Promontories head
Thrust at by waues, hath knowne me worshipped?
But to increase my griefe, what profits this,
“Since still the losse is as the looser is?”
The many-kernell-bearing Pyne of late
From all trees else to me was consecrate,
But now behold a root more worth my loue,
Equall to that which in an obscure Groue
Infernall Iuno proper takes to her:
Whose golden slip the Troian wanderer
(By sage Cumœan Sybil taught) did bring
(By Fates decreed) to be the warranting
Of his free passage, and a safe repaire
Through darke Auernus to the vpper ayre.
This must I succour, this must I defend,
And from the wilde Boares rooting euer shend.
Here shall the Wood-pecker no entrance finde,
Nor Tiuy's Beuers gnaw the clothing rinde,
Lambeders Heards, nor Radnors goodly Deere
Shall neuer once be seene a browsing here.
And now, ye Brittish Swains (whose harmelesse sheepe
Then all the worlds besides I ioy to keepe,
Which spread on euery Plaine and hilly Wold
Fleeces no lesse esteem'd then that of Gold,
For whose exchange one Indy Iems of price,
The other giues you of her choisest spice.
And well she may; but we vnwise the while
Lessen the glory of our fruitfull Isle,
Making those Nations thinke we foolish are
For baser Drugs to vent our richer ware,
Which (saue the bringer) neuer profit man
Except the Sexton and Physitian.
And whether change of Clymes or what it be
That proues our Mariners mortalitie,
Such expert men are spent for such bad fares
As might haue made vs Lords of what is theirs—
Stay, stay at home, ye Nobler spirits, and prise
Your liues more high then such base trumperies:
Forbeare to fetch, and they'le goe neere to sue,
And at your owne doores offer them to you;
Or haue their woods and plaines so ouergrowne
With poisnous weeds, roots, gums & seeds vnknown,
That they would hire such Weeders as you be
To free their land from such fertilitie.
Their Spices hot their nature best indures,
But 'twill impaire and much distemper yours.
What our owne soyle affords befits vs best,
And long, and long, for euer, may we rest
Needlesse of helpe! and may this Isle alone
Furnish all other Lands, and this Land none!
Excuse me, Thetis, quoth the aged man,
If passion drew me from the words of Pan,
Which thus I follow: You whose flocks, quoth he,
By my protection quit your industry,
For all the good I haue and yet may giue
To such as on the Plaines hereafter liue,
I doe intreat what is not hard to grant,
That not a hand rend from this holy Plant
The smallest branch; and who so cutteth this
Dye for th' offence; to me so hainous 'tis.
And by the Floods infernall here I sweare,
(An oath whose breach the greatest Gods forbeare)
Ere Phœbe thrice twelue times shall fill her hornes
No furzy tuft, thicke wood, nor brake of thornes
Shall harbour Wolfe, nor in this Ile shall breed,
Nor liue one of that kinde: if what's decreed
You keepe inuiolate. To this they swore:
And since those beasts haue frighted vs no more.
But Swaine (quoth Thetis), what is this you tell,
To what you feare shall fall on Philocel?
Faire Queene, attend; but oh I feare, quoth he,
Ere I haue ended my sad Historie,
Vnstaying time may bring on his last houre,
And so defraud vs of thy wished powre.
Yond goes a Shepherd: giue me leaue to run
And know the time of execution,
Mine aged limbs I can a little straine,
And quickly come (to end the rest) againe.