University of Virginia Library

1, 2. THE FIRST VOLUME, THE SECOND VOLUME.

Britannia's PASTORALS.

The first Booke.

TO THE NO LESSE ENOBLED BY VERTVE, THEN ANCIENT In Nobilitie, the Right Honorable Edvvard Lord Zouch, Saint-Maure, and Cantelupe, and one of his Maiesties most Honourable Privie Covncell.

Honors bright Ray,
More highly crown'd with Vertue thē with yeares,
Pardon a Rusticke Muse that thus appeares
In Shepheards gray,
Intreating your attention to a Lay
Fitting a Siluan Bowre, not Courtly Traines;
Such choiser eares,
Should haue Apollo's Priests, not Pans rude Swaines:
But if the Musick of contented Plaines
A thought vpreares
For your approuement of that part she beares,
When time (that Embrions to perfection brings)
Hath taught her straines,
May better boast their being from the Spring
Where braue Heroës worths the Sisters sing:
(In Lines whose raignes
In spight of Enuy and her restlesse paines:
Be vnconfin'd as blest eternitie:)
The Vales shall ring
Thy Honor'd Name; and euery Song shall be
A Pyramis built to thy Memorie.

To the Reader.

[Commendatory Verses.]

By the Same.

So much a Stranger my Seuerer Muse
Is not to Loue-straines, or a Shepwards Reed,
But that She knowes some Rites of Phœbus dues,
Of Pan, of Pallas, and hir Sisters meed.
Reade and Commend She durst these tun'd essaies
Of Him that loues her (She hath euer found
Hir studies as one circle.) Next She prayes
His Readers be with Rose and Myrtle crown'd!
No Willow touch them! As His

Baies (faire Readers) being the materials of Poets Girlands, (as Myrtle and Roses are for enioying Louers, and the fruitlesse Willow for them which your vnconstancy, too oft, makes most vnhappy) are supposed not subiect to any hurt of Jupiters thunderbolts, as other Trees are.

Baies are free
From wrong of Bolts, so may their Chaplets bee.

To his Friend the Avthor.

Driue forth thy Flock, young Pastor, to that Plaine,
Where our old Shepheards wont their flocks to feed;
To those cleare walkes, where many a skilfull Swaine
To'ards the calme eu'ning, tun'd his pleasant Reed.
Those, to the Muses once so sacred, Downes,
As no rude foot might there presume to stand:
(Now made the way of the vnworthiest Clownes,
Dig'd and plow'd vp with each vnhallowed hand)
If possible thou canst, redeeme those places,
Where, by the brim of many a Siluer Spring,
The learned Maidens, and delightfull Graces
Often haue sate to heare our Shepheards sing:
Where on those Pines the neighb'ring Groues among,
(Now vtterly neglected in these daies)
Our Garlands, Pipes, and Cornamutes were hung
The monuments of our deserued praise.
So may thy Sheepe like, so thy Lambs increase,
And from the Wolfe feed euer safe and free!
So maist thou thriue, among the learned prease,
As thou young Shepheard art belou'd of mee!

To his Ingenious and worthy Friend the Avthor.

He that will tune his Oaten-pipe aright,
To great Apollo's Harp: he that will write
A liuing Poem; must haue many yeeres,
And setled iudgement 'mongst his equall peeres,
In well-rig'd Barke to steere his doubtfull course;
Lest secret, rocky Enuy, or the source
Of froathy, but sky-towring Arrogance;
Or fleeting, sandy vulgar-censure chance
To leaue him ship-wrackt, on the desert Maine
Imploring aged Neptunes help in vaine.
The younger Cygnet, euen at best doth teare,
With his harsh squealings, the melodious eare:
It is the old, and dying Swan that sings
Notes worthy life, worthy the Thespian Springs.
But thou art young; and yet thy voice as sweet,
Thy Verse as smooth, Composure as discreet
As any Swans, whose tunefull Notes are spent
On Thames his bancks; which makes me confident,
He knowes no Musick, hath nor eares, nor tongue,
That not commends a voice so sweet, so young.

On him; a Pastorall Ode to his fairest Shepheardesse.

Syren more then earthly faire,
Sweetly breake the yeelding Ayre:
Sing on Albions whitest Rocks:
Sing; whilst Willy to his Flocks,
Deftly tunes his various Reed.
Sing; and hee, whilst younglings feed,
Answer shall thy best of singing,
With his Rurall Musicke, bringing
Equall pleasure; and requite
Musickes sweets with like delight.
What though Willyes Songs be plaine?
Sweet they be: for hee's a Swaine
Made of purer mould then earth,
Him did Nature from his birth,
And the Muses single out,
For a second Colin Clout.
Tityrus made him a Singer:
Pan him taught his Pipe to finger:
Numbers, curious eares to please,
Learn'd he of Philisides.
Kala loues him: and the Lasses
Point at him, as by he passes,
Wishing neuer tongue that's bad
Censure may so blithe a Lad.
Therefore well can he requite
Musicks sweets with like delight:
Sing then; breake the yeelding ayre,
Syren more then earthly faire.

To his Friend the Avthor vpon his Poem.

This Plant is knotlesse that puts forth these leaues,
Vpon whose Branches I his praise doe sing:
Fruitfull the Ground, whose verdure it receiues
From fertile Nature, and the learned Spring.
In zeale to Good; knowne, but vnpractiz'd Ill,
Chast in his thoughts, though in his youthfull Prime,
He writes of Past'rall Loue, with Nectar'd Quill,
And offers vp his first Fruits vnto Time.
Receiue them (Time) and in thy Border place them
Among thy various Flowers of Poesie;
No Enuy blast, nor Ignorance deface them,
But keepe them fresh in fairest Memorie!
And, when from Daphne's tree he plucks more Baies,
His Shepheards Pipe may chant more heau'nly laies.

To his Friend the Author.

On (Iolly Lad) and hye thee to the Field
Among the best Swains that the Vallies yeeld;
Goe boldly, and in presence of them all,
Proceed a Shepheard with this Pastorall.
Let Pan, and all his rurall Traine attending,
From stately Mountaines to the Plaines descending,
Salute this Pastor with their kinde embraces;
And entertaine him to their holy places.
Let all the Nymphes of Hills and Dales together
Kisse him for earnest of his welcome thither:
Crowne him with Garlands of the choicest flowres,
And make him euer dwell within their Bowres:
For well I wote in all the Plaines around,
There are but few such Shepheards to be found,
That can such learned Layes and Ditties frame,
Or aptly fit their tunes vnto the same.
And let them all (if this young Swaine should die)
Tune all their Reeds to sing his Memorie.

To the Avthor.

Had I beheld thy Muse vpon the Stage,
A Poesie in fashion with this age;
Or had I seene, when first I view'd thy taske,
An actiue wit dance in a Satyres Maske,
I should in those haue prais'd thy Wit and Art,
But not thy ground, A Poems better part:
Which being the perfect'st Image of the Braine,
Not fram'd to any base end, but to gaine
True approbation of the Artists worth,
When to an open view he sets it forth,
Iudiciously, he striues; no lesse t'adorne
By a choise Subiect, then a curious Forme:
Well hast thou then past o'er all other rhime,
And in a Pastorall spent thy leasures time:
Where fruit so faire, and field so fruitfull is,
That hard it is to iudge whether in This
The Substance or the fashion more excell,
So precious is the Iem, and wrought so well.
Thus rest thou prais'd of me, Fruit, Field, Iem, Art,
Doe claime much praise to equall such Desart.

To the Avthor.

Friend, Ile not erre in blazing of thy Worth;
This Worke in truest termes will set it forth:
In these few lines the all I doe intend,
Is but to shew that I haue such a Friend.

[Euterpe to her deerest Darling W. B.

Thy lines, thy worth, thy wit to prayse,
Were mine owne honor to upraise,
And those same gifts commend in thee
Which thou received hast of me;
Yet may I boast that by mine aide
All eares to thee are captive made,
And thy (amazed) country-men
Admire, extoll thy golden pen:
Hearing such madrigalls as these
Astonisht is Philisides,
And vanquisht by thy sweeter layes
Forsweares his pipe; yeilds thee the bayes:
Resigns his pipe; yeilds thee the bayes:
And Colyn Clout his oaten reede,
Which did to us such pleasure breede,
Resignes to thee; grieved because his
Mulla by Tavy, vanquisht is.
Marina fayns though in her neede
The storme did helpe; yet shee indeede
Was ravisht, but (tis her excuse)
Twas only with thy sweete-tongu'd muse;
That though the Robin Red-breast fed
Her body, yet sh' ad suffered
Death, hadst not thou with lines refind
As with ambrosia fed her minde,
Doridon weepes (although for who
He trows not) if t'be not for you;
Since thee to write he could not move
One Canto more on his true love:
See how each swaine yt should this day
Before Dame Thetis sing his lay,
Sighing gives backe, for he doth feare
Willy their Captaine won't be there.
All say thou art the elme (they know)
Wheerby the muses vine doth grow,
And that if Cœlia merit death,
All they must with her loose their breath,
That fairer boughs have pul'd from thee
Than ere grew on Pans golden tree.
Lastly thy Alatheia sayes,
That future times shall sing thy praise,
And th'-after ages strive in vaine,
As thou hast done, to do againe.—

Carmina amo, mihi Wille placet tua fistula: fælix! En re sonant laudes illa, vel illa tuas.

But stop my muse, listen to Willys lays,
Harke whiles the Eccho doth resound his praise,
Let others speak, forbid not, but let mee
Thou charminge sweetly, listen unto thee.

On the Author of Britannias Peerlesse Pastoralls.

I'll take thy judgment golden Mydas now,
Nor will of Phœbus harmony allow,
Since Pan hath such a shepheard, whose sweet layes
May claim deservedly the Delphique bayes.
Thrice happy Syrinx, onely great in this,
Thou kissest him in metamorphosis.
Flocke hither satires, learne a roundelay
Of him to grace Sylvanus holyday.
Come hither shepheardes, let your bleating flockes
Of bearded goates browze on the mossy rockes.
Come from Arcadia, banisht shepheardes, come,
Let flourishing Britannia bee your home.
Crown'd with your anadems and chaplets trim,
And invocate no other Pan but him:
'Tis he can keepe you safe from all your flockes,
From greedy wolfe, or oft beguiling fox:
Let him but tune his notes, and you shall see
The wolfe abandon his rapacity,
And innocently trip and frisk among
Your wanton lambkins at his swanlike song;
Yea had the Thracian sung but half so well,
Hee had not left Euridice in hell,
Then rally swaine, astonish humane eyes,
And let thy Tavy high as Tyber rise.

On the Same.

AN ODE.

Feare not Willy, but goe on
With thy song of Dorydon,
Which will neer surpassed bee
By the best pipe in Arcady.
What though Roger of the plaines,
Hobinoll and other swaynes,
Joynd with Colin of the glen,
Perigot and other men,
Warble sweetly, thou when they
Sung on Pan's last holyday,
Wonst the chaplet which was made,
Hard by Tavy in a glade,
Walla, Marina, Fida too,
Doe thy lasting favour wooe:
The fountains god will rising bee,
From his waters to heare thee;
Hungring for thee makes us rave,
All shut up in Limos cave;
O bee thou the Redbreast, cherish
Those who but for thee would perish,
Or bee Triton who alone
Mayst remove the mighty stone,
Then in thine honour every shepheard shall
Keepe the day stricter than Pans festivall.

On the Author of Britannias Peerlesse Pastoralls.

Cease skilfull Orpheus, whose mellifluous straynes
Have earst made stones and trees skip ore the playnes,
A sweeter harmonye invites our eares
Than ere was sent from the celestiall spheeres:
Cleare Tavy now his silver head may rayse,
A shephearde of his owne can singe his prayse.
Sweet toung'd Arion strive not with such odds,
Thy song moved but the dolphins: his the godds.
O hadst thou daignd to move thy sweeter toung,
The wolfe had stayd to hearken to thy songe;
Had Pans eares suckt the nectar of thy breath,
For thy sake Cælia had beene free from death,
But that the Fates denyde, as who should say
By Willys pen her fame shall live for aye:
Walla a garland will compose noe more,
To crowne her Tavyes temples as before;
But as to them that best deserve the prayse,
She'll give to thee the garland and the bayes,
And if a verse thy glorye may confine,
Thou sing'st Brittannias prayse, Brittannia thine.

Uppon the occasion of Readinge this compleet Poem.

TO THE AUTHOR W. BROWNE.

αυτοχεδιαστικον:

To the now unparelleled Sydney of his time, W. B., the ingenuous Author of Brittannia's Pastorals.

Play on thy pipe new lessons, Willy strike
More such as these which may each shepheard like,
And if it chaunce Thetys doe once againe
Visit our coasts, bee thou the elected swayne,
To greet her with thy layes, let her admire
The varying accents of thy matchlesse lyre,
And so affect thee for thy poems sake,
Adopt thee hers, and thee her usher make,
But leave us not, blithe swayne, let Tavys streame
Leave of to murmurre listning to thy theame,
Lest thy sweet layes so great effect obtayne,
As here on land, so there upon the mayne,
As lasses here admired thy matchlesse verse,
So there the sea-nimphs still thy praise rehearse,
Twixt both a great contention it will breed,
Who hath most interest in thyne oaten reed,
Which harder will appeased bee than theires
Who strove to bee esteemed the blind bards heires:
Those claime thee theires in that thou dost forsake
Thy native cotes, and there thy mansion make:
The lambkins heere did friske to heare thee play,
Lesse nourished by theire grasse than with thy lay;
So would the dolphins then attend thy song,
And none left Triton whom to ride upon,
Which might incense him seeing one the frye,
And vaster sholes pressing to come most nye,
To heare thy melody, and to refuse
His trumpets sounds, to which they still did use
Before to thronge, to pry thee do not come,
But sweetly pipen at thy native home,
Continue still with us, and let our vales
Reverberate in eccho thy sweet tales.

An Ode entreating him to proceed in the continuation of his Brittannias Pastorals.

Willy see but how the swaines
Mourne thy silence on the plaines,
And do sadly pace along,
Cause they cannot heare thy song;
Roget grieves: these notes would heare,
Faine which ravishd earst his eare,
And to hear thy song alway
In his prison would he stay,
With most willingness then bee
Deprived thereof, though set free.
He and Cuddy, that blith swayne,
Whose flockes feed on yonder playne,
Would bee glad their skill to trye
At your opportunitye,
And though sent to bee one tome,
They would undergoe thy doome,
And bee glad to yeeld to thee,
To whom is due all victorye,
Tis their wish each place could tell,
Thy conquests like Saint Dunstanes well,
And that thy pipe would sound so well,
As't whilome did in thicke same dell;
Dorydon mourns 'cause his sweet
Guided is not by thy feet,
To her haven of wisht joy,
But is left to all annoy
By thy crueltye, he feares
Least by this shee's drownd in teares:
Old swaines would dye, could they have
Thee but write upon theire grave
Sith affoored thou wilt not all
Once to heare thy pastorall.
Each shepheardesse doth lament,
Cause thou art theire discontent,
And had it been another lad
Which theire wakes thus hindred had,
Theyd reveng it, and with speed
Discard his silent oaten reed,
But thy former layes have got
Thee praises neer to bee forgot,
Therefore they forbeare to spoyle
Thy pipe which hath given the foyle
To opposers: nor would bee
Cruell to thy pipe or thee.
All the swaines are yonder sate
On the hillocke, and are mete,
To celebrate Pans festivall
With some pleasing madrigall,
But theyre dumb, and so will bee,
Lesse that thou augment their glee,
For their custome's at this feast,
Here mongst shepheards that the best
Must begin, and then each one
Follows till they all have done.
Why dost then thy musique linger,
And suppresse theires? they would finger
Willingly their pipes, they stay
But till thou thy lesson play.
Hye thee, Willye, hye apace,
With all speed to the place
Where the shepheards are set round,
Wayting there till thy pipe sound,
At thy tuning, when thy lay
Thou hast ended, they will play,
For which art brave Thetys shall
Crowne with praise thy madrigall,
And Pan himselfe shall always bee
A patron to thy muse and thee,
When that he knowes in this her matchlesse lay,
Thy muse keepes his, not her own holyday.

To the Authour, W. B.

Rivers be silent, peace you muses nine,
Orpheus be dumbe, for now no praise is thine;
Bend all your eares unto Britannia's peere,
Ever be praising, nere to praise him feare;
Right as the painters garnish with theire sable
Their brighter colours in a curious table.
Time so will place thee in the shield of fame,
As chiefe of men t'immortalize thy name;
Yet why should I with rude rimes seeke to raise thee,
Let every sonnet in thy pastorals praise thee;
O dasht Apollo, hide thy face for shame,
Render to shepheards henceforth all the fame.

On the Author, W. B.

Shall I implore the muses nine,
To grace with sweetes my ruder line,
When all the art the muses cann
Are sweetely sung within this spann?
Or shal I invocate great Pann
To tune the song thy pipe best cann?
Pann swore to me the other day
He broke his pipe, and ran to heare thy lay.
Apollo lend thy sacred quill,
That I may chant a note more shrill.
Alas! Apollos drownd in teares,
To see a god oer rule his spheares;
Lets see what golden Spenser cann,
Hees dead, and thou the living mann:
The godde I see can weare no bayes
But what is pluckt from thy bright layes;
If Pann a song more smoother sings,
Tis cause twas dipt in Tavies springs.

To the unparalleled Author of the sequent Poems, W. B.

Haile Albions swaine, whose worthy brow those bayes
G'en to the victor in Pans pastoral playes,
Ere since thy pipes first birth have bound, whose toungue
Our loves on once lovd Syrinx freely sounge,
When mountains heads and storm wrongd shrubs did cast
Theyre long shades westward, and when shepheards hast,
To 'nbed their pended flocks, how ofte amonge
The various sonnets of a neighbouring thronge
Hast thou enchanted with a strong desire,
To learne thy accents great Sylvanus quire,
Who like younge infants willing to obtaine
Their nurses dialect and perfect straine,
Labored a repetition; heare the thrush
Stroove with his whistell; in next bordring bush,
Shrouded about, was the small redbreast set,
With listning eares, and unwiling to lett
Nought passe turned eccho to thy tunes, above
The soring larke did meditating move
Her gutling tounge, but each in vaine, at last
Though out of tune, proud Philomels distast,
To heare a rivall did dispose the choice
Of natrall notes into an artlike voice,
Thy heavenly harmonie sounding below
Among the vales, the river gods did draw
Above theyre streames shaking their silver haire,
Then lifted up the anthumes seemed more rare,
Rap'd with such musicke theire cold monarchie
Abandoned straight, they mounted up on hie,
There stood attentive all, as if uppon
Parnassus topp, Apollos station,
Hee harping lay, and with smooth Mercurie
Had shared the spheares by better melodie;
Thus long in admiration of both layes,
They gave the sentence, thou obtainest the praise,
And with insinuation did entreat
That Tavies banckes myght be thy frequent seat:
They had theire will, thou yealdst a loth consent,
Thy windes must calme theire swelling element,
And heare the water nymphes eer since that time,
Wee hindes remembering thy mellifluous rime,
Covett to drive our cheretie flockes alonge
That crystall lake to heare thy wonted songe,
That song which metamorphosed raping bares,
And trained the crafty fox into her snares,
The happier fates had favoured faire Marine,
Had thy lipps wood for her her Celadine,
If Rennard could persuade as thou canst move,
Had changd to hate that beauties disdaind love,
Nor had the labor of a deity
Needed to quicken her mortality,
Thy charming voice had don't, for thy songs sake
Caron had wherried from the Stygian lake
Againe her ghost, nor hath thy peerlesse verse
Don lesse, thou must immortalize thy herse,
Thoust quite forsook Pans sports, the more the griefe,
His joy the more, thou absent, he's the chiefe;
Weeve lost thy fellowship, not lost thy fame,
We'll teach our children to adore thy name.
When as our Cornish or Devonian swaines
Still sport among their lamkins on the plaines,
Or celebrate their festivalls, wee'll raise
Our old reed once to Pans, twice to thy praise;
And when great Jove thy soul angelicall
Shall summon us to singe thy madrigall,
Our [OMITTED] shall want their tallow, but we'll burn
Continual candels on thy lasting urne.

Idem ad Eundem.

AN ODE.

On the Author of Brittanias Matchlesse (though unfinisht) Pastorals.

The First Song.

The Second Song.

Nymph.

God.
It is a Man.

Nymph.

God.
Tis a man.

Nymph.

God.
Tis a Man.

Nymph.

God.
It is a Man.

Nymph.

God.
Tis a man.

Nymph.

God.
Tis this Woman.

Nymph.

The Third Song.

The Argvment.

The Shepheards Swaine here singing on,
Tels of the cure of Doridon:
And then vnto the waters fals
Chanteth the rusticke Pastorals.
Now had the Sunne, in golden chariot hurl'd,
Twice bid good-morrow to the nether world:
And Cynthia, in her orbe and perfect round,
Twice view'd the shadowes of the vpper ground.
Twice had the Day-starre vsher'd forth the light;
And twice the Euening-starre proclaim'd the night;
Ere once the sweet-fac'd Boy (now all forlorne)
Came with his Pipe to resalute the Morne.
When grac'd by time (vnhappy time the while)
The cruell Swaine (who ere knew Swaine so vile?)
Had stroke the Lad, in came the watry Nymph,
To raise from sound poore Doridon (the Impe,
Whom Nature seem'd to haue selected forth
To be ingraffed on some stocke of worth;)
And the Maids helpe, but since “to doomes of Fate
“Succour, though ne'er so soone, comes still too late.”
She rais'd the youth, then with her armes inrings him,
And so with words of hope she home-wards brings him.
At doore expecting him his Mother sate,
Wondring her Boy should stay from her so late;
Framing for him vnto her selfe excuses,
And with such thoughts gladly her selfe abuses:
As that her sonne, since day grew old and weake,
Staid with the Maids to runne at Barlibreake:
Or that he cours'd a Parke with females fraught,
Which would not run except they might be caught.
Or in the thickets layd some wily snare
To take the Rabbet, or the pourblinde Hare.
Or taught his Dogge to catch the climbing Kid:
Thus Shepheards doe; and thus she thought he did.
“In things expected meeting with delay,
“Though there be none, we frame some cause of stay.
And so did she, (as she who doth not so?)
Coniecture Time vnwing'd he came so slow.
But Doridon drew neere, so did her griefe:
“Ill lucke, for speed, of all things else is chiefe.

Homer.

For as the Blinde-man sung, Time so prouides,
That Ioy goes still on foot, and sorrow rides.
Now when she saw (a wofull sight) her sonne,
Her hopes then fail'd her, and her cries begun
To vtter such a plaint, that scarce another,
Like this, ere came from any loue-sicke mother.
If man hath done this, heauen why mad'st thou men?
Not to deface thee in thy children;
But by the worke the Worke-man to adore;
Framing that something, which was nought before.
Aye me vnhappy wretch! if that in things
Which are as we (saue title) men feare Kings,
That be their Postures to the life limb'd on
Some wood as fraile as they, or cut in stone,
“Tis death to stab: why then should earthly things
Dare to deface his forme who formed Kings?
When the world was but in his infancy,
Reuenge, Desires vniust, vile Iealousie,
Hate, Enuy, Murther, all these six then raigned,
When but their halfe of men the world contained:
Yet but in part of these, those ruled then,
When now as many vices liue as men.
Liue they? yes liue I feare to kill my Sonne,
With whom my ioyes, my loue, my hopes are done.
Cease, quoth the Waters Nymph, that led the Swain;
Though 'tis each mothers cause thus to complaine:
Yet “abstinence in things we must professe
“Which Nature fram'd for need, not for excesse.
Since the least bloud, drawne from the lesser part
Of any childe, comes from the Mothers hart,
We cannot chuse but grieue, except that wee
Should be more senslesse than the senslesse tree,
Reply'd his Mother. Doe but cut the limbe
Of any Tree, the trunke will weepe for him:
Rend the cold

Alluding to our English pronunciation and indifferent Orthographie.

Sicamor's thin barke in two,
His Name and Teares, would say, So Loue should do.
“That Mother is all flint (then beasts lesse good)
“Which drops no water when her childe streames blood.
At this the wounded Boy fell on his knee,
Mother, kinde Mother (said) weepe not for mee,
Why, I am well? Indeed I am: If you
Cease not to weepe, my wound will bleed anew.
When I was promist first the lights fruition,
You oft haue told me, 'twas on this condition,
That I should hold it with like rent and paine
As others doe, and one time leaue't againe.
Then deerest mother leaue, oh leaue to waile,
“Time will effect, where teares can nought auaile.
Herewith Marinda taking vp her sonne,
Her hope, her loue, her ioy, her Doridon;
She thank'd the Nymph, for her kinde succour lent,
Who strait tript to her watry Regiment.
Downe in a dell (where in that

Iuly tooke his name from Iulius Cæsar.

Month whose fame
Growes greater by the man who gaue it name,
Stands many a well-pil'd cocke of short sweet hay
That feeds the husbands Neat each Winters day)
A mountaine had his foot, and gan to rise
In stately height to parlee with the Skies.
And yet as blaming his owne lofty gate,
Waighing the fickle props in things of state,
His head began to droope, and down-wards bending,
Knockt on that brest which gaue it birth and ending:
And lyes so with an hollow hanging vaut,
As when some boy trying the Somersaut,
Stands on his head, and feet, as hee did lie
To kicke against earths spangled Canopie;
When seeing that his heeles are of such weight,
That he cannot obtaine their purpos'd height,
Leaues any more to striue; and thus doth say,
What now I cannot doe, another day
May well effect: it cannot be denide
I shew'd a will to act, because I tride:
The Scornefull-hill men call'd him, who did scorne
So to be call'd, by reason he had borne
No hate to greatnesse, but a minde to be
The slaue of greatnesse, through Humilitie:
For had his Mother Nature thought it meet
He meekly bowing would haue kist her feet.
Vnder the hollow hanging of this hill
There was a Caue cut out by Natures skill:
Or else it seem'd the Mount did open's brest,
That all might see what thoughts he there possest.
Whose gloomy entrance was enuiron'd round
With shrubs that cloy ill husbands Meadow-ground:
The thick-growne Haw-thorne & the binding Bryer,
The Holly that out-dares cold Winters ire:
Who all intwinde, each limbe with limbe did deale,
That scarse a glympse of light could inward steale.
An vncouth place, fit for an vncouth minde,
That is as heauy as that caue is blinde;
Here liu'd a man his hoary haires call'd old,
Vpon whose front time many yeares had told.
Who, since Dame Nature in him feeble grew,
And he vnapt to giue the world ought new,
The secret power of Hearbes that grow on mold,
Sought ought, to cherish and relieue the old.
Hither Marinda all in haste came running,
And with her teares desir'd the old mans cunning.
When this good man (as goodnesse still is prest
At all assayes to helpe a wight distrest)
As glad and willing was to ease her sonne,
As she would euer ioy to see it done.
And giuing her a salue in leaues vp bound;
And she directed how to cure the wound,
With thanks, made home-wards, (longing still to see
Th' effect of this good Hermits Surgerie)
There carefully, her sonne laid on a bed,
(Enriched with the bloud he on it shed)
She washes, dresses, bindes his wound (yet sore)
That grieu'd, it could weepe bloud for him no more.
Now had the glorious Sunne tane vp his Inne,
And all the lamps of heau'n inlightned bin,
Within the gloomy shades of some thicke Spring,
Sad Philomel gan on the Haw-thorne sing,
(Whilst euery beast at rest was lowly laid)
The outrage done vpon a silly Maid.
All things were husht, each bird slept on his bough;
And night gaue rest to him, day tyr'd at plough;
Each beast, each bird, and each day-toyling wight,
Receiu'd the comfort of the silent night:
Free from the gripes of sorrow euery one,
Except poore Philomel and Doridon;
She on a Thorne sings sweet though sighing straines;
He on a couch more soft, more sad complaines:
Whose in-pent thoughts him long time hauing pained,
He sighing wept, & weeping thus complained.
Sweet Philomela (then he heard her sing)
I doe not enuy thy sweet carolling,
But doe admire thee, that each euen and morrow,
Canst carelesly thus sing away thy sorrow.
Would I could doe so too! and euer be
In all my woes still imitating thee:
But I may not attaine to that; for then
Such most vnhappy, miserable men
Would striue with Heauen, and imitate the Sunne,
Whose golden beames in exhalation,
Though drawn from Fens, or other grounds impure,
Turne all to fructifying nouriture.
When we draw nothing by our Sun-like eyes,
That euer turnes to mirth, but miseries:
Would I had neuer seene, except that she
Who made me wish so, loue to looke on me.
Had Colin Clout yet liu'd, (but he is gone)
That best on earth could tune a louers mone,
Whose sadder Tones inforc'd the Rocks to weepe,
And laid the greatest griefes in quiet sleepe:
Who when he sung (as I would doe to mine)
His truest loues to his faire Rosaline,
Entic'd each Shepherds eare to heare him play,
And rapt with wonder, thus admiring say:
Thrice happy plaines (if plaines thrice happy may be)
Where such a Shepherd pipes to such a Lady.
Who made the Lasses long to sit downe neere him;
And woo'd the Riuers frō their Springs to heare him.
Heauen rest thy Soule (if so a Swaine may pray)
And as thy workes liue here, liue there for aye.
Meane while (vnhappy) I shall still complaine
Loues cruell wounding of a seely Swaine.
Two nights thus past: the Lilly-handed Morne
Saw Phœbus stealing dewe from Ceres Corne.
The mounting Larke (daies herauld) got on wing
Bidding each bird chuse out his bough and sing.

A description of a Musicall Consort of Birds.

The lofty Treble sung the little Wren;
Robin the Meane, that best of all loues men;
The Nightingale the Tenor; and the Thrush
The Counter-tenor sweetly in a bush:
And that the Musicke might be full in parts,
Birds from the groues flew with right willing hearts:
But (as it seem'd) they thought (as doe the Swaines,
Which tune their Pipes on sack'd Hibernia's plaines)
There should some droaning part be, therefore will'd
Some bird to flie into a neighb'ring field,
In Embassie vnto the King of Bees,
To aid his partners on the flowres and trees:
Who condiscending gladly flew along
To beare the Base to his well-tuned song.
The Crow was willing they should be beholding
For his deepe voyce, but being hoarse with skolding,
He thus lends aide; vpon an Oake doth climbe,
And nodding with his head, so keepeth time.
O true delight, enharboring the brests
Of those sweet creatures with the plumy crests.
Had Nature vnto man such simpl'esse giuen,
He would like Birds be farre more neere to heauen.
But Doridon well knew (who knowes no lesse?)
“Mans compounds haue o'er thrown his simplenesse.
Noone-tide the Morne had woo'd, and she gan yeeld,
When Doridon (made ready for the field)
Goes sadly forth (a wofull Shepherds Lad)
Drowned in teares, his minde with griefe yclad,
To ope his fold and let his Lamkins out,
(Full iolly flocke they seem'd, a well fleec'd rout)
Which gently walk'd before, he sadly pacing,
Both guides and followes them towards their grazing.
When from a Groue the Wood-Nymphs held full deare,
Two heauenly voyces did intreat his eare,
And did compell his longing eyes to see
What happy wight enioy'd such harmonie.
Which ioyned with fiue more, and so made seauen,
Would parallel in mirth the Spheares of heauen.
To haue a sight at first he would not presse,
For feare to interrupt such happinesse:
But kept aloofe the thicke growne shrubs among,
Yet so as he might heare this wooing Song.
F.
Fie Shepherds Swaine, why sitst thou all alone,
Whil'st other Lads are sporting on the leyes?

R.
Ioy may haue company, but Griefe hath none:
Where pleasure neuer came, sports cannot please.

F.
Yet may you please to grace our this daies sport,
Though not an actor, yet a looker on.

R.
A looker on indeede, so Swaines of sort,
Cast low, take ioy to looke whence they are thrown?

F.
Seeke ioy and finde it.

R.
Griefe doth not minde it.

BOTH.
Then both agree in one,
Sorrow doth hate
To haue a mate;
“True griefe is still alone.

F.
Sad Swaine areade, (if that a Maid may aske)
What cause so great effects of griefe hath wrought?)

R.
Alas, Loue is not hid, it weares no maske;
To view 'tis by the face conceiu'd and brought.

F.
The cause I grant: the causer is not learned:
Your speech I doe entreat about this taske.

R.
If that my heart were seene, 'twould be discerned;
And Fida's name found grauen on the caske.

F.
Hath Loue young Remond moued?

R.
'Tis Fida that is loued.

BOTH.
Although 'tis said that no men
Will with their hearts,
Or goods chiefe parts
Trust either Seas or Women.

F.

R.
When protestations faile, time may approue
Where true affection liues, where falshood dwelleth.

F.
The truest cause elects a Iudge as true:
Fie, how my sighing, my much louing telleth.

R.
Your loue is fixt in one whose heart to you
Shall be as constancy, which ne'er rebelleth.

F.
None other shall haue grace.

R.
None else in my heart place.

BOTH.
Goe Shepherds Swaines and wiue all,
For Loue and Kings
Are two like things
Admitting no Corriuall.

As when some Malefactor iudg'd to die
For his offence, his Execution nye,
Casteth his sight on states vnlike to his,
And weighs his ill by others happinesse:
So Doridon thought euery state to be
Further from him, more neere felicitie.
O blessed sight, where such concordance meets,
Where truth with truth, and loue with liking greets.
Had (quoth the Swain) the Fates giuen me some measure
Of true delights inestimable treasure,
I had beene fortunate: but now so weake
My bankrupt heart will be inforc'd to breake.
Sweet Loue that drawes on earth a yoake so euen;
Sweet life that imitates the blisse of heauen;
Sweet death they needs must haue, who so vnite
That two distinct make one Hermaphrodite:
Sweet loue, sweet life, sweet death, that so doe meet
On earth; in death, in heauen be euer sweet!
Let all good wishes euer wait vpon you,
And happinesse as hand-maid tending on you.
Your loues within one centre meeting haue!
One houre your deaths, your corps possesse one graue!
Your names still greene, (thus doth a Swaine implore)
Till time and memory shall be no more!
Herewith the couple hand in hand arose,
And tooke the way which to the sheep-walke goes.
And whil'st that Doridon their gate look'd on,
His dogge disclos'd him, rushing forth vpon
A well-fed Deere, that trips it o'er the Meade,
As nimbly as the wench did whilome tread
On Ceres dangling eares, or Shaft let goe
By some faire Nymph that beares Diana's Bowe.
When turning head, he not a foot would sturre,
Scorning the barking of a Shepheards curre:
So should all Swaines as little weigh their spite,
VVho at their songs doe bawle, but dare not bite.
Remond, that by the dogge the Master knew,
Came backe, and angry bade him to pursue;
Dory (quoth he) if your ill-tuter'd dogge
Haue nought of awe, then let him haue a clogge.
Doe you not know this seely timorous Deere,
(As vsuall to his kinde) hunted whileare,
The Sunne not ten degrees got in the Signes,
Since to our Maides, here gathering Columbines,
She weeping came, and with her head low laid
In Fida's lap, did humbly begge for aide.
VVhereat vnto the hounds they gaue a checke,
And sauing her, might spie about her necke
A Coller hanging, and (as yet is seene)
These words in gold wrought on a ground of greene:
Maidens: since 'tis decreed a Maid shall haue me,
Keepe me till he shall kill me that must saue me.
But whence she came, or who the words concerne,
VVe neither know nor can of any learne.
Vpon a pallat she doth lie at night,
Neere Fida's bed, nor will she from her sight:
Vpon her walkes she all the day attends,
And by her side she trips where ere she wends.
Remond (replide the Swaine) if I haue wrong'd
Fida in ought which vnto her belong'd:
I sorrow for't, and truelie doe protest,
As yet I neuer heard speech of this Beast:
Nor was it with my will; or if it were,
Is it not lawfull we should chase the Deere,
That breaking our inclosures euery morne
Are found at feed vpon our crop of corne?
Yet had I knowne this Deere, I had not wrong'd
Fida in ought which vnto her belong'd.
I thinke no lesse, quoth Remond; but I pray,
Whither walkes Doridon this Holy-day?
Come driue your sheepe to their appointed feeding,
And make you one at this our merry meeting.
Full many a Shepherd with his louely Lasse,
Sit telling tales vpon the clouer grasse:
There is the merry Shepherd of the hole;
Thenot, Piers, Nilkin, Duddy, Hobbinoll,
Alexis, Siluan, Teddy of the Glen,
Rowly and Perigot here by the Fen,
With many more, I cannot reckon all
That meet to solemnize this festiuall.
I grieue not at their mirth, said Doridon:
Yet had there beene of Feasts not any one
Appointed or commanded, you will say,
“Where there's Content 'tis euer Holy-day.
Leaue further talke (quoth Remond) let's be gone,
Ile helpe you with your sheepe, the time drawes on.
Fida will call the Hinde, and come with vs.
Thus went they on, and Remond did discusse
Their cause of meeting, till they won with pacing
The circuit chosen for the Maidens tracing.
It was a Roundell seated on a plaine,
That stood as Sentinell vnto the Maine,
Enuiron'd round with Trees and many an Arbour,
Wherein melodious birds did nightly harbour:
And on a bough within the quickning Spring,
Would be a teaching of their young to sing;
Whose pleasing Noates the tyred Swaine haue made
To steale a nap at noone-tide in the shade.
Nature her selfe did there in triumph ride,
And made that place the ground of all her pride.
Whose various flowres deceiu'd the rasher eye
In taking them for curious Tapistrie.
A siluer Spring forth of a rocke did fall,
That in a drought did serue to water all.
Vpon the edges of a grassie banke,
A tuft of Trees grew circling in a ranke,
As if they seem'd their sports to gaze vpon,
Or stood as guard against the winde and Sunne:
So faire, so fresh, so greene, so sweet a ground
The piercing eyes of heauen yet neuer found.
Here Doridon all ready met doth see,
(Oh who would not at such a meeting be?)
Where he might doubt, who gaue to other grace,
Whether the place the Maids, or Maids the place.
Here gan the Reede, and merry Bag-pipe play,
Shrill as a Thrush vpon a Morne of May,
(A rurall Musicke for an heauenly traine)
And euery Shepherdesse danc'd with her Swaine.
As when some gale of winde doth nimbly take
A faire white locke of wooll, and with it make
Some prettie driuing; here it sweepes the plaine:
There staies, here hops, there mounts, and turns again:
Yet all so quicke, that none so soone can say
That now it stops, or leapes, or turnes away:
So was their dancing, none look'd thereupon,
But thought their seuerall motions to be one.
A crooked measure was their first election,
Because all crooked tends to best perfection.
And as I weene this often bowing measure,
Was chiefly framed for the women's pleasure.
Though like the rib, they crooked are and bending,
Yet to the best of formes they aime their ending:
Next in an (I) their measure made a rest,
Shewing when Loue is plainest it is best.
Then in a (Y) which thus doth Loue commend,
Making of two at first, one in the end.
And lastly closing in a round do enter,
Placing the lusty Shepherds in the center:
About the Swaines they dancing seem'd to roule,
As other Planets round the Heauenly Pole.
Who by their sweet aspect or chiding frowne,
Could raise a Shepherd vp, or cast him downe.
Thus were they circled till a Swaine came neere,
And sent this song vnto each Shepherds eare:
The Note and voyce so sweet, that for such mirth
The Gods would leaue the heauens, & dwell on earth.
The measure and the Song here being ended:
Each Swain his thoughts thus to his Loue cōmended.

The first presents his Dogge, with these:

When I my flocke neere you doe keepe,
And bid my Dogge goe take a Sheepe,
He cleane mistakes what I bid doe,
And bends his pace still towards you.
Poore wretch, he knowes more care I keepe
To get you, then a seely Sheep.

The second, his Pipe, with these:

Bid me to sing (faire Maid) my Song shal proue
There ne'er was truer Pipe sung truer Loue.

The third, a paire of Gloues, thus:

These will keepe your hands from burning,
Whilst the Sunne is swiftly turning:
But who can any veile deuise
To shield my Heart from your faire Eyes?

The fourth, an Anagram. Maiden aid Men.

Maidens should be ayding Men,
And for loue giue loue agen:
Learne this lesson from your Mother,
One good wish requires another.
They deserue their names best, when
Maids most willingly aid Men.

The fift, a Ring, with a Picture in a Iewell on it.

Nature hath fram'd a Iemme beyond compare,
The world's the Ring, but you the Iewell are.

The sixt, a Nosegay of Roses, with a Nettle in it.

Such is the Posie, Loue composes;
A stinging Nettle mixt with Roses.

The seuenth, a Girdle.

This during light I giue to clip your Wast,
Faire, grant mine armes that place when day is past.

The Eight

You haue the substance, and I liue
But by the shadowe which you giue,
Substance and shadowe, both are due,
And giuen of me to none but you,
Then whence is life but from that part,
Which is possessor of the hart.

The Nynth

The Hooke of right belongs to you.
for when I take but seelie Sheepe, yoll still take Men

The Tenth

Louelie maiden best of any
Of our plaines though thrice as many:
Vaile to loue and leaue denyeing.
Endles knotts lett fates be tyeing.
Such a face, so fyne a feature
(Kindest fairest sweetest creature)
Neuer yet was found, but louing:
O then lett my plaintes be mouing:
Trust a shepheard though ye meanest.
Truth is best when shee is plainest:
I loue, not, with vowes contesting,
Fayth is fayth without protesting.
Time yt all thinges doth inheritt
Renders each desert his merritt.
If yt faile in me, as noe man.
Doubtles tyme nere wonne a woeman
Maidens still should be relentinge.
And once flinty still repentinge.
Youth with youth is best combyned.
Each one with his like is twyned
Beauty should haue beautious meanīg
Euer yt hope easeth playninge
Vnto you whome Nature dresses
Needs no combe to smooth yro tresses
This way yt may doe his dutie
In yro locks to shade your beautie
Doe soe, and to loue be turninge.
Elce each hart it will be burninge.

The Eleauenth

This is loue and worth commending,
Still beginning neuer ending,
Like a wilie nett insnaring,
In a round shuts up all squaring,
In and out, whose euerie angle.
More and more doth still intangle,
Keepes a measure still in mouing,
And is neuer light but louinge,
Twyning armes, exchanging kisses,
Each partaking others blisses,
Laughing weepinge still togeather,
Blisse in one is myrth in either,
Neuer breaking euer bending,
This is loue & worth con̄ending.

The Twelfth

Loe Cupid leaues his bowe, his reason is,
Because your eyes wounde when his shasts doe misse
Whilst euery one was offring at the shrine
Of such rare beauties might be stil'd diuine:
This lamentable voyce towards them flyes:
O Heauen send aid, or else a Maiden dies!
Herewith some ran the way the voyce them led;
Some with the Maiden staid which shooke for dread;
What was the cause time serues not now to tell.
Harke; for my iolly Wether rings his bell,
And almost all our flocks haue left to graze,
Shepherds 'tis almost night, hie home apace,
When next we meet (as we shall meet ere long)
Ile tell the rest in some ensuing Song.

The Fovrth Song.

The Fifth Song.

The Argvment.

In Noats that rocks to pittie moue,
Idya sings her buried Loue:
And from her horne of plentie giues
Comfort to Truth, whom none relieues.
Repentance house next cals me on,
With Riots true conuersion:
Leauing Amintas Loue to Truth,
To be the Theame the Muse ensu'th.
Here full of Aprill, vail'd with sorrowes wing,
For louely Layes, I dreary Dirges sing.
Who so hath seene yong Lads (to sport themselues)
Run in a low ebbe to the sandy shelues:
Where seriously they worke in digging wels,
Or building childish sorts of Cockle-shels:
Or liquid water each to other bandy;
Or with the Pibbles play at handy-dandy,
Till vnawares the Tyde hath clos'd them round,
And they must wade it through or else be drown'd,
May (if vnto my Pipe he listen well)
My Muse distresse with theirs soone paralell.
For where I whilome sung the loues of Swaines,
And woo'd the Crystall Currants of the Plaines,
Teaching the Birds to loue, whilst euery Tree
Gaue his attention to my Melodie:
Fate now (as enuying my too-happy Theame)
Hath round begirt my Song with Sorrowes streame,
Which till my Muse wade through and get on shore,
My griefe-swolne Soule can sing of Loue no more.
But turne we now (yet not without remorse)
To heauenly Aletheias sad discourse,
That did from Fida's eyes salt teares exhale,
When thus she shew'd the Solitarie Vale.
Iust in the midst this ioy-forsaken ground
A hillocke stood, with Springs embraced round:
(And with a Crystall Ring did seeme to marry
Themselues, to this small Ile sad-solitarie:)
Vpon whose brest (which trembled as it ran)
Rode the faire downie-siluer-coated Swan:
And on the bankes each Cypresse bow'd his head,
To heare the Swan sing her owne

A. Funerall song before the corps be interred.

Epiced.
As when the gallant youth which liue vpon
The Westerne Downes of louely Albion;
Meeting, some festiuall to solemnize,
Choose out two, skil'd in wrastling exercise,
Who strongly, at the wrist or coller cling,
Whilst arme in arme the people make a Ring.
So did the water round this Ile inlinke,
And so the Trees grew on the waters brinke:
Waters their streames about the Iland scatter;
And Trees perform'd as much vnto the water:
Vnder whose shade the Nightingale would bring
Her chirping young, and teach them how to sing.
The woods most sad, Musitians thither hie,
As it had beene the Siluians Castalie,
And warbled forth such Elegyacke straines,
That strucke the windes dumbe; & the motly plaines
Were fill'd with enuy, that such shady places
Held all the worlds delights in their embraces.
O how (me thinkes) the impes of Mneme bring
Dewes of Inuention from their sacred Spring!
Here could I spend that spring of Poesie,
Which not twice ten Sunnes haue bestow'd on me;
And tell the world, the Muses loue appeares
In nonag'd youth, as in the length of yeares.
But ere my Muse erected haue the frame,
Wherein t'enshrine an vnknowne Shepherds name,
She many a Groue, and other woods must tread,
More Hils, more Dales, more Founts must be displaid,
More Meadowes, Rockes, and from them all elect
Matter befitting such an Architect.
As Children on a play-day leaue the Schooles,
And gladly runne vnto the swimming Pooles,
Or in the thickets, all with nettles stung,
Rush to dispoile some sweet Thrush of her young;
Or with their hats (for fish) lade in a Brooke
Withouten paine: but when the Morne doth looke
Out of the Easterne gates, a Snayle would faster
Glide to the Schooles, then they vnto their Master:
So when before I sung the Songs of Birds,
(Whilst euery moment sweetned lines affords)
I pip'd deuoid of paine, but now I come
Vnto my taske, my Muse is stricken dumbe.
My blubbring pen her sable teares lets fall,
In Characters right Hyrogliphicall,
And mixing with my teares are ready turning,
My late white paper to a weed of mourning;
Or Inke and Paper striue how to impart,
My words, the weeds they wore, within my hart:
Or else the blots vnwilling are my rimes
And their sad cause should liue till after-times;
Fearing if men their subiect should descry,
They forth-with would dissolue in teares and die.
Vpon the Ilands craggy rising hill,
A Quadrant ranne, wherein by Artlesse skill,
At euery corner Nature did erect
A Columne rude, yet void of all defect:
Whereon a Marble lay. The thick-growne Bryer,
And prickled Hawthorne (wouen all entyre)
Together clung, and barr'd the gladsome light
From any entrance, fitting onely night.
No way to it but one, steepe and obscure,
The staires of rugged stone, seldome in vre,
All ouer-growne with Mosse, as Nature sate
To entertaine Griefe with a cloth of State.
Hardly vnto the top I had ascended,
But that the Trees (siding the steps) befriended
My weary limbes, who bowing downe their armes,
Gaue hold vnto my hands to scape from harmes:
Which euermore are ready, still present
Our feet, in climbing places eminent.
Before the doore (to hinder Phœbus view)
A shady Box-tree grasped with an Eugh,
As in the place behalfe they menac'd warre
Against the radiance of each sparkling Star.
And on their barkes (which Time had nigh deprau'd)
These lines (it seem'd) had been of old engrau'd:
This place was fram'd of yore, to be possest
By one which sometime Hath Beene Happiest.
Louely Idya the most beautious
Of all the darlings of Occeanus,
Hesperia's enuy and the Westerne pride,
Whose party-coloured garment Nature dy'd
In more eye-pleasing hewes with richer graine,
Then Iris bow attending Aprils raine.
Whose Lilly white inshaded with the Rose
Had that man seene, who sung th' Eneidos,
Dido had in obliuion slept, and she
Had giu'n his Muse her best eternitie.
Had braue Atrides (who did erst imploy
His force to mix his dead with those of Troy)
Beene proffered for a truce her fained peece
Helen had staid, and that had gone to Greece:
The Phrygian soile had not been drunk with blood,
Achilles longer breath'd, and Troy yet stood:
The Prince of Poets had not sung his story,
My friend had lost his euer-liuing glory.
But as a snowy Swan, who many a day
On Thamar's swelling brests hath had his play,
For further pleasure doth assay to swim
My natiue Tauy, or the sandy Plim:
And on the panting billowes brauely rides,
Whilst Country-lasses walking on the sides,
Admire her beauty, and with clapping hands,
Would force her leaue the streame, and tread the sands,
When she regardlesse swims to th' other edge,
Vntill an enuious Bryer, or tangling Sedge
Dispoyles her Plumes; or else a sharpned Beame
Pierceth her brest, and on the bloudy streame
She pants for life: So whilome rode this Maid
On streames of worldly blisse, more rich arrayd,
With Earths delight, then thought could put in vre,
To glut the senses of an Epicure.
Whilst neighbring Kings vpon their frontires stood,
And offer'd for her dowre huge Seas of blood:
And periur'd Gerion to winne her, rent
The Indian Rockes for gold, and bootlesse spent
Almost his patrimony for her sake,
Yet nothing like respected as the Drake
That skowr'd her Channels, and destroyd the weede,
VVhich spoyld her sisters nets, and fishes breede.
At last her truest loue she threw vpon
A royall Youth, whose like, whose Paragon
Heauen neuer lent the Earth: so great a spirit
The VVorld could not containe, nor kingdomes merit:
And therefore Ioue did with the Saints inthrone him,
And left his Lady nought but teares to mone him.
Within this place (as wofull as my Verse)
She with her Crystall founts bedew'd his Herse,
Inuailed with a sable weed she sate,
Singing this song which stones dissolued at.
If you haue seene at foot of some braue hill,
Two Springs arise, and delicately trill,
In gentle chidings through an humble dale,
(Where tufty Daizies nod at euery gale)
And on the bankes a Swaine (with Lawrell crown'd)
Marying his sweet Notes with their siluer sound:
When as the spongy clouds swolne big with water,
Throw their conception on the worlds Theater:
Downe from the hils the rained waters roare,
Whilst euery leafe drops to augment their store:
Grumbling the stones fall o'er each others backe,
Rending the greene turfes with their

A fall of waters from a very high place.

Cataract,
And through the Meadowes run with such a noise,
That taking from the Swaine the fountaines voice,
Inforce him leaue their margent, and alone
Couple his base Pipe with their baser Tone.

Aletheia to Fida.

Know (Shepherdesse) that so I lent an eare
To those sad wights whose plaints I told whileare:
But when this goodly Lady gan addresse
Her heauenly voyce to sweeten heauinesse,
It drown'd the rest, as torrents little Springs;
And strucken mute at her great sorrowings,
Lay still and wondred at her pitious mone,
Wept at her griefes, and did forget their owne,
Whilst I attentiue sate, and did impart,
Teares when they wanted drops, and from a hart,
As hie in sorrow as e'er creature wore,
Lent thrilling grones to such as had no more.
Had wise Vlysses (who regardlesse flung
Along the Ocean when the Syrens sung)
Pass'd by and seene her on the sea-torne cleeues,
Waile her lost Loue (while Neptunes watry Theeues
Durst not approach for Rockes:) to see her face
He would haue hazarded his Grecian race,
Thrust head-long to the shore, and to her eyes
Offer'd his Vessell as a Sacrifice.
Or had the Syrens on a neighbour shore
Heard in what raping Notes she did deplore
Her buried Glory, they had left their shelues,
And to come neere her would haue drown'd themselues.
Now silence lock'd the organs of that voyce;

Aletheia commeth to Idya.

Whereat each merry Syluan wont reioyce,
When with a bended knee to her I came,
And did impart my griefe and hated name:
But first a pardon begg'd, if that my cause
So much constrain'd me as to breake the Lawes
Of her wish'd sequestration, or ask'd Bread
(To saue a life) from her, whose life was dead:
But lawlesse famine, selfe-consuming hunger,
Alas! compel'd me: had I stayed longer,
My weakned limmes had beene my wants forc'd meed,
And I had fed, on that I could not feed.
When she (compassionate) to my sad mone
Did lend a sigh, and stole it from her owne;
And (wofull Lady wrackt on haplesse shelfe)
Yeelded me comfort, yet had none her selfe:
Told how she knew me well since I had beene,
As chiefest consort of the Fairy Queene;
O happy Queene! for euer, euer praise
Dwell on thy Tombe; the period of all dayes
Onely seale vp thy fame; and as thy Birth
Inrich'd thy Temples on the fading earth,
So haue thy Vertues crown'd thy blessed soule,
Where the first Mouer with his words controule;
As with a girdle the huge Ocean bindes;
Gathers into his fist the nimble Windes;
Stops the bright Courser in his hot careere;
Commands the Moone twelue courses in a yeere:
Liue thou with him in endlesse blisse, while we
Admire all vertues in admiring thee.
Thou, thou, the fautresse of the learned Well,
Thou nursing Mother of Gods Israel;
Thou, for whose louing Truth, the heauens raines
Sweet Mel and Manna on our flowry plaines:
Thou, by whose hand the sacred Trine did bring
Vs out of bonds, from bloody Bonnering.
Ye suckling Babes, for euer blesse that Name
Releas'd your burning in your Mothers flame!
Thrice blessed Maiden, by whose hand was giuen
Free liberty to taste the food of Heauen.
Neuer forget her (Albions louely Daughters)
Which led you to the Springs of liuing Waters!
And if my Muse her glory faile to sing,
May to my mouth my tongue for euer cling!
Herewith (at hand) taking her Horne of Plentie

Idya cherisheth Aletheia.

Fil'd with the choyse of euery Orchards daintie,
As Peares, Plums, Apples, the sweet Raspis-berry,
The Quince, the Apricocke, the blushing Cherry;
The Mulberry (his blacke from Thisbie taking)
The cluster'd Filberd, Grapes oft merry-making.
(This fruitfull Horne th' immortall Ladies fill'd
With all the pleasures that rough Forrests yeeld,
And gaue Idya, with a further blessing,
That thence (as from a Garden) without dressing,
She these should euer haue; and neuer want
Store, from an Orchard without tree or plant.)
With a right willing hand she gaue me, hence,
The Stomackes comforter, the pleasing Quince;
And for the chiefest cherisher she lent
The Royall Thistles milkie nourishment.
Here staid I long: but when to see Aurora
Kisse the perfumed cheekes of dainty Flora,
Without the vale I trod one louely Morne,
With true intention of a quicke returne,
An vnexpected chance stroue to deferre
My going backe, and all the loue of her.
But Maiden see the day is waxen old,
And gins to shut in with the Marigold:
The Neat-herds Kine doe bellow in the yard;
And Dairy Maidens for the milke prepar'd,
Are drawing at the Vdder, long ere now
The Plow-man hath vnyoak't his Teame from plow:
My transformation to a fearefull Hinde
Shall to vnfold a fitter season finde;
Meane while yond Pallace, whose braue Turrets tops,
Ouer the stately Wood suruay the cops,
Promis'th (if sought) a wished place of rest,
Till Sol our Hemisphere haue repossest.
Now must my Muse afford a straine to Riot,
Who almost kild with his luxurious diet,
Lay eating grasse (as dogges) within a wood,
So to disgorge the vndisgested food:
By whom faire Aletheia past along
With Fida Queene of euery shepherds song,
By them vnseene (for he securely lay
Vnder the thicke of many a leauied spray)
And through the leueld Meadowes gently threw
Their neatest feet, washt with refreshing dew,
Where he durst not approach, but on the edge
Of th' hilly wood, in couert of a hedge,
VVent onward with them, trode with them in paces,
And farre off much admir'd their formes and graces.
Into the Plaines at last he headlong venter'd:
But they the hill had got and pallace enter'd.
VVhen, like a valiant well resolued man
Seeking new paths i' th' pathlesse Ocean,
Vnto the shores of monster-breeding Nyle,
Or through the North to the vnpeopled Thyle,
VVhere from the Equinoctiall of the Spring,
To that of Autumne, Titans golden Ring
Is neuer off; and till the Spring againe
In gloomy darknesse all the shoares remaine.
Or if he furrow vp the brynie Sea,
To cast his Ancors in the frozen bay
Of woody Norway; (who hath euer fed
Her people more with scaly fish then bread)
Though ratling mounts of Ice thrust at his Helme,
And by their fall still threaten to o'rewhelme
His little Vessell: and though Winter throw
(What age should on their heads) white caps of Snow;
Striues to congeale his bloud; he cares not for't,
But arm'd in minde, gets his intended port:
So Ryot, though full many doubts arise,
VVhose vnknowne ends might graspe his enterprise,
Climbes towards the Palace, and with gate demure,
VVith hanging head, a voice as faining pure,
With torne and ragged coat, his hairy legs
Bloudy, as scratch'd with Bryers, he entrance begs.
Remembrance sate as Portresse of this gate:
A Lady alwayes musing as she sate,
Except when sometime suddainly she rose,
And with a back-bent eye, at length, she throwes
Her hands to heauen: and in a wondring guize,
Star'd on each obiect with her fixed eyes:
As some way-faring man passing a wood,
(Whose wauing top hath long a Sea-marke stood)
Goes iogging on, and in his minde nought hath,
But how the Primrose finely strew the path,
Or sweetest Violets lay downe their heads
At some trees root on mossie feather-beds,
Vntill his heele receiues an Adders sting,
Whereat he starts, and backe his head doth fling.
She neuer mark'd the sute he did preferre,
But (carelesse) let him passe along by her.
So on he went into a spatious court,
All trodden bare with multitudes resort:
At th' end whereof a second gate appeares,
The Fabricke shew'd full many thousand yeares:
Whose Posterne-key that time a Lady kept,
Her eyes all swolne as if she seldome slept;
And would by fits her golden tresses teare,
And striue to stop her breath with her owne haire:
Her lilly hand (not to be lik'd by Art)
A paire of Pincers held; wherewith her heart
Was hardly grasped, while the piled stones
Re-eccoed her lamentable grones.
Here at this gate the custome long had bin
When any sought to be admitted in,
Remorce thus vs'd them, ere they had the key,
And all these torments felt, pass'd on their way.
When Riot came, the Ladies paines nigh done,
She past the gate; and then Remorce begun
To fetter Riot in strong iron chaines;
And doubting much his patience in the paines.
As when a Smith and's Man (lame Vulcans fellowes)
Call'd from the Anuile or the puffing Bellowes,
To clap a well-wrought shooe (for more then pay)
Vpon a stubborne Nagge of Galloway;
Or vnback'd Iennet, or a Flaunders Mare,
That at the Forge stand snuffing of the ayre;
The swarty Smith spits in his Buckhorne fist,
And bids his Man bring out the fiue-fold twist,
His shackles, shacklocks, hampers, gyues and chaines,
His linked bolts; and with no little paines
These make him fast: and least all these should faulter,
Vnto a poste with some six doubled halter
He bindes his head; yet all are of the least
To curbe the fury of the head-strong beast:
When if a Carriers Iade be brought vnto him,
His Man can hold his foot whilst he can shoe him:
Remorce was so inforc'd to binde him stronger,
Because his faults requir'd infliction longer
Then any sin-prest wight which many a day
Since Iudas hung himselfe had past that way.
When all the cruell torments he had borne,
Galled with chaines, and on the racke nigh torne,
Pinching with glowing pincers his owne heart;
All lame and restlesse, full of wounds and smart,
He to the Posterne creepes, so inward hies,
And from the gate a two-fold path descries,
One leading vp a hill, Repentance way;
And (as more worthy) on the right hand lay:
The other head-long, steepe, and lik'ned well
Vnto the path which tendeth downe to hell:
All steps that thither went shew'd no returning,
The port to paines, and to eternall mourning;
Where certaine Death liu'd, in an Ebon chaire,
The soules blacke homicide meager Despaire
Had his abode: there gainst the craggie rocks
Some dasht their braines out, with relentlesse knocks,
Others on trees (ô most accursed elues)
Are fastening knots, so to vndoe themselues.
Here one in sinne not daring to appeare
At Mercies seat with one repentant teare,
Within his brest was launcing of an eye,
That vnto God it might for vengeance cry:
There from a Rocke a wretch but newly fell,
All torne in pieces, to goe whole to Hell.
Here with a sleepie Potion one thinkes fit
To graspe with death, but would not know of it:
There in a poole two men their liues expire,
And die in water to reuiue in fire.
Here hangs the bloud vpon the guiltlesse stones:
There wormes consume the flesh of humane bones.
Here lyes an arme: a legge there: here a head,
Without other lims of men vnburied,
Scattring the ground, and as regardlesse hurl'd,
As they at vertue spurned in the world.
Fye haplesse wretch, ô thou! whose graces steruing,
Measur'st Gods mercy by thine owne deseruing;
Which cry'st (distrustfull of the power of Heauen)
My sinnes are greater then can be forgiuen:
Which still are ready to curse God and die,
At euery stripe of worldly miserie;
O learne (thou in whose brests the Dragon lurkes)
Gods mercy (euer) is o'er all his workes.
Know he is pitifull, apt to forgiue;
Would not a sinners death, but that he liue.
O euer, euer rest vpon that word
Which doth assure thee, though his two edg'd Sword
Be drawne in Iustice gainst thy sinfull soule,
To separate the rotten from the whole;
Yet if a sacrifice of prayer be sent him,
He will not strike; or if he strike repent him.
Let none despaire: for cursed Iudas sinne
Was not so much in yeelding vp the King
Of life, to death, as when he thereupon
Wholy dispair'd of Gods remission.
Riot, long doubting stood which way were best
To leade his steps: at last preferring rest
(As foolishly he thought) before the paine
Was to be past ere he could well attaine
The high-built Palace; gan aduenture on
That path, which led to all confusion,
When sodainly a voice as sweet as cleere,
With words diuine began entice his eare:
Whereat as in a rapture, on the ground
He prostrate lay, and all his senses found
A time of rest; onely that facultie
Which neuer can be seene, nor euer dye,
That in the essence of an endlesse Nature
Doth sympathize with the All-good Creator,
That onely wak'd which cannot be interr'd
And from a heauenly Quire this ditty heard.
Herewith on leaden wings Sleepe from him flew,
When on his arme he rose, and sadly threw
Shrill acclamations; while an hollow caue,
Or hanging hill, or heauen an answer gaue.
O sacred Essence lightning me this houre!
How may I lightly stile thy great Power?
Ecch.
Power.
Power? but of whence? vnder the green-wood spray.
Or liu'st in heau'n? say.

Ecch.
In Heauens aye.

In heauens aye I tell, may I it obtaine
By almes; by fasting, prayer, by paine.
Ecch.
By paine.

Shew me the paine, 't shall be vndergone:
I to mine end will still goe on.
Ecch.
Goe on.

But whither? On! Shew me the place, the time:
What if the Mountain I do climbe?
Ecch.
Doe; climbe.

Is that the way to ioyes which still endure?
O bid my soule of it be sure!
Ecch.
Be sure.

Then thus assured, doe I climbe the hill,
Heauen be my guide in this thy will.
Ecch.
I will.

As when a maid taught from her mother wing,
To tune her voyce vnto a siluer string,
When she should run, she rests; rests when should run,
And ends her lesson hauing now begun:
Now misseth she her stop, then in her song,
And doing of her best she still is wrong,
Begins againe, and yet againe strikes false,
Then in a chafe forsakes her Virginals,
And yet within an houre she tries anew,
That with her daily paines (Arts chiefest due)
She gaines that charming skill: and can no lesse
Tame the fierce walkers of the wildernesse,
Then that Oeagrin Harpist, for whose lay,
Tigers with hunger pinde and left their pray.
So Riot, when he gan to climbe the hill,
Here maketh haste and there long standeth still,
Now getteth vp a step, then fals againe,
Yet not despairing all his nerues doth straine,
To clamber vp a new, then slide his feet,
And downe he comes: but giues not ouer yet,
For (with the maid) he hopes, a time will be
When merit shall be linkt with industry.
Now as an Angler melancholy standing
Vpon a greene banke yeelding roome for landing,
A wrigling yellow worme thrust on his hooke,
Now in the midst he throwes, then in a nooke:
Here puls his line, there throwes it in againe,
Mendeth his Corke and Bait, but all in vaine,
He long stands viewing of the curled streame;
At last a hungry Pike, or well-growne Breame
Snatch at the worme, and hasting fast away,
He knowing it, a Fish of stubborne sway,
Puls vp his rod, but soft: (as hauing skill)
Wherewith the hooke fast holds the Fishes gill,
Then all his line he freely yeeldeth him,
Whilst furiously all vp and downe doth swim
Th' insnared Fish, here on the top doth scud,
There vnderneath the banks, then in the mud;
And with his franticke fits so scares the shole,
That each one takes his hyde, or starting hole:
By this the Pike cleane wearied vnderneath
A Willow lyes, and pants (if Fishes breath)
Wherewith the Angler gently puls him to him,
And least his haste might happen to vndoe him,
Layes downe his rod, then takes his line in hand,
And by degrees getting the Fish to land,
Walkes to another Poole: at length is winner
Of such a dish as serues him for his dinner:
So when the Climber halfe the way had got,
Musing he stood, and busily gan plot,
How (since the mount did alwaies steeper tend)
He might with steps secure his iourney end.
At last (as wandring Boyes to gather Nuts)
A hooked Pole he from a Hasell cuts;
Now throwes it here, then there to take some hold,
But bootlesse and in vaine, the rockie mold,
Admits no cranny, where his Hasell-hooke
Might promise him a step, till in a nooke
Somewhat aboue his reach he hath espide
A little Oake, and hauing often tride
To catch a bough with standing on his toe,
Or leaping vp, yet not preuailing so;
He rols a stone towards the little tree,
Then gets vpon it, fastens warily
His Pole vnto a bough, and at his drawing
The early rising Crow with clam'rous kawing,
Leauing the greene bough, flyes about the Rocke,
Whilst twenty twenty couples to him flocke:
And now within his reach the thin leaues waue,
With one hand onely then he holds his staue,
And with the other grasping first the leaues,
A pretty bough he in his fist receiues;
Then to his girdle making fast the hooke,
His other hand another bough hath tooke;
His first, a third, and that, another giues,
To bring him to the place where his root liues.
Then, as a nimble Squirrill from the wood,
Ranging the hedges for his Filberd-food,
Sits peartly on a bough his browne Nuts cracking,
And from the shell the sweet white kernell taking,
Till (with their crookes and bags) a sort of Boyes,
(To share with him) come with so great a noyse,
That he is forc'd to leaue a Nut nigh broke,
And for his life leape to a neighbour Oake,
Thence to a Beech, thence to a row of Ashes;
Whilst th' row the Quagmires, and red water plashes,
The Boyes run dabling thorow thicke and thin,
One teares his hose, another breakes his shin,
This, torne and tatter'd, hath with much adoe
Got by the Bryers; and that hath lost his shooe:
This drops his band; that head-long fals for haste;
Another cries behinde for being last:
With sticks and stones, and many a sounding hollow,
The little foole, with no small sport, they follow,
Whilst he, from tree to tree, from spray to spray,
Gets to the wood, and hides him in his Dray:
Such shift made Ryot, ere he could get vp,
And so from bough to bough he won the top,
Though hindrances, for euer comming there,
Were often thrust vpon him by Dispaire.
Now at his feet the stately mountaine lay,
And with a gladsome eye he gan suruay
What perils he had trod on since the time
His weary feet and armes assaid to climbe.
When with a humble voyce (withouten feare,
Though he look'd wilde and ouer-grown with haire)
A gentle Nymph in russet course array,
Comes and directs him onward in his way.
First, brings she him into a goodly Hall,

Description of the house of Repentance.

Faire, yet not beautified with Minerall:
But in a carelesse Art, and artlesse care,
Made, loose neglect, more louely farre then rare.
Vpon the floore (ypau'd with Marble slate)
(With Sack-cloth cloth'd) many in ashes sate:
And round about the wals for many yeares,
Hung Crystall Vials of repentant teares:
And Books of vowes, and many a heauenly deed,
Lay ready open for each one to read,
Some were immured vp in little sheads,
There to contemplate Heauen, and bid their Beads.
Others with garments thin of Cammels-haire,
With head, and armes, and legs, and feet all bare,
Were singing Hymnes to the Eternall Sage,
For safe returning from their Pilgrimage,
Some with a whip their pamper'd bodies beat;
Others in fasting liue, and seldome eat:
But as those Trees which doe in India grow
And call'd of elder Swaines full long agoe
The Sun and Moones faire Trees (full goodly deight)
And ten times ten feet challenging their height:
Hauing no helpe (to ouer-looke braue Towers)
From coole refreshing dew, or drisling showers;
When as the Earth (as oftentimes is seene)
Is interpos'd twixt Sol and Nights pale Queene;
Or when the Moone ecclipseth Titans light,
The Trees (all comfortlesse) rob'd of their sight
Weepe liquid drops, which plentifully shoot
Along the outward barke downe to the root:
And by their owne shed teares they euer flourish;
So their own sorrowes, their owne ioyes doe nourish:
And so within this place full many a wight,
Did make his teares his food both day and night.
And had it g[r]anted (from th' Almighty great)
To swim th' row them vnto his Mercy-seat.
Faire Metanoia in a chaire of earth,
With count'nance sad, yet sadnesse promis'd mirth,
Sate vail'd in coursest weeds of Cammels hayre,
Inriching pouertie; yet neuer faire
Was like to her, nor since the world begun
A louelier Lady kist the glorious Sun.
For her the God of Thunder, mighty, great,
Whose Foot-stoole is the Earth, and Heauen his Seat,
Vnto a man who from his crying birth
Went on still, shunning what he carried, earth:
VVhen he could walke no further for his graue,
Nor could step ouer, but he there must haue
A seat to rest, when he would faine goe on;
But age in euery nerue, in euery bone
Forbad his passage: for her sake hath heauen
Fill'd vp the graue, and made his path so euen,
That fifteene courses had the bright Steeds run,
(And he was weary) ere his course was done.
For scorning her, the Courts of Kings which throw
A proud rais'd pinnacle to rest the Crow;
And on a Plaine out-braue a neighbour Rocke,
In stout resistance of a Tempests shocke,
For her contempt heauen (reining his disasters)
Haue made those Towers but piles to burne their masters.
To her the lowly Nymph (Humblessa hight)
Brought (as her office) this deformed wight;
To whom the Lady courteous semblance shewes,
And pittying his estate in sacred thewes,
And Letters (worthily ycleep'd diuine)
Resolu'd t'instruct him: but her discipline
She knew of true effect, would surely misse,
Except the first his Metamorphosis
Should cleane exile: and knowing that his birth
VVas to inherit reason, though on earth
Some VVitch had thus transform'd him, by her skill,
Expert in changing, euen the very will,
In few dayes labours with continuall prayer,
(A sacrifice transcends the buxome ayre)
His grisly shape, his foule deformed feature,
His horrid lookes, worse then a sauage creature,
By Metanoia's hand from heauen, began
Receiue their sentence of diuorce from man.
And as a louely Maiden, pure and chaste,
VVith naked Iu'rie necke, and gowne vnlac'd,
VVithin her chamher, when the day is fled,
Makes poore her garments to enrich her bed:
First, puts she off her lilly-silken gowne,
That shrikes for sorrow as she layes it downe;
And with her armes graceth a VVast-coat fine,
Imbracing her as it would ne'er vntwine.
Her flexen haire insnaring [the] beholders,
She next permits to waue about her shoulders,
And though she cast it backe, the silken slips.
Still forward steale, and hang vpon her lips:
VVhereat she sweetly angry, with her laces
Bindes vp the wanton locks in curious traces,
VVhilst (twisting with her ioynts) each haire long lingers,
As loth to be inchain'd, but with her fingers.
Then on her head a dressing like a Crowne;
Her breasts all bare, her Kirtle slipping downe,
And all things off (which rightly euer be
Call'd the foule-faire markes of our miserie)
Except her last, which enuiously doth seize her,
Least any eye partake with it in pleasure,
Prepares for sweetest rest, while Siluans greet her,
And (longingly) the down-bed swels to meet her:
So by degrees his shape all brutish vilde,
Fell from him (as loose skin from some yong childe)
In lieu whereof a man-like shape appeares,
And gallant youth scarce skill'd in twenty yeares,
So faire, so fresh, so young, so admirable
In euery part, that since I am not able
In words to shew his picture, gentle Swaines,
Recall the praises in my former straines;
And know if they haue graced any lim,
I onely lent it those, but stole't from him.
Had that chaste Roman Dame beheld his face,
Ere the proud King possest her Husbands place,
Her thoughts had beene adulterate, and this staine
Had won her greater fame, had she beene slaine.
The Larke that many mornes her selfe makes merry
With the shrill chanting of her teery-lerry,
(Before he was transform'd) would leaue the skyes,
And houer o'er him to behold his eyes.
Vpon an Oten-pipe well could he play,
For when he fed his flocke vpon the lay
Maidens to heare him from the Plaines came tripping
And Birds frō bough to bough full nimbly skipping;
His flocke (then happy flocke) would leaue to feed,
And stand amaz'd to listen to his Reed:
Lyons and Tygers, with each beast of game;
With hearing him were many times made tame:
Braue trees & flowers would towards him be bending
And none that heard him wisht his Song an ending:
Maids, Lyons, birds, flocks, trees, each flowre, each spring,
Were wrapt with wōder, whē he vs'd to sing
So faire a person to describe to men
Requires a curious Pencill, not a Pen.
Him Metanoia clad in seemly wise
(Not after our corrupted ages guise,
Where gaudy weeds lend splendor to the lim,
While that his cloaths receiu'd their grace from him,)
Then to a garden set with rarest flowres,
With pleasant fountains stor'd, and shady bowres:
She leads him by the hand, and in the groues,
Where thousand pretty Birds sung to their Loues,
And thousand thousand blossomes (from their stalks)
Milde Zephyrus threw downe to paint the walkes:
Where yet the wilde Boare neuer durst appeare:
Here Fida (euer to kinde Raymond deare)
Met them, and shew'd where Aletheia lay,
(The fairest Maid that euer blest the day.)
Sweetly she lay, and cool'd her lilly-hands
Within a Spring that threw vp golden sands:
As if it would intice her to perseuer
In liuing there, and grace the banks for euer.
To her Amintas (Riot now no more)
Came, and saluted: neuer man before
More blest, nor like this kisse hath beene another
But when two dangling Cherries kist each other:
Nor euer beauties, like, met at such closes;
But in the kisses of two Damaske-Roses.
O, how the flowres (prest with their treadings on thē)
Stroue to cast vp their heads to looke vpon them!
How iealously the buds that so had seene them,
Sent forth the sweetest smels to step betweene them,
As fearing the perfume lodg'd in their powers
Once known of them, they might neglect the flowres,
How often wisht Amintas with his heart,
His ruddy lips from hers might neuer part;
And that the heauens this gift were thē bequeathing,
To feed on nothing but each others breathing!
A truer loue the Muses neuer sung,
Nor happyer names ere grac'd a golden tongue:
O! they are better fitting his sweet stripe,
Who on the bankes of Ancor tun'd his Pipe:
Or rather for that learned Swaine whose layes
Diuinest Homer crown'd with deathlesse Bayes:
Or any one sent from the sacred Well
Inheriting the soule of Astrophell:
These, these in golden lines might write this Story,
And make these loues their owne eternall glory:
Whilst I a Swaine as weake in yeeres as skill,
Should in the valley heare them on the hill,
Yet (when my Sheepe haue at their Cesterne beene,
And I haue brought them backe to sheare the greene)
To misse an idle houre, and not for meed,
VVith choicest relish shall mine Oaten Reed
Record their worths: and though in accents rare
I misse the glory of a charming ayre,
My Muse may one day make the Courtly Swaines
Enamour'd on the Musicke of the Plaines,
And as vpon a hill she brauely sings,
Teach humble Dales to weepe in Crystall Springs.

The second Booke.

TO THE TRVLY NOBLE AND LEARNED William EARLE OF Pembroke, LORD CHAMBERLAINE TO HIS Maiestie, &c.

Not that the gift (Great Lord) deserues your hand,
(Held euer worth the rarest workes of men)
Offer I this; but since in all our Land
None can more rightly claime a Poet's Pen:
That Noble Bloud and Vertue truly knowne,
Which circular in you vnited run,
Makes you each good, & euery good your owne,
If it can hold in what my Muse hath done.
But weake and lowly are these tuned Layes,
Yet though but weake to win faire Memorie,
You may improue them, and your gracing raise;
For things are priz'd as their possessours be.
If for such fauour they haue worthlesse striuen,
Since Loue the cause was, be that Loue forgiuen!

[Commendatory Verses.]

To the most ingenious Author Mr. W. Browne.

Ingenious Swaine! that highly dost adorne
Clear Tauy! on whose brinck we both were borne!
Iust Praise in me would ne're be thought to moue
From thy sole Worth, but from my partiall Loue.
Wherefore I will not doe thee so much wrong,
As by such mixture to allay thy Song.
But while kinde strangers rightly praise each Grace
Of thy chaste Muse; I (from the happy Place
That brought thee forth, and thinkes it not vnfit
To boast now that it earst bred such a Wit;)
Would onely haue it knowne I much reioyce;
To heare such Matters, sung by such a Voyce.

To his Friend Mr. Browne.

All that doe reade thy Workes, and see thy face,
(Where scarce a haire growes vp, thy chin to grace)
Doe greatly wonder how so youthfull yeares
Could frame a Work, where so much worth appears.
To heare how thou describ'st a Tree, a Dale,
A Groue, a Greene, a solitary Vale,
The Euening Showers, and the Morning Gleames,
The golden Mountaines, and the siluer Streames,
How smooth thy Verse is, and how sweet thy Rimes,
How sage, and yet how pleasant are thy Lines;
What more or lesse can there be said by men,
But, Muses rule thy Hand, and guide thy Pen.

To his worthily-affected Friend Mr. VV. Browne.

Another to the same.

Were all mens enuies fixt in one mans lookes,
That monster that would prey on safest Fame,
Darst not once checke at thine, nor at thy Name:
Se he who men can reade as well as Bookes
Attest thy Lines; thus tride, they show to vs
As Scæua's Shield, thy Selfe Emeritus.

[To my Browne, yet brightest Swaine]

To my noble Friend the Author.

To the Author.

To his worthy Friend Mr. W. Browne, on his Booke.

That Poets are not bred so, but so borne,
Thy Muse it proues; for in her ages morne
She hath stroke enuy dumbe, and charm'd the loue
Of eu'ry Muse whose birth the Skies approue.
Goe on; I know thou art too good to feare.
And may thy earely straines affect the eare
Of that rare Lord, who iudge and guerdon can
The richer gifts which doe aduantage man!

To his Friend the Authour.

Sometimes (deare friend) I make thy Booke my meat,
And then I iudge 'tis Hony that I eat.
Sometimes my drinke it is, and then I thinke
It is Apollo's Nectar, and no drinke.
And being hurt in minde, I keepe in store
Thy Booke, a precious Balsame for the sore.
'Tis Hony, Nectar, Balsame most diuine:
Or one word for them all; my Friend, 'tis thine.

To his Friend the Author.

If antique Swaines wanne such immortall praise,
Though they alone with their melodious Layes,
Did onely charme the Woods and flowry Lawnes:
Satyres, and Floods, and Stones, and hairy Fawnes:
How much braue Youth to thy due worth belongs,
That charm'st not thē but men with thy sweet Songs?

To the Authour.

Tis knowne I scorne to flatter (or commend)
What merits not applause though in my Friend:
Which by my censure should now more appeare,
Were this not full as good as thou art deare:
But since thou couldst not (erring) make it so,
That I might my impartiall humour show
By finding fault; Nor one of these friends tell
How to shew loue so ill, that I as well
Might paint out mine: I feele an enuious touch,
And tell thee Swaine: that at thy fame I grutch,
Wishing the Art that makes this Poeme shine,
And this thy Worke (wert not thou wronged) mine.
For when Detraction shal forgotten be,
This will continue to eternize thee;
And if hereafter any busie wit
Should, wronging thy conceit, miscensure it,
Though seeming learn'd or wise: here he shall see,
Tis prais'd by wiser and more learn'd then hee.

To Mr. Browne.

Were there a thought so strange as to deny
That happy Bayes doe some mens Births adorne,
Thy worke alone might serue to iustifie,
That Poets are not made so, but so borne.
How could thy plumes thus soone haue soar'd thus hie
Hadst thou not Lawrell in thy Cradle worne?
Thy Birth o'er tooke thy Youth: And it doth make
Thy youth (herein) thine elders ouer-take.

To my truly-belou'd Friend M. Browne, on his Pastorals.

Some men, of Bookes or Friends not speaking right,
May hurt them more with praise, then Foes with spight.
But I haue seene thy Worke, and I know thee:
And, if thou list thy selfe, what thou canst bee.
For, though but early in these paths thou tread,
I finde thee write most worthy to be read.
It must be thine owne iudgement, yet that sends
This thy worke forth: that iudgement mine commends.
And, where the most reade bookes, on Authors fames,
Or, like our Money-brokers, take vp names
On credit, and are couzen'd; see, that thou
By offring not more sureties, then enow,
Hold thine owne worth vnbroke: which is so good
Vpon th' Exchange of Letters, as I wou'd
More of our Writers would like thee, not swell
With the how much they set forth, but th' how well.

The First Song.

The Argvment.

Marina's freedome now I sing,
And of her new endangering:
Of Famines Caue, and then th' abuse
Tow'rds buried Colyn and his Muse.
As when a Mariner (accounted lost,)
Vpon the watry Desert long time tost,
In Summers parching heat, in Winters cold,
In tempests great, in dangers manifold:
Is by a fau'ring winde drawne vp the Mast,
Whence he descries his natiue soile at last:
For whose glad sight he gets the hatches vnder,
And to the Ocean tels his ioy in thunder,
(Shaking those Barnacles into the Sea,
At once, that in the wombe and cradle lay)
When sodainly the still inconstant winde
Masters before, that did attend behinde;
And growes so violent, that he is faine
Command the Pilot stand to Sea againe;
Lest want of Sea-roome in a Channell streight,
Or casting Anchor might cast o're his freight:
Thus gentle Muse it happens in my Song,
A iourney, tedious, for a strength so young
I vnder-tooke: by siluer-seeming Floods,
Past gloomy Bottomes, and high-wauing Woods,
Climb'd Mountaines where the wanton Kidling dallies,
Thē with soft steps enseal'd the meekned Vallies,
In quest of memory: and had possest
A pleasant Garden, for a welcome rest
No sooner, then a hundred Theames come on
And hale my Barke a-new for Helicon.
Thrice sacred Powers! (if sacred Powers there be
Whose milde aspect engyrland Poesie)
Yee happy Sisters of the learned Spring,
Whose heauenly notes the Woods are rauishing!
Braue Thespian Maidens, at whose charming layes
Each Mosse-thrumb'd Mountaine bends, each Current playes!
Piërian Singers! O yee blessed Muses!
Who as a Iem too deare the world refuses!
Whose truest louers neuer clip with age,
O be propitious in my Pilgrimage!
Dwell on my lines! and till the last sand fall,
Run hand in hand with my weake Pastorall!
Cause euery coupling cadence flow in blisses,
And fill the world with enuy of such kisses.
Make all the rarest Beauties of our Clyme,
That deigne a sweet looke on my younger ryme,
To linger on each lines inticing graces,
As on their Louers lips and chaste imbraces!
Through rouling trenches of self-drowning waues,
Where stormy gusts throw vp vntimely graues,
By billowes whose white fome shew'd angry mindes,
For not out-roaring all the high-rais'd windes,
Into the euer-drinking thirsty Sea
By Rockes that vnder water hidden lay,
To shipwracke passengers, (so in some den
Theeues bent to robbry watch way-faring men.)
Fairest Marina, whom I whilome sung,
In all this tempest (violent though long)
Without all sense of danger lay asleepe:
Till tossed where the still inconstant deepe
With wide spred armes, stood ready for the tender
Of daily tribute, that the swolne floods render
Into her Chequer: (whence as worthy Kings
She helpes the wants of thousands lesser Springs:)
Here waxt the windes dumbe (shut vp in their caues)
As still as mid-night were the sullen waues,
And Neptunes siluer-euer-shaking brest
As smooth as when the Halcyon builds her nest.
None other wrinckles on his face were seene
Then on a fertile Mead, or sportiue Greene,
Where neuer Plow-share ript his mothers wombe
To giue an aged seed a liuing tombe,
Nor blinded Mole the batning earth ere stir'd,
Nor Boyes made Pit-fals for the hungry Bird.
The whistling Reeds vpon the waters side
Shot vp their sharpe heads in a stately pride,
And not a binding Ozyer bow'd his head,
But on his root him brauely carryed.
No dandling leafe plaid with the subtill aire,
So smooth the Sea was, and the Skie so faire.
Now with his hands in stead of broad-palm'd Oares,
The Swaine attempts to get the shell-strewd shores,
And with continuall lading making way,
Thrust the small Boat into as faire a Bay
As euer Merchant wisht might be the rode
Wherein to ease his sea-torne Vessels lode.
It was an Iland (hugg'd in Neptunes armes,
As tendring it against all forraigne harmes,)
And Mona height: so amiably faire,
So rich in soyle, so healthfull in her aire,
So quicke in her increase, (each dewy night
Yeelding that ground as greene, as fresh of plight
As't was the day before, whereon then fed
Of gallant Steeres, full many a thousand head.)
So deckt with Floods, so pleasant in her Groues,
So full of well-fleec'd Flockes and fatned Droues;
That the braue issue of the Troian line,
(Whose worths, like Diamonds, yet in darknesse shine,)
Whose deeds were sung by learned Bards as hye,
In raptures of immortall Poesie,
As any Nations, since the Grecian Lads
Were famous made by Homers Iliads.)
Those braue heroicke spirits, twixt one another
Prouerbially call

Mon Mam Kumbry.

Mona Cambria's Mother.
Yet Cambria is a land from whence haue come
Worthies well worth the race of Ilium.
Whose true desert of praise could my Muse touch,
I should be proud that I had done so much.
And though of mighty Brute I cannot boast,
Yet doth our warlike strong Deuonian coast
Resound his worth, since on her waue-worne strand
He and his Troians first set foot on land,
Strooke Saile, and Anchor cast on

Petunt Classem omnibus bonis onustam, prosperis ventis mare sulcantes in Totenesio littore feliciter applicarunt. Galf. Monum.

Totnes shore.
Though now no Ship can ride there any more.
In th' Ilands Rode the Swain now moares his Boat
Vnto a Willow (lest it outwards float)
And with a rude embracement taking vp
The Maid (more faire then

Hebe.

She that fill'd the cup
Of the great Thunderer, wounding with her eyes
More hearts then all the troopes of Deities.)
He wades to shore, and sets her on the sand,
That gently yeelded when her foot should land.
Where bubling waters through the pibbles fleet,
As if they stroue to kisse her slender feet.
Whlist like a wretch, whose cursed hand hath tane
The sacred reliques from a holy Phane,
Feeling the hand of heauen (inforcing wonder)
In his returne, in dreadfull cracks of thunder,
Within a bush his Sacriledge hath left,
And thinkes his punishment freed with the theft:
So fled the Swaine, from one; had Neptune spide
At halfe an ebbe; he would haue forc'd the Tyde
To swell anew; whereon his Carre should sweepe,
Deckt with the riches of th' vnsounded deepe,
And he from thence, would with all state, on shore,
To wooe this beautie, and to wooe no more.
Diuine Electra (of the Sisters seuen
That beautifie the glorious Orbe of heauen)
When Iliums stately towres, serv'd as one light
To guide the Rauisher in vgly night
Vnto her virgin beds, with-drew her face,
And neuer would looke downe on humane race
Til this Maids birth; since whē some power hath won her
By often fits to shine, as gazing on her.
Grim Saturnes son, the dread Olimpicke Ioue
That dark't three dayes to frolicke with his Loue,
Had he in Alcmen's stead clipt this faire wight,
The world had slept in euerlasting night.
For whose sake onely (had she liued then)
Deucalions flood had neuer rag'd on men:
Nor Phaëton perform'd his fathers duty,
For feare to rob the world of such a beauty:
In whose due praise, a learned quill might spend
Houres, daies, months, yeeres, and neuer make an end.
What wretch inhumane? or what wilder blood
(Suckt in a desert from a Tygers brood)
Could leaue her so disconsolate? but one
Bred in the wasts of frost-bit Calydon;
For had his veynes beene heat with milder ayre,
He had not wrong'd so foule, a Maid so faire.
Sing on sweet Muse, and whilst I feed mine eyes
Vpon a Iewell and vnvalued prize,
As bright a Starre, a Dame, as faire, as chaste,
As eye beheld, or shall, till Natures last:
Charme her quicke senses! and with raptures sweet
Make her affection with your cadence meet!
And if her gracefull tongue admire one straine,
It is the best reward my Pipe would gaine.
In lieu whereof, in Laurell-worthy rimes
Her Loue shall liue vntill the end of times,
And spight of age, the last of dayes shall see
Her Name embalm'd in sacred Poesie.
Sadly alone vpon the aged rocks,
Whom Thetis grac'd in washing oft their locks
Of branching Sampire, sate the Maid o'retaken
With sighes and teares, vnfortunate, forsaken,
And with a voice that floods frō rocks would borrow,
She thus both wept and sung her noates of sorrow.
If Heauen be deafe and will not heare my cries,
But addes new daies to adde new miseries;
Heare then ye troubled Waues and flitting Gales,
That coole the bosomes of the fruitfull Vales!
Lend, one, a flood of teares, the other, winde,
To weepe and sigh that Heauen is so vnkinde!
But if ye will not spare, of all your store
One teare, or sigh, vnto a wretch so poore;
Yet as ye trauell on this spacious Round,
Through Forrests, Mountains, or the Lawny ground,
If't happ' you see a Maid weepe forth her woe,
As I haue done; Oh bid her as ye goe
Not lauish teares! for when her owne are gone,
The world is flinty and will lend her none.
If this be eke deni'd; O hearken then
Each hollow vaulted Rocke, and crooked Den!
And if within your sides one Eccho be
Let her begin to rue my destinie!
And in your clefts her plainings doe not smother,
But let that Eccho teach it to another!
Till round the world in sounding coombe and plaine,
The last of them tell it the first againe:
Of my sad Fate, so shall they neuer lin,
But where one ends, another still begin.
Wretch that I am, my words I vainly waste,
Eccho, of all woes onely speake the last;
And that's enough: for should she vtter all,
As at Medusa's head, each heart would fall
Into a flinty substance, and repine
At no one griefe, except as great as mine.
No carefull Nurse would wet her watchfull eye,
When any pang should gripe her infantry,
Nor though to Nature it obedience gaue,
And kneeld, to doe her Homage, in the graue,
Would she lament, her suckling from her torne:
Scaping by death those torments I haue borne.
This sigh'd, she wept (low leaning on her hand)
Her briny teares downe rayning on the sand,
Which seene by (them, that sport it in the Seas
On Dolphins backes) the faire Nereides,
They came on shore, and slily as they fell
Conuai'd each teare into an Oyster-shell,
And by some power that did affect the Girles,
Transform'd those liquid drops to orient Pearles,
And strew'd them on the shore: for whose rich prize
In winged Pines, the Roman Colonies
Flung through the deepe Abysse to our white rocks
For Iems to decke their Ladyes golden lockes:
Who valew'd them as highly in their kinds
As those the Sun-burnt Æthiopian finds.
A wight she was so farre from being faire;
None could be foule esteem'd, compar'd with her.
Describing Foulnesse, pardon if I erre,
Ye Shepherds Daughters, and ye gentle Swaines!
My Muse would gladly chaunt more louely straines:
Yet since on miry grounds she trode, for doubt
Of sinking, all in haste, thus wades she out.
As when great Neptune in his height of pride
The inland creeks fils with a high Spring-tyde,
Great sholes of fish, among the Oysters hye,
Which by a quicke ebbe, on the shores, left dry,
The fishes yawne, the Oysters gapen wide:
So broad her mouth was: As she stood and cride,
She tore her eluish knots of haire, as blacke
And full of dust as any Collyers sacke.
Her eyes vnlike, were like her body right,
Squint and misse-shapen, one dun, t'other white.
As in a picture limb'd vnto the life,
Or carued by a curious workmans knife,
If twenty men at once should come to see
The great effects of vntirde industry,
Each seu'rally would thinke the pictures eye
Was fixt on him, and on no stander by:
So as she (bawling) was vpon the banke,
If twice fiue hundred men stood on a ranke,
Her ill face towards them; euery one would say,
She lookes on me; when she another way
Had cast her eyes, as on some rocke or tree,
And on no one of all that company.
Her Nose (ô crooked nose) her mouth o're-hung,
As it would be directed by her tongue:
Her Fore-head such, as one might neere auow
Some Plow-man, there, had lately beene at plow.
Her Face so scorcht was, and so vilde it showes,
As on a Peare-tree she had scar'd the Crowes.
Within a Tanners fat I oft haue eyde
(That three moones there had laine) a large Oxe-hyde
In liquor mixt with strongest barke (for gaine)
Yet had not tane one halfe so deepe a staine
As had her skin: and that, as hard well-nye
As any Brawnes, long hardned in the stye.
Her Shoulders such, as I haue often seene
A silly Cottage on a Village greene
Might change his corner posts, in good behoofe,
For foure such vnder-proppers to his roofe.
Huswiues, goe hire her, if you yeerely gaue
A Lamkin more then vse, you that might saue
In washing-Beetles, for her hands would passe
To serue that purpose, though you daily wash.
For other hidden parts, thus much I say;
As Ballad-mongers on a Market-day
Taking their stand, one (with as harsh a noyse
As euer Cart-wheele made) squeakes the sad choice
Of Tom the Miller with a golden thumbe,
Who crost in loue, ran mad, and deafe, and dumbe,
Halfe part he chants, and will not sing it out,
But thus he speakes to his attentiue rout:
Thus much for loue I warbled from my brest,
And gentle friends, for money take the rest:
So speake I to the ouer-longing eare,
That would the rest of her description heare,
Much haue I sung for loue, the rest (not common)
Martial will shew for coine, in's crabbed woman.
If e're you saw a Pedant gin prepare
To speake some gracefull speech to Master Maior,
And being bashfull, with a quaking doubt
That in his eloquence he may be out;
He oft steps forth, as oft turnes backe againe;
And long 'tis e're he ope his learned veine:
Thinke so Marina stood: for now she thought
To venture forth, then some coniecture wrought
Her to be iealous, lest this vgly wight
(Since like a Witch she lookt) through spels of night,
Might make her body thrall (that yet was free)
To all the foule intents of Witcherie:
This drew her backe againe. At last she broke
Through all fond doubts, went to her, and bespoke
In gentle manner thus: Good day, good Maid;
With that her cry she on a sodaine staid,
And rub'd her squint eyes with her mighty fist.
But as a Miller hauing ground his grist,
Lets downe his flood-gates with a speedy fall,
And quarring vp the passage therewithall,
The waters swell in spleene, and neuer stay
Till by some cleft they finde another way:
So when her teares were stopt from either eye
Her singults, blubbrings, seem'd to make them flye
Out at her Oyster-mouth and Nose-thrils wide.
Can there (quoth faire Marina) e're betide
(In these sweet Groues) a wench, so great a wrong,
That should inforce a cry so loud, so long?
On these delightfull Plaines how can there be
So much as heard the name of villany?
Except when Shepherds in their gladsome fit
Sing Hymnes to Pan that they are free from it.
But shew me, what hath caus'd thy grieuous yell?
As late (quoth she) I went to yonder Well,
(You cannot see it here; that Groue doth couer
With his thicke boughes his little channell ouer.)
To fetch some water (as I vse) to dresse
My Masters supper (you may thinke of flesh;
But well I wot he tasteth no such dish)
Of Rotchets, Whitings, or such common fish,
That with his net he drags into his Boat:
Among the Flags below, there stands his Coat
(A simple one) thatch'd o're with Reede and Broome;
It hath a Kitchen, and a seuerall roome
For each of vs. But this is nought: you flee,
Replide Marine, I prithee answer me
To what I question'd. Doe but heare me first,
Answer'd the Hag. He is a man so curst,
Although I toyle at home, and serue his Swine,
Yet scarce allowes he me whereon to dine:
In Summer time on Black-berries I liue,
On Crabs and Hawes, and what wilde Forrests giue:
In Winters cold, bare-foot, I run to seeke
For Oysters, and small Winkles in each creeke,
Whereon I feed, and on the Meager Slone.
But if he home returne and finde me gone,
I still am sure to feele his heauy hand.
Alas and weale away, since now I stand
In such a plight: for if I seeke his dore
Hee'l beat me ten times worse then e're before.
What hast thou done? (yet askt Marina) say?
I with my pitcher lately tooke my way
(As late I said) to thilke same shaded Spring,
Fill'd it, and homewards, rais'd my voyce to sing;
But in my backe returne, I (haplesse) spide
A tree of Cherries wilde, and them I eyde
With such a longing, that vnwares my foot
Got vnderneath a hollow-growing root,
Carrying my pot as Maids vse on their heads,
I fell with it, and broke it all to shreads.
This is my griefe, this is my cause of mone.
And if some kinde wight goe not to attone
My surly Master with me wretched Maid,
I shall be beaten dead. Be not afraid,
Said sweet Marina, hasten thee before;
Ile come to make thy peace: for since I sore
Doe hunger, and at home thou hast small cheere,
(Need and supply grow farre off, seldome neere.)
To yonder Groue Ile goe, to taste the spring,
And see what it affords for nourishing.
Thus parted they. And sad Marina blest
The houre she met the Maid, who did invest
Her in assured hope, she once should see
Her Flocke againe (and driue them merrily
To their flowre-decked layre, and tread the shores
Of pleasant Albion) through the well poys'd Oares
Of the poore Fisher-man that dwelt thereby.
But as a man who in a Lottery
Hath ventur'd of his coyne, ere he haue ought,
Thinkes this or that shall with his Prize be bought,
And so enricht, march with the better ranke,
When sodainly he's call'd, and all is Blanke:
To chaste Marina, so doth Fortune proue,
Statesmen and she are neuer firme in loue.
No sooner had Marina got the wood,
But as the trees she neerly search'd for food,
A Villaine, leane, as any rake appeares,
That look't, as pinch'd with famine, Ægypts yeeres,
Worne out and wasted to the pithlesse bone,
As one that had a long Consumption.
His rusty teeth (forsaken of his lips
As they had seru'd with want two Prentiships)
Did through his pallid cheekes, and lankest skin
Bewray what number were enranckt within.
His greedy eyes deepe sunke into his head,
Which with a rough haire was o're couered.
How many bones made vp this starued wight
Was soone perceiu'd; a man of dimmest sight
Apparantly might see them knit, and tell
How all his veines and euery sinew fell.
His belly (inwards drawne) his bowels prest,
His vnfill'd skin hung dangling on his brest,
His feeble knees with paine enough vphold
That pined carkasse, casten in a mold
Cut out by Deaths grim forme. If small legs wan
Euer the title of a Gentleman;
His did acquire it. In his flesh pull'd downe
As he had liu'd in a beleaguerd towne,
Where Plenty had so long estranged beene
That men most worthy note, in griefe were seene
(Though they reioyc'd to haue attain'd such meat)
Of Rats, and halfe-tann'd Hydes, and stomacks great,
Gladly to feed: and where a Nurse, most vilde,
Drunke her owne milke, and staru'd her crying childe.
Yet he through want of food not thus became:
But Nature first decreed, That as the flame
Is neuer seene to flye his nourishment,
But all consumes: and still the more is lent
The more it couets. And as all the Floods
(Down trēching from small groues, & greater woods)
The vast insatiate Sea doth still deuoure,
And yet his thirst not quenched by their power:
So euer should befall this starued wight;
The more his vyands, more his appetite.
What ere the deepes bring forth, or earth, or ayre,
He rauine should, and want in greatest fare.
And what a Citie twice seuen yeeres would serue,
He should deuoure, and yet be like to starue.
A wretch so empty, that if e're there be
In Nature found the least vacuitie,
'Twill be in him. The graue to Ceres store;
A Caniball to lab'rers old and poore;
A Spunge-like-Dropsie, drinking till it burst;
The Sicknesse tearm'd the Wolfe, vilde and accurst;
In some respects like th' art of Alchumy
That thriues least, when it long'st doth multiply:
Limos he cleeped was: whose long-nayl'd paw
Seizing Marina, and his sharpe-fang'd iaw
(The strongest part he had) fixt in her weeds,
He forc'd her thence, through thickets & high Reeds,
Towards his Caue. Her fate the swift windes rue,
And round the Groue in heauy murmures flew.
The limbs of trees, that (as in loue with either)
In close embrasements long had liu'd together,
Rubb'd each on other, and in shreeks did show
The windes had mou'd more partners of their woe.
Old and decaied stocks, that long time spent
Vpon their armes, their roots chiefe nourishment;
And that drawne dry, as freely did impart
Their boughes a feeding on their fathers heart,
Yet by respectlesse impes when all was gone,
Pithlesse and saplesse, naked left alone,
Their hollow trunks, fill'd with their neighbours moanes,
Sent from a thousand vents, ten thousand groanes.
All Birds flew from the wood, as they had been
Scar'd with a strong Bolt ratling 'mong the treen.
Limos with his sweet theft full slily rushes
Through sharp-hook'd brambles, thornes, & tangling bushes,
Whose tenters sticking in her garments, sought
(Poore shrubs) to helpe her, but auailing nought,
As angry (best intents miss'd best proceeding)
They scratch'd his face & legs, cleere water bleeding.
Not greater haste a fearefull schoole-boy makes
Out of an Orchard whence by stealth he takes
A churlish Farmers Plums, sweet Peares or Grapes,
Then Limos did, as from the thicke he scapes
Downe to the shore. Where resting him a space,
Restlesse Marina gan intreat for grace
Of one whose knowing it as desp'rate stood,
As where each day to get supply of food.
O! had she (thirsty) such intreaty made
At some high Rocke, proud of his euening shade,
He would haue burst in two, and from his veines
(For her auaile) vpon the vnder Plaines
A hundred Springs a hundred wayes should swim,
To shew her teares inforced floods from him.
Had such an Oratresse beene heard to plead
For faire Polixena, the Murthrers head
Had beene her pardon, and so scap'd that shocke,
Which made her louers tombe her dying blocke.
Not an inraged Lion, surly, wood,
No Tyger reft her young, nor sauage brood;
No, not the foaming Boare, that durst approue
Louelesse to leaue the mighty Queene of Loue,
But her sad plaints, their vncouth walkes among
Spent, in sweet numbers from her golden tongue,
So much their great hearts would in softnes steepe,
They at her foot would groueling lye, and weepe.
Yet now (alas!) nor words, nor floods of teares
Did ought auaile. The belly hath no eares.
As I haue knowne a man loath meet with gaine
That carrieth in his front least shew of paine,
Who for his vittailes all his raiment pledges,
Whose stackes for firing are his neighbours hedges,
From whence returning with a burden great,
Wearied, on some greene banke he takes his seat,
But fearefull (as still theft is in his stay)
Gets quickly vp, and hasteth fast away:
So Limos sooner eased then yrested
Was vp, and through the Reeds (as much molested
As in the Brakes) who louingly combine,
And for her aide together twist and twine,
Now manacling his hands, then on his legs
Like fetters hang the vnder-growing Segs:
And had his teeth not beene of strongest hold,
He there had left his prey. Fates vncontrold,
Denide so great a blisse to Plants or men,
And lent him strength to bring her to his den.
West, in Apollo's course to Tagus streame,
Crown'd with a siluer circling Diadem
Of wet exhaled mists, there stood a pile
Of aged Rocks (torne from the neighbour Ile
And girt with waues) against whose naked brest
The surges tilted, on his snowie crest
The towring Falcon whilome built, and Kings
Stroue for that Eirie, on whose scaling wings,
Monarchs, in gold refin'd as much would lay
As might a month their Army Royall pay.
Braue Birds they were, whose quick-self-less-'ning kin
Still won the girlonds from the

A Falcon differing from the Falcon-gentle.

Peregrin.
Not Cerna Ile in Affricks siluer maine,
Nor lustfull-bloody-Tereus Thracian straine,
Nor any other Lording of the ayre
Durst with this Eirie for their wing compare.
About his sides a thousand Seaguls bred,
The Meuy and the Halcyon famosed
For colours rare, and for the peacefull Seas
Round the Sicilian coast, her brooding dayes.
Puffins (as thicke as Starlings in a Fen)
Were fetcht from thence: there sate the Pewet hen,
And in the clefts the Martin built his nest.
But those by this curst caitife dispossest
Of roost and nest, the least; of life, the most:
All left that place, and sought a safer coast.
In stead of them the Caterpiller hants,
And Cancre-worme among the tender plants,
That here and there in nooks and corners grew;
Of Cormorants and Locusts not a few;
The cramming Rauen, and a hundred more
Deuouring creatures; yet when from the shore
Limos came wading (as he easily might
Except at high tydes) all would take their flight,
Or hide themselues in some deepe hole or other,
Lest one deuourer should deuoure another.
Neere to the shore that bord'red on the Rocke
No merry Swaine was seene to feed his Flocke,
No lusty Neat-heard thither droue his Kine,
Nor boorish Hog-heard fed his rooting Swine:
A stony ground it was, sweet Herbage fail'd:
Nought there but weeds, which Limos, strongly nail'd,
Tore from their mothers brest, to stuffe his maw.
No Crab-tree bore his load, nor Thorne his paw.
As in a Forest well compleat with Deere
We see the Hollies, Ashes, euery where
Rob'd of their cloathing by the browsing Game:
So neere the Rocke, all trees where e're you came,
To cold Decembers wrath stood void of barke.
Here danc'd no Nymph, no early-rising Larke
Sung vp the Plow-man and his drowsie mate:
All round the Rocke['s] barren and desolate.

The description of the Caue of Famine.

In midst of that huge pile was Limos Caue
Full large and round, wherein a Millers knaue
Might for his Horse and Querne haue roome at will:
Where was out-drawne by some inforced skill,
What mighty conquests were atchieu'd by him.
First stood the siege of great Ierusalem,
Within whose triple wall and sacred Citie
(Weepe ye stone-hearted men! oh read and pittie!
'Tis Sions cause inuokes your briny teares:
Can any dry eye be when she appeares
As I must sing her? oh, if such there be;
Flie, flie th' abode of men! and hasten thee
Into the Desart, some high Mountaine vnder,
Or at thee boyes will hisse, and old men wonder.)
Here sits a mother weeping, pale and wan,
With fixed eyes, whose hopelesse thoughts seem'd ran
How (since for many daies no food she tasted,
Her Meale, her Oyle consum'd, all spent, all wasted)
For one poore day she might attaine supply,
And desp'rate of ought else, sit, pine, and dye.
At last her minde meets with her tender childe
That in the cradle lay (of Oziers wilde)
Which taken in her armes, she giues the teat,
From whence the little wretch with labour great
Not one poore drop can sucke: whereat she wood,
Cries out, ô heauen! are all the founts of food
Exhausted quite? and must my Infant yong
Be fed with shooes? yet wanting those ere long,
Feed on it selfe? No: first the roome that gaue
Him soule and life, shall be his timelesse graue:
My dugs, thy best reliefe, through griping hunger
Flow now no more, my babe; Then since no longer
By me thou canst be fed, nor any other,
Be thou the Nurse, and feed thy dying Mother.
Then in another place she straight appeares,
Seething her suckling in her scalding teares.
From whence not farre the Painter made her stand
Tearing his sod flesh with her cruell hand,
In gobbets which she ate. O cursed wombe,
That to thy selfe art both the graue and tombe.
A little sweet lad (there) seemes to intreat
(With held vp hands) his famisht Sire for meat,
Who wanting ought to giue his hoped ioy
But throbs and sighes; the ouer-hungry boy,
For some poore bit, in darke nooks making quest,
His Sachell finds, which growes a gladsome feast
To him and both his Parents. Then, next day
He chewes the points wherewith he vs'd to play:
Deuouring last his Books of euery kinde,
They fed his body which should feede his minde:
But when his Sachell, Points, Books all were gone,
Before his Sire he droopes, and dies anon.
In height of Art then had the Work-man done,
A pious, zealous, most religious sonne,
Who on the enemy excursion made,
And spight of danger strongly did inuade
Their victuals conuoy, bringing from them home
Dri'd figs, Dates, Almonds, and such fruits as come
To the beleagring foe, and sate's the want
Therewith of those, who, from a tender plant
Bred him a man for armes: thus oft he went,
And Storke-like sought his Parents nourishment,
Till Fates decreed, he on the Roman Speares
Should giue his bloud for them, who gaue him theirs.
A Million of such throes did Famine bring
Vpon the Citie of the mighty King,
Till, as her people, all her buildings rare
Consum'd themselues and dim'd the lightsome ayre.
Neere this the curious Pencell did expresse
A large and solitary wildernesse,
Whose high well limmed Oakes in growing show'd
As they would ease strong Atlas of his load:
Here vnderneath a tree in heauy plight
(Her bread and pot of water wasted quite)
Ægyptian Hagar (nipt with hunger fell)
Sate rob'd of hope: her Infant Ishmael.
(Farre from her being laid) full sadly seem'd
To cry for meat, his cry she nought esteem'd,
But kept her still, and turn'd her face away,
Knowing all meanes were bootlesse to assay
In such a Desert: and since now they must
Sleepe their eternall sleepe, and cleaue to dust,
She chose (apart) to graspe one death alone,
Rather then by her babe a million.
Then Eresichthons case in Ouids Song
Was portraied out; and many moe along
The insides of the Caue; which were descride
By many loope-holes round on euery side.
These faire Marina view'd, left all alone,
The Caue fast shut, Limos for pillage gone;
Neere the wash'd shore mong roots and breers, and thorns,
A Bullocke findes, who deluing with his hornes
The hurtlesse earth (the while his tough hoofe tore
The yeelding turffe) in furious rage he bore
His head among the boughs that held it round,
While with his bellowes all the shores resound:
Him Limos kil'd, and hal'd with no small paine
Vnto the Rocke; fed well; then goes againe:
Which seru'd Marina fit, for had his food
Fail'd him, her veines had fail'd their deerest blood.
Now great Hyperion left his golden throne
That on the dancing waues in glory shone,
For whose declining on the Westerne shore
The orientall hils blacke mantles wore,
And thence apace the gentle Twi-light fled,
That had from hideous cauernes vshered
All-drowsie Night; who in a Carre of Iet,
By Steeds of Iron-gray (which mainly swet
Moist drops on all the world) drawne through the skie,
The helps of darknesse waited orderly.
First, thicke clouds rose from all the liquid plaines:
Then mists from Marishes, and grounds whose veines
Were Conduit-pipes to many a crystall spring:
From standing Pooles and Fens were following
Vnhealthy fogs: each Riuer, euery Rill
Sent vp their vapours to attend her will.
These, pitchie curtains drew, 'twixt earth & heauen.
And as Nights Chariot through the ayre was driuen,
Clamour grew dumb, vnheard was Shepheards song,
And silence girt the Woods; no warbling tongue
Talk'd to the Eccho; Satyres broke their dance,
And all the vpper world lay in a trance.
Onely the curled streames soft chidings kept;
And little gales that from the greene leafe swept
Dry Summers dust, in fearefull whisp'rings stir'd,
As loth to waken any singing Bird.
Darknesse no lesse then blinde Cimmerian
Of Famines Caue the full possession wan,
Where lay the Shepherdesse inwrapt with night,
(The wished garment of a mournfull wight)
Here silken slumbers and refreshing sleepe
Were seldome found; with quiet mindes those keepe,
Not with disturbed thoughts; the beds of Kings
Are neuer prest by them, sweet rest inrings
The tyred body of the swarty Clowne,
And oftner lies on flocks then softest downe.
Twice had the Cocke crowne, and in Cities strong
The Bel-mans dolefull noyse and carefull song,
Told men, whose watchfull eyes no slumber hent,
What store of houres theft-guilty night had spent.
Yet had not Morpheus with this Maiden been,
As fearing Limos; (whose impetuous teen
Kept gentle rest from all to whom his Caue
Yeelded inclosure (deadly as the graue.)
But to all sad laments left her (forlorne)
In which three watches she had nie outworne.
Faire siluer-footed Thetis that time threw
Along the Ocean with a beautious crew
Of her attending Sea-nymphs (Ioues bright Lamps
Guiding from Rocks her Chariots

Sea-horses.

Hippocamps.)
A iourney, onely made, vnwares to spye
If any Mighties of her Empery
Opprest the least, and forc'd the weaker sort
To their designes, by being great in Court.
O! should all Potentates whose higher birth
Enroles their titles, other Gods on earth,
Should they make priuate search, in vaile of night,
For cruell wrongs done by each Fauorite;
Here should they finde a great one paling in
A meane mans land, which many yeeres had bin
His charges life, and by the others heast,
The poore must starue to feed a scuruy beast.
If any recompence drop from his fist,
His time's his owne, the mony, what he list.
There should they see another that commands
His Farmers Teame from furrowing his lands,
To bring him stones to raise his building vast,
The while his Tenants sowing time is past.
Another (spending) doth his rents inhance,
Or gets by tricks the poores inheritance.
But as a man whose age hath dim'd his eyes,
Vseth his Spectacles, and as he pryes
Through them all Characters seeme wondrous faire,
Yet when his glasses quite remoued are
(Though with all carefull heed he neerly looke)
Cannot perceiue one tittle in the Booke;
So if a King behold such fauourites
(Whose being great, was being Parasites)
With th' eyes of fauour, all their actions are
To him appearing plaine and regular:
But let him lay his sight of grace aside,
And see what men he hath so dignifide,
They all would vanish, and not dare appeare,
Who Atom-like, when their Sun shined cleare,
Danc'd in his beame; but now his rayes are gone,
Of many hundred we perceiue not one.
Or as a man who standing to descry
How great floods farre off run, and vallies lye,
Taketh a glasse prospectiue good and true,
By which things most remote are full in view:
If Monarchs, so, would take an Instrument
Of truth compos'd to spie their Subiects drent
In foule oppression by those high in seat
(Who care not to be good but to be great)
In full aspect the wrongs of each degree
Would lye before them; and they then would see,
The diuellish Politician all conuinces,
In murdring Statesmen and in poisning Princes;
The Prelate in pluralities asleepe,
Whilst that the Wolfe lies preying on his sheepe;
The drowsie Lawyer, and the false Atturnies
Tire poore mens purses with their life-long-iournies;
The Country Gentleman, from's neighbours hand
Forceth th' inheritance, ioynes land to land,
And (most insatiate) seekes vnder his rent
To bring the worlds most spacious continent;
The fawning Citizen (whose loue's bought dearest)
Deceiues his brother when the Sun shines clearest,
Gets, borrowes, breakes, lets in, and stops out light,
And liues a Knaue to leaue his sonne a Knight;
The griping Farmer hoords the seed of bread,
Whilst in the streets the poore lye famished:
And free there's none from all this worldly strife,
Except the Shepherds heauen-blest happy life.
But stay sweet Muse! forbeare this harsher straine,
Keepe with the Shepherds; leaue the Satyres veine,
Coupe not with Beares: let Icarus alone
To scorch himselfe within the torrid Zone:
Let Phaëton run on, Ixion fall,
And with an humble stiled Pastorall
Tread through the vallies, dance about the streames,
The lowly Dales will yeeld vs Anadems
To shade our temples, 'tis a worthy meed,
No better girlond seekes mine Oaten Reed;
Let others climbe the hils, and to their praise
(Whilst I sit girt with Flowers) be crown'd with Bayes.
Shew now faire Muse what afterward became
Of great Achilles Mother; She whose name
The Mermaids sing, and tell the weeping strand
A brauer Lady neuer tript on land,
Except the euer-liuing Fayerie Queene,
Whose vertues by her Swaine so written beene,
That time shall call her high enhanced story
In his rare song, The Muses chiefest glory.
So mainly Thetis droue her siluer throne,
Inlaid with pearles of price, and precious stone,
(For whose gay purchase, she did often make
The scorched Negro diue the briny Lake)
That by the swiftnesse of her Chariot wheels
(Scouring the Maine as well-built English Keels)
She, of the new-found World all coasts had seene,
The shores of Thessaly, where she was Queene,
Her brother Pontus waues, imbrac'd, with those
Mœotian fields and vales of Tenedos,
Streit Hellespont, whose high-brow'd cliffes yet sound
The mournfull name of young Leander drown'd,
Then with full speed her Horses doth she guide
Through the Ægæan Sea, that takes a pride
In making difference twixt the fruitfull lands
Europe and Asia almost ioyning hands,
But that she thrusts her billowes all afront
To stop their meeting through the Hellespont.
The Midland Sea so swiftly was she scouring,
The Adriaticke gulfe braue Ships deuouring.
To Padus siluer streame then glides she on
(Enfamoused by rekelesse Phaëton)

Plin. lib. cap. 16.

Padus that doth beyond his limits rise,
When the hot Dog-starre raines his maladies,
And robs the high and ayre-inuading Alpes
Of all their Winter-suits and snowie scalpes,
To drowne the leuel'd lands along his shore,
And make him swell with pride. By whom of yore
The sacred Heliconian Damsels sate
(To whom was mighty Pindus consecrate)
And did decree (neglecting other men)
Their height of Art should flow from Maro's pen.
And pratling Eccho's euermore should long
For repetition of sweet Naso's song.
It was inacted here, in after dayes
What wights should haue their temples crown'd with Bayes.
Learn'd Ariosto, holy Petrarchs quill,
And Tasso should ascend the Muses hill.
Diuinest Bartas, whose enriched soule
Proclaim'd his Makers worth, should so enroule
His happy name in brasse, that Time nor Fate
That swallows all, should euer ruinate.
Delightfull Salust, whose all blessed layes
The Shepherds make their Hymnes on Holy-daies;
And truly say thou in one weeke hast pend
What time may euer study, ne're amend.
Marot and Ronsard, Garnier's buskind Muse
Should spirit of life in very stones infuse.
And many another Swan whose powerfull straine
Should raise the Golden World to life againe.
But let vs leaue (faire Muse) the bankes of Po,
Thetis forsooke his braue streame long agoe,
And we must after. See in haste she sweepes
Along the Celticke shores, th' Armorick deepes
She now is entring: beare vp then a head,
And by that time she hath discouered
Our Alablaster rocks, we may descry
And ken with her, the coasts of Britany.
There will she Anchor cast, to heare the Songs
Of English Shepherds, whose all-tunefull tongues
So pleas'd the Nayades, they did report
Their songs perfection in great Nereus Court:
Which Thetis hearing, did appoint a day
When she would meet them in the Brittish Sea,
And thither for each Swaine a Dolphin bring
To ride with her, whilst she would heare him sing.
The time prefixt was come; and now the Starre
Of blissefull light appear'd, when she her Carre
Staid in the narrow Seas. At Thames faire port
The Nymphes and Shepherds of the Isle resort.
And thence did put to Sea with mirthfull rounds,
Whereat the billowes dance aboue their bounds,
And bearded Goats, that on the clouded head
Of any sea-suruaying Mountaine fed,
Leauing to crop the Iuy, listning stood
At those sweet ayres which did intrance the flood
In iocund sort the Goddesse thus they met.
And after reu'rence done, all being set
Vpon their finny Coursers, round her throne,
And she prepar'd to cut the watry Zone
Ingirting Albion; all their pipes were still,
And Colin Clout began to tune his quill
With such deepe Art, that euery one was giuen
To thinke Apollo (newly slid from heau'n)
Had tane a humane shape to win his loue,
Or with the Westerne Swaines for glory stroue.
He sung th' heroicke Knights of Faiery land
In lines so elegant, of such command,
That had the

Orpheus.

Thracian plaid but halfe so well,
He had not left Eurydice in hell.
But e're he ended his melodious song
An host of Angels flew the clouds among,
And rapt this Swan from his attentiue mates,
To make him one of their associates
In heauens faire Quire: where now he sings the praise
Of him that is the first and last of dayes.
Diuinest Spencer heau'n-bred, happy Muse!
Would any power into my braine infuse
Thy worth, or all that Poets had before,
I could not praise till thou deseru'st no more.
A dampe of wonder and amazement strooke
Thetis attendants, many a heauy looke
Follow'd sweet Spencer, till the thickning ayre
Sights further passage stop'd. A passionate teare
Fell from each Nymph, no Shepherds cheeke was dry,
A dolefull Dirge, and mournfull Elegie
Flew to the shore. When mighty Nereus Queene
(In memory of what was heard and seene)
Imploy'd a Factor (fitted well with store
Of richest Iemmes, refined Indian Ore)
To raise, in honour of his worthy name,
A Piramis, whose head (like winged Fame)
Should pierce the clouds, yea seeme the stars to kisse,
And Mausolus great tombe might shrowd in his.
Her will had beene performance, had not Fate
(That neuer knew how to commiserate)
Suborn'd curs'd Auarice to lye in waight
For that rich prey: (Gold is a taking bait)
Who closely lurking like a subtile Snake
Vnder the couert of a thorny brake,
Seiz'd on the Factor by faire Thetis sent,
And rob'd our Colin of his Monument.
Yee English Shepherds, sonnes of Memory,
For Satyres change your pleasing melody,
Scourge, raile and curse that sacrilegious hand,
That more then Fiend of hell, that Stygian brand,
All-guilty Auarice: that worst of euill,
That gulfe-deuouring, off-spring of a Deuill:
Heape curse on curse so direfull and so fell,
Their weight may presse his damned soule to hell.
Is there a spirit so gentle can refraine
To torture such? O let a Satyres veine
Mix with that man! to lash this hellish lym,
Or all our curses will descend on him.
For mine owne part, although I now commerce
With lowly Shepherds, in as low a Verse;
If of my dayes I shall not see an end
Till more yeeres presse me; some few houres Ile spend
In rough-hewn Satyres, and my busied pen
Shall ierke to death this infamy of men.
And like a Fury, glowing coulters beare,
With which? But see how yonder fondlings teare
Their fleeces in the brakes; I must goe free
Them of their bonds; Rest you here merrily
Till my returne: when I will touch a string
Shall make the Riuers dance, and Vallies ring.

The Second Song.

The Argvment.

What Shepheards on the Sea were seene
To entertaine the Oceans Queene,
Remond in search of Fida gone,
And for his loue yong Doridon,
Their meeting with a wofull Swaine,
Mute, and not able to complaine
His metamorphos'd Mistresse wrong;
Is all the subiect of this Song.
The Mvses friend (gray-eyde Aurora) yet
Held all the Meadowes in a cooling sweat,
The milke-white Gossamores not vpwards snow'd,
Nor was the sharpe and vsefull steering goad
Laid on the strong-neckt Oxe; no gentle bud
The Sun had dride; the cattle chew'd the cud
Low leuel'd on the grasse; no Flyes quicke sting
Inforc'd the Stonehorse in a furious ring
To teare the passiue earth, nor lash his taile
About his buttockes broad; the slimy Snaile
Might on the wainscot (by his many mazes
Winding Meanders and selfe-knitting traces)
Be follow'd, where he stucke, his glittering slime
Not yet wip't off. It was so early time,
The carefull Smith had in his sooty forge
Kindled no coale; nor did his hammers vrge
His neighbours patience: Owles abroad did flye,
And day as then might plead his infancy.
Yet of faire Albion all the westerne Swaines
Were long since vp, attending on the Plaines
When Nereus daughter with her mirthfull hoast
Should summon them, on their declining coast.
But since her stay was long: for feare the Sun
Should finde them idle, some of them begun
To leape and wrastle, others threw the barre;
Some from the company remoued are,
To meditate the songs they meant to play,
Or make a new Round for next Holiday:
Some tales of loue their loue-sicke fellowes told:
Others were seeking stakes to pitch their fold.
This, all alone was mending of his Pipe:
That, for his lasse sought fruits most sweet most ripe.
Here (from the rest) a louely shepherds boy
Sits piping on a hill, as if his ioy
Would still endure, or else that ages frost
Should neuer make him thinke what he had lost.
Yonder a shepherdesse knits by the springs,
Her hands still keeping time to what she sings:
Or seeming, by her song, those fairest hands
Were comforted in working. Neere the sands
Of some sweet Riuer sits a musing lad,
That moanes the losse of what he sometime had,
His Loue by death bereft: when fast by him
An aged Swaine takes place, as neere the brim
Of's graue as of the Riuer; shewing how
That as those floods, which passe along right now
Are follow'd still by others from their spring,
And in the Sea haue all their burying:
Right so our times are knowne, our ages found,
(Nothing is permanent within this Round:)
One age is now, another that succeeds,
Extirping all things which the former breeds:
Another followes that, doth new times raise,
New yeers, new months, new weeks, new houres, new daies,
Mankinde thus goes like Riuers from their spring,
And in the Earth haue all their burying.
Thus sate the old man counselling the young;
Whilst, vnderneath a tree which ouer-hung
The siluer streame (as some delight it tooke
To trim his thicke boughes in the Crystall Brooke)
Were set a iocund crew of youthfull Swaines,
Wooing their sweetings with delicious straines.
Sportiue Oreades the hils descended,
The Hamadryades their hunting ended,
And in the high woods left the long-liu'd Harts
To feed in peace, free from their winged Darts;
Floods, Mountains, Vallies, Woods, each vacant lies
Of Nimphs that by them danc'd their Haydigyes:
For all those Powers were ready to embrace
The present meanes, to giue our Shepherds grace.
And vnderneath this tree (till Thetis came)
Many resorted; where a Swaine, of name
Lesse, then of worth: (and we doe neuer owne
Nor apprehend him best, that most is knowne.)
Fame is vncertaine, who so swiftly flyes
By th' vnregarded shed where Vertue lies:
Shee (ill inform'd of Vertues worth) pursu'th
(In haste) Opinion for the simple Truth.
True Fame is euer likened to our shade,
He soonest misseth her, that most hath made
To ouer-take her; who so takes his wing,
Regardlesse of her, shee'll be following:
Her true proprietie she thus discouers,
“Loues her contemners, and contemnes her louers.
Th' applause of common people neuer yet
Pursu'd this Swaine; he knew't the counterfeit
Of setled praise, and therefore at his songs,
Though all the Shepherds and the gracefull throngs
Of Semigods compar'd him with the best
That euer touch'd a Reed, or was addrest
In shepherds coat, he neuer would approue
Their Attributes, giuen in sincerest loue;
Except he truly knew them as his merit.
Fame giues a second life to such a spirit.
This Swaine, intreated by the mirthfull rout,
That with intwined armes lay round about
The tree 'gainst which he lean'd. (So haue I seene
Tom Piper stand vpon our village greene,
Backt with the May-pole, whilst a iocund crew
In gentle motion circularly threw
Themselues about him.) To his fairest Ring
Thus 'gan in numbers well according sing:
Looke as a Traueller in Summers day
Nye choakt with dust, and molt with Titans ray,
Longs for a spring to coole his inward heat,
And to that end, with vowes, doth heauen intreat,
When going further, finds an Apple-tree,
(Standing as did old Hospitalitie,
With ready armes to succour any needs:)
Hence plucks an Apple, tastes it, and it breeds
So great a liking in him for his thirst,
That vp he climbs, and gathers to the first
A second, third; nay, will not cease to pull
Till he haue got his cap and pockets full.
“Things long desir'd so well esteemed are,
“That when they come we hold them better farre.
“There is no meane 'twixt what we loue and want,
“Desire, in men, is so predominant.
No lesse did all this quaint assembly long
Then doth the Traueller: this Shepherds Song
Had so ensnar'd each acceptable eare,
That but a second, nought could bring them cleare
From an affected snare; had Orpheus beene
Playing, some distance from them, he had seene
Not one to stirre a foot for his rare straine,
But left the Thracian for the English Swaine.
Or had suspicious Iuno (when her Ioue
Into a Cowe transform'd his fairest

Io.

Loue)
Great Inachus sweet Stem in durance giuen
To this young Lad; the

Mercury.

Messenger of heauen
(Faire Maia's off-spring) with the depth of Art
That euer Ioue to Hermes might impart,
In fingring of a Reed, had neuer won
Poore Iö's freedome. And though Arctors son
(Hundred-ey'd Argus) might be lull'd by him,
And loose his pris'ner: yet in euery lym
That God of wit had felt this Shepherds skill,
And by his charmes brought from the Muses hill
Inforc'd to sleepe; then, rob'd of Pipe and Rod,
And vanquish'd so, turne Swaine, this Swaine a God.
Yet to this Lad not wanted Enuies sting,
(“He's not worth ought, that's not worth enuying)
Since many at his praise were seene to grutch.
For as a Miller in his boulting hutch
Driues out the pure meale neerly (as he can)
And in his sister leaues the courser bran:
So doth the canker of a Poets name
Let slip such lines as might inherit Fame,
And from a Volume culs some small amisse,
To fire such dogged spleenes as mate with his.
Yet, as a man that (by his Art) would bring
The ceaslesse current of a Crystall Spring
To ouer-looke the lowly flowing head,
Sinkes by degrees his soder'd Pipes of Lead,
Beneath the Fount, whereby the water goes
High, as a Well that on a mountaine flowes:
So when Detraction and a Cynnicks tongue
Haue sunke Desert vnto the depth of wrong,
By that, the eye of skill, True Worth shall see
To braue the Stars, though low his passage be.
But, here I much digresse, yet pardon, Swaines:
For as a Maiden gath'ring on the Plaines
A sentfull Nosegay (to set neere her pap,
Or as a fauour for her Shepherds cap)
Is seene farre off to stray, if she haue spide
A Flower that might increase her Posies pride:
So if to wander I am sometimes prest,
'Tis for a straine that might adorne the rest.
Requests, that with deniall could not meet,
Flew to our Shepherd, and the voices sweet
Of fairest Nymphes, intreating him to say
What wight he lou'd; he thus began his lay:

Eous, Pyroeis, Aethon, and Phlegon, were fained to be the horses of the Sunne.

Eous and his fellowes in the teame,
(Who, since their watring in the Westerne streame,
Had run a furious iourney to appease
The night-sicke eyes of our Antipodes.)
Now (sweating) were in our Horizon seene
To drinke the cold dew from each flowry greene:
When Tritons Trumpet (with a shrill command)
Told siluer-footed Thetis was at hand.
As I haue seene when on the brest of Thames
A heauenly beauty of sweet English Dames,
In some calme Eu'ning of delightfull May,
With Musicke giue a farewell to the day,
Or as they would (with an admired tone)
Greet Nights ascension to her Eben Throne,
Rapt with their melodie, a thousand more
Run to be wafted from the bounding shore:
So ran the Shepherds, and with hasty feet
Stroue which should first increase that happy fleet.
The true

Dolphins.

presagers of a comming storme,
Teaching their fins to steere them to the forme
Of Thetis will, like Boats at Anchor stood,
As ready to conuay the Muses brood
Into the brackish Lake, that seem'd to swell,
As proud so rich a burden on it fell.
Ere their ariuall Astrophel had done
His shepherds lay, yet equaliz'd of none.
Th' admired mirrour, glory of our Isle,
Thou far-far-more then mortall man, whose stile
Strucke more men dumbe to hearken to thy song,
Then Orpheus Harpe, or Tuilies golden tongue.
To him (as right) for wits deepe quintessence,
For honour, valour, vertue, excellence,
Be all the Garlands, crowne his toombe with Bay,
Who spake as much as ere our tongue can say.
Happy Arcadia! while such louely straines
Sung of thy Vallies, Riuers, Hils and Plaines;
Yet most vnhappy other ioyes among,
That neuer heard'st his Musicke nor his Song.
Deafe men are happy so, whose Vertues praise
(Vnheard of them) are sung in tunefull layes.
And pardon me ye Sisters of the Mountaine,
Who waile his losse from the Pegasian Fountaine,
If (like a man for portraiture vnable)
I set my Pencill to Apelles table;
Or dare to draw his Curtaine, with a will
To show his true worth, when the Artists skill
Within that Curtaine fully doth expresse
His owne Arts-Mastry my vnablenesse.
He sweetly touched, what I harshly hit,
Yet thus I glory in what I haue writ;
Sidney began (and if a wit so meane
May taste with him the dewes of Hippocrene)
I sung the Past'rall next; his Muse, my mouer:
And on the Plaines full many a pensiue louer
Shall sing vs to their loues, and praising be
My humble lines: the more, for praising thee.
Thus we shall liue with them, by Rocks, by Springs,
As well as Homer by the death of Kings.
Then in a straine beyond an Oaten Quill
The learned

M. Chapman

Shepherd of faire Hitching hill
Sung the heroicke deeds of Greece and Troy,
In lines so worthy life, that I imploy
My Reed in vaine to ouertake his fame.
All praiseful tongues doe wait vpon that name.
Our second Ouid, the most pleasing Muse
That heau'n did e're in mortals braine infuse,
All-loued Draiton, in soule-raping straines,
A genuine noat, of all the Nimphish traines
Began to tune; on it all eares were hung
As sometime Dido's on Æneas tongue.
Iohnson whose full of merit to reherse
Too copious is to be confinde in verse;
Yet therein onely fittest to be knowne,
Could any write a line which he might owne.
One, so iudicious; so well knowing; and
A man whose least worth is to vnderstand;
One so exact in all he doth preferre
To able censure; for the Theater
Not Seneca transcends his worth of praise;
Who writes him well shall well deserue the Bayes.
Well-languag'd Danyel: Brooke, whose polisht lines
Are fittest to accomplish high designes,
Whose pen (it seemes) still young Apollo guides;
Worthy the forked Hill, for euer glides
Streames from thy braine, so faire, that time shall see
Thee honour'd by thy Verse, and it by thee.
And when thy Temples well-deseruing Bayes,
Might impe a pride in thee to reach thy praise,
As in a Crystall glasse, fill'd to the ring
With the cleare water of as cleare a spring,
A steady hand may very safely drop
Some quantity of gold, yet o're the top
Not force the liquor run: although before
The Glasse (of water) could containe no more:
Yet so, all-worthy Brooke, though all men sound
With plummets of iust praise thy skill profound,
Thou in thy verse those attributes canst take,
And not apparent ostentation make,
That any second can thy vertues raise,
Striuing as much to hide as merit praise.
Davies and Wither, by whose Muses power
A naturall day to me seemes but an houre,
And could I euer heare their learned layes,
Ages would turne to artificiall dayes.
These sweetly chanted to the Queene of Waues,
She prais'd, and what she prais'd, no tongue depraues.
Then base contempt (vnworthy our report)
Fly from the Muses and their faire resort,
And exercise thy spleene on men like thee:
Such are more fit to be contemn'd then wee.
'Tis not the rancour of a cankred heart
That can debase the excellence of Art;
Nor great in titles make our worth obey,
Since we haue lines farre more esteem'd then they.
For there is hidden in a Poets name
A Spell that can command the wings of Fame,
And maugre all Obliuions hated birth,
Begin their immortalitie on earth;
When he that gainst a Muse with hate combines,
May raise his Tombe in vaine to reach our lines.
Thus Thetis rides along the narrow seas
Encompast round with lovely Naides,
With gaudy Nymphs, and many a skilfull Swaine,
Whose equals earth cannot produce againe,
But leaue the times and men that shall succeed them
Enough to praise that age which so did breed them.
Two of the quaintest Swaines that yet haue beene,
Fail'd their attendance on the Oceans Queene:
Remond and Doridon, whose haplesse Fates
Late seuer'd them from their more happy mates.
For (gentle Swaines) if you remember well,
When last I sung on brim of yonder dell,
And as I ghesse it was that sunny morne,
When in the groue thereby my sheepe were shorne,
I weene I told you, while the Shepherds yong
Were at their Past'rall and their rurall Song,
The shrikes of some poore Maid, fallen in mischance,
Inuok't their aid, and drew them from their dance:
Each ran a seuerall way to helpe the Maid;
Some tow'rds the Vallie, some the green wood straid:
Here one the thicket beats, and there a Swaine
Enters the hidden Caues; but all in vaine.
Nor could they finde the wight whose shrikes and cry
Flew through the gentle ayre so heauily,
Nor see or man or beast, whose cruell teene
Would wrong a Maiden or in graue or greene.
Backe then return'd they all to end their sport
But Doridon and Remond, who resort
Backe to those places which they erst had sought,
Nor could a thicket be by Nature wrought
In such a web, so intricate, and knit
So strong with Bryers, but they would enter it.
Remond his Fida cals; Fida the woods
Resound againe, and Fida speake the floods,
As if the Riuers and the Hils did frame
Themselues no small delight, to heare her name.
Yet she appeares not. Doridon would now
Haue call'd his Loue too, but he knew not how:
Much like a man who, dreaming in his sleepe
That he is falling from some Mountaine steepe
Into a soundlesse Lake, about whose brim
A thousand Crocodiles doe wait for him,
And hangs but by one bough, and should that breake
His life goes with it, yet to cry or speake,
Though faine he would, can moue nor voyce nor tongue:
So when he Remond heard the woods among
Call for his Fida, he would gladly too
Haue call'd his fairest Loue, but knew not who,
Or what to call; poore Lad, that canst not tell,
Nor speake the name of her thou lou'st so well.
Remond by hap neere to the Arbour found,
Where late the Hynd was slaine, the hurtlesse ground
Besmear'd with blood; to Doridon he cride,
And tearing then his haire, ô haplesse tide
(Quoth he), behold! some cursed hand hath tane
From Fida this; ô what infernall bane,
Or more then hellish fiend inforced this!
Pure as the streame of aged Symois,
And as the spotlesse Lilly was her soule!
Yee sacred Powers that round about the Pole
Turne in your Spheares! ô could you see this deed,
And keep your motion? If the eldest seed
Of chained Saturne hath so often beene
In Hunters and in Shepherds habit seene
To trace our Woods, and on our fertile Plaines
Wooe Shepherds Daughters with melodious strains,
Where was he now, or any other Powre?
So many seu'rall Lambes haue I each howre
And crooked horned Rams brought to your Shrines,
And with Perfumes clouded the Sun that shines,
Yet now forsaken? to an vncouth state
Must all things run, if such will be ingrate.
Cease Remond (quoth the Boy) no more complaine,
Thy fairest Fida liues; nor doe thou staine
With vile reproaches any power aboue,
They all as much as thee haue beene in loue:
Saturne his Rhea; Jupiter had store,
As Iö, Leda, Eurŏpa, and more;
Mars entred Vulcans bed; pertooke his ioy:
Phœbus had Daphne, and the

Hyacinth.

sweet-fac'd Boy;
Venus, Adonis; and the God of Wit
In chastest bonds was to the Muses knit,
And yet remaines so, nor can any seuer
His loue, but brother-like affects them euer;
Pale-changefull Cinthia her Endimion had,
And oft on Latmus sported with that Lad:
If these were subiect (as all mortall men)
Vnto the golden shafts, they could not then
But by their owne affections rightly ghesse
Her death would draw on thine; thy wretchednesse
Charge them respectlesse; since no Swaine then thee
Hath offred more vnto each Deitie.
But feare not, Remond, for those sacred Powres
Tread on obliuion; no desert of ours
Can be intoomb'd in their celestiall brests;
They weigh our offrings, and our solemne feasts,
And they forget thee not: Fida (thy deere)
Treads on the earth, the blood that's sprinkled here
Ne're fill'd her veynes, the Hynd possest this gore,
See where the Coller lyes she whilome wore;
Some Dog hath slaine her, or the griping Carle
That spoiles our Plaines in digging them for Marle.
Looke, as two little Brothers who, addrest
To searche the hedges for a Thrushes nest,
And haue no sooner got the leauy Spring,
When mad in lust with fearefull bellowing
A strong-neckt Bull pursues throughout the field,
One climbes a tree, and takes that for his shield,
Whence looking from one pasture to another,
What might betide to his much-loued Brother,
Further then can his ouer-drowned eyes
Aright perceiue, the furious beast he spies
Tosse something on his hornes, he knowes not what,
But one thing feares, and therefore thinkes it that;
When comming nigher he doth well discerne
It of the wondrous-one-night-seeding Ferne
Some bundle was: yet thence he home-ward goes
Pensiue and sad, nor can abridge the throes
His feare began, but still his minde doth moue
Vnto the worst: Mistrust goes still with Loue.
So far'd it with our Shepherd: though he saw
Not ought of Fida's rayment, which might draw
A more suspicion; though the Coller lay
There on the grasse, yet goes he thence away
Full of mistrust, and vowes to leaue that Plaine,
Till he embrace his chastest Loue againe.
Loue-wounded Doridon intreats him then
That he might be his partner, since no men
Had cases liker; he with him would goe,
Weepe when he wept, and sigh when he did so:
I (quoth the Boy) will sing thee songs of loue,
And as we sit in some all-shady groue,
Where Philomela and such sweetned throats
Are for the mastry tuning various notes,
I'le striue with them, and tune so sad a Verse,
That whilst to thee my fortunes I rehearse,
No Bird but shall be mute, her note decline,
And cease her woe, to lend an eare to mine.
I'le tell thee tales of loue, and shew thee how
The Gods haue wandred as we Shepherds now,
And when thou plain'st thy Fida's losse, will I
Eccho the same, and with mine owne supply
Know, Remond, I doe loue, but, well-a-day!
I know not whom; but as the gladsome May
Shee's faire and louely, as a Goddesse she
(If such as hers a Goddesse beauty be)
First stood before me, and inquiring was
How to the Marish she might soonest passe,
When rusht a Villaine in, hell be his lot,
And drew her thence, since when I saw her not,
Nor know I where to search; but if thou please
'Tis not a Forrest, Mountaine, Rockes, or Seas
Can in thy iourney stop my going on.
Fate so may smile on haplesse Doridon,
That he reblest may be with her faire sight,
Though thence his eyes possesse eternall night.
Remond agreed, and many weary dayes
They now had spent in vnfrequented wayes:
About the Riuers, Vallies, Holts and Crags,
Among the Ozyers and the wauing Flags
They neerly pry, if any dens there be,
Where from the Sun might harbour crueltie:
Or if they could the bones of any spy,
Or torne by beasts, or humane tyranny.
They close inquiry make in cauernes blinde,
Yet what they looke for would be death to finde.
Right as a curious man that would descrie
(Lead by the trembling hand of Iealousie),
If his faire wife haue wrong'd his bed or no,
Meeteth his torment if he finde her so.
One Eu'n, e're Phœbus (neere the golden shore
Of Tagus streame) his iourney gan giue o're;
They had ascended vp a woody hill,
(Where oft the Fauni with their Bugles shrill
Wakened the Eccho, and with many a shout
Follow'd the fearefull Deere the woods about,
Or through the Brakes that hide the craggy rockes,
Digd to the hole where lyes the wily Fox.)
Thence they beheld an vnder-lying Vale,
Where Flora set her rarest flowres at sale,
Whither the thriuing Bee came oft to sucke them,
And fairest Nymphes to decke their haire did plucke them.
Where oft the Goddesses did run at base,
And on white Harts begun the Wilde-goose-chase:
Here various Nature seem'd adorning this,
In imitation of the fields of blisse;
Or as she would intice the soules of men
To leaue Elizium, and liue here agen.
Not Hybla mountaine in the iocund prime
Vpon her many bushes of sweet Thyme
Shewes greater number of industrious Bees,
Then were the Birds that sung there on the trees.
Like the trim windings of a wanton Lake,
That doth his passage through a Meadow make,
Ran the delightfull Vally 'tweene two Hils:
From whose rare trees the precious Balme distils,
And hence Apollo had his simples good
That cur'd the Gods, hurt by the Earths ill brood.
A Crystall Riuer on her bosome slid,
And (passing) seem'd in sullen muttrings chid
The artlesse Songsters, that their Musicke still
Should charme the sweet Dale and the wistfull Hill:
Not suffering her shrill waters, as they run
Tun'd with a whistling gale in Vnison
To tell as high they priz'd the brodred Vale
As the quicke Lennet or sweet Nightingale.
Downe from a steepe Rocke came the water first,
(Where lusty Satyres often quench'd their thirst)
And with no little speed seem'd all in haste,
Till it the louely bottome had embrac'd:
Then as intranc'd to heare the sweet Birds sing,
In curled whirlpooles she her course doth bring,
As loth to leaue the songs that lull'd the Dale,
Or waiting time, when she and some soft gale
Should speake what true delight they did possesse
Among the rare flowres which the Vally dresse.
But since those quaint Musitians would not stay,
Nor suffer any to be heard but they:
Much like a little Lad who gotten new
To play his part amongst a skilfull crew
Of choise Musitians on some softer string
That is not heard, the others fingering
Drowning his Art, the Boy would gladly get
Applause with others that are of his Set,
And therefore strikes a stroke loud as the best,
And often descants when his fellowes rest;
That to be heard (as vsuall singers doe)
Spoiles his owne Musicke and his partners too:
So at the further end the waters fell
From off an high bancke downe a lowly Dell,
As they had vow'd, ere passing from that ground,
The Birds should be inforc'd to heare their sound.
No small delight the Shepherds tooke to see
A

Vally.

coombe so dight in Flora's liuery,
Where faire Feronia

According to that of Silius lib. 13. Punicor.—Itur in agros Diues vbi ante omnes colitur Feronia luco.

honour'd in the Woods,
And all the Deities that haunt the floods,
With powrefull Nature stroue to frame a plot,
Whose like the sweet Arcadia yeelded not.
Downe through the arched wood the Shepherds wend,
And seeke all places that might helpe their end,
When comming neere the bottome of the hill,
A deepe fetch'd sigh (which seem'd of power to kill
The brest that held it) pierc'd the listning wood,
Whereat the carefull Swaines no longer stood
Where they were looking on a tree, whose rinde
A Loue-knot held, which two ioyn'd hearts intwinde;
But searching round, vpon an aged root
Thicke linde with mosse which (though to little boot)
Seem'd as a shelter it had lending beene
Against cold Winters stormes and wreakfull teene:
Or clad the stocke in Summer with that hue
His withered branches not a long time knew:
For in his hollow truncke and perish'd graine
The Cuckow now had many a Winter laine,
And thriuing Pismires laid their egges in store:
The Dormouse slept there, and a many more.
Here sate the Lad, of whom I thinke of old
Virgils prophetique spirit had foretold,
Who whilst Dame Nature for her cunnings sake
A male or female doubted which to make,
And to adorne him more than all assaid
This pritty youth was almost made a Maid.
Sadly he sate, and (as would griefe) alone,
As if the Boy and Tree had beene but one,
Whilst downe neere boughs did drops of Amber creepe,
As if his sorrow made the trees to weepe.
If euer this were true in Ouids Verse
That teares haue powre an Adamant to pierce,
Or moue things void of sense, 'twas here approu'd:
Things, vegetatiue once, his teares haue mou'd.
Surely the stones might well be drawne in pitty
To burst that he should mone, as for a Ditty
To come and range themselues in order all,
And of their owne accord raise Thebes a wall.
Or else his teares (as did the others song)
Might haue th' attractiue power to moue the throng
Of all the Forrests Citizens and Woods,
With eu'ry Denizon of Ayre and Floods,
To sit by him and grieue: to leaue their iarres,
Their strifes, dissentions, and all ciuill warres;
And though else disagreeing, in this one
Mourning for him should make an Vnion.
For whom the heauens would weare a sable sute,
If men, beasts, fishes, birds, trees, stones were mute.
His eyes were fixed (rather fixed Starres)
With whom it seem'd his teares had beene in warres,
The diff'rence this (a hard thing to descry)
Whether the drops were clearest, or his eye.
Teares fearing conquest to the eye might fall,
An inundation brought and drowned all.
Yet like true Vertue from the top of State
(Whose hopes vile Enuie hath seene ruinate),
Being lowly cast, her goodnesse doth appeare
(Vncloath'd of greatnesse) more apparant cleere:
So though deiected, yet remain'd a feature,
Made sorrow sweet plac'd in so sweet a creature.
“The test of misery the truest is,
“In that none hath but what is surely his.
His armes a crosse, his sheepe-hooke lay beside him:
Had Venus pass'd this way, and chanc'd t'haue spide him,
With open brest, locks on his shoulders spred,
She would haue sworne (had she not seene him dead)
It was Adonis; or if e're there was
Held transmigration by Pithagoras
Of soules, that certaine then, her lost-loues spirit
A fairer body neuer could inherit.
His Pipe which often wont vpon the Plaine
To sound the Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian straine,
Lay from his Hooke and Bagge cleane cast apart,
And almost broken like his Masters heart.
Yet till the two kinde Shepherds neere him stept,
I finde he nothing spake but that he wept.
Cease gentle Lad (quoth Remond), let no teare
Cloud those sweet beauties in thy face appeare;
Why dost thou call on that which comes alone,
And will not leaue thee till thy selfe art gone?
Thou maist haue griefe, when other things are reft thee:
All else may slide away, this still is left thee;
And when thou wantest other company,
Sorrow will euer be embracing thee.
But fairest Swaine what cause hast thou of woe?
Thou hast a well-fleec'd flocke feed to and fro
(His sheepe along the Vally that time fed
Not farre from him, although vnfollowed).
What, doe thy Ewes abortiues bring? or Lambs
For want of milke seeke to their fellowes Dams?
No gryping Land-lord hath inclos'd thy walkes,
Nor toyling Plowman furrow'd them in balkes.
Ver hath adorn'd thy Pastures all in greene
With Clouer-grasse as fresh as may be seene:
Cleare gliding Springs refresh thy Meadowes heat,
Meads promise to thy charge their winter-meat,
And yet thou grieu'st. O! had some Swains thy store,
Their Pipes should tell the Woods they ask'd no more.
Or haue the Parcæ with vnpartiall knife
Left some friends body tenantlesse of life,
And thou bemoan'st that Fate in his youths morne
Ore-cast with clouds his light but newly borne?
“Count not how many yeares he is bereau'd,
“But those which he possest and had receiu'd;
“If I may tread no longer on this stage,
“Though others thinke me young; it is mine age:
“For who so hath his Fates full period told,
“He full of yeeres departs, and dyeth old.
May be that Auarice thy minde hath crost,
And so thy sighes are for some trifle lost.
Why shouldst thou hold that deare the world throwes on thee?
“Thinke nothing good which may be taken from thee.
Look as some pondrous weight or massie pack,
Laid to be carried on a Porters back,
Doth make his strong ioynts cracke, and forceth him
(Maugre the helpe of euery nerue and lim)
To straggle in his gate, and goeth double,
Bending to earth, such is his burdens trouble:
So any one by Auarice ingirt,
And prest with wealth, lyes groueling in the dirt.
His wretched minde bends to no point but this,
That who hath most of wealth hath most of blisse.
Hence comes the world to seeke such traffique forth
And passages through the congealed North,
Who when their haires with Isicles are hung,
And that their chatt'ring teeth confound their tongue,
Shew them a glitt'ring stone, will streightwaies say,
If paines thus prosper, oh, what fooles would play?
Yet I could tell them (as I now doe thee)
“In getting wealth we lose our libertie.
“Besides, it robs vs of our better powres,
“And we should be our selues, were these not ours.
“He is not poorest that hath least in store,
“But he which hath enough, yet asketh more:
“Nor is he rich by whom are all possest,
“But he which nothing hath, yet asketh least.
“If thou a life by Natures leading pitch,
“Thou neuer shalt be poore, nor euer rich
“Led by Opinion; for their states are such,
“Nature but little seekes, Opinion much.
Amongst the many buds proclaiming May,
(Decking the fields in holy-dayes aray,
Striuing who shall surpasse in brauery)
Marke the faire blooming of the Hawthorne-tree
Who, finely clothed in a robe of white,
Feeds full the wanton eye with May's delight;
Yet for the brauery that she is in
Doth neither handle Card nor Wheele to spin,
Nor changeth robes but twice: is neuer seene
In other colours then in white or greene.
Learne then content, young Shepherd, from this tree,
Whose greatest wealth is Natures liuery;
And richest ingots neuer toyle to finde,
Nor care for pouerty but of the minde,
This spoke young Remond: yet the mournfull Lad
Not once replyde; but with a smile, though sad,
He shooke his head, then crost his armes againe,
And from his eyes did showres of salt teares raine;
Which wrought so on the Swains, they could not smother
Their sighes, but spent them freely as the other.
Tell vs (quoth Doridon) thou fairer farre
Then

Hippolitus.

he whose chastity made him a Starre,
More fit to throw the wounding shafts of Loue,
Then follow sheepe, and pine here in a Groue.
O doe not hide thy sorrowes, shew them briefe;
“He oft findes ayde that doth disclose his griefe.
If thou wouldst it continue, thou dost wrong;
“No man can sorrow very much and long:
For thus much louing Nature hath dispos'd,
That 'mongst the woes that haue vs round inclos'd,
This comfort's left (and we should blesse her for't)
That we may make our griefes be borne, or short.
Beleeue me, Shepherd, we are men no lesse
Free from the killing throes of heauinesse
Then thou art here, and but this diff'rence sure,
That vse hath made vs apter to endure.
More he had spoke, but that a Bugle shrill
Rung through the Vally from the higher Hill,
And as they turn'd them tow'rds the hartning sound,
A gallant Stag, as if he scorn'd the ground,
Came running with the winde, and bore his head
As he had beene the King of forrests bred.
Not swifter comes the Messenger of Heauen,
Or winged vessell with a full gale driuen,
Nor the swift Swallow flying neere the ground,
By which the ayres distemp'rature is found:
Nor Mirrha's course, nor Daphne's speedy flight,
Shunning the daliance of the God of light,
Thus seem'd the Stag, that had no sooner crost them,
But in a trice their eyes as quickly lost him.
The weeping Swaine ne're mou'd, but as his eyes
Were onely giuen to shew his miseries,
Attended those; and could not once be won
To leaue that obiect whence his teares begun.
O had that

Phiton.

man, who (by a Tyrants hand)
Seeing his childrens bodies strew the sand,
And he next morne for torments prest to goe,
Yet from his eyes let no one small teare flow,
But being ask'd how well he bore their losse,
Like to a man affliction could not crosse,
He stoutly answer'd: Happier sure are they
Then I shall be by space of one short day.
No more his griefe was. But had he beene here,
He had beene flint, had he not spent a teare.
For still that man the perfecter is knowne,
Who others sorrowes feeles more then his owne.
Remond and Doridon were turning then
Vnto the most disconsolate of men,
But that a gallant Dame, faire as the morne
Or louely bloomes the Peach-tree that adorne,
Clad in a changing silke, whose lustre shone
Like yellow flowres and grasse farre off in one:
Or like the mixture Nature doth display
Vpon the quaint wings of the Popiniay,
Her horne about her necke with siluer tip,
Too hard a metall for so soft a lip:
Which it no oftner kist, then Ioue did frowne,
And in a mortals shape would faine come downe
To feed vpon those dainties, had not hee
Beene still kept back by Iuno's iealousie.
An Iuory dart she held of good command,
White was the bone, but whiter was her hand;
Of many peeces was it neatly fram'd,
But more the hearts were that her eyes inflam'd.
Vpon her head a greene light silken cap:
A peece of white Lawne shadow'd either pap,
Betweene which hillocks many Cupids lay,
Where with her necke or with her teats they play,
Whilst her quicke heart will not with them dispence,
But heaues her brests as it would beat them thence:
Who, fearing much to lose so sweet repaire,
Take faster hold by her disheuell'd haire.
Swiftly she ran; the sweet Bryers to receiue her
Slipt their embracements, and (as loth to leaue her)
Stretch'd themselues to their length; yet on she goes.
So great Diana frayes a heard of Roes
And speedy followes: Arethusa fled
So from the

Alpheus.

Riuer, that her rauished.
When this braue Huntresse neere the Shepherds drew.
Her Lilly arme in full extent she threw,
To plucke a little bough (to fan her face)
From off a thicke-leau'd Ash (no tree did grace
The low Groue as did this, the branches spred
Like Neptune's Trident vpwards from the head).
No sooner did the grieued Shepherd see
The Nimphs white hand extended tow'rds the tree,
But rose and to her ran, yet she had done
Ere he came neere, and to the wood was gone;
Yet now approach'd the bough the Huntresse tore,
He suckt it with his mouth, and kist it o're
A hundred times, and softly gan it binde
With Dock-leaues, and a slip of Willow rinde.
Then roūd the trunke he wreaths his weakned armes,
And with his scalding teares the smooth bark warms,
Sighing and groaning, that the Shepherds by
Forgot to helpe him, and lay downe to cry:
“For 'tis impossible a man should be
“Grieu'd to himselfe, or faile of company.
Much the two Swaines admir'd, but pitti'd more
That he no powre of words had, to deplore
Or shew what sad misfortune 'twas befell
To him, whom Nature (seem'd) regarded well.
As thus they lay, and while the speechlesse Swaine
His teares and sighes spent to the woods in vaine,
One like a wilde man ouer-growne with haire,
His nailes long growne, and all his body bare,
Saue that a wreath of Iuy twist did hide
Those parts which Nature would not haue discride,
And the long haire that curled from his head
A grassie garland rudely couered.
But Shepherds I haue wrong'd you, 'tis now late,
For see our Maid stands hollowing on yond gate,
'Tis supper-time, withall, and we had need
Make haste away, vnlesse we meane to speed
With those that kisse the Hares foot: Rhumes are bred,
Some say, by going supperlesse to bed,
And those I loue not; therefore cease my rime,
And put my Pipes vp till another time.

The Third Song.

The Argvment.

A Redbrest doth from pining saue
Marina shut in Famines Caue.
The Golden age described plaine,
And Limos by the Shepherds slaine,
Doe giue me leaue a while to moue
My Pipe of Tauy and his Loue.
Alas that I haue done so great a wrong
Vnto the fairest Maiden of my Song,
Diuine Marina, who in Limos Caue
Lyes euer fearefull of a liuing graue,
And night and day vpon the hardned stones
Rests, if a rest can be amongst the mones
Of dying wretches; where each minute all
Stand still afraid to heare the Deaths-man call.
Thrice had the golden Sun his hot Steeds washt
In the West Maine, and thrice them smartly lasht
Out of the Baulmy East, since the sweet Maid
Had in that dismall Caue beene sadly laid.
Where hunger pinch'd her so, she need not stand
In feare of murdring by a second hand:
For through her tender sides such darts might passe
Gainst which strong wals of stone, thick gates of brasse
Deny no entrance, nor the Campes of Kings,
Since soonest there they bend their flaggy wings.
But heauen that stands still for the best's auaile,
Lendeth his hand when humane helpings faile;
For 'twere impossible that such as she
Should be forgotten of the Deitie;
Since in the spacious Orbe could no man finde
A fairer face match'd with a fairer minde.
A little Robin Red-brest, one cleare morne,
Sate sweetly singing on a well-leau'd Thorne:
Whereat Marina rose, and did admire
He durst approach from whence all else retire:
And pittying the sweet Bird what in her lay,
She fully stroue to fright him thence away.
Poore harmelesse wretch (quoth she) goe seeke some spring,
And to her sweet fall with thy fellowes sing;
Fly to the well-replenish'd Groues, and there
Doe entertaine each Swaines harmonious eare,
Trauerse the winding branches; chant so free,
That euery louer fall in loue with thee;
And if thou chance to see that louely Boy
(To looke on whom the Siluans count a ioy):
He whom I lou'd no sooner then I lost,
Whose body all the Graces hath ingrost,
To him vnfold (if that thou dar'st to be
So neare a neighbour to my Tragedie)
As farre as can thy voyce, (in plaints so sad,
And in so many mournefull accents clad,
That as thou sing'st vpon a tree there by
He may some small time weepe, yet know not why),
How I in death was his, though Powres diuine
Will not permit that he in life be mine.
Doe this, thou louing Bird; and haste away
Into the woods: but if so be thou stay
To doe a deed of charity on me,
When my pure soule shall leaue mortalitie,
By cou'ring this poore body with a sheet
Of greene leaues, gath'red from a vally sweet;
It is in vaine: these harmelesse lims must haue
Then in the Caitifes wombe no other graue.
Hence then, sweet Robin; lest in staying long
At once thou chance forgoe both life and song.
With this she husht him thence, he sung no more,
But (fraid the second time) flew tow'rds the shore.
Within as short time as the swiftest Swaine
Can to our May-pole run and come againe,
The little Redbrest to the prickled thorne
Return'd, and sung there as he had beforne:
And faire Marina to the loope-hole went,
Pittying the pretty Bird, whose punishment
Limos would not deferre if he were spide.
No sooner had the bird the Maiden eyde,
But leaping on the rocke, downe from a bough,
He takes a Cherry vp (which he but now
Had thither brought, and in that place had laid
Till to the cleft his song had drawne the Maid),
And flying with the small stem in his bill,
(A choiser fruit, then hangs on Bacchus

Cithæron in Beotia.

hill)
In faire Marina's bosome tooke his rest,
A heauenly seat fit for so sweet a guest:
Where Citherea's Doues might billing sit,
And Gods and men with Enuie looke on it;
Where rose two mountaines, whose rare sweets to crop
Was harder then to reach Olympus top:
For those the Gods can; but to climbe these hils
Their powres no other were then mortall wils.
Here left the Bird the Cherry, and anone
Forsooke her bosome, and for more is gone,
Making such speedy flights into the Thicke,
That she admir'd he went and came so quicke.
Then lest his many Cherries should distast,
Some other fruit he brings then he brought last.
Sometime of Strawberries a little stem,
Oft changing colours as he gath'red them:
Some greene, some white, some red on them infus'd,
These lou'd, those fear'd, they blush'd to be so vs'd.
The Peascod greene oft with no little toyle
Hee'd seeke for in the fattest fertil'st soile,
And rend it from the stalke to bring it to her,
And in her bosome for acceptance wooe her.
No Berry in the Groue or Forrest grew,
That fit for nourishment the kinde Bird knew,
Nor any powrefull herbe in open field
To serue her brood the teeming earth did yeeld,
But with his vtmost industry he sought it,
And to the Caue for chaste Marina brought it.
So from one well-stor'd garden to another,
To gather Simples runs a carefull mother,
Whose onely childe lies on the shaking bed
Grip'd with a Feuer (sometime honoured
In Rome as if a

Febrem ad minus nocendum templis colebant, ait Val. Maximus. Vide Tullium in tertio de Nat. Deorum, et secundo de Legibus.

God) nor is she bent
To other herbes then those for which she went.
The feathred houres fiue times were ouer-told,
And twice as many floods and ebbs had rold
The small sands out and in, since faire Marine
(For whose long losse a hundred Shepherds pine)
Was by the charitable Robin fed:
For whom (had she not so beene nourished)
A hundred Doues would search the Sun-burnt hils,
Or fruitfull Vallies lac'd with siluer rils,
To bring her Oliues. Th' Eagle strong of sight
To Countries farre remote would bend her flight,
And with vnwearied wing strip through the skie
To the choise plots of Gaule and Italy,
And neuer lin till home-ward she escape
With the Pomgranat, Lemmon, Oringe, Grape,
Or the lou'd Citron, and attain'd the Caue.
The well-plum'd Goshawke (by th' Egyptians graue
Vs'd in their mysticke Characters for speed)
Would not be wanting at so great a need,
But from the well-stor'd Orchards of the Land
Brought the sweet Peare (once by a cursed hand
At

One writes that K. Iohn was poison'd at Swinsted, with a dish of peares: Others, there, in a cup of wine: Some that he died at Newark of the Flux. A fourth by the distemperature of Peaches eaten in his fit of an Ague. Among so many doubts, I leaue you to beleeue the Author most in credit with our best of Antiquaries.

Swinsted vs'd with poyson, for the fall
Of one who on these Plaines rul'd Lord of all.)
The sentfull Osprey by the Rocke had fish'd
And many a prettie Shrimp in Scallops dish'd,
Some way conuay'd her; no one of the shole
That haunt the waues, but from his lurking hole
Had pull'd the Cray-fish, and with much adoe
Brought that the Maid, and Perywinckles too.
But these for others might their labours spare,
And not with Robin for their merits share.
Yet as a Herdesse in a Summers day,
Heat with the glorious Suns all-purging ray,
In the calme Euening (leauing her faire flocke)
Betakes her selfe vnto a froth-girt Rocke,
On which the head-long Tauy throwes his waues,
(And foames to see the stones neglect his braues:)
Where sitting to vndoe her Buskins white,
And wash her neat legs, (as her vse each night)
Th' inamour'd flood, before she can vnlace them,
Rowles vp his waues as hast'ning to imbrace them,
And though to helpe them some small gale doe blow,
And one of twenty can but reach her so;
Yet will a many little surges be
Flashing vpon the rocke full busily,
And doe the best they can to kisse her feet,
But that their power and will not equall meet:
So as she for her Nurse look'd tow'rds the land,
(And now beholds the trees that grace the strand,
Then lookes vpon a hill whose sliding sides
A goodly flocke (like winters cou'ring) hides,
And higher on some stone that iutteth out,
Their carefull master guiding his trim rout
By sending forth his Dog (as Shepherds doe),
Or piping sate, or clowting of his shoe.)
Whence, nearer hand drawing her wandring sight
(So from the earth steales the all-quickning light)
Beneath the rocke, the waters high, but late,
(I know not by what sluce or empting gate)
Were at a low ebbe; on the sand she spies
A busie Bird that to and fro still flies,
Till pitching where a heatfull Oyster lay,
Opening his close iawes, (closer none then they
Vnlesse the griping fist, or cherry lips
Of happy Louers in their melting sips.)
Since the decreasing waues had left him there
Gaping for thirst, yet meets with nought but ayre,
And that so hot; ere the returning tyde,
He in his shell is likely to be fride;
The wary Bird a prittie pibble takes
And claps it twixt the two pearle-hiding flakes
Of the broad yawning Oyster, and she then
Securely pickes the fish out (as some men
A tricke of policie thrust tweene two friends,
Seuer their powres), and his intention ends.
The Bird thus getting that, for which she stroue,
Brought it to her: to whom the Queene of Loue
Seru'd as a foyle, and Cupid could no other,
But flie to her mistaken for his Mother.
Marina from the kinde Bird tooke the meat,
And (looking downe) she saw a number great
Of Birds, each one a pibble in his bill,
Would doe the like, but that they wanted skill:
Some threw it in too farre, and some too short;
This could not beare a stone fit for such sport,
But, harmelesse wretch, putting in one too small,
The Oyster shuts and takes his head withall.
Another bringing one too smooth and round,
(Vnhappy Bird that thine owne death hast found)
Layes it so little way in his hard lips,
That with their sodaine close, the pibble slips
So strongly forth (as when your little ones
Doe twixt their fingers slip their Cherry-stones),
That it in passage meets the brest or head
Of the poore wretch, and layes him there for dead.
A many striu'd, and gladly would haue done
As much or more then he which first begun,
But all in vaine: scarce one of twenty could
Performe the deed, which they full gladly would.
For this not quicke is to that act he go'th,
That wanteth skill, this cunning, and some both:
Yet none a will, for (from the caue) she sees
Not in all-louely May th' industrious Bees
More busie with the flowres could be, then these
Among the shell-fish of the working Seas.
Limos had all this while beene wanting thence,
And but iust heau'n preseru'd pure innocence
By the two Birds, her life to ayre had flit,
Ere the curst Caytife should haue forced it.
The first night that he left her in his den,
He got to shore, and neere th' abodes of men
That liue as we by tending of their flockes,
To enterchange for Ceres golden lockes,
Or with the Neat-herd for his milke and creame,
Things we respect more then the Diademe:
His choise made-dishes. O! the golden age
Met all contentment in no surplusage
Of dainty viands, but (as we doe still)
Dranke the pure water of the crystall rill,
Fed on no other meats then those they fed,
Labour the salad that their stomacks bred.
Nor sought they for the downe of siluer Swans,
Nor those Sow-thistle lockes each small gale fans,
But hydes of Beasts, which when they liu'd they kept,
Seru'd them for bed and cou'ring when they slept.
If any softer lay, 'twas (by the losse
Of some rocks warmth) on thicke and spungy mosse,
Or on the ground: some simple wall of clay
Parting their beds from where their cattle lay.
And on such pallats one man clipped then
More golden slumbers then this age agen.
That time Physitians thriu'd not: or, if any,
I dare say all: yet then were thrice as many
As now profess't, and more; for euery man
Was his owne Patient and Physitian.
None had a body then so weake and thin,
Bankrout of natures store, to feed the sinne
Of an insatiate female, in whose wombe
Could nature all hers past, and all to come
Infuse, with vertue of all drugs beside,
She might be tyr'd, but neuer satisfied.
To please which Orke her husbands weakned peece
Must haue his Cullis mixt with Amber-greece:
Phesant and Partridge into ielly turn'd,
Grated with gold, seuen times refin'd and burn'd
With dust of Orient Pearle, richer the East
Yet ne're beheld: (O Epicurian feast!)
This is his breakfast; and his meale at night
Possets no lesse prouoking appetite,
Whose deare ingredients valu'd are at more
Then all his Ancestors were worth before.
When such as we by poore and simple fare
More able liu'd, and di'd not without heire,
Sprung from our owne loines, and a spotlesse bed
Of any other powre vnseconded:
When th' others issue (like a man falne sicke,
Or through the Feuer, Gout, or Lunaticke,
Changing his Doctors oft, each as his notion
Prescribes a seu'rall dyet, seu'rall potion,
Meeting his friend (who meet we now adayes
That hath not some receit for each disease?)
He tels him of a plaister, which he takes;
And finding after that, his torment slakes,
(Whether because the humour is out-wrought,
Or by the skill which his Physitian brought,
It makes no matter:) for he surely thinkes
None of their purges nor their diet drinkes
Haue made him sound; but his beleefe is fast
That med'cine was his health which he tooke last.
So (by a mother) being taught to call
One for his Father, though a Sonne to all,
His mothers often scapes (though truly knowne)
Cannot diuert him; but will euer owne
For his begetter him, whose name and rents
He must inherit. Such are the descents
Of these men; to make vp whose limber heyre
As many as in him must haue a share;
When he that keepes the last yet least adoe,
Fathers the peoples childe, and gladly too.
Happier those times were, when the Flaxen clew
By faire Arachne's hand the Lydians knew,
And sought not to the worme for silken threds,
To rowle their bodies in, or dresse their heads.
When wise Minerua did th' Athenians learne
To draw their milke-white fleeces into yarne;
And knowing not the mixtures which began
(Of colours) from the Babylonian,
Nor wooll in Sardis dyde, more various knowne
By hues, then Iris to the world hath showne:
The bowels of our mother were not ript
For Mader-pits, nor the sweet meadowes stript
Of their choise beauties, nor for Ceres load
The fertile lands burd'ned with needlesse Woad.
Through the wide Seas no winged Pine did goe
To Lands vnknowne for staining Indico;
Nor men in scorching clymates moar'd their Keele
To traffique for the costly Coucheneele.
Vnknowne was then the Phrygian brodery,
The Tyrian purple, and the Scarlet dye,
Such as their sheepe clad, such they woue and wore,
Russet or white, or those mixt, and no more:
Except sometimes (to brauery inclinde)
They dide them yellow caps with Alder rinde.
The Græcian mantle, Tuscan robes of state,
Tissue, nor Cloth of gold of highest rate,
They neuer saw; onely in pleasant woods,
Or by th' embrodered margin of the floods,
The dainty Nymphs they often did behold
Clad in their light silke robes, stitcht oft with gold.
The Arras hangings round their comely Hals
Wanted the Cerites web and minerals:
Greene boughes of trees which fatning Acornes lade,
Hung full with flowres and Garlands quaintly made,
Their homely Cotes deck'd trim in low degree,
As now the Court with richest Tapistry.
In stead of Cushions wrought in windowes laine,
They pick'd the Cockle from their fields of Graine,
Sleepe-bringing Poppy, by the Plow-men late
Not without cause to Ceres consecrate,
For being round and full at his halfe birth
It signifi'd the perfect Orbe of earth;
And by his inequalities when blowne,
The earths low Vales and higher Hils were showne.
By multitude of graines it held within,
Of men and beasts the number noted bin;
And she since taking care all earth to please,
Had in her

θεσμοφορια and Δημητρια were sacrifices peculiar to Ceres, the one for being a Lawgiuer, the other as Goddesse of the grounds.

Thesmophoria offred these.
Or cause that seed our Elders vs'd to eat,
With honey mixt (and was their after meat)
Or since her Daughter that she lou'd so well
By him that in th' infernall shades doth dwell,
And on the Stygian bankes for euer raignes
(Troubled with horrid cries and noyse of chaines)
(Fairest Proserpina) was rapt away;
And she in plaints the night in teares the day
Had long time spent, when no high Power could giue her
Any redresse; the

Vide Seruium in Virg. Georg. 1.

Poppy did releeue her:
For eating of the seeds they sleepe procur'd,
And so beguil'd those griefes she long endur'd.
Or rather since her Loue (then happy man)
Micon (ycleep'd) the braue Athenian,
Had beene transform'd into this gentle Flowre,
And his protection kept from Flora's powre.
The Daizy scattred on each Mead and Downe,
A golden tuft within a siluer Crowne:
(Faire fall that dainty flowre! and may there be
No Shepherd grac'd that doth not honour thee!)
The Primrose, when with six leaues gotten grace
Maids as a True-loue in their bosomes place:
The spotlesse Lilly, by whose pure leaues be
Noted the chaste thoughts of virginitie;
Carnations sweet with colour like the fire,
The fit Impresa's for imflam'd desire:
The Hare-bell for her stainlesse azur'd hue
Claimes to be worne of none but those are true:
The Rose, like ready youth, inticing stands,
And would be cropt if it might choose the hands.
The yealow King cup Flora them assign'd
To be the badges of a iealous minde;
The Oringe-tawny Marigold: the night
Hides not her colour from a searching sight.
To thee then, dearest Friend (my songs chiefe mate),
This colour chiefly I appropriate,
That spight of all the mists Obliuion can
Or enuious frettings of a guilty man,
Retain'st thy worth; nay, mak'st it more in prise,
Like Tennis-bals, throwne downe hard, highest rise.
The Columbine in tawny often taken,
Is then ascrib'd to such as are forsaken;
Flora's choise buttons of a russet dye
Is Hope euen in the depth of misery.
The Pansie, Thistle, all with prickles set,
The Cowslip, Honisuckle, Violet,
And many hundreds more that grac'd the Meads,
Gardens and Groues, (where beautious Flora treads)
Were by the Shepherds Daughters (as yet are
Vs'd in our Cotes) brought home with speciall care:
For bruising them they not alone would quell
But rot the rest, and spoile their pleasing smell.
Much like a Lad, who in his tender prime
Sent from his friends to learne the vse of time,
As are his mates or good or bad, so he
Thriues to the world, and such his actions be.
As in the Rainbowes many coloured hew,
Here see we watchet deepned with a blew:
There a darke tawnie with a purple mixt,
Yealow and flame, with streakes of greene betwixt,
A bloudy streame into a blushing run,
And ends still with the colour which begun;
Drawing the deeper to a lighter staine,
Bringing the lightest to the deep'st againe,
With such rare Art each mingleth with his fellow,
The blew with watchet, greene and red with yealow;
Like to the changes which we daily see
About the Doues necke with varietie,
Where none can say (though he it strict attends)
Here one begins, and there the other ends:
So did the Maidens with their various flowres
Decke vp their windowes, and make neat their bowres:
Vsing such cunning as they did dispose
The ruddy Piny with the lighter Rose,
The Moncks-hood with the Buglosse, and intwine
The white, the blew, the flesh-like Columbine
With Pinckes, Sweet-Williams: that farre off the eye
Could not the manner of their mixtures spye.
Then with those flowres they most of all did prise,
(With all their skill, and in most curious wise
On tufts of Hearbs and Rushes) would they frame
A dainty border round their Shepherds name.
Or Poesies make, so quaint, so apt, so rare,
As if the Muses onely liued there:
And that the after world should striue in vaine
What they then did, to counterfeit againe.
Nor will the Needle nor the Loome e're be
So perfect in their best embroderie,
Nor such composures make of silke and gold,
As theirs, when Nature all her cunning told.
The word of Mine did no man then bewitch,
They thought none could be fortunate if rich.
And to the couetous did wish no wrong
But what himselfe desir'd: to liue here long.
As of their Songs, so of their liues they deem'd:
Not of the long'st, but best perform'd, esteem'd.
They thought that heauen to him no life did giue,
Who onely thought vpon the meanes to liue.
Nor wish'd they 'twere ordain'd to liue here euer,
But as life was ordain'd they might perseuer.
O happy men! you euer did possesse
No wisedome but was mixt with simplenesse;
So wanting malice and from folly free,
Since reason went with your simplicitie,
You search'd your selues if all within were faire,
And did not learne of others what you were.
Your liues the patternes of those vertues gaue,
Which adulation tels men now they haue.
With pouerty in loue we onely close,
Because our Louers it most truely showes:
When they who in that blessed age did moue,
Knew neither pouerty, nor want of loue.
The hatred which they bore was onely this,
That euery one did hate to doe amisse.
Their fortune still was subiect to their will:
Their want (ô happy!) was the want of ill.
Ye truest, fairest, louelyest Nymphes that can
Out of your eyes lend fire Promethian,
All-beautious Ladies, loue-alluring Dames,
That on the banckes of Isca, Humber, Thames,
By your encouragement can make a Swaine
Climbe by his Song where none but soules attaine:
And by the gracefull reading of our lines
Renew our heat to further braue designes.
(You, by whose meanes my Muse thus boldly sayes:
Though she doe sing of Shepherds loues and layes,
And flagging weakly low gets not on wing
To second that of Hellens rauishing:
Nor hath the loue nor beauty of a Queene
My subiect grac'd, as other workes haue beene;
Yet not to doe their age nor ours a wrong,
Though Queenes, nay Goddesses fam'd Homers song):
Mine hath beene tun'd and heard by beauties more
Then all the Poets that haue liu'd before.
Not cause it is more worth, but it doth fall
That Nature now is turn'd a prodigall,
And on this age so much perfection spends,
That to her last of treasure it extends;
For all the ages that are slid away
Had not so many beauties as this day.
O what a rapture haue I gotten now!
That age of gold, this of the louely brow
Haue drawne me from my Song! I onward run
Cleane from the end to which I first begun.
But ye, the heauenly creatures of the West
In whom the vertues and the graces rest,
Pardon! that I haue run astray so long,
And grow so tedious in so rude a song,
If you your selues should come to adde one grace
Vnto a pleasant Groue or such like place,
Where here the curious cutting of a hedge:
There, by a pond, the trimming of the sedge:
Here the fine setting of well shading trees:
The walkes there mounting vp by small degrees,
The grauell and the greene so equall lye,
It, with the rest, drawes on your lingring eye:
Here the sweet smels that doe perfume the ayre,
Arising from the infinite repaire
Of odoriferous buds and herbs of price,
(As if it were another Paradice)
So please the smelling sense, that you are faine
Where last you walk'd to turne and walke againe.
There the small Birds with their harmonious notes
Sing to a Spring that smileth as she floats:
For in her face a many dimples show,
And often skips as it did dancing goe:
Here further downe an ouer-arched Alley
That from a hill goes winding in a valley,
You spie at end thereof a standing Lake,
Where some ingenious Artist striues to make
The water (brought in turning pipes of Lead
Through Birds of earth most liuely fashioned)
To counterfeit and mocke the Siluans all,
In singing well their owne set Madrigall.
This with no small delight retaines your eare,
And makes you think none blest but who liue there.
Then in another place the fruits that be
In gallant clusters decking each good tree,
Inuite your hand to crop some from the stem,
And liking one, taste euery sort of them:
Then to the arbours walke, then to the bowres,
Thence to the walkes againe, thence to the flowres,
Then to the Birds, and to the cleare spring thence,
Now pleasing one, and then another sense.
Here one walkes oft, and yet anew begin'th,
As if it were some hidden Labyrinth;
So loath to part, and so content to stay,
That when the Gardner knocks for you away,
It grieues you so to leaue the pleasures in it,
That you could wish that you had neuer seene it:
Blame me not then, if while to you I told
The happinesse our fathers clipt of old,
The meere imagination of their blisse
So rapt my thoughts, and made me sing amisse.
And still the more they ran on those dayes worth,
The more vnwilling was I to come forth.
O! if the apprehension ioy vs so,
What would the action in a humane show?
Such were the Shepherds (to all goodnesse bent)
About whose

Villages.

Thorps that night curs'd Limos went.
Where he had learn'd that next day all the Swaines,
That any sheepe fed on the fertill plaines,
That feast of Pales Goddesse of their grounds
Did meane to celebrate. Fitly this sounds,
He thought, to what he formerly intended,
His stealth should by their absence be befriended:
For whilst they in their offrings busied were,
He 'mongst the flocks might range with lesser feare.
How to contriue his stealth he spent the night.
The Morning now in colours richly dight
Stept o're the Easterne thresholds, and no lad
That ioy'd to see his pastures freshly clad,
But for the holy rites himselfe addrest
With necessaries proper to that feast.
The Altars euery where now smoaking be
With Beane-stalkes, Sauine, Laurell, Rosemary,
Their Cakes of Grummell-seed they did preferre,
And Pailes of milke in sacrifice to her.
Then Hymnes of praise they all deuoutly sung
In those Palilia for increase of young.
But ere the ceremonies were halfe past
One of their Boyes came downe the hill in haste,
And told them Limos was among their sheepe;
That he, his fellowes, nor their dogs could keepe
The Rau'ner from their flocks; great store were kild,
Whose blood he suck'd, and yet his panch not fild.
O hasten then away! for in an houre
He will the chiefest of your fold deuoure.
With this most ran (leauing behinde some few
To finish what was to faire Pales due),
And as they had ascended vp the hill,
Limos they met, with no meane pace and skill
Following a well-fed Lambe; with many a shout
They then pursu'd him all the plaine about.
And either with fore-laying of his way,
Or he full gorg'd ran not so swift as they,
Before he could recouer downe the strand,
No Swaine but on him had a fastned hand.
Reioycing then (the worst Wolfe to their flocke
Lay in their powres), they bound him to a Rocke
With chaines tane from the plow, and leauing him
Return'd backe to their Feast. His eyes late dim
Now sparkle forth in flames, he grindes his teeth,
And striues to catch at euery thing he seeth;
But to no purpose: all the hope of food
Was tane away; his little flesh, lesse bloud,
He suck'd and tore at last, and that denide,
With fearefull shrikes most miserably dyde.
Vnfortunate Marina, thou art free
From his iawes now, though not from misery.
Within the Caue thou likely art to pine,
If (ô may neuer) faile a helpe diuine,
And though such aid thy wants doe still supply,
Yet in a prison thou must euer lye.
But heau'n that fed thee, will not long defer
To send thee thither some deliuerer:
For then to spend thy sighes there to the maine
Thou fitter wert to honour Thetis traine:
Who so farre now with her harmonious crew
Scour'd through the Seas (ô who yet euer knew
So rare a consort?) she had left behinde
The Kentish, Sussex shores, the

Victa quam Vespasianus a Claudio missus subiugauit. Vide Bed. in Hist. Ecc. lib. 1. ca. 3.

Isle assignde
To braue Vespasians conquest, and was come
Where the shrill Trumpet and the ratling Drum
Made the waues tremble (ere befell this chance)
And to no softer Musicke vs'd to dance.
Haile, thou my natiue soile! thou blessed plot
Whose equall all the world affordeth not!
Shew me who can so many crystall Rils,
Such sweet-cloath'd Vallies or aspiring Hils:
Such Wood-groūd, Pastures, Quarries, welthy Mines:
Such Rocks in whom the Diamond fairely shines:
And if the earth can shew the like agen,
Yet will she faile in her Sea-ruling men.
Time neuer can produce men to ore-take
The fames of Greenuil, Dauies, Gilbert, Drake,
Or worthy Hawkins, or of thousands more
That by their powre made the Deuonian shore
Mocke the proud Tagus; for whose richest spoyle
The boasting Spaniard left the Indian soyle
Banckrupt of store, knowing it would quit cost
By winning this, though all the rest were lost.
As oft the Sea-Nymphs on her strand haue set
Learning of Fisher-men to knit a net,
Wherein to winde vp their disheuel'd haires,
They haue beheld the frolicke Mariners
For exercise (got early from their beds)
Pitche bars of siluer, and cast golden sleds.
At Ex a louely Nymph with Thetis met:
She singing came, and was all round beset
With other watry powres, which by her song
She had allur'd to float with her along.
The Lay she chanted she had learn'd of yore,
Taught by a

Ioseph of Excester writ a Poem of the Troian War according to Dares the Phrigians story, but falsly attributed to Cornelius Nepos, as it is printed. He liued in the time of Hen. 2. and Rich. 1. See the Illustrations of my most worthy friend M. Selden vpon M. Draitons Polyolbion, pag. 98.

skilfull Swaine, who on her shore
Fed his faire flocke: a worke renown'd as farre
As His braue subiect of the Troian warre.
As (woo'd by Mayes delights) I haue beene borne
To take the kinde ayre of a wistfull morne
Neere Tauies voicefull streame (to whom I owe
More straines then from my Pipe can euer flowe):
Here haue I heard a sweet Bird neuer lin
To chide the Riuer for his clam'rous din;
There seem'd another in his song to tell,
That what the faire streame did he liked well;
And going further heard another too,
All varying still in what the others doe;
A little thence, a fourth with little paine
Con'd all their lessons, and them sung againe;
So numberlesse the Songsters are that sing
In the sweet Groues of the too-carelesse Spring,
That I no sooner could the hearing lose
Of one of them, but straight another rose,
And perching deftly on a quaking spray,
Nye tyr'd her selfe to make her hearer stay,
Whilst in a bush two Nightingales together
Shew'd the best skill they had to draw me thither:
So (as bright Thetis past our cleeues along)
This shepherds lay pursu'd the others song,
And scarce one ended had his skilfull stripe,
But streight another tooke him to his Pipe.
By that the younger Swaine had fully done,
Thetis with her braue company had won
The mouth of Dert, and whilst the Tritons charme
The dancing waues, passing the crystall Arme
Sweet Yalme and Plim; ariu'd where Thamar payes
Her daily tribute to the westerne Seas.
Here sent she vp her Dolphins, and they plide
So busily their fares on euery side,
They made a quicke returne, and brought her downe
A many Homagers to Thamars crowne,
Who in themselues were of as great command
As any meaner Riuers of the Land.
With euery Nymph the Swaine of most account
That fed his white sheepe by her clearer fount:
And euery one to Thetis sweetly sung.
Among the rest a Shepherd (though but young,
Yet hartned to his Pipe) with all the skill
His few yeeres could, began to fit his quill.
By Tauies speedy streame he fed his flocke,
Where when he sate to sport him on a rocke,
The Water-nymphs would often come vnto him,
And for a dance with many gay gifts wooe him.
Now posies of this flowre, and then of that;
Now with fine shels, then with a rushie hat,
With Corrall or red stones brought from the deepe
To make him bracelets, or to marke his sheepe:
Willy he hight. Who by the Oceans Queene
More cheer'd to sing then such young Lads had beene,
Tooke his best framed Pipe, and thus gan moue
His voyce of Walla, Tauy's fairest Loue.
Faire was the day, but fairer was the Maid
Who that daies morn into the green-woods straid.
Sweet was the ayre, but sweeter was her breathing,
Such rare perfumes the Roses are bequeathing.
Bright shone the Sun, but brighter were her eyes,
Such are the Lampes that guide the Deities;
Nay such the fire is, whence the Pythian Knight
Borrowes his beames, and lends his Sister light.
Not Pelop's shoulder whiter then her hands,
Nor snowie Swans that iet on Isca's sands.
Sweet Flora, as if rauisht with their sight,
In emulation made all Lillies white:
For as I oft haue heard the Wood-nimphs say,
The dancing Fairies, when they left to play,
Then blacke did pull them, and in holes of trees
Stole the sweet honey from the painfull Bees;
Which in the flowre to put they oft were seene,
And for a banquet brought it to their Queene.
But she that is the Goddesse of the flowres
(Inuited to their groues and shady bowres)
Mislik'd their choise. They said that all the field
No other flowre did for that purpose yeeld;
But quoth a nimble Fay that by did stand:
If you could giue't the colour of yond hand;
(Walla by chance was in a meadow by
Learning to 'sample earths embrodery)
It were a gift would Flora well befit,
And our great Queene the more would honour it.
She gaue consent; and by some other powre
Made Venus Doues be equall'd by the flowre,
But not her hand; for Nature this prefers:
All other whites but shadowings to hers.
Her haire was rowl'd in many a curious fret,
Much like a rich and artfull Coronet,
Vpon whose arches twenty Cupids lay,
And were or tide, or loath to flye away.
Vpon her bright eyes Phœbus his inclinde,
And by their radience was the God stroke blinde,
That cleane awry th' Ecclipticke then he stript,
And from the milky way his horses whipt;
So that the Easterne world to feare begun
Some stranger droue the Chariot of the Sun.
And neuer but that once did heauens bright eye
Bestow one looke on the Cymmerij.
A greene silke frock her comely shoulders clad,
And tooke delight that such a seat it had,
Which at her middle gath'red vp in pleats,
A loue-knot Girdle willing bondage threats.
Not Venus Ceston held a brauer peece,
Nor that which girt the fairest flowre of Greece.
Downe from her waste, her mantle loose did fall,
Which Zephyre (as afraid) still plaid withall,
And then tuck'd vp somewhat below the knee
Shew'd searching eyes where Cupids columnes be.
The inside lin'd with rich Carnation silke,
And in the midst of both, Lawne white as milke.
Which white beneath the red did seeme to shroud,
As Cynthia's beautie through a blushing cloud,
About the edges curious to behold
A deepe fringe hung of rich and twisted gold,
So on the greene marge of a crystall brooke
A thousand yealow flowres at fishes looke;
And such the beames are of the glorious Sun,
That through a tuft of grasse dispersed run.
Vpon her leg a paire of Buskins white,
Studded with orient Pearle and Chrysolite,
And like her Mantle stitcht with gold and greene,
(Fairer yet neuer wore the Forrests Queene)
Knit close with ribands of a party hue,
A knot of Crimson and a tuft of blew,
Nor can the Peacocke in his spotted traine
So many pleasing colours shew againe;
Nor could there be a mixture with more grace,
Except the heau'nly Roses in her face.
A siluer Quiuer at her backe she wore,
With Darts and Arrowes for the Stag and Boare,
But in her eyes she had such darts agen
Could conquer Gods, and wound the hearts of men.
Her left hand held a knotty Brasill Bow,
Whose strength with teares she made the red Deere know.
So clad, so arm'd, so drest to win her will
Diana neuer trode on Latmus hill.
Walla, the fairest Nimph that haunts the woods,
Walla, belou'd of Shepherds, Faunes and Floods,
Walla, for whom the frolike Satyres pine,
Walla, with whose fine foot the flowrets twine,
Walla, of whom sweet Birds their ditties moue,
Walla, the earths delight, and Tauy's loue.
This fairest Nimph, when Tauy first preuail'd
And won affection where the Siluans fail'd,
Had promis'd (as a fauour to his streame)
Each weeke to crowne it with an Anadem:
And now Hyperion from his glitt'ring throne
Seu'n times his quickning rayes had brauely showne
Vnto the other world, since Walla last
Had on her Tauy's head the Garland plac'd;
And this day (as of right) she wends abroad
To ease the Meadowes of their willing load.
Flora, as if to welcome her, those houres
Had beene most lauish of her choisest flowres,
Spreading more beauties to intice that morne
Then she had done in many daies beforne.
Looke as a Maiden sitting in the shade
Of some close Arbour by the Wood-binde made,
With-drawne alone where vndiscride she may
By her most curious Needle giue assay
Vnto some Purse (if so her fancy moue)
Or other token for her truest Loue,
Varietie of silke about her pap,
Or in a box she takes vpon her lap,
Whose pleasing colours wooing her quicke eye,
Now this she thinkes the ground would beautifie,
And that, to flourish with, she deemeth best;
When spying others, she is straight possest
Those fittest are; yet from that choice doth fall
And she resolues at last to vse them all:
So Walla, which to gather long time stood,
Whether those of the field, or of the wood;
Or those that 'mong the springs and marish lay;
But then the blossomes which inrich'd each spray
Allur'd her looke; whose many coloured graces
Did in her Garland challenge no meane places:
And therefore she (not to be poore in plenty)
From Meadows, springs, woods, spraies, culs some one dainty,
Which in a scarfe she put, and onwards set
To finde a place to dresse her Coronet.
A little Groue is seated on the marge
Of Tauy's streame, not ouer-thicke nor large,
Where euery morne a quire of Siluans sung,
And leaues to chattring winds seru'd as a tongue,
By whom the water turnes in many a ring,
As if it faine would stay to heare them sing;
And on the top a thousand young Birds flye,
To be instructed in their harmony.
Neere to the end of this all-ioysome Groue
A dainty circled plot seem'd as it stroue
To keepe all Bryers and bushes from inuading
Her pleasing compasse by their needlesse shading,
Since it was not so large, but that the store
Of trees around could shade her brest and more.
In midst thereof a little swelling hill,
Gently disburd'ned of a crystall rill
Which from the greenside of the flowrie banke
Eat down a channell; here the Wood-nymphs drank,
And great Diana hauing slaine the Deere,
Did often vse to come and bathe her here.
Here talk'd they of their chase, and where next day
They meant to hunt; here did the shepherds play,
And many a gaudy Nymph was often seene
Imbracing shepherds boyes vpon this greene.
From hence the spring hasts downe to Tauy's brim,
And paies a tribute of his drops to him.
Here Walla rests the rising mount vpon,
That seem'd to swell more since she sate thereon,
And from her scarfe vpon the grasse shooke downe
The smelling flowres that should her Riuer crowne:
The Scarfe (in shaking it) she brushed oft,
Whereon were flowres so fresh and liuely wrought,
That her owne cunning was her owne deceit,
Thinking those true which were but counterfeit.
Vnder an Aldar on his sandy marge
Was Tauy set to view his nimble charge,
And there his Loue he long time had expected:
While many a rose-cheekt Nymph no wile neglected
To wooe him to imbraces; which he scorn'd,
As valluing more the beauties which adorn'd
His fairest Walla, then all Natures pride
Spent on the cheekes of all her sexe beside.
Now would they tempt him with their open brests,
And sweare their lips were Loues assured Tests:
That Walla sure would giue him the deniall
Till she had knowne him true by such a triall,
Then comes another, and her hand bereaues
The soone slipt Alder of two clammy leaues,
And clapping them together, bids him see
And learne of loue the hidden mystery.
Braue Flood (quoth she) that hold'st vs in suspence,
And shew'st a God-like powre in abstinence,
At this thy coldnesse we doe nothing wonder,
These leaues did so, when once they grew asunder;
But since the one did taste the others blisse,
And felt his partners kinde partake with his,
Behold how close they ioyne; and had they power
To speake their now content, as we can our,
They would on Nature lay a hainous crime
For keeping close such sweets vntill this time.
Is there to such men ought of merit due,
That doe abstaine from what they neuer knew?
No: then as well we may account him wise
For speaking nought, who wants those faculties.
Taste thou our sweets; come here and freely sip
Diuinest Nectar from my melting lip;
Gaze on mine eyes, whose life-infusing beames
Haue power to melt the Icy Northerne streames,
And so inflame the Gods of those bound Seas
They should vnchaine their virgin passages,
And teach our Mariners from day to day
To bring vs Iewels by a neerer way.
Twine thy long fingers in my shining haire,
And thinke it no disgrace to hide them there;
For I could tell thee how the Paphian Queene
Met me one day vpon yond pleasant Greene,
And did intreat a slip (though I was coy)
Wherewith to fetter her lasciuious Boy.
Play with my teates that swell to haue impression;
And if thou please from thence to make digression,
Passe thou that milkie way where great Apollo
And higher powres then he would gladly follow.
When to the full of these thou shalt attaine,
It were some mastry for thee to refraine;
But since thou know'st not what such pleasures be
The world will not commend but laugh at thee.
But thou wilt say, thy Walla yeelds such store
Of ioyes, that no one Loue can raise thee more;
Admit it so, as who but thinkes it strange?
Yet shalt thou finde a pleasure more, in change,
If that thou lik'st not, gentle Flood, but heare
To proue that state the best I neuer feare.
Tell me wherein the state and glory is
Of thee, of Auon, or braue Thamesis?
In your owne Springs? or by the flowing head
Of some such Riuer onely seconded?
Or is it through the multitude that doe
Send downe their waters to attend on you?
Your mixture with lesse Brookes addes to your fames,
So long as they in you doe loose their names:
And comming to the Ocean, thou dost see,
It takes in other Floods as well as thee;
It were no sport to vs that hunting loue
If we were still confinde to one large Groue.
The water which in one Poole hath abiding
Is not so sweet as Rillets euer gliding.
Nor would the brackish waues in whom you meet
Containe that state it doth, but be lesse sweet,
And with contagious streames all mortals smother,
But that it moues from this shore to the other.
There's no one season such delight can bring,
As Summer, Autumne, Winter, and the Spring.
Nor the best Flowre that doth on earth appeare
Could by it selfe content vs all the yeere.
The Salmons, and some more as well as they,
Now loue the freshet, and then loue the Sea.
The flitting Fowles not in one coast doe tarry,
But with the yeere their habitation vary.
What Musicke is there in a Shepherds quill
(Plaid on by him that hath the greatest skill)
If but a stop or two thereon we spy?
Musicke is best in her varietie.
So is discourse, so ioyes; and why not then
As well the liues and loues of Gods as men?
More she had spoke, but that the gallant Flood
Replide: ye wanton Rangers of the wood,
Leaue your allurements; hye ye to your chase;
See where Diana with a nimble pace
Followes a strucke Deere: if you longer stay
Her frowne will bend to me another day.
Harke how she winds her Horne; she some doth call
Perhaps for you, to make in to the fall.
It needlesse was to bid the Flood pursue:
Anger gaue wings; waies that he neuer knew
Till now, he treads; through dels and hidden brakes
Flies through the Meadows, each where ouertakes
Streames swiftly gliding, and them brings along
To further iust reuenge for so great wrong,
His current till that day was neuer knowne,
But as a Meade in Iuly, which vnmowne
Beares in an equall height each bent and stem,
Vnlesse some gentle gale doe play with them.
Now runs it with such fury and such rage,
That mightie Rocks opposing vassalage,
Are from the firme earth rent and ouer-borne
In Fords where pibbles lay secure beforne.
Low'd Cataracts, and fearefull roarings now
Affright the Passenger; vpon his brow
Continuall bubbles like compelled drops,
And where (as now and then) he makes short stops
In little pooles drowning his voice too hie,
'Tis where he thinkes he heares his Walla cry.
Yet vaine was all his haste, bending a way,
Too much declining to the Southerne Sea,
Since she had turned thence, and now begun
To crosse the braue path of the glorious Sun.
There lyes a Vale extended to the North
Of Tauy's streame, which (prodigall) sends forth
In Autumne more rare fruits then haue beene spent
In any greater plot of fruitfull Kent.
Two high brow'd rocks on either side begin,
As with an arch to close the valley in:
Vpon their rugged fronts short writhen Oakes
Vntouch'd of any fellers banefull stroakes:
The Iuy twisting round their barkes hath fed
Past time wilde Goates which no man followed.
Low in the Valley some small Heards of Deere,
For head and footmanship withouten peere,
Fed vndisturb'd. The Swaines that thereby thriu'd
By the tradition from their Sires deriu'd,
Call'd it sweet Ina's Coombe: but whether she
Were of the earth or greater progeny
Iudge by her deedes; once this is truely knowne
She many a time hath on a Bugle blowne,
And through the Dale pursu'd the iolly Chase,
As she had bid the winged windes a base.
Pale and distracted hither Walla runs,
As closely follow'd as she hardly shuns;
Her mantle off, her haire now too vnkinde
Almost betrai'd her with the wanton winde.
Breathlesse and faint she now some drops discloses,
As in a Limbeck the kinde sweat of Roses,
Such hang vpon her brest, and on her cheekes;
Or like the Pearles which the tand Æthiop seekes.
The Satyre (spur'd with lust) still getteth ground,
And longs to see his damn'd intention crown'd.
As when a Greyhound (of the rightest straine)
Let slip to some poore Hare vpon the plaine;
He for his prey striues, th' other for her life;
And one of these or none must end the strife.
Now seemes the Dog by speed and good at bearing
To haue her sure; the other euer fearing
Maketh a sodaine turne, and doth deferre
The Hound a while from so neere reaching her:
Yet being fetcht againe and almost tane,
Doubting (since touch'd of him) she scapes her bane:
So of these two the minded races were,
For Hope the one made swift, the other Feare.
O if there be a powre (quoth Walla then
Keeping her earnest course) o'reswaying men
And their desires! ô let it now be showne
Vpon this Satyre halfe part earthly knowne.
What I haue hitherto with so much care
Kept vndefiled, spotlesse, white and faire,
What in all speech of loue I still reseru'd,
And from it's hazard euer gladly sweru'd;
O be it now vntouch'd! and may no force
That happy Iewell from my selfe deuorce!
I that haue euer held all women be
Void of all worth if wanting chastitie;
And who so any lets that best flowre pull,
She might be faire, but neuer beautifull:
O let me not forgoe it! strike me dead!
Let on these Rocks my limbs be scattered!
Burne me to ashes with some powrefull flame,
And in mine owne dust bury mine owne name,
Rather then let me liue and be defil'd.
Chastest Diana! in the Deserts wilde,
Haue I so long thy truest handmaid beene?
Vpon the rough rocke-ground thine arrowes keene,
Haue I (to make thee crownes) beene gath'ring still
Faire-cheekt Etesia's yealow Cammomill?
And sitting by thee on our flowrie beds
Knit thy torne Buck-stals with well twisted threds,
To be forsaken? O now present be,
If not to saue, yet helpe to ruine me!
If pure Virginitie haue heretofore
By the Olympicke powres beene honour'd more
Then other states; and Gods haue beene dispos'd
To make them knowne to vs, and still disclos'd
To the chaste hearing of such Nymphs as we
Many a secret and deepe misterie;
If none can lead without celestiall aid
Th' immaculate and pure life of a Maid,
O let not then the Powres all-good diuine
Permit vile lust to soile this brest of mine!
Thus cride she as she ran: and looking backe
Whether her hot pursuer did ought slacke
His former speed, she spies him not at all,
And somewhat thereby cheer'd gan to recall
Her nye fled hopes: yet fearing he might lye
Neere some crosse path to worke his villanie,
And being weary, knowing it was vaine
To hope for safety by her feet againe,
She sought about where she her selfe might hide.
A hollow vaulted Rocke at last she spide,
About whose sides so many bushes were,
She thought securely she might rest her there.
Farre vnder it a Caue, whose entrance streight
Clos'd with a stone-wrought dore of no mean weight;
Yet from it selfe the gemels beaten so
That little strength could thrust it to and fro.
Thither she came, and being gotten in
Barr'd fast the darke Caue with an iron pin.
The Satyre follow'd, for his cause of stay
Was not a minde to leaue her, but the way
Sharpe ston'd and thornie, where he pass'd of late,
Had cut his clouen foot, and now his gate
Was not so speedy, yet by chance he sees
Through some small glade that ran between the trees
Where Walla went. And with a slower pace
Fir'd with hot blood, at last attain'd the place.
When like a fearefull Hare within her Forme,
Hearing the Hounds come like a threatning storme,
In full cry on the walke where last she trode,
Doubts to stay there, yet dreads to goe abroad:
So Walla far'd. But since he was come nie,
And by an able strength and industry
Sought to breake in, with teares anew she fell
To vrge the Powres that on Olympus dwell.
And then to Ina call'd: O if the roomes,
The Walkes and Arbours in these fruitfull coombes
Haue famous beene through all the Westerne Plaines
In being guiltlesse of the lasting staines
Pour'd on by lust and murther: keepe them free!
Turne me to stone, or to a barked tree,
Vnto a Bird, or flowre, or ought forlorne;
So I may die as pure as I was borne.
“Swift are the prayers and of speedy haste,
“That take their wing from hearts so pure and chaste.
“And what we aske of Heauen it still appeares
“More plaine to it in mirrours of our teares.
Approu'd in Walla. When the Satyre rude
Had broke the doore in two, and gan intrude
With steps prophane into that sacred Cell,
Where oft (as I haue heard our Shepherds tell)
Faire Ina vs'd to rest from Phœbus ray:
She or some other hauing heard her pray,
Into a Fountaine turn'd her; and now rise
Such streames out of the caue, that they surprise
The Satyre with such force and so great din,
That quenching his lifes flame as well as sin,
They roul'd him through the Dale with mighty rore
And made him flye that did pursue before.
Not farre beneath i'the Valley as she trends
Her siluer streame, some Wood-nymphs and her friends
That follow'd to her aide, beholding how
A Brooke came gliding, where they saw but now
Some Herds were feeding, wondring whence it came:
Vntill a Nymph that did attend the game
In that sweet Valley, all the processe told,
Which from a thicke-leau'd-tree she did behold:
See, quoth the Nymph, where the rude Satyre lies
Cast on the grasse; as if she did despise
To haue her pure waues soyl'd with such as he:
Retaining still the loue of puritie.
To Tauy's Crystall streame her waters goe,
As if some secret power ordained so,
And as a Maid she lou'd him, so a Brooke
To his imbracements onely her betooke.
Where growing on with him, attain'd the state
Which none but Hymens bonds can imitate.
On Walla's brooke her sisters now bewaile,
For whom the Rocks spend teares when others faile,
And all the Woods ring with their piteous mones:
Which Tauy hearing as he chid the stones,
That stopt his speedy course, raising his head
Inquir'd the cause, and thus was answered:
Walla is now no more. Nor from the hill
Will she more plucke for thee the Daffadill,
Nor make sweet Anadems to gird thy brow,
Yet in the Groues she runs, a Riuer now.
Looke as the feeling

Sentida.

Plant (which learned Swaines
Relate to grow on the East Indian Plaines)
Shrinkes vp his dainty leaues, if any sand
You throw thereon, or touch it with your hand:
So with the chance the heauy Wood-nymphs told,
The Riuer (inly touch'd) began to fold
His armes acrosse, and while the torrent raues,
Shrunke his graue head beneath his siluer waues.
Since when he neuer on his bankes appeares
But as one franticke: when the clouds spend teares
He thinkes they of his woes compassion take,
(And not a Spring but weepes for Walla's sake)
And then he often (to bemone her lacke)
Like to a mourner goes, his waters blacke,
And euery Brooke attending in his way,
For that time meets him in the like aray.
Here Willy that time ceas'd; and I a while:
For yonder's Roget comming o're the stile,
'Tis two daies since I saw him (and you wonder,
You'le say, that we haue beene so long asunder).
I thinke the louely Heardesse of the Dell
That to an Oaten Quill can sing so well,
Is she that's with him: I must needs goe meet them,
And if some other of you rise to greet them
'Twere not amisse, the day is now so long
That I ere night may end another Song.

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.

The Fifth Song.

The Argvment.

Within this Song my Muse doth tell
The worthy fact of Philocel,
And how his Loue and he in thrall
To death depriu'd of Funerall
The Queene of Waues doth gladly saue,
And frees Marina from the Caue.
So soone as can a Martin from our Towne
Fly to the Riuer vnderneath the Down,
And backe returne with morter in her bill,
Some little cranny in her nest to fill,
The Shepherd came. And thus began anew:
Two houres alas, onely two houres are due
From time to him, t'is sentenc'd so of those
That here on earth as Destinies dispose
The liues and deaths of men; and that time past
He yeelds his iudgement leaue and breaths his last.
But to the cause. Great Goddesse, vnderstand
In Mona-Ile thrust from the Brittish land,
As (since it needed nought of others store)
It would intire be and a part no more,
There liu'd a Maid so faire, that for her sake
Since she was borne the Ile had neuer Snake,
Nor were it fit a deadly sting should be
To hazard such admired Symmetrie:
So many beauties so commixt in one,
That all delight were dead if she were gone.
Shepherds that in her cleare eyes did delight,
Whilst they were open neuer held it night:
And were they shut, although the morning gray
Call'd vp the Sun, they hardly thought it day.
Or if they call'd it so, they did not passe
Withall to say that it eclipsed was.
The Roses on her cheekes, such as each turne
Phœbus might kisse, but had no powre to burne.
From her sweet lips distill sweets sweeter doe,
Then from a Cherry halfe way cut in two:
Whose yeelding touch would, as Promethian fire,
Lumps truly senslesse with a Muse inspire;
Who praising her would youth's desire so stirre,
Each man in minde should be a rauisher.
Some say the nimble-witted Mercury
Went late disguis'd professing Palmistrie,
And Milk-maids fortunes told about the Land,
Onely to get a touch of her soft hand.
And that a Shepherd walking on the brim
Of a cleare streame where she did vse to swim,
Saw her by chance, and thinking she had beene
Of Chastitie the pure and fairest Queene,
Stole thence dismaid, lest he by her decree
Might vndergoe Acteons destinie.
Did youths kinde heat inflame me (but the snow
Vpon my head shewes it coold long agoe),
I then could giue (fitting so faire a feature)
Right to her fame, and fame to such a creature.
When now much like a man the Palsie shakes
And spectacles befriend, yet vndertakes
To limne a Lady, to whose red and white
Apelles curious hand would owe some right:
His too vnsteady Pencell shadowes here
Somewhat too much, and giues not ouer cleere;
His eye deceiu'd mingles his colours wrong,
There strikes too little, and here staies too long,
Does and vndoes, takes off, puts on (in vaine)
Now too much white, then too much red againe;
And thinking then to giue some speciall grace,
He workes it ill, or so mistakes the place,
That she which sits were better pay for nought,
Then haue it ended, and so lamely wrought.
So doe I in this weake description erre;
And striuing more to grace, more iniure her.
For euer where true worth for praise doth call,
He rightly nothing giues that giues not all.
But as a Lad who learning to diuide,
By one small misse the whole hath falsifide.
Cælia men call'd, and rightly call'd her so:
Whom Philocel (of all the Swaines I know
Most worthy) lou'd: alas! that loue should be
Subiect to fortunes mutabilitie!
What euer learned Bards to fore haue sung,
Or on the Plaines Shepherds and Maidens young,
Of sad mishaps in loue are set to tell,
Comes short to match the Fate of Philocel.
For as a Labourer toyling at a Bay
To force some cleere streame from his wonted way,
Working on this side sees the water run
Where he wrought last, and thought it firmely done;
And that leake stopt, heares it come breaking out
Another where, in a farre greater spout,
Which mended to, and with a turfe made trim,
The brooke is ready to o'reflow the brim:
Or in the banke the water hauing got,
Some Mole-hole, runs where he expected not:
And when all's done, still feares lest some great raine
Might bring a flood and throw all downe againe:
So in our Shepherds loue: one hazard gone,
Another still as bad was comming on.
This danger past, another doth begin,
And one mishap thrust out lets twenty in.
For he that loues, and in it hath no stay,
Limits his blisse seld' past the Marriage day.
But Philocels, alas, and Cælia's too
Must ne're attaine so farre as others doe.
Else Fortune in them from her course should swerue,
Who most afflicts those that most good deserue.
Twice had the glorious Sun run through the Signes,
And with his kindly heat improu'd the Mines,
(As such affirme with certaine hopes that try
The vaine and fruitlesse Art of Alchymie)
Since our Swaine lou'd: and twice had Phœbus bin
In horned Aries taking vp his Inne,
Ere he of Cælia's heart possession won;
And since that time all his intentions done
Nothing to bring her thence. All eyes vpon her
Watchfull, as Vertues are on truest Honour:
Kept on the Ile as carefully of some,
As by the Troians their Palladium.
But where's the Fortresse that can Loue debar?
The forces to oppose when he makes war?
The Watch which he shall neuer finde asleepe?
The Spye that shall disclose his counsels deepe?
That Fort, that Force, that Watch, that Spye would be
A lasting stop to a fifth Emperie.
But we as well may keepe the heat from fire
As seuer hearts whom loue hath made intire.
In louely May when Titans golden raies
Make ods in houres betweene the nights and daies,
And weigheth almost downe the once-euen Scale
Where night and day by th' Æquinoctiall
Were laid in ballance, as his powre he bent
To banish Cynthia from her Regiment,
To Latmus stately Hill, and with his light
To rule the vpper world both day and night:
Making the poore Antipodes to feare
A like coniunction 'twixt great Iupiter
And some Alc'mena new, or that the Sun
From their Horizon did obliquely run:
This time the Swaines and Maidens of the Ile
The day with sportiue dances doe beguile,
And euery Valley rings with shepherds songs,
And euery Eccho each sweet noat prolongs,
And euery Riuer with vnusuall pride
And dimpled cheeke rowles sleeping to the tide;
And lesser springs, which ayrie-breeding Woods
Preferre as hand-maids to the mighty floods,
Scarce fill vp halfe their channels, making haste
(In feare, as boyes) lest all the sport be past.
Now was the Lord and Lady of the May
Meeting the May-pole at the breake of day,
And Cælia, as the fairest on the Greene,
Not without some Maids enuy chosen Queene.
Now was the time com'n, when our gentle Swaine
Must inne his haruest or lose all againe.
Now must he plucke the Rose least other hands,
Or tempests, blemish what so fairely stands:
And therefore as they had before decreed,
Our shepherd gets a Boat, and with all speed
In night (that doth on Louers actions smile)
Arriued safe on Mona's fruitfull Ile.
Betweene two rocks (immortall, without mother)
That stand as if out-facing one another,
There ran a Creeke vp, intricate and blinde,
As if the waters hid them from the winde;
Which neuer wash'd but at a higher tyde
The frizled coats which doe the Mountaines hide;
Where neuer gale was longer knowne to stay
Then from the smooth waue it had swept away
The new diuorced leaues, that from each side
Left the thicke boughes to dance out with the tide.
At further end the Creeke, a stately Wood
Gaue a kinde shadow (to the brackish Flood)
Made vp of trees, not lesse kend by each skiffe
Then that sky-scaling Pike of Tenerife,
Vpon whose tops the Herneshew bred her young,
And hoary mosse vpon their branches hung:
Whose rugged rindes sufficient were to show
Without their height, what time they gan to grow.
And if dry eld by wrinckled skin appeares,
None could allot them lesse then Nestor's yeeres.
As vnder their command the thronged Creeke
Ran lessened vp. Here did the Shepherd seeke
Where he his little Boat might safely hide,
Till it was fraught with what the world beside
Could not outvalew; nor giue equall weight
Though in the time when Greece was at her height.
The ruddy Horses of the Rosie morne
Out of the Easterne gates had newly borne
Their blushing Mistresse in her golden Chaire,
Spreading new light throughout our Hemispheare.
When fairest Cælia with a louelier crew
Of Damsels then braue Latmus euer knew
Came forth to meet the Youngsters, who had here
Cut downe an Oake that long withouten peere
Bore his round head imperiously aboue
His other Mates there, consecrate to Ioue.
The wished time drew on: and Cælia now
(That had the same for her white arched brow)
While all her louely fellowes busied were
In picking off the Iems from Tellus haire,
Made tow'rds the Creeke, where Philocel vnspide,
(Of Maid or Shepherd that their May-games plide)
Receiu'd his wish'd-for Cælia, and begun
To steere his Boat contrary to the Sun,
Who could haue wish'd another in his place
To guide the Carre of light, or that his race
Were to haue end (so he might blesse his hap)
In Cælia's bosome, not in Thetis lap.
The Boat oft danc'd for ioy of what it held:
The hoist-vp Saile, not quicke but gently sweld,
And often shooke, as fearing what might fall,
Ere she deliuer'd what she went withall.
Winged

The Westerne winde. And supposed (with the Starres) the birth of Aurora by Astræa, as Apollodorus: Ηους δε και Αστραιον ανεμοι και αστρα.

Argestes, faire Aurora's sonne,
Licenc'd that day to leaue his Dungeon,
Meekly attended and did neuer erre,
Till Cælia grac'd our Land and our Land her.
As through the waues their loue-fraught Wherry ran,
A many Cupids, each set on his Swan,
Guided with reines of gold and siluer twist
The spotlesse Birds about them as they list:
Which would haue sung a Song (ere they were gone),
Had vnkinde Nature giuen them more then one;
Or in bestowing that had not done wrong,
And made their sweet liues forfeit one sad song.
Yet that their happy Voyage might not be
Without Times shortner, Heauen-taught Melodie
(Musicke that lent feet to the stable Woods,
And in their currents turn'd the mighty Floods:
Sorrowes sweet Nurse, yet keeping Ioy aliue:
Sad discontent's most welcome Corrasiue:
The soule of Art, best lou'd when Loue is by:
The kinde inspirer of sweet Poesie,
Lest thou should'st wanting be, when Swans would faine
Haue sung one Song, and neuer sung againe)
The gentle Shepherd hasting to the shore
Began this Lay, and tim'd it with his Oare:
Thus as a merry Milke-maid neat and fine,
Returning late from milking of her Kine,
Shortens the dew'd way which she treads along
With some selfe-pleasing-since-new-gotten Song,
The Shepherd did their passage well beguile.
And now the horned Flood bore to our Ile
His head more high then he had vs'd to doe,
Except by Cynthia's newnesse forced to.
Not Ianuaries snow dissolu'd in Floods
Makes Thamar more intrude on Blanchden Woods,
Nor the concourse of waters where they fleet
After a long Raine, and in Seuerne meet,
Rais'th her inraged head to root faire Plants,
Or more affright her nigh inhabitants,
(When they behold the waters rufully,
And saue the waters nothing else can see)
Then Neptune's subiect now, more then of yore:
As loth to set his burden soone on shore.
O Neptune! hadst thou kept them still with thee,
Though both were lost to vs and such as we,
And with those beautious birds which on thy brest
Get and bring vp, afforded them a rest,
Delos that long time wandring peece of earth
Had not beene fam'd more for Diana's birth,
Then those few planks that bore them on the Seas,
By the blest issue of two such as these.
But they were landed: so are not our woes,
Nor euer shall, whil'st from an eye there flowes
One drop of moisture; to these present times
We will relate, and some sad Shepherds rimes
To after ages may their Fates make knowne,
And in their depth of sorrow drowne his owne.
So our Relation and his mournfull Verse
Of teares shall force such tribute to their Herse,
That not a priuate griefe shall euer thriue
But in that deluge fall, yet this suruiue.
Two furlongs from the shore they had not gone,
When from a low-cast Valley (hauing on
Each hand a woody hill, whose boughes vnlopt
Haue not alone at all time sadly dropt,
And turn'd their stormes on her deiected brest,
But when the fire of heauen is ready prest
To warme and further what it should bring forth,
For lowly Dales mate Mountaines in their worth,
The Trees (as screenlike Greatnesse) shades his raye,
As it should shine on none but such as they)—
Came (and full sadly came) a haplesse Wretch,
Whose walkes & pastures once were known to stretch
From East to West so farre that no dike ran
For noted bounds, but where the Ocean
His wrathful billowes thrust, and grew as great
In sholes of fish as were the others Neat:
Who now deiected and depriu'd of all,
Longs (and hath done so long) for funerall.
For as with hanging head I haue beheld
A widow Vine stand in a naked field,
Vnhusbanded, neglected, all-forlorne,
Brouz'd on by Deere, by Cattle cropt and torne:
Vnpropt, vnsuccoured by stake or tree
From wreakfull stormes impetuous tyrannie,
When, had a willing hand lent kinde redresse,
Her pregnant bunches might from out the Presse
Haue sent a liquour both for taste and show
No lesse diuine then those of Malligo:
Such was this wight, and such she might haue beene.
She both th' extremes hath felt of Fortunes teene,
For neuer haue we heard from times of yore,
One sometime enuy'd and now pitti'd more.
Her obiect, as her state, is low as earth;
Priuation her companion; thoughts of mirth
Irkesome; and in one selfe-same circle turning,
With sodaine sports brought to a house of mourning.
Of others good her best beliefe is still
And constant to her owne in nought but ill.
The onely enemy and friend she knowes
Is Death who, though defers, must end her woes;
Her contemplation frightfull as the night;
She neuer lookes on any liuing wight
Without comparison; and as the day
Giues vs, but takes the Glowormes light away:
So the least ray of Blisse on others throwne
Depriues and blinds all knowledge of her owne.
Her comfort is (if for her any be)
That none can shew more cause of griefe then she.
Yet somewhat she of aduerse Fate hath won,
Who had vndone her were she not vndone.
For those that on the Sea of Greatnesse ride
Farre from the quiet shore, and where the tide
In ebbs and floods is ghess'd, not truly knowne;
Expert of all estates except their owne:
Keeping their station at the Helme of State
Not by their Vertues but auspicious Fate:
Subiect to calmes of fauour, stormes of rage,
Their actions noted as the common Stage:
Who, like a man borne blinde that cannot be
By demonstration shewne what 'tis to see,
Liue still in Ignorance of what they want,
Till Misery become the Adamant,
And touch them for that point, to which with speed
None comes so sure as by the hand of Need.
A Mirrour strange she in her right hand bore,
By which her friends from flatterers heretofore
She could distinguish well; and by her side
(As in her full of happinesse) vntide,
Vnforc'd and vncompell'd did sadly goe
(As if partaker of his Mistresse woe)
A louing Spaniell, from whose rugged backe
(The onely thing but death she moanes to lacke).
She plucks the haire, and working them in pleats
Furthers the suit which Modestie intreats.
Men call her Athliot: who cannot be
More wretched made by infelicitie,
Vnlesse she here had an immortall breath,
Or liuing thus, liu'd timorous of death.
Out of her lowly and forsaken dell
She running came, and cri'd to Philocel:
Helpe! helpe! kinde shepherd helpe! see yonder, where
A louely Lady hung vp by the haire,
Struggles, but mildly struggles with the Fates,
Whose thread of life, spun to a thread that mates
Dame Natures in her haire, staies them to wonder,
While too fine twisting makes it breake in sunder.
So shrinkes the Rose that with the flames doth meet;
So gently bowes the Virgin parchment sheet;
So rowle the waues vp and fall out againe,
As all her beautious parts, and all in vaine.
Farre, farre, aboue my helpe or hope in trying,
Vnknowne, and so more miserably dying,
Smothring her torments in her panting brest,
She meekly waits the time of her long rest.
Hasten! ô hasten then! kinde Shepherd, haste.
He went with her, And Cælia (that had grac'd
Him past the world besides) seeing the way
He had to goe, not farre, rests on the lay.
'Twas neere the place where Pans transformed Loue
Her guilded leaues displaid, and boldly stroue
For lustre with the Sun: a sacred tree
(Pal'd round) and kept from violation free:
Whose smallest spray rent off, we neuer prize
At lesse then life. Here, though her heauenly eyes
From him she lou'd could scarce afford a sight,
(As if for him they onely had their light)
Those kinde and brighter Stars were knowne to erre
And to all misery betrayed her.
For turning them aside, she (haplesse) spies
The holy Tree, and (as all nouelties
In tempting women haue small labour lost
Whether for value nought, or of more cost)
Led by the hand of vncontroll'd desire
She rose, and thither went. A wrested Bryre
Onely kept close the gate which led into it,
(Easie for any all times to vndoe it,
That with a pious hand hung on the tree
Garlands or raptures of sweet Poesie)
Which by her opened, with vnweeting hand
A little spray she pluckt, whose rich leaues fan'd
And chatter'd with the ayre, as who should say:
Doe not for once, ô doe not this bewray!
Nor giue sound to a tongue for that intent!
“Who ignorantly sinnes, dies innocent.”
By this was Philocel returning backe,
And in his hand the Lady; for whose wrack
Nature had cleane forsworne to frame a wight
So wholly pure, so truly exquisite:
But more deform'd and from a rough-hewne mold,
Since what is best liues seldome to be old.
Within their sight was fairest Cælia now;
Who drawing neere, the life-priz'd golden bough
Her Loue beheld. And as a Mother kinde
What time the new-cloath'd trees by gusts of winde
Vnmou'd, stand wistly listning to those layes
The feather'd Quiristers vpon their sprayes
Chaunt to the merry Spring, and in the Euen
She with her little sonne for pleasure giuen,
To tread the fring'd bankes of an amorous flood,
That with her musicke courts a sullen wood,
Where euer talking with her onely blisse
That now before and then behinde her is,
She stoopes for flowres the choisest may be had,
And bringing them to please her prittie Lad,
Spies in his hand some banefull flowre or weed,
Whereon he gins to smell, perhaps to feed,
With a more earnest haste she runs vnto him,
And puls that from him which might else vndoe him:
So to his Cælia hastned Philocel,
And raught the bough away: hid it: and fell
To question if she broke it, or if then
An eye beheld her? Of the race of men
(Replide she), when I tooke it from the tree
Assure your selfe was none to testifie,
But what hath past since in your hand, behold,
A fellow running yonder o're the Wold
Is well inform'd of. Can there (Loue) insue,
Tell me! oh tell me! any wrong to you
By what my hand hath ignorantly done?
(Quoth fearefull Cælia) Philocel! be won
By these vnfained teares, as I by thine,
To make thy greatest sorrowes partly mine!
Cleere vp these showres (my Sun), quoth Philocel,
The ground it needs not. Nought is so from Well
But that reward and kinde intreaties may
Make smooth the front of wrath, and this allay.
Thus wisely he supprest his height of woe,
And did resolue, since none but they did know
Truly who rent it: And the hatefull Swaine
That lately past by them vpon the Plaine
(Whom well he knew did beare to him a hate,
Though vndeserued, so inueterate
That to his vtmost powre he would assay
To make his life haue ended with that day)
Except in his had seene it in no hand,
That hee against all throes of Fate would stand,
Acknowledge it his deed, and so afford
A passage to his heart for Iustice sword,
Rather then by her losse the world should be
Despiz'd and scorn'd for losing such as she.
Now (with a vow of secrecy from both)
Inforcing mirth, he with them homewards go'th;
And by the time the shades of mighty woods
Began to turne them to the Easterne Floods,
They thither got: where with vndaunted heart
He welcomes both, and freely doth impart
Such dainties as a Shepherds cottage yeelds,
Tane from the fruitfull woods and fertile fields:
No way distracted nor disturb'd at all.
And to preuent what likely might befall
His truest Cælia, in his apprehending
Thus to all future care gaue finall ending:
Into their cup (wherein for such sweet Girles
Nature would Myriades of richest Pearles
Dissolue, and by her powrefull simples striue
To keepe them still on earth, and still aliue)
Our Swaine infus'd a powder which they dranke:
And to a pleasant roome (set on a banke
Neere to his Coat, where he did often vse
At vacant houres to entertaine his Muse)
Brought them and seated on a curious bed,
Till what he gaue in operation sped,
And rob'd them of his sight, and him of theirs,
Whose new inlightning will be quench'd with teares.
The Glasse of Time had well-nye spent the Sand
It had to run, ere with impartiall hand
Iustice must to her vpright Ballance take him:
Which he (afraid it might too soone forsake him)
Began to vse as quickly as perceiue,
And of his Loue thus tooke his latest leaue:
Cælia! thou fairest creature euer eye
Beheld, or yet put on mortalitie!
Cælia that hast but iust so much of earth,
As makes thee capable of death! Thou birth
Of euery Vertue, life of euery good!
Whose chastest sports and daily taking food
Is imitation of the highest powres
Who to the earth lend seasonable showres,
That it may beare, we to their Altars bring
Things worthy their accept, our offering.
I the most wretched creature euer eye
Beheld, or yet put on mortalitie,
Vnhappy Philocel, that haue of earth
Too much to giue my sorrowes endlesse birth,
The spring of sad misfortunes; in whom lyes
No blisse that with thy worth can sympathize,
Clouded with woe that hence will neuer flit,
Till deaths eternall night grow one with it:
I as a dying Swan that sadly sings
Her moanfull Dirge vnto the siluer springs,
Which carelesse of her Song glide sleeping by
Without one murmure of kinde Elegie,
Now stand by thee; and as a Turtles mate,
With lamentations inarticulate,
The neere departure from her loue bemones,
Spend these my bootlesse sighes and killing grones.
Here as a man (by Iustice doome) exilde
To Coasts vnknowne, to Desarts rough and wilde,
Stand I to take my latest leaue of thee:
Whose happy and heauen-making company
Might I enioy in Libia's Continent,
Were blest fruition and not banishment.
First of those Eyes that haue already tane
Their leaue of me: Lamps fitting for the Phane
Of heauens most powre, & which might ne're expire
But be as sacred as the Vestall fire:
Then of those plots, where halfe-Ros'd Lillies be,
Not one by Art but Natures industry,
From which I goe as one excluded from
The taintlesse flowres of blest Elizium:
Next from those Lips I part, and may there be
No one that shall hereafter second me!
Guiltlesse of any kisses but their owne,
Their sweets but to themselues to all vnknowne:
For should our Swaines diuulge what sweets there be
Within the Sea-clipt bounds of Britanie,
We should not from inuasions be exempted,
But with that prize would all the world be tempted.
Then from her heart: ô no! let that be neuer,
For if I part from thence I dye for euer.
Be that the Record of my loue and name!
Be that to me as is the Phœnix flame!
Creating still anew what Iustice doome
Must yeeld to dust and a forgotten toombe.
Let thy chaste loue to me (as shadowes run
In full extent vnto the setting Sun)
Meet with my fall; and when that I am gone,
Backe to thy selfe retyre, and there grow one.
If to a second light thy shadow be,
Let him still haue his ray of loue from me;
And if, as I, that likewise doe decline,
Be mine or his, or else be his and mine.
But know no other, nor againe be sped,
“She dyes a virgin that but knowes one bed.”
And now from all at once my leaue I take
With this petition, that when thou shalt wake,
My teares already spent may serue for thine,
And all thy sorrowes be excus'd by mine!
Yea rather then my losse should draw on hers,
(Heare, Heauen, the suit which my sad soule prefers!)
Let this her slumber, like Obliuions streame,
Make her beleeue our loue was but a dreame!
Let me be dead in her as to the earth,
Ere Nature lose the grace of such a birth.
Sleepe thou sweet soule from all disquiet free,
And since I now beguile thy destinie,
Let after patience in thy brest arise,
To giue his name a life who for thee dies.
He dyes for thee that worthy is to dye,
Since now in leauing that sweet harmonie
Which Nature wrought in thee, he drawes not to him
Enough of sorrow that might streight vndoe him.
And haue for meanes of death his parting hence,
So keeping Iustice still in Innocence.
Here staid his tongue, and teares anew began.
“Parting knowes more of griefe then absence can,”
And with a backward pace and lingring eye
Left, and for euer left, their company.
By this the curs'd Informer of the deede
With wings of mischiefe (and those haue most speed)
Vnto the Priests of Pan had made it knowne;
And (though with griefe enough) were thither flown
With strict command the Officers that be
As hands of Iustice in her each decree.
Those vnto iudgement brought him: where, accus'd
That with vnhappy hand he had abus'd
The holy Tree, and by the oath of him
Whose eye beheld the separated limb,
All doubts dissolu'd, quicke iudgement was awarded,
(And but last night) that hither strongly guarded
This morne he should be brought, & from yond rock
(Where euery houre new store of mourners flocke)
He should be head-long throwne (too hard a doome)
To be depriu'd of life, and dead, of toombe.
This is the cause, faire Goddesse, that appeares
Before you now clad in an old mans teares,
Which willingly flow out, and shall doe more
Then many Winters haue seene heretofore.
But Father (quoth she), let me vnderstand
How you are sure that it was Cælia's hand
Which rent the branch; and then (if you can) tell
What Nymph it was which neere the lonely Dell
Your shepherd succour'd. Quoth the good old man:
The last time in her Orbe pale Cynthia ran,
I to the prison went, and from him knew
(Vpon my vow) what now is knowne to you.
And that the Lady which he found distrest,
Is Fida call'd, a Maid not meanly blest
By heauens endowments, and, alas! but see,
Kinde Philocel, ingirt with miserie
More strong then by his bonds, is drawing nigh
The place appointed for his tragedie!
You may walke thither and behold his fall;
While I come neere enough, yet not at all.
Nor shall it need I to my sorrow knit
The griefe of knowing with beholding it.
The Goddesse went: (but ere she came did shrowd
Her selfe from euery eye within a cloud)
Where she beheld the Shepherd on his way,
Much like a Bridegroome on his marriage-day,
Increasing not his miserie with feare:
Others for him, but he shed not a teare.
His knitting sinewes did not tremble ought,
Nor to vnusuall palpitation brought
Was or his heart or lyuer: nor his eye,
Nor tongue, nor colour shew'd a dread to dye.
His resolution keeping with his spirit,
(Both worthy him that did them both inherit)
Held in subiection euery thought of feare,
Scorning so base an executioner.
Some time he spent in speech, and then began
Submissely prayer to the name of Pan,
When sodainly this cry came from the Plaines:
From guiltlesse blood be free, ye Brittish Swaines!
Mine be those bonds, and mine the death appointed!
Let me be head-long thrown, these limbs disioynted!
Or if you needs must hurle him from that brim,
Except I dye there dyes but part of him.
Doe then right, Iustice, and performe your oath,
Which cannot be without the death of both!
Wonder drew thitherward their drowned eyes,
And Sorrow Philocels. Where he espies,
What he did onely feare, the beautious Maid,
His wofull Cælia whom (ere night araid
Last time the world in suit of mournfull blacke,
More darke then vse, as to bemone their wracke)
He at his cottage left in sleepes soft armes
By powre of simples and the force of charmes:
Which time had now dissolu'd, and made her know
For what intent her Loue had left her so.
She staid not to awake her mate in sleepe,
Nor to bemone her Fate. She scorn'd to weepe,
Or haue the passion that within her lyes
So distant from her heart as in her eyes.
But rending of her haire, her throbbing brest
Beating with ruthlesse strokes, she onward prest
As an inraged furious Lionesse,
Through vncouth treadings of the wildernesse,
In hot pursuit of her late missed brood.
The name of Philocel speakes euery wood,
And she begins to still and still her pace:
Her face deckt anger, anger deckt her face.
So ran distracted Hecuba along
The streets of Troy. So did the people throng
With helplesse hands and heauy hearts to see
Their wofull ruine in her progenie.
And harmlesse flocks of sheepe that neerely fed
Vpon the open plaines wide scattered,
Ran all afront, and gaz'd with earnest eye
(Not without teares) while thus she passed by.
Springs that long time before had held no drop,
Now welled forth and ouer-went the top:
Birds left to pay the Spring their wonted vowes,
And all forlorne sate drooping on the boughes:
Sheep, Springs and Birds, nay trees' vnwonted grones
Bewail'd her chance, and forc'd it from the stones.
Thus came she to the place (where aged men,
Maidens and wiues, and youth and childeren
That had but newly learnt their Mothers name,
Had almost spent their teares before she came.)
And those her earnest and related words
Threw from her brest; and vnto them affords
These as the meanes to further her pretence:
Receiue not on your soules, by Innocence
Wrong'd, lasting staines which from a sluce the Sea
May still wash o're, but neuer wash away;
Turne all your wraths on me: for here behold
The hand that tore your sacred Tree of gold;
These are the feet that led to that intent;
Mine was th' offence, be mine the punishment.
Long hath he liu'd among you, and he knew
The danger imminent that would insue;
His vertuous life speakes for him, heare it then!
And cast not hence the miracle of men!
What now he doth is through some discontent,
Mine was the fact, be mine the punishment!
What certaine death could neuer make him doe
(With Cælia's losse), her presence forc'd him to.
She that could cleere his greatest clouds of woes,
Some part of woman made him now disclose,
And shew'd him all in teares: And for a while
Out of his heart vnable to exile
His troubling thoughts in words to be conceiu'd;
But weighing what the world should be bereau'd,
He of his sighes and throbs some license wan,
And to the sad spectators thus began:
Hasten! ô haste! the houre's already gone,
Doe not deferre the execution!
Nor make my patience suffer ought of wrong!
'Tis nought to dye, but to be dying long!
Some fit of Frenzie hath possest the Maid:
She could not doe it, though she had assaid,
No bough growes in her reach; nor hath the tree
A spray so weake to yeeld to such as she.
To win her loue I broke it, but vnknowne
And vndesir'd of her; Then let her owne
No touch of preiudice without consent,
Mine was the fact, be mine the punishment!
O! who did euer such contention see
Where death stood for the prize of victory?
Where loue and strife were firme and truly knowne,
And where the victor must be ouerthrowne?
Where both pursude, and both held equall strife
That life should further death, death further life.
Amazement strucke the multitude. And now
They knew not which way to performe their vow.
If onely one should be depriu'd of breath,
They were not certaine of th' offenders death;
If both of them should dye for that offence,
They certainly should murder Innocence;
If none did suffer for it, then there ran
Vpon their heads the wrath and curse of Pan.
This much perplex'd and made them to defer
The deadly hand of th' Executioner,
Till they had sent an Officer to know
The Iudges wils (and those with Fates doe goe):
Who backe return'd, and thus with teares began:
The Substitutes on earth of mighty Pan
Haue thus decreed (although the one be free)
To cleare themselues from all impunitie,
If, who the offender is, no meanes procure,
Th' offence is certaine, be their death as sure.
This is their doome (which may all plagues preuent)
To haue the guilty kill the innocent.
Looke as two little Lads (their parents treasure)
Vnder a Tutor strictly kept from pleasure,
While they their new-giuen lesson closely scan,
Heare of a message by their fathers man,
That one of them, but which he hath forgot,
Must come along and walke to some faire plot;
Both haue a hope: their carefull Tutor loth
To hinder either, or to license both,
Sends backe the Messenger that he may know
His Masters pleasure which of them must goe:
While both his Schollers stand alike in feare
Both of their freedome and abiding there,
The Seruant comes and sayes that for that day
Their Father wils to haue them both away.
Such was the feare these louing soules were in
That time the messenger had absent bin.
But farre more was their ioy twixt one another,
In hearing neither should out-liue the other.
Now both intwinde, because no conquest won,
Yet either ruinde, Philocel begun
To arme his Loue for death: a roabe vnfit
Till Hymens saffron'd weed had vsher'd it.
My fairest Cælia! come; let thou and I,
That long haue learn'd to loue, now learne to dye;
It is a lesson hard if we discerne it,
Yet none is borne so soone as bound to learne it.
Vnpartiall Fate layes ope the Booke to vs,
And let[s] vs con it still imbracing thus;
We may it perfect haue, and goe before
Those that haue longer time to read it o're;
And we had need begin and not delay,
For 'tis our turne to read it first to day.
Helpe when I misse, and when thou art in doubt
Ile be thy prompter, and will helpe thee out.
But see how much I erre: vaine Metaphor
And elocution Destinies abhorre.
Could death be staid with words, or won with teares,
Or mou'd with beauty, or with vnripe yeeres,
Sure thou could'st doe't; this Rose, this Sun-like eye
Should not so soone be quell'd, so quickly dye.
But we must dye, my Loue; not thou alone,
Nor onely I, but both; and yet but one.
Nor let vs grieue; for we are marryed thus,
And haue by death what life denied vs.
It is a comfort from him more then due;
“Death seuers many, but he couples few.
Life is a Flood that keepes vs from our blisse,
The Ferriman to waft vs thither, is
Death, and none else; the sooner we get o're
Should we not thanke the Ferriman the more?
Others intreat him for a passage hence,
And groane beneath their griefes and impotence,
Yet (mercilesse) he lets those longer stay,
And sooner takes the happy man away.
Some little happinesse haue thou and I,
Since we shall dye before we wish to dye.
Should we here longer liue, and haue our dayes
As full in number as the most of these,
And in them meet all pleasures may betide,
We gladly might haue liu'd and patient dyde.
When now our fewer yeeres made long by cares
(That without age can snow downe siluer haires)
Make all affirme (which doe our griefes discry)
We patiently did liue, and gladly dye.
The difference (my Loue) that doth appeare
Betwixt our Fates and theirs that see vs here,
Is onely this: the high-all knowing powre
Conceales from them, but tels vs our last houre.
For which to Heauen we far-farre more are bound,
Since in the houre of death we may be found
(By its prescience) ready for the hand
That shall conduct vs to the Holy-land.
When those, from whom that houre conceal'd is, may
Euen in their height of Sinne be tane away.
Besides, to vs Iustice a friend is knowne,
Which neither lets vs dye nor liue alone.
That we are forc'd to it cannot be held;
“Who feares not Death, denies to be compell'd.”
O that thou wert no Actor in this Play,
My sweetest Cælia! or diuorc'd away
From me in this: ô Nature! I confesse
I cannot looke vpon her heauinesse
Without betraying that infirmitie
Which at my birth thy hand bestow'd on me.
Would I had dide when I receiu'd my birth!
Or knowne the graue before I knew the earth!
Heauens! I but one life did receiue from you,
And must so short a loane be paid with two?
Cannot I dye but like that brutish stem
Which haue their best belou'd to dye with them?
O let her liue! some blest powre heare my cry!
Let Cælia liue and I contented dye.
My Philocel (quoth she) neglect these throes!
Aske not for me, nor adde not to my woes!
Can there be any life when thou art gone?
Nay, can there be but desolation?
Art thou so cruell as to wish my stay,
To wait a passage at an vnknowne day?
Or haue me dwell within this Vale of woe
Excluded from those ioyes which thou shalt know?
Enuie not me that blisse! I will assay it,
My loue deserues it, and thou canst not stay it.
Iustice! then take thy doome; for we intend,
Except both liue, no life: one loue, one end.
Thus with embraces and exhorting other:
With teare-dew'd kisses that had powre to smother
Their soft and ruddy lips close ioyn'd with either,
That in their deaths their soules might meet together:
With prayers as hopefull as sincerely good,
Expecting death they on the Cliffes edge stood,
And lastly were (by one oft forcing breath)
Throwne from the Rocke into the armes of death.
Faire Thetis whose command the waues obey,
Loathing the losse of so much worth as they,
Was gone before their fall; and by her powre
The Billowes (mercilesse, vs'd to deuoure,
And not to saue) she made to swell vp high,
Euen at the instant when the tragedy
Of those kinde soules should end: so to receiue them,
And keepe what crueltie would faine bereaue them.
Her hest was soone perform'd: and now they lay
Imbracing on the surface of the Sea,
Void of all sense; a spectacle so sad
That Thetis, nor no Nymph which there she had,
Touch'd with their woes, could for a while refraine,
But from their heauenly eyes did sadly raine
Such showres of teares (so powrefull, since diuine)
That euer since the Sea doth taste of Bryne.
With teares, thus to make good her first intent,
She both the Louers to her Chariot hent:
Recalling Life that had not cleerely tane
Full leaue of his or her more curious Phane,
And with her praise sung by these thankfull paire
Steer'd on her Coursers (swift as fleeting ayre)
Towards her Pallace built beneath the Seas,
Proud of her iourney, but more proud of these.
By that time Night had newly spred her robe
Ouer our halfe-part of this massie Globe,
She won that famous Ile which Ioue did please
To honour with the holy Druydes.
And as the Westerne side she stript along,
Heard (and so staid to heare) this heauy Song:
The end of this gaue life vnto a grone,
As if her life and it had beene but one;
Yet she as carelesse of reseruing either,
If possible would leaue them both together.
It was the faire Marina, almost spent
With griefe and feare of future famishment.
For (haplesse chance) but the last rosie morne
The willing Redbrest flying through a Thorne,
Against a prickle gor'd his tender side,
And in an instant so, poore creature, dyde.
Thetis much mou'd with those sad notes she heard,
Her freeing thence to Triton soone referr'd;
Who found the Caue as soone as set on shore,
And by his strength remouing from the doore
A weighty stone, brought forth the fearefull Maid,
Which kindly led where his faire Mistresse staid
Was entertain'd as well became her sort,
And with the rest steer'd on to Thetis Court,
For whose release from imminent decay
My Muse awhile will here keepe Holy-day.

The third Booke.

The First Song.

[OMITTED]
Thrice had the pale fac'd Cinthia fill'd her hornes,
And through the circling zodiaque, which adornes
Heaven's goodly frame, the horses of the fun
A fourth parte of their race had fiercely run,
Since faire Marina lefte her gentle flocke;
Whose too untymely losse, the watchfull cock
Noe oftner gave a summons to the daye,
Then some kinde shepheard on the fertill ley
Tooke a sadd seate, and, with a drowned eye,
Bemoan'd in heart farre more then elegie.
Heere sitts a shepheard, whose mellifluous tongue,
On shaded bancks of rivers whilome sung
Many sweet layes to her harmonious eare;
Recounting former joyes, when she liv'd there,
With present woes, and every pleasure gone
Tells with a hundred teares, and, those dropps done,
A thowsand sighes ensue, and gives not o're
Untill he faints, and soe can sighe noe more.
Yonder, another, on some swelling hill,
Records her sweet prayse to a gentle rill
Which, in requitall, takes noe little payne
To roule her silver sands up to the swayne;
And almost wept that tyme would not permitt
That beautious mayde to bathe herselfe in it;
Whose touch made streames, and men, and plants more prowde,
Then he that clasp'd the Juno-seeming clowde.
Amongst the rest (that ere the sun did shyne
Sought the thick groves) neglectfull Celadyne
Was come abroade; and underneath a tree,
Dead as his joyes, and from all moysture free
As were the fountaynes of his lovely eyes,
With lavish weeping, discontented lyes.
Listen! yee gentle wyndes, to my sadd mone;
And, mutt'ring brooks, attend my heavy plaints.
Yee melodists, which in the lowe groves sing,
Strive with your fellowes for sweet skill no more,
But wayle with me! and if my song yee passe
For drery notes, match with the nightingale.
Henceforward with the ruefull nightingale
Noe other but sadd groves shall heare my mone,
And night beare witnes of my dolefull plaints.
Sweet songs of love let others quaintly sing,
For fate decrees I shall be knowne noe more
But by my woes. All pleasures from me passe,
As gliding torrents to the ocean passe,
Nere to come back. The all-voice nightingale
Comforts her fellowes, and makes deare her mone;
But (where I would) regardles are my plaints,
And but for eccho should unansweer'd sing;
Can there in others be affection more
Then is in me, yet be neglected more?
Then such neglect and love shall no man passe.
For voyce she well may mate the nightingale,
And from her syrens song I learnt to mone;
Yet she, as most imperfect deemes my plaints,
Though too-too long I them have us'd to sing,
Yet to noe happyer key she letts me sing.
Shall I then change? O there are others more
(As I heare shepheards wayling, when I passe
In deserts wilde to heare the nightingale)
Whose eares receive noe sounde of any mone,
But heare their praises rather then our plaints.
Then since to flynt I still addresse my plaints,
And my sadd numbers to a deafe eare sing,
My cryes shall beate the subtill ayre noe more,
But all my woes imprison; and soe passe
The poore rest of my dayes. Noe nightingale
Shal be disturb'd in forrests with my mone.
And when through inpent mone I hyde my plaints,
And what I should sing makes me live noe more,
Tell her my woes did passe the nightingale.
—Heere the musicke ended.
But Celadyne leaves not his pious guest:
For, as an artist curiously addrest
To some conclusion, having haply founde
A small incouragement on his first grounde,
Goes cheerefull on; nor from it can be wonne,
Till he have perfected what he begun;
Soe he pursues, and labours all he can
(Since he had heard the voice) to fynde the man.

The Second Song.

THE SHEPHEARDS PIPE.

To the truely Vertuous, and worthy of all Honour, the Right Honourable Edvvard, Lord Zovch, Saint Mavre and Cantelvpe, and one of his Mties. most Honourable Priuy Councell.

Be pleas'd (great Lord) whē vnderneath the shades
Of your delightfull Brams-hill, (where the spring
Her flowers for gentle blasts with Zephire trades)
Once more to heare a silly Shepheard sing.
Yours be the pleasure, mine the Sonneting;
Eu'n that hath his delight; nor shall I need
To seeke applause amongst the common store
It is enough if this mine oaten Reed
Please but the eare it should; I aske no more:
Nor shall those rurall notes which heretofore
Your true attention grac'd and wing'd for fame
Imperfect lye; Obliuion shall not gaine
Ought on your worth, but sung shall be your name
So long as England yeelds or song or Swaine.
Free are my lines, though drest in lowly state,
And scorne to flatter but the men I hate.

Of his Friend Maister William Browne.

To his better beloued, then knowne friend, Mr. Brovvne.

Svch is the fate of some (write) now a daies
Thinking to win and weare, they breake the Bayes,
As a slow Foote-man striuing neere to come
A swifter that before him farre doth runne,
Puft with the hope of Honours gole to winne
Runnes out of Breath yet furthest of from him.
So do our most of Poets whose Muse flies
About for honour, catch poore Butterflies.
But thou, faire freind, not rankt shall be 'mongst those
That makes a Mountaine where a Mole-hill growes;
Thou whose sweete singing Pen such layes hath writ
That in an old way teacheth vs new wit:
Thou that wert borne and bred to bee the man
To turne Apollos glory into Pan,
And when thou lists of Shepheards leaue to write,
To great Apollo adde againe his light
For neuer yet like Shepheards forth haue come
Whose Pipes so sweetely play as thine haue done.
Faire Muse of Browne, whose beauty is as pure
As women Browne that faire and long'st endure,
Still may'st thou as thou dost a louer moue,
And as thou dost each mouer may thee loue,
Whilst I my selfe in loue with thee must fall,
Brownes Muse the faire Browne woman still will call.

The first Eglogue. Roget and Willy both ymet

Willie. Roget.
Willie.
Roget, droope not, see the spring
Is the earth enamelling,
And the birds on euery Tree
Greete this morne with melody:
Hearke, how yonder Thrustle chants it,
And her mate as proudly vants it;
See how euery streame is drest
By her Margine with the best
Of Flora's gifts, she seemes glad
For such Brookes such flowres she had.
All the trees are quaintly tyred
With greene buds, of all desired;
And the Hauthorne euery day
Spreads some little shew of May:
See the Prim-rose sweetely set
By the much-lou'd Violet
All the Bankes doe sweetly couer,
As they would inuite a Louer
With his Lasse to see their dressing
And to grace them by their pressing:
Yet in all this merry tyde
When all cares are laid aside,
Roget sits as if his bloud
Had not felt the quickning good
Of the Sun, nor cares to play,
Or with songs to passe the day
As he wont: Fye, Roget, flye,
Raise thy head, and merrily
Tune vs somewhat to thy reed:
See our Flockes do freely feed,
Heere we may together sit,
And for Musicke very fit
Is this place; from yonder wood
Comes an Eccho shrill and good,
Twice full perfectly it will
Answere to thine Oaten quill.
Roget, droope not then, but sing
Some kind welcome to the Spring.

Roget.
Ah Willie, Willy, why should I
Sound my notes of iollity?
Since no sooner can I play
Any pleasing Roundelay,
But some one or other still
'Gins to descant on my Quill;
And will say, by this he me
Meaneth in his Minstralsie.
If I chance to name an Asse
In my song, it comes to passe,
One or other sure will take it
As his proper name, and make it
Fit to tell his nature too.
Thus what e're I chance to do
Happens to my losse, and brings
To my name the venom'd stings
Of ill report: How should I
Sound then notes of iollity?

Willie.
Tis true indeed, we say all
Rub a gal'd horse on the gall,
Kicke he wil, storme and bite,
But the horse of sounder plight
Gently feeles his Maisters hand.
In the water thrust a brand
Kindled in the fire, 'twill hisse,
When a sticke that taken is
From the Hedge, in water thrust,
Neuer rokes as would the first,
But endures the waters touch:
Roget, so it fares with such
Whose owne guilt hath them enflam'd,
Rage when e're their vice is blam'd.
But who in himselfe is free
From all spots, as Lillies be,
Neuer stirres, do what thou can.
If thou slander such a man
Yet he's quiet, for he knowes
With him no such vices close.
Onely he that is indeed
Spotted with the leprous seed
Of corrupted thoughts, and hath
An vlcerous soule in the path
Of reproofe, he straight will brall
If you rub him on the gall.
But in vaine then shall I keepe
These my harmlesse flocke of sheepe.
And though all the day I tend them,
And from Wolues & Foxes shend them.
Wicked Swaines that beare mee spight,
In the gloomy vaile of night,
Of my fold will draw the pegges,
Or else breake my Lambkins legges:
Or vnhang my Weathers bell,
Or bring bryers from the dell,
And them in my fold by peeces
Cast, to tangle all their fleeces.
Welladay! such churlish Swaynes
Now and then lurke on our plaines:
That I feare a time ere long
Shall not heare a Sheepheards song,
Nor a Swayne shall take in taske
Any wrong, nor once vnmaske
Such as do with vices rife
Soyle the Sheepheards happy life:
Except he meanes his Sheepe shall bee
A prey to all their iniury.
This causeth mee I do no more
Chant so as I wont of yore:
Since in vaine then should I keepe
These my harmlesse flocke of Sheepe.

Willie.
Yet if such thou wilt not sing,
Make the Woods and Vallies ring
With some other kind of lore,
Roget hath enough in store,
Sing of loue, or tell some tale,
Praise the flowers, the Hils, the Vale:
Let vs not heere idle be;
Next day I will sing to thee.
Hearke on knap of yonder Hill
Some sweet Sheepheard tunes his quill;
And the Maidens in a round
Sit (to heare him) on the ground.
And if thou begin, shall wee
Grac'd be with like company.
And to gird thy Temples bring
Garlands for such fingering.
Then raise thee Roget—

Roget.
Gentle Swaine
Whom I honour for thy straine,
Though it would beseeme me more
To attend thee and thy lore:
Yet least thou might'st find in me
A neglect of courtesie,
I will sing what I did leere
Long agon in Ianiueere
Of a skilfull aged Sire,
As we tosted by the fire.

Willy.
Sing it out, it needs must be
Very good what comes from thee.

Roget.

Willy.
By my hooke this is a Tale
Would befit our Whitson-ale:
Better cannot be, I wist,
Descant on it he that list.
And full gladly giue I wold
The best Cosset in my fold
And a Mazor for a fee,
If this song thou'lt teachen me.
Tis so quaint and fine a lay,
That vpon our reuell day
If I sung it, I might chance
(For my paines) be tooke to dance
With our Lady of the May.

Roget.
Roget will not say thee nay,
If thou deem'st it worth thy paines.
Tis a song, not many Swaines
Singen can, and though it be
Not so deckt with nycetee
Of sweet words full neatly chused
As are now by Shepheards vsed:
Yet if well you sound the sence,
And the Morals excellence,
You shall finde it quit the while,
And excuse the homely stile.
Well I wot, the man that first
Sung this Lay, did quench his thirst,
Deeply as did euer one
In the Muses Helicon.
Many times he hath been seen
With the Fairies on the greene,
And to them his Pipe did sound,
Whilst they danced in a round.
Mickle solace would they make him,
And at mid-night often wake him,
And convey him from his roome
To a field of yellow broome;
Or into the Medowes where
Mints perfume the gentle Aire,
And where Flora spends her treasure:
There they would begin their measure.
If it chanc'd nights sable shrowds
Muffled Cinthia vp in clowds,
Safely home they then would see him,
And from brakes and quagmires free him.
There are few such swaines as he
Now adayes for harmony.

Willie.
What was he thou praisest thus?

Roget.
Scholler vnto Tityrus:
Tityrus the brauest Swaine
Euer liued on the plaine,
Taught him how to feed his Lambes,
How to cure them, and their Dams:
How to pitch the fold, and then
How he should remoue agen:
Taught him when the Corne was ripe,
How to make an Oaten Pipe,
How to ioyne them, how to cut them,
When to open, when to shut them,
And with all the skill he had
Did instruct this willing lad.

Willie.
Happy surely was that Swaine!
And he was not taught in vaine:
Many a one that prouder is,
Han not such a song as this,
And haue garlands for their meed,
That but iarre as Skeltons reed.

Roget.
Tis too true: But see the Sunne
Hath his iourney fully run;
And his horses all in sweate
In the Ocean coole their heate;
Seuer we our sheepe and fold them,
T'will be night ere we haue told them.

The second Eglogue. Two Shepheards here complaine the wrong

Willie. Iockie.
Willie.
Iockie, say: what might he be
That sits on yonder hill?
And tooteth out his notes of glee
So vncouth and so shril?

Iockie.
Notes of glee? bad ones I trow,
I haue not heard beforne
One so mistooke as Willie now,
Tis some Sow-gelders horne.
And well thou asken mightst if I
Do know him, or from whence
He comes, that to his Minstralsie
Requires such patience.
He is a Swinward, but I thinke
No Swinward of the best.
For much he reketh of his swinke,
And carketh for his rest.

Willie.
Harme take the Swine! What makes he heere?
What lucklesse planets frownes
Haue drawne him and his Hogges in feere
To root our daisied downes.
Ill mote hee thriue! and may his Hogges
And all that ere they breed
Be euer worried by our Dogges,
For so presumptuous deed.
Why kept hee not among the Fennes,
Or in the Copses by,
Or in the Woods and braky glennes,
Where Hawes and Acornes lye?
About the Ditches of the Towne,
Or Hedge-rowes hee might bring them.

Iockie.
But then some pence 'twould cost the Clowne
To yoke and eke to ring them;
And well I weene he loues no cost
But what is for his backe:
To goe full gay him pleaseth most,
And lets his belly lacke.
Two sutes he hath, the one of blew,
The other home-spun gray:
And yet he meanes to make a new
Against next reuell day;
And though our May-lord at the feast
Seem'd very trimly clad,
In cloth by his owne mother drest,
Yet comes not neere this lad.
His bonnet neatly on his head,
With button on the top,
His shooes with strings of leather red,
And stocking to his slop.
And yet for all it comes to passe,
He not our gybing scapes:
Some like him to a trimmed Asse,
And some to Iacke-an-Apes.

Willie.
It seemeth then by what is said,
That Iockie knowes the Boore;
I would my scrip and hooke haue laid
Thou knewst him not before.

Iockie.
Sike lothed chance by fortune fell
(If fortune ought can doe):
Not kend him? Yes. I ken him well
And sometime paid for't too.

Willie.
Would Iockie euer stoope so low,
As conissance to take
Of sike a Churle? Full well I know
No Nymph of spring or lake,
No Heardesse, nor no shepheards gerle
But faine would sit by thee,
And Sea-nymphs offer shells of perle
For thy sweet melodie.
The Satyrs bring thee from the woods
The Straw-berrie for hire,
And all the first fruites of the budds
To wooe thee to their quire.
Siluanus songsters learne thy straine,
For by a neighbour spring
The Nightingale records againe
What thou dost primely sing.
Nor canst thou tune a Madrigall,
Or any drery mone,
But Nymphs, or Swaines, or Birds, or all
Permit thee not alone.
And yet (as though deuoid of these)
Canst thou so low decline,
As leaue the louely Naides
For one that keepeth Swine?
But how befell it?

Iockie.
Tother day
As to the field I set me,
Neere to the May-pole on the way
This sluggish Swinward met me.
And seeing Weptol with him there,
Our fellow-swaine and friend,
I bad, good day, so on did fare
To my preposed end.
But as backe from my wintring ground
I came the way before,
This rude groome all alone I found
Stand by the Ale-house dore.
There was no nay, but I must in
And taste a cuppe of Ale;
Where on his pot he did begin
To stammer out a tale.
He told me how he much desir'd
Th' acquaintance of vs Swaines,
And from the forrest was retir'd
To graze vpon our plaines:
But for what cause I cannot tell,
He can nor pipe nor sing,
Nor knowes he how to digge a well,
Nor neatly dresse a spring:
Nor knowes a trappe nor snare to till,
He sits as in a dreame;
Nor scarce hath so much whistling skill
Will hearten-on a teame.
Well, we so long together were,
I gan to haste away,
He licenc'd me to leaue him there,
And gaue me leaue to pay.

Willie.
Done like a Swinward! may you all
That close with such as he,
Be vsed so! that gladly fall
Into like company.
But if I faile not in mine Art,
Ile send him to his yerd,
And make him from our plaines depart
With all his durty herd.
I wonder he hath suffred been
Vpon our Common heere,
His Hogges doe root our yonger trees
And spoyle the smelling breere.
Our purest welles they wallow in,
All ouer-spred with durt,
Nor will they from our Arbours lin,
But all our pleasures hurt.
Our curious benches that we build
Beneath a shady tree,
Shall be orethrowne, or so defilde
As we would loath to see.
Then ioyne we, Iockie; for the rest
Of all our fellow Swaines,
I am assur'd, will doe their best
To rid him fro our plaines.

Iockie.
What is in me shall neuer faile
To forward such a deed.
And sure I thinke wee might preuaile
By some Satyricke reed.

Willie.
If that will doe, I know a lad
Can hit the maister-vaine.
But let vs home, the skyes are sad,
And clouds distill in raine.

The Third Eglogve. Old Neddy's pouertie they mone

Piers. Thomalin.
Thomalin.
Where is euery piping lad
That the fields are not yclad
With their milk-white sheep?
Tell me: Is it Holy-day,
Or if in the Month of May
Vse they long to sleepe?

Piers.
Thomalin, 'tis not too late,
For the Turtle and her mate
Sitten yet in nest:
And the Thrustle hath not been
Gath'ring worms yet on the green
But attends her rest.
Not a bird hath taught her yong,
Nor her mornings lesson sung
In the shady groue:
But the Nightingale in darke
Singing woke the mounting Larke:
She records her loue.
Not the Sun hath with his beames
Guilded yet our christall streames,
Rising from the Sea,
Mists do crowne the mountaines tops,
And each pretty mirtle drops:
Tis but newly day.
Yet see, yonder (though vnwist)
Some man commeth in the mist;
Hast thou him beheld?
See he crosseth or'e the land
With a dogg and staffe in hand,
Limping for his eld.

Thomalin.
Yes, I see him, and doe know him,
And we all do reu'rence owe him,
Tis the aged Sire
Neddy; that was wont to make
Such great feasting at the wake,
And the blessing-fire.
Good old man! see how he walkes
Painfull and among the balkes
Picking lockes of wull!
I haue knowne the day when he
Had as much as any three,
When their lofts were full.
Vnderneath yond hanging rockes
All the valley with his Flockes
Was whilome ouer-spread:
Hee had milch-goates without peeres,
Well-hung kine, and fatned steeres
Many hundred head.
Wilkins cote his Dairy was,
For a dwelling it may passe
With the best in towne.
Curds and Creame with other cheare
Haue I had there in the yeare
For a greeny gowne.
Lasses kept it, as againe
Were not fitted on the plaine
For a lusty dance:
And at parting, home would take vs,
Flawnes or Sillibubs to make vs
For our iouisance.
And though some in spight would tell,
Yet old Neddy tooke it well;
Bidding vs againe
Neuer at his Cote be strange:
Vnto him that wrought this change,
Mickle be the paine!

Piers.
What disaster, Thomalin
This mischance hath cloth'd him in,
Quickly tellen me?
Rue I doe his state the more,
That hee clipped heretofore
Some felicity.
Han by night accursed theeues
Slaine his Lambs, or stolne his Beeues,
Or consuming fire
Brent his shearing-house, or stall;
Or a deluge drowned all,
Tell me it intire?
Haue the Winters been so set
To raine and snow, they haue wet
All his driest Laire:
By which meanes his sheepe haue got
Such a deadly curelesse rot,
That none liuing are?

Thomalin.
Neither waues, nor theeues, nor fire,
Not haue rots impoor'd this Sire,
Suretiship, nor yet
Was the vsurer helping on
With his damn'd extortion,
Nor the chaines of debt.
But deceit that euer lies
Strongest arm'd for treacheries
In a bosom'd friend:
That (and onely that) hath brought it:
Cursed be the head that wrought it,
And the basest end!
Groomes he had, and he did send them
With his heards a-field, to tend them,
Had they further been;
Sluggish, lazy, thriftlesse elues,
Sheep had better kept themselues
From the Foxes teen.
Some would kill their sheepe, and then
Bring their maister home agen
Nothing but the skin;
Telling him, how in the morne
In the fold they found them torne,
And nere lying lin.
If they went vnto the faire
With a score of fatned ware,
And did chance to sell:
If old Neddy had againe
Halfe his owne, I dare well saine,
That but seldome fell.
They at their returne would say,
Such a man or such would pay,
Well knowne of your Hyne.
Alas poore man! that subtill knaue
Vndid him, and vaunts it braue,
Though his Maister pine.
Of his maister he would begg
Such a lambe that broke his legg,
And if there were none:
To the fold by night hee'd hye,
And them hurt full rufully
Or with staffe or stone.
Hee would haue petitions new,
And for desp'rate debts would sue
Neddy had forgot:
He would grant: the other then
Tares from poore and aged men:
Or in Iayles they rot.
Neddy lately rich in store,
Giuing much, deceiued more,
On a sudden fell;
Then the Steward lent him gold,
Yet no more then might bee told
Worth his maisters Cell.
That is gone, and all beside
(Well-a-day, alacke the tide):
In a hollow den
Vnderneath yond gloomy wood
Wons he now, and wails the brood
Of ingrateful men.

Piers.
But alas! now hee is old,
Bit with hunger, nipt with cold,
What is left him?
Or to succour, or releeue him,
Or from wants oft to repreeue him.

Thomalin.
Al's bereft him,
Saue he hath a little crowd,
(Hee in youth was of it prowd)
And a dogge to dance:
With them he on holy-dayes
In the Farmers houses playes
For his sustenance.

Piers.
See; he's neere, let's rise and meet him,
And with dues to old age greet him,
It is fitting so.

Thomalin.
Tis a motion good and sage,
Honour still is due to age:
Vp, and let vs go.

The Fovrth Eglogve. Vnder an aged Oke was Willy laid

TO THE VERTVOVS and much lamenting Sisters of my euer admired friend, Mr Thomas Manvvood.

To me more known then you, is your sad chance,
Oh! had I still enjoy'd such ignorance;
Then I by these spent teares had not bin known,
Nor left anothers griefe to sing mine owne.
Yet since his fate hath wrought these throes
Permit a Partner in your woes:
The cause doth yeeld, and still may do
Ynough for Yov, and others too
But if such plaints for Yov are kept,
Yet may I grieue since you haue wept.
For hee more perfect growes to bee
That feeles anothers Miserie.
And thogh these drops wch mourning run,
From seuerall Fountaines first begun:
And some farre off, some neerer fleete,
They will (at last) in one streame meete.
Mine shal with yours, yours mix wth mine
And make one Offring at his Shrine:
For whose Eternitie on earth, my Muse
To build this Altar, did her best skill vse;
And that you, I, and all that held him deere,
Our teares and sighes might freely offer heere.

The Fifth Eglogve.

The Argvment.

Willy incites his friend to write
Things of a higher fame
Then silly Shephards vse endite
Vaild in a Shepheards name.
Willy and Cvtty.
Morne had got the start of night,
Lab'ring men were ready dight
With their shouels and their spades
For the field, and (as their trades)
Or at hedging wrought or ditching
For their food more then enritching.
When the shepheards from the fold
All their bleating charges told,
And (full carefull) search'd if one
Of all their flocke were hurt or gone,
Or (if in the night-time cul'd)
Any had their fleeces pul'd:
'Mongst the rest (not least in care)
Cvtty to his fold gan fare,
And yong Willy (that had giuen
To his flocke the latest euen
Neighbourhood with Cvtty's sheep)
Shaking off refreshing sleepe,
Hy'd him to his charge that blet;
Where he (busied) Cvtty met.
Both their sheepe told, and none mist
Of their number; then they blist
Pan and all the Gods of plaines
For respecting of their traines
Of silly sheepe, and in a song
Praise gaue to that holy throng.
Thus they draue their flockes to graze,
Whose white fleeces did amaze
All the Lillies, as they passe
Where their vsuall feeding was.
Lillies angry that a creature
Of no more eye-pleasing feature
Then a sheepe, by natures duty
Should be crownd with far more beauty
Then a Lilly, and the powre
Of white in sheepe outgoe a flowre,
From the middle of their sprout
(Like a Furies sting) thrust out
Dart-like forks in death to steep them;
But great Pan did safely keepe them,
And affoorded kinde repaire
To their dry and wonted laire,
Where their maisters (that did eye them)
Vnderneath a Haw-thorne by them,
On their pipes thus gan to play,
And with rimes weare out the day.
Willie.
Cease, Cvtty, cease, to feed these simple Flockes,
And for a Trumpet change thine Oaten-reeds;
O're-looke the vallies as aspiring rockes,
And rather march in steele then shepheards weeds.
Beleeue me, Cvtty! for heroicke deeds
Thy verse is fit, not for the liues of Swaines,
(Though both thou canst do well) and none proceeds
To leaue high pitches for the lowly plaines:
Take thou a Harpe in hand, striue with Apollo;
Thy Muse was made to lead, then scorne to follow.

Cuttie.
Willy, to follow sheepe I ne're shall scorne,
Much lesse to follow any Deity;
Who 'gainst the Sun (though weakned by the morne)
Would vie with lookes, needeth an Eagles eye,
I dare not search the hidden mistery
Of tragicke Scenes; nor in a buskin'd stile
Through death and horror march, nor their height fly
Whose pens were fed with blood of this faire Ile.
It shall content me on these happy downes
To sing the strife for garlands, not for crownes.

Willie.

Cuttie.
Why doth not Willy then produce such lines
Of men and armes as might accord with these?

Willie.
'Cause Cutties spirit not in Willy shines,
Pan cannot weild the Club of Hercules,
Nor dare a Merlin on a Heron seise.
Scarce know I how to fit a shepheards eare:
Farre more vnable shall I be to please
In ought, which none but semi-gods must heare.
When by thy verse (more able) time shall see,
Thou canst giue more to kings then kings to thee.

Cuttie.
But (wel-a-day) who loues the muses now,
Or helpes the climber of the sacred hill?
None leane to them, but striue to disalow
All heauenly dewes the goddesses distill.

Willie.

Cuttie.
These attributes (my lad) are not for me,
Bestow them where true merit hath assign'd—

Willie.
And do I not, bestowing them on thee?
Beleeue me, Cuttie, I doe beare this minde,
That whereso'ere we true deseruing finde,
To giue a silent praise is to detract;
Obscure thy verses (more then most refin'd)
From any one of dulnesse to compact.
And rather sing to trees then to such men,
Who know not how to crowne a Poets pen.

Cuttie.
Willy, by thy incitement I'le assay
To raise my subiect higher than tofore,
And sing it to our Swaines next holy-day,
Which (as approu'd) shall fill them with the store
Of such rare accents; if dislik'd, no more
Will I a higher straine then shepheards vse,
But sing of Woods and Riuers, as before.

Willie.
Thou wilt be euer happy in thy Muse.
But see, the radiant Sun is gotten hye,
Let's seeke for shadow in the groue hereby.

The Sixth Eglogve.

The Argvment.

Philos of his Dogge doth bragge
For hauing many feates;
The while the Curre vndoes his bagge,
And all his dinner eates.
Willy. Iockie. Philos.
Willy.
Stay, Iockie, let vs rest here by this spring,
And Philos too, since we so well are met;
This spreading Oke will yeeld vs shadowing
Till Phæbus steeds be in the Ocean wet.

Iockie.
Gladly (kind swaine) I yeeld, so thou wilt play,
And make vs merry with a Roundelay.

Philos.
No, Iockie, rather wend we to the wood,
The time is fit, and Filberds waxen ripe,
Let's go and fray the Squirrell from his food;
We will another time heare Willie pipe.

Willie.
But who shall keepe our flockes when we are gone?
I dare not go, and let them feed alone.

Iockie.
Nor I: since but the other day it fell,
Leauing my sheep to graze on yonder plaine,
I went to fill my bottle at the well,
And ere I could return two lambs were slaine.

Philos.
Then was thy dogg ill taught, or else a sleepe;
Such Curres as those shall neuer watch my sheepe.

Willie.
Yet Philos hath a dogg not of the best:
He seemes too lazy, and will take no paines,
More fit to lye at home and take his rest,
Then catch a wandring sheep vpon the plains.

Iockie.
Tis true indeed: and Philos, wot ye what?
I thinke he playes the Fox, he growes so fat!

Philos.

Willie.
Belike your dog came of a Pedlers brood,
Or Philos musicke is exceeding good.

Philos.
I boast not of his kin, nor of my Reed,
(Though of my reed and him I wel may boast)
Yet if you will aduenture that some meed
Shall be to him that is in action most,
As for a Coller of shrill sounding bels
My dog shall striue with yours, or any's els.

Iockie.
Philos, in truth I must confesse your Wagge
(For so you call him) hath of trickes good store,
To steale the vittailes from his maisters bagge
More cunningly I nere saw dogge before.
See, Willy, see! I prithee, Philos, note
How fast thy bread & cheese goes down his throte.

Willie.
Now, Philos, see how mannerly your Curre,
Your well-taught dog, that hath so many trickes,
Deuoures your Dinner.

Philos.
I wish 'twere a burre
To choke the Mungrell!

Iockie.
See how cleane he lickes
Your Butter-boxe; by Pan, I doe not meanly
Loue Philos dog that loues to be so cleanly.

Philos.
Well flouted, Iockie.

Willie.
Philos! run amaine,
For in your scrip hee now hath thrust his head
So farre, he cannot get it forth againe;
See how he blind-fold strags along the mead,
And at your scrip your bottle hangs, I thinke.
He loues your meat, but cares not for your drinke.

Iockie.
I, so it seemes: and Philos now may goe
Vnto the wood, or home for other cheere.

Philos.
Twere better he had neuer seru'd me so:
Sweet meat, sowre sauce, he shal abye it deere.
What, must he be aforehand with his maister?

Willie.
Onely in kindnesse hee would be your taster.

Philos.
Well, Willy, you may laugh, and vrge my spleen;
But by my hooke I sweare he shall it rue,
And had far'd better had hee fasting been.
But I must home for my allowance new.
So farewell, lads. Looke to my fleeced traine
Till my returne.

Iockie.
We will.

Willie.
Make haste againe.

The Seventh Eglogve.

Palinode. Hobbinol.
Hobbinoll.
Such heauy frownes
Fortune for others keepes; but bends on me
Smiles would befit the seat of maiestie.
Hath Palinode
Made his abode
Vpon our plaines, or in some vncouth Cell,
That heares not what to Hobbinoll befell?
Phillis the faire, and fairer is there none,
To morrow must be linkt in marriage bands,
Tis I that must vndo her virgin Zone:
Behold the man, behold the happy hands.

Palinode.
Behold the man! Nay then the woman too:
Though both of them are very smal beholding
To any powre that set them on to wooe.
Ah Hobbinoll! it is not worth vnfolding
What shepheards say of her; thou canst not chuse
But heare what language all of Phillis vse;
Yet, then such tongues
To her belongs
More men to sate her lust. Vnhappy elfe!
That wilt be bound to her to loose thy selfe.
Forsake her first.

Hobinoll.
Thou most accurst!
Durst thou to slander thus the innocent,
The graces patterne, Vertues president?
She in whose eye
Shines modesty:
Vpon whose brow lust neuer lookes with hope?
Venus rul'd not in Phillis Horoscope.
Tis not the vapour of a Hemblocke stem
Can spoile the perfume of sweet Cynnamon;
Nor vile aspersions, or by thee or them
Cast on her name, can stay my going on.

Palinode.
On maist thou goe, but not with such a one,
Whom (I dare sweare) thou knowst is not a maid:
Remember, when I met her last alone,
As wee to yonder Groue for filberds straid,
Like to a new-strook Doe from out the bushes
Lacing herselfe, and red with gamesome blushes
Made towards the greene,
Loth to be seene:
And after in the groue the goatheard met:
What saidst thou then? If this preuaile not, yet
I'le tell thee moe.
Not long agoe
Too long I lou'd her, and as thou dost now,
Would sweare Diana was lesse chaste then she,
That Iupiter would court her, knew he how
To finde a shape might tempt such chastity:
And that her thoughts were pure as new-falne snow,
Or siluer swans that trace the bankes of Poe,
And free within
From spot of sin:
Yet like the flinte her lust-swolne breast conceal'd
A hidden fire; and thus it was reueal'd:
Cladon, the Lad
Who whilome had
The Garland giuen for throwing best the barre,
I know not by what chance or lucky star,
Was chosen late
To bee the mate
Vnto our Lady of the gleesome May,
And was the first that danc'd each holyday.
None would hee take but Phillis forth to dance,
Nor any could with Phillis dance but hee,
On Palinode shee thenceforth not a glance
Bestowes, but hates him and his pouerty,
Cladon had sheepe and lims for stronger lode
Then ere shee saw in simple Palinode;
Hee was the man
Must clip her than;
For him shee wreathes of flowers and chaplets made,
To strawberries inuites him in the shade
In sheering time:
And in the prime
Would helpe to clip his sheepe and gard his lambs,
And at a need lend him her choicest rams;
And on each stocke
Worke such a clocke
With twisted couloured thred, as not a Swaine
On all these downes could shew the like againe.
But as it seemes, the Well grew dry at last,
Her fire vnquench'd; and shee hath Cladon left.
Nor was I sorry; nor do wish to taste
The flesh whereto so many flyes haue cleft.
Oh Hobbinoll! Canst thou imagine shee
That hath so oft beene tryde, so oft misdone,
Can from all other men bee true to thee?
Thou knowst with mee, with Cladon, shee hath gone
Beyond the limites that a maiden may,
And can the name of wife those rouings stay?
Shee hath not ought
That's hid, vnsought:
These eyes, these hands, so much know of that woman
As more thou canst not; can that please that's cōmon?
No: should I wed,
My marriage bed
And all that it containes should as my heart
Be knowne but to my selfe; if wee impart
What golden rings
The Fairie brings,
Wee loose the Iem: nor will they giue vs more.
Wiues loose their value, if once knowne before.
Behold this Violet that cropped lyes,
I know not by what hand, first from the stem,
With what I plucke my selfe shall I it prise?
I scorne the offals of a Diadem.
A Virgins bed hath millions of delights,
If then good parents please shee know no more:
Nor hath her seruants nor her fauorites
That waite her husbands issuing at dore.
Shee that is free both from the act and eye
Onely deserues the due of Chastitie.
But Phillis is
As farre from this,
As are the Poles in distance from each other:
Shee well beseemes the daughter of her mother.
Is there a brake
By Hill or Lake
In all our plaines that hath not guilty beene
In keeping close her stealths; the Paphian Queene
Ne're vs'd her skill
To win her will
Of yong Adonis with more heart then shee
Hath her allurements spent to work on mee.
Leaue, leaue her, Hobinol; shee is so ill
That any one is good that's nought of her,
Though she be faire, the ground which oft we till
Growes with his burden old and barrenner.

Hobbinoll.
With much ado, and with no little paine
Haue I out-heard thy railing 'gainst my loue:
But it is common, what wee cannot gaine
Wee oft disualew; sooner shalt thou moue
Yond lofty Mountain from the place it stands,
Or count the Medowes flowers, or Isis sands,
Then stirre one thought
In mee, that ought
Can be in Phillis which Diana faire
And all the Goddesses would not wish their.
Fond man, then cease
To crosse that peace
Which Phillis vertue and this heart of mine
Haue well begun; and for those words of thine
I do forgiue,
If thou wilt liue
Heereafter free from such reproaches moe,
Since goodnesse neuer was without her foe.

Palinode.
Beleeue mee, Hobinoll, what I haue said
Was more in loue to thee then hate to her:
Thinke on thy liberty; let that bee weigh'd;
Great good may oft betide, if wee deferre,
And vse some short delayes ere marriage rites;
Wedlocke hath daies of toile as ioysome nights.
Canst thou bee free
From iealousy?
Oh no: that plague will so infect thy braine
That onely death must worke thy peace againe.
Thou canst not dwell
One minute well
From whence thou leau'st her; locke on her thy gate,
Yet will her minde bee still adulterate.
Not Argos eyes
Nor ten such spies
Can make her onely thine; for shee will do
With those that shall make thee mistrust them too.

Hobbinoll.
Wilt thou not leaue to taint a virgines name?

Palinode.
A virgine? yes: as sure as is her mother.
Dost thou not heare her good report by fame.

Hobbinoll.
Fame is a lyer, and was neuer other.

Palinode.
Nay, if shee euer spoke true, now shee did:
And thou wilt once confesse what I foretold:
The fire will bee disc[l]os'd that now lies hid,
Nor will thy thought of her thus long time hold.
Yet may shee (if that possible can fall)
Bee true to thee, that hath beene false to all.

Hobbinoll.
So pierce the rockes
A Red-breasts knockes
As the beleefe of ought thou tell'st mee now.
Yet bee my guest to morrow.

Pallinode.
Speed your plough.
I feare ere long
You'le sing a song
Like that was sung heereby not long ago:
Where there is carrion neuer wants a crow.

Hobinoll.
Ill tutor'd Swaine,
If on the plaine
Thy sheep hence-forward come where mine do feed,
They shall bee sure to smart for thy misdeed.

Palinode.
Such are the thankes a friends fore-warning brings.
Now by the loue I euer bore thee, stay!
Meete not mishaps! themselues haue speedy wings.

Hobbinoll.
It is in vaine. Farewell. I must away.

THE INNER TEMPLE MASQUE.

THE INNER TEMPLE MASQUE.

[THE FIRSTE SCENE.]

The Description of THE FIRSTE SCENE.

On one side the hall towardes the lower end was discovered a cliffe of the sea done over in parte white accordinge to that of Virgill, lib. 5.

Jamque adeo scopulos Syrenum advecta subibat
Difficiles quondam multorumque ossibus albos.

Upon yt were seated two Syrens as they are described by Hyginus & Servius wth their upper parts like woemen to the navell and the rest like a hen. One of theese at the firste discouery of the scene (a sea being done in perspective on one side the cliffe) began to singe this songe, beinge as lasciuious perper to them & beginninge as that of theirs in Hom. lib. μ. Οδ. Δευρ' αγ ιων παλυαιν Οδυσευ μεγα κυδος Αχαιων.

The last two lines were repeated as from a groue nere by a full Chorus, & ye Syren about to sing againe, Triton (in all parts as Apollonius, lib. 4. Argonautis. shewes him) was seene interruptinge her thus:
Triton.
Leaue, leaue, alluring Syren, wth thy song
To hasten wt ye Fates would faine p̄long:
Your sweetest tunes but grones of Mandrakes be;
He his owne traytore is yt heareth thee.
Tethys commaunds, nor is it fit yt you
Should ever glory you did him subdue
By wyles whose pollicyes were never spread
'Till Flaming Troy gave light to haue ym read.
Ulysses now furrowes ye liquid plaine
Doubtfull of seeing Ithaca againe,
For in his way more stops are thrust by time,
Then in ye path where vertue comes to climbe:
She yt wth silver springs for ever fills
The shady groues, sweet meddowes, and ye hills,
From whose continuall store such pooles are fed
As in ye land for seas are famosed.
'Tis she whose favoe to this Grecian tends
And to remove his ruine Triton sends.

Syren.
But 'tis not Tethys, nor a greater powre,
Cynthia, that rules the waues; scearce he (each howre)
That weilds the thunderboltes, can thinges begun
By mighty Circe (daughter to the Sun)
Checke or controule; she yt by charmes can make
The scalled fish to leaue the brinye lake,
And on the seas walke as on land she were;
She that can pull ye pale moone from her spheare,
And at mid-day the worlds all glorious eye
Muffle wth cloudes in longe obscuritie;
She that can cold December set on fire,
And from the graue bodyes wth life inspire;
She that can cleaue the center, & wth ease
A prospect make to our Antipodes;
Whose mystique spelles haue fearfull thunders made,
And forc't braue riuers to run retrograde.
She wthout stormes that sturdy oakes can tare
And turne their rootes where late their curl'd toppes were.
She that can wth the winter solstice bringe
All Flora's daintyes, Circe: bids me singe;
And till some greater hand her power can staye,
Who'ere commaunde, I none but her obaye.

Triton.
Then Nereus daughter thus you'le haue me telle.

Syren.
You maye.

Triton.
Thinke on her wrath.

Siren.
I shall. Triton! farewelle.

Siren.
Vaine was thy message, vaine her haste, for I
Muste tune againe my wanton Melodye.
Here she went on wth her SONGE thus:
For swellinge waues, our panting brestes
Where neuer stormes arise
Exchange; and be awhile our guestes:
For starres gaze on our eyes.
The compasse loue shall hourely singe,
And as he goes aboute the ringe,
We will not misse
To telle each pointe he nameth wth a kisse.

At ye end of this songe Circe was seene upon the rocke, quaintly attyr'd, her haire loose about her shoulders, an Anadem of flowers on her head, wth a wand in her hand, & then makinge towardes the Syrens, cald them thence wth this speech:
Siren.
What all the elements doe owe to thee
In their obedience is perform'd in mee.

Circe.
Circe drinkes not of Lethe: then awaye
To helpe ye Nymphes who now begin their laye.

The Seconde Scene.

While Circe was speakinge her first speech, & at these words, ‘Yond standes a hill, &c.’ a trauers was drawne at ye lower end of the hall, & gaue way for the discouery of an artificiall wood so nere imitatinge nature yt I thinke had there been a grove like yt in ye open plaine, birds would have been faster drawne to that than to Zeuxis grapes. Ye trees stood at the climbinge of an hill, & lefte at their feete a little plaine, wch they circled like a crescente. In this space vpon hillockes were seen eight musitians in crimsen taffity robes wth chaplets of lawrell on their heades their lutes by them, wch beinge by them toucht as a warninge to ye Nymphes of ye wood, from amonge the trees was heard this songe.......
By this time Circe & ye Syrens being come into ye wood, Vlysses was seene lyeing as asleepe, undr ye couverte of a fair tree, towards whom Circe coming bespake thus:—
Circe.
Yet holdes soft sleepe his course. Now Ithacus
Aiax would offer Hecatombes to vs,
And Iliums rauish'd wifes, & childlesse sires,
Wth incense dym ye bright æthereall fires,
To haue thee bounde in chaynes of sleepe as heere;
But yt [those] mayst behold, & knowe how deare
Thou art to Circe, wth my magicke deepe
And powerfull verses thus I banish sleepe.

Vlysses (as by ye power of Circe) awakinge thus began:
Ulysses.
......Thou more than mortalle mayde
Who when thou listes canst make (as if afraide)
The mountaines tremble & wth terrour shake
The seate of Dis; & from Avernus lake
Grim Hecate wth all the Furyes bringe
To worke reuenge; or to thy questioninge
Disclose the secretes of th' infernall shades
Or raise the ghostes yt walke the vnder-glades.
To thee, whom all obey, Ulysses bendes,
But may I aske (greate Circe) whereto tendes
Thy neuer-failinge handes? Shall we be free?
Or must thyne anger crush my mates and mee?

Circe.
Neyther, Laertes' sonne wth winges of loue
To thee, & none but thee, my actions moue.
My arte went wth thee & thou me mayst thanke
In winninge Rhesus horses, e're they dranke
Of Xanthus streame; & when wth human gore
Cleare Hebrus channell was all stayned 'ore;
When some braue Greekes, companions then wth thee,
Forgot their country through the Lotos tree;
I tyn'd the firebrande that (beside thy flight)
Left Polyphemus in eternall nighte;
And lastly to Æœa brought thee on,
Safe from the man-deuouring Læstrigon.
This for Ulysses loue hath Circe done,
And if to live wth mee thou shalt be wonne;
Aurora's hand shall neuer drawe awaye
The sable vale yt hides ye gladsome daye.
But we new pleasures will beginne to taste,
And, better stille, those we enjoyed laste.
To instance what I canne: Musicke, thy voyce,
And of all those haue felt or wrath the choyce
Appeare; and in a dance 'gin that delight
Which wth the minutes shall growe infinite.

Here one attir'd like a woodman in all poyntes came forth of ye wood & goeinge tow'ds ye stage sunge this songe, to call away ye firste Antimasque.
While ye first staffe of this songe was singinge out of ye thickets on eythr side of ye passage came rushinge ye Antimasque, beinge such as by Circe were supposed to haue beene transformed (havinge ye mindes of men still) into theese shapes followinge:

• 2. wth heartes, heades & bodyes as Actæon is pictur'd.
• 2. like Midas wth Asses eares.
• 2. like wolues as Lycaon is drawne.
• 2. like Baboons.
• Grillus (of whom Plutarche writes in his morralles) in ye shape of a hogge.

These together dancinge an antike measure tow'rdes ye latter end of yt missd Grillus who was newly slipte away & whilst they were at a stand wondringe what was become of him, the woodman stepte forth & sunge this songe:
Circe.
How likes Ulysses this!

Ulysses.
........Much like to one
Who in a shipwracke being cast vpon
The froathy shores, and safe beholdes his mates
Equally cross'd by Neptune and the fates.
You might as well haue ask'd how I would like
A straine whose æquall Orpheus could not strike,
Upon a harpe whose stringes none other be,
Then of the harte of chaste Penelope.
O let it be enough that thou in theese
Hast made most wretched Laertiades:
Let yet the sad chance of distressed Greekes
Wth other teares than Sorrowes dewe your cheekes!
Most abiect basenesse hath enthral'd that breste
Wch laughs at men by misery oppreste.

Circe.
In this, as lyllies, or ye new-falne snowe
Is Circe spotlesse yet, what though the bowe
Wch Iris bendes, appeareth to each sight
In various hewes & colours infinite?
The learned knowe that in itselfe is free
And light and shade make that varietye.
Thinges farre off seene seeme not the same they are,
Fame is not ever truth's Discouerer;
For still where enuy meeteth a reporte
Ill she makes worse, & what is Good come shorte.
In whatso'ere this land hath passiue beene
Or she that here 'ore other raigneth Queene
Let wise Ulysses judg. Some I confesse
That tow'rds this Isle not long since did addresse
Their stretched oares, no sooner landed were,
But (carelesse of themselues) they heere & there
Fed on strange fruites, inuenominge their bloodes,
And now like monsters range about the woods.
If those thy mates were, yet is Circe free:
For their misfortunes haue not byrth from mee
Who in th' Apothecaries shoppe hath ta'ne
(Whilst he is wantinge) that wch breeds his bane,
Should neuer blame the man who there had plac'd it
But his owne folly urginge him to taste it.

Vlysses.
Æœas Queene and great Hyperions pride,
Pardon misdoubtes; and we are satisfide.

Circe.
Swifter the lightninge comes not from aboue,
Then doe our grants borne on the winges of Loue.
And since what's past doth not Ulysses please,
Call to a dance the fair Nereides,
Wth other Nymphes wch doe in euery creeke,
In woods, on plaines, on mountaines, symples seeke
For powerfull Circe, and let in a songe
Ecchos be aydinge that they may prolonge
My now com̄and to each place where they be,
To bringe them hither all more speedilye.

Presently in ye wood was heard a full musicke of lutes wch descendinge to the stage had to them sung this followinge songe, the Ecchos being plac'd in seueral pts of the passage.
Ecch:
Come awaye, come awaye.
From ye riuers, from the sea.

Ecch:
From the sea, from the sea.
From the greene woods euery one.

Ecch:
Euery one, euery one.
Of her maides be missinge none.

Ecch:
Missinge none, missinge none.
No longer stay, except it bee to bringe
A med'cine for loues stinge.
That would excuse you & be held more deare
Then witte or Magicke, for both they are heere.

Ecch:
They are here, they are here.

The Eccho had no sooner answered to ye last line of the songe, They are here, but the second Antimasque came in, being seuen Nymphs & were thus attir'd: Fower in white taffita robes long tresses & chaplets of flowers, herbs & weeds on their heades wth little wicker baskets in yeir hands, neatly painted. These were supposed to be maids attending vpon Circe, & usd in gatheringe simples for their mistresses enchantments.—(Pausanias in prioribus Eliacis.) Three in sea greene robes, greenish haire hanging loose wth leaues of corrall & shelles intermixte vpon it. These are by Ouid affirmed to helpe the Nymphes of Circe in their collections by throse: These hauinge danc'd a most curious measure to a softer tune then ye first Antimasque as most fitting returned as they came; the Nereides tow'rds ye cliffes & ye other maides of Circe to ye woods & plaines, after wch Ulysses, thus:
Ulysses.
Fame addes not to thy ioyes, I see in this,
But like a high & stately Pyramis
Growes least at farthest; now, faire Circe, grante
Although the faire-hair'd Greeks do neuer vaunte,
That they in measur'd paces ought haue done,
But where the god of battailes ledd them on;
Give leaue that (freed from sleepe) ye small remaine
Of my companions on the under plaine
May in a dance striue how to pleasure thee
Eyther wth skill or wth varietye.

Circe.
Circe is pleas'd; Ulysses, take my wand
And from their eyes each child of sleepe com̄and;
Whilst my choyce maides wth their harmonious voyces
(Whereat each byrd and dancinge springe reioyces)
Charminge the windes when they contrary meete,
Shall make their spirits as nimble as their feete.

The THIRD SCENES

Description. Circe wth this speech deliueringe her wande to Ulysses rests on ye lower parte of ye hill, while he goeing up the hill & striking ye trees wth his wande, suddenly two greate gates flew open, makinge as it were a large glade through the wood, & alonge ye glade a faire walke; two seeminge bricke walles on eyther side, over wch the trees wantonly hunge; a great light (as ye Suns suddaine unmaskinge) being seene upon this discouery. At ye further end was descride an arbor, very curiously done, havinge one entrance under an architreave borne vp by two pillers wth their chapters & bases guilte; ye top of ye entrance beautifide wth postures of Satyres, Wood-Nymphes, & othe anticke worke; as also ye sides & corners: the coveringe archwise interwove wth boughes, ye backe of it girt round wth a vine, & artificially done

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257

vp in knottes towrds ye toppe; beyond it was a wood-scene in perspective, the fore part of it opening at Ulysses his approach, the maskers were discouered in severall seates leaninge as asleape.
THEIR ATTIRE. Doublets of greene taffita, cut like oaken leaves, as upon cloth of siluer; their skirtes & winges cut into leaues, deepe round hose of ye same, both lin'd wth sprigge lace spangled; long white sylke stockings; greene pumps, & roses done oue wth syluer leaues; hattes of ye same stuffe, & cut narrowe-brim'd, & risinge smaller compasse at ye crowne, white wreath hatbandes, white plumes, egrettes wth a greene fall, ruffe bands & cuffes. Ulysses seuerally came & touch't euery one of them wth ye wand while this was sunge.
By this ye knights beinge all risen from their seats were by Ulysses (ye loud musicke soundinge) brought to ye stage; and then to the violins danced their first measure aftewch this songe brought them to the second:
Here they danc'd theire second measure, & then this songe was sunge during wch time they take out ye ladyes:
The knights, wth the ladyes dance here ye old measures, Galliards, Corantoes, the Braules, &c. and then (havinge lead them againe to their places) danced their last measure; after wch this songe called them awaye.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

[_]

FROM LANSDOWNE MS. 777 AND OTHER SOURCES.

I. Love Poems.

[Loue who will, for Ile loue none]

ON A FAIRE LADYES YELLOW HAIRE POWDRED WITH WHITE.

WRITTEN IN THE DISSOLUING OF A SNOW.

[Not longe agone a youthfull swayne]

Not longe agone a youthfull swayne,
Much wronged by a maid's disdayne,
Before Loues Altar came & did implore
That he might like her lesse, or she loue more.
The god him heard, & she began
To doate on him, he (foolish man)
Cloyde with much sweets, thus changde his note before,
O let her loue me lesse, or I like more.

[Shall I loue againe, & try]

[Deepe are the wounds which strike a vertuous name]

Deepe are the wounds which strike a vertuous name;
Sharpe are the darts Reuenge still sets on wing:
Consumeing Jealousies abhorred flame!
Deadly the frownes of an enraged King.
Yet all these to Disdaynes heart-searching string
(Deepe, sharpe, consuming, deadlye) nothing be,
Whose darts, wounds, flames, and frownes, meet all in me.

[Poore silly foole! thou striv'st in vaine to knowe]

[Wellcome, wellcome, doe I sing]

[Ye merry birds, leaue of to sing]

A SIGH FROM OXFORD.

[A haples shepherd on a daye]

A haples shepherd on a daye
Yede to St. Michaels Mounte,
And spent more teares vpon the waye,
Then all the sands could counte.
Ffull was the Sea (so were the eyes
Of the vnhappy Louer)
Yet without Oare or Wynd in Skies,
His sighs did waft him over.

[Coelia is gone, & now sit I]

Coelia is gone, & now sit I
As Philomela, (on a thorne,
Turn'd out of natures liverye)
Mirthles, alone, & all forlorne;
Onelye she sings not, while my sorrowes can
Afford such notes as fit a dying swan.
So shuts the Marygold her leaues
At the departure of ye sunne;
Soe from honeysuckle sheaues
The Bee goes, when ye day is done.
Soe sits the Turtle, when she is but one;
So is all woe; as I, now she is gone.
To some few Birds, kind Nature hath
Made all the summer as one daye,
Which once enioyde, cold winters wrath,
As night, they sleeping passe away:
Those happy creatures are, that know not yet
The paines to be deprivde, or to forgett.
I oft haue heard men saye there be
Some, that with confidence professe
The helpefull art of memorie;
But could they teach Forgetfulnes,
I'd learne and trye what further art could doe,
To make me loue her, & forget her to.
Sad Melancholy that perswades
Men from themselues, to think they be
Headles or other bodyes shades,
Hath long & bootles dwelt with me;
For could I thinke she some Idea were,
I still might loue, forget, & haue her heere;
But such she is not: nor would I,
For twice as many torments more,
As her bereaued company
Hath brought to those I felt before;
For then noe future time might hap to know,
That she deseru'd, or I did loue her soe.
Ye howres then but as minutes be,
(Though soe I shall be sooner old,)
Till I those louely graces see,
Which but in her can none behold.
Then be an age that wee may neuer trye
More griefe in parting, but grow old & dye.

II. Odes, Songs, and Sonnets.

An Ode.

A ROUNDE.

All.

1.
Then heres to thee;

2.
And thou to mee
And euery thirsty soule.

All.
Sheare sheepe that haue them, cry we still,
But see that noe man scape
To drinke of the Sherry,
That makes us so merry,
And plumpe as the lusty Grape.

[Vnhappy Muse, that nothing pleasest me]

THIRSIS' PRAISE OF HIS MISTRESSE.

CŒLIA.

SONNETS.

1.

[Loe, I the man, that whilome lou'd & lost]

Loe, I the man, that whilome lou'd & lost,
Not dreading losse, doe sing againe of loue;
And like a man but latelie tempest-tost,
Try if my starres still inauspicious proue:
Not to make good, that poets neuer can
Long time without a chosen Mistris be,
Doe I sing thus; or my affections ran
Within the Maze of Mutabilitie;
What best I lov'de, was beauty of the mind,
And that lodgd in a Temple truely faire,
Which ruyn'd now by death, if I can finde
The Saint that livd therein some otherwhere,
I may adore it there, and love the Cell
For entertaining what I lov'd so well.

2.

[Why might I not for once be of that Sect]

Why might I not for once be of that Sect,
Which hold that soules, when Nature hath her right,
Some other bodyes to themselues elect;
And sunlike make the daye, and license Night;
That soul, whose setting in one Hemispheare
Was to enlighten streight another part;
In that Horizon, if I see yt there,
Calls for my first respect and its desert;
Her vertue is the same and may be more;
For as the Sun is distant, so his powre
In operation differs, and the store
Of thick clowds interposed make him lesse owr.
And verely I thinke her clymate such,
Since to my former flame it adds soe much.

3.

[Fairest, when by ye rules of palmistrye]

Fairest, when by ye rules of palmistrye
You tooke my hand to trye if you could guesse,
By lines therein, if anye wight there be
Ordain'd to make me know some happines;
I wish't that those Characters could explaine,
Whom I will neuer wrong with hope to win;
Or that by them a coppy might be sene,
By you, o loue, what thoughts I haue within.
But since the hand of Nature did not sett
(As providentlie loth to haue it knowne)
The meanes to finde that hidden Alphabet,
Mine Eyes shall be th' interpreters alone;
By them conceiue my thoughts, & tell me, faire,
If now you see her, that doth love me there?

4.

[Soe sat the Muses on the Bankes of Thames]

Soe sat the Muses on the Bankes of Thames,
And pleas'd to sing our heauenly Spencers wit,
Inspireing almost trees with powrefull flames,
As Cælia when she sings what I haue writ:
Me thinkes there is a Spirrit more diuine,
An Elegance more rare when ought is sung
By her sweet voice, in euery verse of mine,
Then I conceiue by any other tongue:
So a musitian sets what some one playes
With better rellish, sweeter stroke, then he
That first composd; nay oft the maker weighes,
If what he heares, his owne, or others be.
Such are my lines: the highest, best of choice,
Become more gratious by her sweetest voice.

5.

[Wer't not for you, here should my pen haue rest]

Wer't not for you, here should my pen haue rest
And take a long leaue of sweet Poesye;
Britannias swaynes, & riuers far by west,
Should heare no more mine oaten melodye;
Yet shall the song I sing of them, awhile
Vnperfect lye, and make noe further knowne
The happy loves of this our pleasant Ile;
Till I haue left some record of mine owne.
You are the subiect now, and, writing you,
I well may versify, not poetize:
Heere needs no fiction: for the graces true
And vertues clipp not with base flatteryes.
Heere should I write what you deserue of praise,
Others might weare, but I should win the bayes.

6.

[Sing soft, ye pretty Birds, while Cælia sleepes]

Sing soft, ye pretty Birds, while Cælia sleepes,
And gentle gales play gently with the leaues;
Learne of the neighbour brookes, whose silent deepes
Would teach him feare, that her soft sleep bereaues.
Myne Oaten reed, devoted to her praise,
(A theame that would befit the Delphian Lyre)
Give way, that I in silence may admire.
Is not her sleepe like that of innocents,
Sweet as her selfe; and is she not more faire,
Almost in death, then are the Ornaments
Of fruitfull trees, which newly budding are?
She is, and tell it, Truth, when she shall lye,
And sleep for euer, for she cannot dye.

7.

[Fairest, when I am gone, as now the Glasse]

Fairest, when I am gone, as now the Glasse
Of Time is mark't how long I haue to staye,
Let me intreat you, ere from hence I passe,
Perhaps from you for euermore awaye,
Thinke that noe common Loue hath fir'd my Breast,
No base desire, but Vertue truely knowne,
Which I may love, & wish to haue possest,
Were you the high'st as fair'st of any one;
'Tis not your louely eye inforcing flames,
Nor beautious redd beneath a snowy skin,
That so much bindes me yours, or makes you Flames,
As the pure light & beauty shryn'd within:
Yet outward parts I must affect of duty,
As for the smell we like the Roses beauty.

8.

[As oft as I meet one that comes from you]

As oft as I meet one that comes from you,
And aske your health, not as the usual fashion,
Before he speakes, I doubt there will insue,
As oft there doth, the com̄on commendacōn:
Alas, thinke I, did he but know my minde
(Though for the world I would not haue if soe)
He would relate it in another kinde,
Discourse of it at large, and yet but slowe;
He should th' occasion tell, & with it too
Add how you charg'd him he should not forget;
For this you might, as sure some louers doe,
Though such a Messenger I haue not mett:
Nor doe I care, since 'twill not further moue me,
Love me alone, and say, alone you love me.

9.

[Tell me, my thoughts (for you each Minute fly]

Tell me, my thoughts (for you each Minute fly,
And see those beautyes which mine eyes haue lost,)
Is any worthier Loue beneath the sky?
Would not the cold Norwegian mixt with frost
(If in their clyme she were) from her bright Eyes
Receiue a heat, so powrefully begun,
In all his veynes & nummed arteryes,
That would supply the lowenes of the sun?
I wonder at her harmony of words,
Rare (and as rare as seldome doth she talke)
That Riuers stand not in their speedy fords,
And downe the hills the trees forbeare to walke.
But more I muse, why I should hope in fine,
To get alone a Beauty so divine.

10.

[To gett a Love & Beauty so devine]

To gett a Love & Beauty so devine,
(In these so warye times) the fact must be,
Of greater fortunes to the world then myne;
Those are the stepps to that felicitye;
For love no other gate hath then the Eyes,
And inward worth is now esteem'd as none;
Mere outsides onely to that blessing rise,
Which Truth & Love did once account their owne;
Yet as she wants her fairer, she may misse
The common cause of Loue, and be as free
From Earth, as her composure heauenly is;
If not, I restles rest in miserie,
And daily wish to keepe me from despaire,
Fortune my Mistris, or you not so faire.

11.

[Fair Laurell, that the onelye witnes art]

Fair Laurell, that the onelye witnes art
To that discourse, which vnderneath thy shade
Our griefe swolne brests did lovinglie impart,
With vowes as true as ere Religion made:
If (forced by our sighs) the flame shall fly
Of our kinde Love, and get within thy rind,
Be warye, gentle Baye, & shrieke not hye,
When thou dost such vnusual feruor finde;
Suppresse the fire; for should it take thy leaues,
Their crackling would betraye vs, & thy glorye
(Honors faire symbole) dyes; Thy trunke receiues
But heate sufficient for our future story.
And when our sad misfortunes vanquish'd lye,
Imbrace our fronts in signe of memorie.

12.

[Had not the soyle, that bred me, further donne]

Had not the soyle, that bred me, further donne,
And fill'd part of those veynes which sweetlye doe,
Much like the living streames of Eden, run,
Embracing such a Paradise as you;
My Muse had fail'd me in the course I ran,
But that she from your vertues tooke new breath,
And from your Eyes such fire that, like a Swan,
She in your praise can sing her selfe to death.
Now could I wish those golden howres vnspent,
Wherein my Fancy led me to the woods,
And tun'd soft layes of rurall merriment,
Of shepherds Loues & neuer resting Floods:
For had I seen you then, though in a dreame,
Those songs had slept, and you had bin my Theame.

13.

[Night, steale not on too fast: wee haue not yet]

Night, steale not on too fast: wee haue not yet
Shed all our parting teares, nor paid the kisses,
Which foure dayes absence made vs run in debt,
(O, who would absent be where growe such blisses?)
The Rose, which but this morning spred her leaues,
Kist not her neighbour flower more chast then wee:
Nor are the timelye Eares bound vp in sheaues
More strict then in our Armes we twisted be;
O who would part vs then, and disvnite
Twoo harmeles soules, so innocent and true,
That were all honest Love forgotten quite,
By our Example men might Learne Anew.
Night seuers vs, but pardon her she maye,
And will once make us happyer then the daye.

14.

[Divinest Cælia, send no more to aske]

Divinest Cælia, send no more to aske
How I in absence doe; your seruant may
Be freed of that vnnecessary Taske:
For you may knowe it by a shorter waye.
I was a shaddow when I went from you;
And shaddowes are from sicknes euer free.
My heart you kept (a sad one, though a true)
And nought but Memorie went home with me.
Looke in your brest, where now two hearts you haue,
And see if they agree together there:
If mine want ayde, be mercifull & save,
And seek not for me any other where:
Should my physitian question how I doe,
I cannot tell him, till I aske of you.

III. Epistles.

AN EPISTLE.

AN EPISTLE

OCCASIONED BY THE MOST INTOLLERABLE JANGLING OF THE PAPISTS' BELLS ON ALL SAINTS' NIGHT, THE EVE OF ALL SOULES' DAYE, BEING THEN VSED TO BE RUNG ALL NIGHT (AND ALL AS IF THE TOWNE WERE ON FIRE) FOR THE SOULES OF THOSE IN PURGATORYE. WRITTEN FROM THOUARS TO SAUMUR, TO MR. BRYAN PALMES.

AN EPISTLE THROWNE INTO A RIUER, IN A BALL OF WAX.

Goe, gentle paper; happy (happier farre
Then he that sends thee) with this character:
Goe, view those blessed Banks, enriched by
A faire but faithles Maidens company;
And if consorted with my teares of bryne,
Which (Gentle floud) add waues to those of thyne,
Thou chance to touch the sand in thy progression,
Made valuable by her stepps impression:
Stay, stay thy course; and fortunate from danger
Dwell there, where my ill fate makes me a Stranger.
If, faithfull paper which holdst nought of Art,
Thou come into her hands who kylls my heart;
And she demands thee, how I spend my howres,
Tell her, O tell her! how in gloomy bowers,
In cauernes yet vnknowne euen to the sun,
And places free from all confusion
Except my thoughts, there sit I girt with feares;
Where day and night I turne my selfe to teares,
Onelye to wash away that stayne which she
Hath (carelesse) throwne vpon her constancye;
And if (touch'd with repentance) she bedewe
Thee with some christall drops, I would she knewe
Her Sorrowes or the breakyng of the dart
Heales not her wounded faith, nor my slaine hart.
And my iust Griefes of all redresse bereauen
Shall euer witnes before men and heauen,
That as she is the fair'st and most vntrue
Of those that euer man or read or knewe,
So am I the most constant without mate
Of all that breathe, and most affectionate;
Although assurd, that nor my loue nor Faith
Shall reape one Joye but by the hand of death.

AN EPISTLE.

FIDO: AN EPISTLE TO FIDELIA.

IV. Elegies.

AN ELEGYE ON MR. WILLM. HOPTON.

AN ELEGIE ON THE COUNTESSE DOWAGER OF PEMBROOKE.

ON AN INFANT VNBORNE, & THE MOTHER DYEING IN TRAUELL.

Within this Graue there is a Graue intomb'd:
Heere lyes a Mother & a Child inwomb'd;
'Twas strange that Nature so much vigour gaue
To one that nere was borne to make a Graue.
Yet, an iniunction stranger, Nature will'd her
Poore Mother, to be Tombe to that which kill'd her;
And not with soe much crueltye content,
Buryes the Childe, the Graue, & Monument.
Where shall we write the Epitaph? whereon?
The Childe, the Graue, the Monument is gone;
Or if vpon the Child we write a staff,
Where shall we cut the Tombs owne Epitaph?
Onely this way is left; & now we must,
As on a Table carpetted with dust,
Make chisells of our fingers, & ingraue
An Epitaph both on the Child & Graue
Within the dust: but when some dayes are gone,
Will not that Epitaph haue need of one?
I know it will; yet graue it there so deepe,
That those which know the lesse, & truly weepe,
May shedde their teares so iustly in that place,
Which we before did with a finger trace,
That filling vp the letters, they shall lye
As inlayde christall to posteritye:
Where (as on glass) if any write another,
Let him say thus: Heere lyes a haples Mother,
Whom cruell Fate hath made to be a Tombe,
And keepes in travell till the day of Doome.

ON THE R: H: CHARLES LORD HERBERT OF CARRDIFF & SHERLAND.

AN EPICED ON MR. FISHBOURNE.

AN ELEGYE ON SR THOMAS OVERBVRYE,

POISONED IN THE TOWRE OF LONDON.

AN ELEGIE

ON THE UNTIMELYE DEATH OF HIS EUER HONOR'D AS MUCH BELOUED AS LAMENTED FRIEND, MR. THOMAS AYLEWORTH OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, SLAYNE AT CROYDEN, & THERE BURYED.

AN ELEGYE.

ON A TWIN AT TWO YEARES OLD,

DEAD OF A CONSUMPTION.

Death! thou such a one hast smit,
Any stone can couer it;
'Twas an enuye more then sin,
If he had not been a Twin,
To haue kill'd him, when his herse
Hardly could contayne a verse.
Two faire Sisters, sweet and yong,
Minded as a prophets tongue,
Thou hadst kill'd, & since with thee
Goodnes had noe Amitie:
Nor could teares of Parents saue,
So much sweetnes from ye Graue;
Sicknes seem'd so small to fit him,
That thou shouldst not see to hit him;
And thou canst not truely saye,
If he be dead or flowne awaye.

AN ELEGIE

ON THE BEWAILED DEATH OF THE TRUELY-BELOVED AND MOST VERTUOUS HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES.

V. Visions.

1.

[Sitting one day beside the bankes of Mole]

Sitting one day beside the bankes of Mole,
Whose sleepy streame by passages vnknowne
Conuayes the fry of all her finny shole;
(As of the fisher she were feareful growne;)
I thought vpon the various turnes of Time,
And suddaine changes of all humane state;
The Feare-mixt pleasvres of all such as clyme
To Fortunes merely by the hand of Fate,
Without desert. Then weighing inly deepe
The griefes of some whose neernes makes him myne;
(Wearyed with thoughts) the leaden god of sleepe
With silken armes of rest did me entwyne:
While such strange apparitions girt me round,
As need another Joseph to expovnd.

3.

[I saw a silver swan swim downe the Lee]

I saw a silver swan swim downe the Lee,
Singing a sad Farwell vnto the Vale,
While fishes leapt to hear her melodie,
And on each thorne a gentle Nightingale;
And many other Birds forbore their notes,
Leaping from tree to tree, as she along
The panting bosome of the torrent floates,
Rapt with the musick of her dyeing Song:
When from a thick & all-entangled spring
A neatheard rude came with noe small adoe,
(Dreading an ill presage to heare her sing,)
And quickly strooke her slender neck in t[w]oo;
Whereat the Birds (me thought) flew thence with speed,
And inly griev'd for such a cruell deed.

4.

[Within the compasse of a shadye grove]

Within the compasse of a shadye grove
I long time sawe a loving Turtle flye,
And lastlye pitching by her gentle Love,
Sit kindelie billing in his company:
Till (haples soules) a faulcon sharply bent,
Flew towards the place where these kind wretches stood,
And sev'ring them, a fatall accident,
She from her mate flung speedie through the wood;
And scapeing from the hawke, a fowler sett
Close & with cunning vnderneath the shade,
Entrapt the harmles creature in his net,
And nothing moved with the plaint she made,
Restraynde her from the groves & deserts wide,
Where overgone with griefe, poore Bird, she dyde.

5.

[A rose, as faire as euer saw the North]

A rose, as faire as euer saw the North,
Grew in a little Garden all alone;
A sweeter flowre did Nature ne're put forth,
Nor fairer Garden yet was never knowne:
The Maydens danc't about it more & more,
And learned Bards of it their ditties made;
The Nimble Fairyes, by the palefac'd moone,
Wattr'd the roote, & kiss'd her pretty shade.
But welladaye, the Gardner careles grewe;
The maids & Fairyes both were kept awaye,
And in a drought the caterpillers threw
Themselues vpon the Bird & euery spraye.
God shield the stock! if heaven send noe supplyes,
The fairest Blossom of the Garden dyes.

6.

[Downe in a vallye, by a Forestt side]

Downe in a vallye, by a Forestt side,
Neere where the christall Thames roules on her waves,
I saw a Mushrome stand in haughty pride,
As if the Lillyes grew to be his slaves;
The gentle daisye, with her silver crowne,
Worne in the brest of many a shepheards lasse;
The humble violett, that lowly downe
Salutes the gaye Nimphes as they trimly passe:
Those, with a many more, me thoughte complaind
That Nature should those needles things produce,
Which not alone the Sun from others gain'd,
But turne it wholy to their proper vse:
I could not chuse but grieve, that Nature made
So glorious flowers to live in such a shade.

7.

[A gentle shepherd, borne in Arcadye]

A gentle shepherd, borne in Arcadye,
That well could tune his pipe, and deftly playe
The Nimphs asleepe with rurall minstralsye,
Me thought I saw, vpon a summer's daye,
Take up a little Satyre in a wood,
All masterlesse forlorne as none did know him,
And nursing him with those of his owne blood,
On mightye Pan he lastlie did bestowe him;
But with the god he long time had not been,
Ere he the shepherd and himselfe forgott,
And most ingratefull, ever stept between
Pan and all good befell the poore mans lott:
Whereat all good men griev'd, [and] strongly swore,
They never would be fosterfathers more.

VI. Epigrams.

[It hapned lately at a Fair, or Wake]

It hapned lately at a Fair, or Wake,
(After a pott or two or such mistake)
Two iron-soled Clownes, and bacon-sided,
Grumbled: then left the formes wch they bestrided,
And with their crabb tree cudgels, as appeares,
Threshd (as they vse) at one anothers' eares:
A neighbor nere, both to their house and drinke,
(Who though he slept at sermons) could not winke
At this dissention, with a Spiritt bold
As was the ale that arm'd them, strong & old,
Stept in & parted them; but Fortunes frowne
Was such, that there our neighbor was knockdt downe.
For they, to recompence his paines at full,
Since he had broke their quarrell, broke his Scull.
People came in, & raise[d] him from his swound;
A Chirurgeon then was calld to search the wound,
Who op'ning it, more to endeare his paynes,
Cryde out, Allas, Looke, you may see his Braynes.
Nay, quoth the Wounded man, I tell you free,
Good Mr Surgeon, that can neuer bee;
For I should nere haue medled with ye Brall,
If I had had but any Braynes at all.

ON AN HOURE GLASSE.

The truest houre glasse lyes; for youle confes,
All holes grow bigger, and the sand growes lesse.

ON THE COUNTESSE OF SOMERSETS PICTURE.

The pitty'd fortune most men chiefly hate;
And rather thinke the envyde fortunate:
Yet I, if Miserie did looke as She,
Should quicklie fall in loue with Miserie.

ON JOHN TOOTH.

Heere lyeth in sooth
Honest John Tooth;
Whom Death on a daye
From vs drew awaye.

TO DON ANTONIO, KING OF PORTUGALL.

Between thee & thy kingdome, late with force,
Spaine happily hath sued a divorce;
And now thou maist, as Christ did once of his,
Say, that thy kingdome not of this world is.

[MAN.]

Like to a Silkeworme of one yeare,
Or like a wronged Louers Teare,
Or on the Waues a Rudders Dynt,
Or like the Sparkles of a Flint,
Or like to little Cakes perfum'd,
Or Fireworkes made to be consum'd;
Even such is Man, and all that trust
In weake and animated dust.
The Silkeworme droopes; the teares soon shed;
The Shipps waye lost; the Sparkle dead;
The Cake is burnt; the Fireworke done;
And Man as these as quickly gone.

[Give me three kisses, Phillis; if not three]

Give me three kisses, Phillis; if not three,
Giue me as many as thy sweet lips be;
You gave & tooke one, yet deny me twaine,
Then take back yours, or give me mine againe.

ON ONE BORNE BLYNDE, AND SOE DEAD.

Who (but some one like thee) could euer saye,
He master'd Death, from robbing him a day?
Or was Death euer yet soe kinde to any?
One Night she took from thee, from others many,
And yet, to recompence it, in thy Tombe,
Giues the a longer, till the daye of doome.

ON A ROPE-MAKER HANG'D.

Heere lyes a man, much wrong'd in his hopes,
Who got his wealth backwards by making of Ropes;
It was his hard chance in his fortunes to falter,
For he liv'd by the Rope, & dyde by the halter.

VII. Epitaphs.

AN EPITAPH ON MR. JOHN SMYTH, CHAPLAYNE TO THE RIGHT HOBLE THE EARLE OF PEMBROOKE.

Know thou, that treadst on learned Smyth invrn'd,
Man is an Houre-glasse that is neuer turn'd;
He is gone through; & we that stay behinde,
Are in the vpper Glasse, yet vnrefynde.
When we are fit, with him soe truely iust,
We shall fall downe, and sleepe with him in dust.

ON MRS. ANNE PRIDEAUX, DAUGHTER OF MR. DOCTOR PRIDEAUX, REGIUS PROFESSOR.

SHE DYDE AT THE AGE OF 6 YEARES.

Nature in this small Volume was about
To perfect what in woman was left out;
Yet fearefull least a Piece soe well begun
Might want Preseruatiues, when she had done;
Ere she could finish what she vndertooke,
Threw dust vpon yt, & shut vp the Booke.

AN EPITAPH ON MR. WM. HOPTON.

Reader, stay, & read a Truth:
Heere lyes Hopton, Goodnes, Youth.
Drop a teare, & let it be
True as thou would'st wish for thee;
Shed one more, thou best of soules;
Those two teares shall be new Poles:
By the first wee'le sayle & find
Those lost Jewells of his mynde;
By the Latter we will swymme
Back againe, & sleep with him.

AN EPITAPH ON SR. JOHN PROWDE.

(LIEUTENANT COLLONELL TO SR. CHARLES MORGAN), SLAYNE AT THE SIEDGE OF GROLL, & BURYED AT ZUTPHEN, 1627.

After a March of twenty yeares, & more,
I got me downe on Yssells warlike shore;
There now I lye intrench'd, where none can seize me,
Vntill an Hoste of Angells come to raise me:
Warre was my Mistresse, & I courted her,
As Semele was by the Thunderer;
The mutuall Tokens 'twixt vs two allow'd,
Were Bullets wrapt in fire, sent in a Clowd;
One I receiued, which made me passe so farre,
That Honor layde me in the Bed of Warre.

IN OBITUM M. S. xo MAIJ, 1614.

May! Be thou neuer grac'd with birds that sing,
Nor Flora's pride!
In thee all flowers & Roses spring.
Mine onely dide.

ON MR. VAUX, THE PHYSITIAN.

ON ONE DROWNED IN THE SNOWE.

ON MR. JOHN DEANE, OF NEW COLLEDGE.

AN EPITAPH.

Faire Canace this little Tombe doth hyde,
Whoe onely seuen Decembers told and dyde.
O Crueltie! O synne! yet no man heere
Must for so short a life let fall a Teare;
Then death the kind was worse, what did infect,
First seas'd her mouth, & spoil'd her sweet aspect:
A horrid Ill her kisses bitt away,
And gaue her almost liples to the Clay.
Is Destinye so swift a flight did will her,
It might haue found some other way to kill her;
But Death first strooke her dumb, in hast to haue her,
Lest her sweete tongue should force the Fates to save her.

ON MR. FRANCIS LEE OF THE TEMPLE, GENT.

MY OWNE EPITAPH.

ON HIS WIFE, AN EPITAPH.

Thou needst no Tomb (my Wife) for thou hast one,
To which all Marble is but Pumix Stone.
Thou art engrau'd so deeply in my heart,
It shall out-last the strongest hand of Art.
Death shall not blott the thence, although I must
In all my other parts dissolue to dust;
For thy Deare Name, thy happy Memorie,
May so embalme it for Eternity,
That when I rise, the name of my deare Wife
Shall there be seen, as in the booke of life.

ON THE COUNTESSE DOWAGER OF PEMBROKE

Vnderneath this sable Herse
Lyes the subiect of all verse:
Sydneyes sister, Pembroke's Mother:
Death, ere thou hast slaine another,
Faire, & Learn'd, & good as she,
Tyme shall throw a dart at thee.”

ON THE R. H. SUSAN, COUNTESSE OF MONTGOMERIE.

Though we trust the earth with thee,
We will not with thy memorie;
Mines of Brasse or Marble shall
Speake nought of thy funerall;
They are veryer dust then we,
And do begg a Historye:
In thy Name there is a Tombe,
If the world can giue it Roome;
For a Vere, & Herberts wyfe
Outspeakes Tombes, out-liues all lyfe.

AN EPITAPH ON MR. THOMAS AYLEWORTH.

Heere wither'd lyes a flowre, which blowne,
Was cropt assone as it was knowne;
The loss was greate, & the offence,
Since one vnworthie took it hence.

AN EPITAPH ON MRS. EL: Y.

ON MR TURNER OF ST. MARY-HALL.

I Rose, and coming downe to dyne,
I Turner met, a learn'd diuyne;
'Twas the first tyme that I was blest
With sight of him, & had possest
His company not three houres space,
But Oxford call'd him from that place.
Our friendship was begun (for Arts,
Or loue of them, cann marry hearts).
But see whereon we trust: eight dayes
From thence, a friend of mine thus sayes:
Turner is dead; (amaz'd) thought I,
Could so much health so quickly dye?
And haue I lost my hopes to be
Endear'd to so much industry?
O man! behold thy strength, and knowe
Like our first sight and parting, soe
Are all our liues, which I must say,
Was but a dinner, and away.

ON GOODMAN HURST OF THE GEORGE AT HORSHAM,

DYEING SUDDAINELY WHILE YE E. OF NOTTINGHAM LAYE THERE, 26 AUGUST, 1637.

See what we are: for though we often saye,
Wee are like guests that ride vpon the waye,
Trauell and lodge, & when the Morne comes on,
Call for a reck'ning, paye, & so are gone—
Wee err; and haue lesse time to be possest,
For see! the Hoste is gone before the guest.

[Heere lyes kind Tom, thrust out of dore]

Heere lyes kind Tom, thrust out of dore,
Nor hye nor low, nor rich nor poore;
He left the world with heauy cheere,
And neuer knew what he made heere.

VIII. Paraphrases, &c.

[Tell me, Pyrrha, what fine youth]

THE HAPPY LIFE.

IN URBEM ROMAM QUALIS EST HODIE.

[THE TRANSLATION.]

Thou, who to looke for Rome, to Rome art come,
And in ye midst of Rome find'st nought of Rome;
Behold her heapes of walls, her structures rent,
Her theatres orewhelm'd, of vast extent;
Those nowe are Rome. See how those Ruynes frowne,
And speak the threats yet of so braue a town.
By Rome (as once the world) is Rome orecome,
Least ought on Earth should not be quelld by Rome:
Now conqu'ring Rome, doth conquerd Rome interre;
And she the vanquisht is, and vanquisher.
To shew vs where she stood, there rests alone
Tiber; yet that too hastens to be gone.
Learne hence what fortune can: Townes glyde away;
And Rivers, wch are still in motion, stay.

IX. Miscellaneous Pieces.

ON A DREAME.

LIDFORD JOURNEY.

[RELIGIOUS VERSES.]

Behold, O God, IN RIvers of my teares
I come to the: bow downe thy blessed eares
To heare me wretch, and let thine eyes (wth sleepe
Did neuer close) behold a Sinner weepe:
Let not, O God, My God, my faults though Great
And numberlesse, betw Ween thy mercyes Seat
And my poore soule be tHrown! since we are taught
Thou, Lord, Remember'st thyne, IF Thou be Sought.
I coME not, Lord, witH any o Ther meritt
Then What I by my SAviour Christ inheritt:
Be thEN his woundS my balm; his sTRIpes my blisse;
My crowne his Thornes; my deaTh be loSt in his.
And thOU, my blesT Redeemer, SAviour, God,
Quitt my AcCOMpts, withHold the vengefull rod.
O beg for ME! my hOpes on Thee are sett;
And ChriSt forgiVe, aswell as pay tHe debt.
The liviNg fount, the liFe, the waYe, I know,
And but To thee, O whither Should I goe?
All oTher helps aRe vaine: grantE thine to mee,
For in tHy Crosse my Sauing heaLth must bee.
O hearKen then whAt I with Faith implore,
Least Sin & Death sincke me for Evermore.
Lastly, O God, my wayes direct And guide;
In Death defeNd me, that I neuer slyde;
And at the dooME Let Me be raisd O then,
To liuE with theE; sweet JesVS, say Amen.

X. Commendatory Verses.

TO HIS WORTHY AND INGENIOUS FRIEND THE AUTHOR.

So farre as can a swayne (who then a rounde
On oaten-pipe no further boasts his skill)
I dare to censure the shrill trumpets sound,
Or other musick of the Sacred Hil:
The popular applause hath not so fell
(Like Nile's lowd cataract) possest mine eares
But others songs I can distinguish well
And chant their praise, despis'd vertue reares:
Nor shall thy buskind muse be heard alone
In stately pallaces; the shady woods
By me shall learn't, and eccho's one by one
Teach it the hils, and they the silver floods.
Our learned shepheards that have us'd tofore
Their happy gifts in notes that wooe the plaines,
By rural ditties will be knowne no more;
But reach at fame by such as are thy straines.
And I would gladly (if the Sisters spring
Had me inabled) beare a part with thee,
And for sweet groves, of brave heroës sing,
But since it fits not my weake melodie,
It shall suffice that thou such means do'st give,
That my harsh lines among the best may live.

TO MY HONOR'D FRIEND MR. DRAYTON.

VPON THIS WORKE OF HIS BELOUED FRIEND THE AVTHOR.

THE AUTHORS FRIEND TO THE READER.

The Printers haste calls on; I must not driue
My time past Sixe, though I begin at Fiue.
One houre I haue entire; and 'tis enough.
Here are no Gipsie Iigges, or Drumming stuffe,
Dances, or other Trumpery to delight,
Or take, by common way, the common sight.
The Avthor of this Poem, as he dares
To stand th' austerest censure, so he cares
As little what it is. His owne best way
Is to be Iudge and Avthor of his Play.
It is his knowledge makes him thus secure;
Nor do's he write to please, but to endure.
And (Reader) if you haue disburs'd a shilling,
To see this worthy Story, and are willing
To haue a large encrease; (if rul'd by me)
You may a Marchant and a Poet be.
'Tis granted for your twelue-pence you did sit,
And See, and Heare, and Vnderstand not yet.
The Avthor (in a Christian pitty) takes
Care of your good, and prints it for your sakes.
That such as will but venter but Six-pence more,
May Know, what they but Saw, and Heard before;
'Twill not be money lost, if you can read,
(Ther's all the doubt now) but your gaines exceed,
If you can Vnderstand, and you are made
Free of the freest, and the noblest, Trade.
And in the way of Poetry, now adayes,
Of all that are call'd Workes, the best are Playes.