The Whole Works of William Browne :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Whole Works of William Browne

of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple

Browne, William (1590- ca. 1645)

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.

To the Reader.

[Commendatory Verses.]

By the Same.

To his Friend the Avthor.

To his Ingenious and worthy Friend the Avthor.

On him; a Pastorall Ode to his fairest Shepheardesse.

To his Friend the Avthor vpon his Poem.

To his Friend the Author.

To the Avthor.

[Euterpe to her deerest Darling W. B.

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

On the Author of Britannias Peerlesse Pastoralls.

On the Same.

On the Author of Britannias Peerlesse Pastoralls.

Uppon the occasion of Readinge this compleet Poem.

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

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

To the Authour, W. B.

On the Author, W. B.

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

Idem ad Eundem.

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

The First Song.

The first presents his Dogge, with these:

The second, his Pipe, with these:

The third, a paire of Gloues, thus:

The fourth, an Anagram. Maiden aid Men.

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

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

The seuenth, a Girdle.

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

[Commendatory Verses.]

To the most ingenious Author Mr. W. Browne.

To his Friend Mr. Browne.

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

Another to the same.

[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.

To his Friend the Authour.

To his Friend the Author.

To the Authour.

To Mr. Browne.

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

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.

Of his Friend Maister William Browne.

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

The first Eglogue. Roget and Willy both ymet

The second Eglogue. Two Shepheards here complaine the wrong

The Third Eglogve. Old Neddy's pouertie they mone

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.

THE INNER TEMPLE MASQUE.

[dedication]

THE INNER TEMPLE MASQUE.

[THE FIRSTE SCENE.]

The Description of THE FIRSTE SCENE.

[Loue who will, for Ile loue none]

ON A FAIRE LADYES YELLOW HAIRE POWDRED WITH WHITE.

[Not longe agone a youthfull swayne]

[Shall I loue againe, & try]

[Deepe are the wounds which strike a vertuous name]

[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]

[Coelia is gone, & now sit I]

II.

II. Odes, Songs, and Sonnets.

An Ode.

A ROUNDE.

[Vnhappy Muse, that nothing pleasest me]

THIRSIS' PRAISE OF HIS MISTRESSE.

CŒLIA.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

III.

III. Epistles.

AN EPISTLE.

AN EPISTLE

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

AN EPISTLE.

FIDO: AN EPISTLE TO FIDELIA.

IV.

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.

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

AN EPICED ON MR. FISHBOURNE.

AN ELEGYE ON SR THOMAS OVERBVRYE,

AN ELEGIE

AN ELEGYE.

ON A TWIN AT TWO YEARES OLD,

AN ELEGIE

V. Visions.

VI. Epigrams.

[It hapned lately at a Fair, or Wake]

ON AN HOURE GLASSE.

ON THE COUNTESSE OF SOMERSETS PICTURE.

ON JOHN TOOTH.

TO DON ANTONIO, KING OF PORTUGALL.

[MAN.]

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

ON ONE BORNE BLYNDE, AND SOE DEAD.

ON A ROPE-MAKER HANG'D.

VII.

VII. Epitaphs.

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

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

AN EPITAPH ON MR. WM. HOPTON.

AN EPITAPH ON SR. JOHN PROWDE.

IN OBITUM M. S. xo MAIJ, 1614.

ON MR. VAUX, THE PHYSITIAN.

ON ONE DROWNED IN THE SNOWE.

ON MR. JOHN DEANE, OF NEW COLLEDGE.

AN EPITAPH.

ON MR. FRANCIS LEE OF THE TEMPLE, GENT.

MY OWNE EPITAPH.

ON HIS WIFE, AN EPITAPH.

ON THE COUNTESSE DOWAGER OF PEMBROKE

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

AN EPITAPH ON MR. THOMAS AYLEWORTH.

AN EPITAPH ON MRS. EL: Y.

ON MR TURNER OF ST. MARY-HALL.

ON GOODMAN HURST OF THE GEORGE AT HORSHAM,

[Heere lyes kind Tom, thrust out of dore]

VIII.

VIII. Paraphrases, &c.

[Tell me, Pyrrha, what fine youth]

THE HAPPY LIFE.

IN URBEM ROMAM QUALIS EST HODIE.

IX.

IX. Miscellaneous Pieces.

ON A DREAME.

LIDFORD JOURNEY.

[RELIGIOUS VERSES.]

X. Commendatory Verses.

TO HIS WORTHY AND INGENIOUS FRIEND THE AUTHOR.

TO MY HONOR'D FRIEND MR. DRAYTON.

VPON THIS WORKE OF HIS BELOUED FRIEND THE AVTHOR.

THE AUTHORS FRIEND TO THE READER.

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The First Song.

The Argvment.

Marina's Loue ycleep'd the faire,
Celand's disdaine, and her despaire,
Are the first wings my Muse puts on
To reach the sacred Helicon.

I that whileare neere Tauies

Tauie is a riuer, hauing his head in Dertmore in Deuon, some few miles from Marie Tauie, and falls Southward into Tamar: out of the same Moore riseth, running Northward, another called Tau: which by the way the rather I speake of, because in the printed Malmesburie de gest. Pontific. lib. 2, fol. 146. you reade, Est in Domnonia cænobium Monachorum iuxta Tau fluuium, quod Tauistock vocatur: whereas vpon Tau stands (neere the North-side of the Shire) Taustoke, being no remnants of a Monasterie: so that you must there reade, Juxta Taui Fluuium, as in a manuscript Copie of Malmesbury (the forme of the hand assuring Malmesburies time) belonging to the Abbey of S. Augustine in Canterburie I haue seene, in the hands of my very learned Friend Mr. Selden.

stragling spring,
Vnto my seely Sheepe did vse to sing,
And plaid to please my selfe, on rusticke Reed,
Nor sought for Bay, (the learned Shepheards meed,)
But as a Swaine vnkent fed on the plaines,
And made the Eccho vmpire of my straines:

Am drawne by time (although the weak'st of many)
To sing those Laies as yet vnsung of any.
What need I tune the Swaines of Thessaly?
Or, bootlesse, adde to them of Arcadie?
No: faire Arcadia cannot be compleater,
My praise may lessen, but not make thee greater.
My Muse for lofty pitches shall not rome,
But homely pipen of her natiue home:
And to the Swaines, Loue rurall Minstralsie,
Thus deare Britannia will I sing of thee.

High on the plaines of that renowned Ile,
Which all men Beauties Garden-plot enstile;
A Shepherd dwelt, whom Fortune had made rich
With all the gifts that silly men bewitch.
Neere him a Shepherdesse for beauties store
Vnparalell'd of any Age before.
Within those Brests her face a flame did moue,
Which neuer knew before what twas to loue,
Dazeling each Shepherds sight that viewd her eies.
And as the Persians did Idolatrise
Vnto the Sunne: they thought that Cinthia's light
Might well be spar'd, where she appear'd in night.
And as when many to the goale doe runne,
The prize is giuen neuer but to one;
So first, and onely Celandine was led,
Of Destinies and Heauen much fauoured,
To gaine this Beauty, which I here doe offer
To memory: his paines (who would not proffer
Paines for such pleasures?) were not great nor much,
But that his labours recompence was such
As counteruailed all: for she whose passion,
(And passion oft is loue) whose inclination
Bent all her course to him-wards, let him know
He was the Elme whereby her Vine did grow:
Yea, told him, when his tongue began this taske,
She knew not to deny when he would aske.

Finding his suit as quickly got as mou'd,
Celandine, in his thoughts not well approu'd
What none could disallow, his loue grew fained,
And what he once affected now disdained.
But faire Marina (for so was she call'd)
Hauing in Celandine her loue install'd,
Affected so this faithlesse Shepherds Boy,
That she was rapt beyond degree of ioy.
Briefly, shee could not liue one houre without him,
And thought no ioy like theirs that liu'd about him.

This variable Shepherd for a while
Did Natures Iewell by his craft beguile:
And still the perfecter her loue did grow,
His did appeare more counterfeit in show.
Which she perceiuing that his flame did slake,
And lou'd her onely for his Trophies sake:
“For hee that's stuffed with a faithlesse rumour,
“Loues only for his lust and for his humour:
And that he often in his merry fit
Would say, his good came, ere he hop'd for it:
His thoughts for other subiects being prest,
Esteeming that as nought which he possest:
“For what is gotten but with little paine,
“As little griefe we take to lose againe:
Well-minded Marine grieuing, thought it strange
That her ingratefull Swaine did seeke for change.
Still by degrees her cares grew to the full,
Ioyes to the wane, heart-rending griefe did pull
Her from her selfe, and she abandon'd all
To cries and teares, fruits of a funerall:
Running, the mountaines, fields, by watry springs,
Filling each caue with wofull ecchoings;
Making in thousand places her complaint,
And vttering to the trees what her teares meant.
“For griefes conceal'd (proceeding from desire)
“Consume the more, as doth a close pent fire.

Whilst that the daies sole Eye doth guild the Seas,
In his daies iourney to th' Antipodes:
And all the time the Ietty-Chariotere
Hurles her blacke mantle through our Hemisphere,
Vnder the couert of a sprouting Pine
She sits and grieues for faithlesse Celandine.
Beginning thus: Alas! and must it be
That Loue which thus torments and troubles me
In setling it, so small aduice hath lent
To make me captiue, where enfranchisement
Cannot be gotten? nor where, like a slaue,
The office due to faithfull Prisoners, haue?
Oh cruell Celandine, why shouldst thou hate
Her, who to loue thee, was ordain'd by Fate!
Should I not follow thee, and sacrifice
My wretched life to thy betraying eies?
Aye me! of all my most vnhappy lot;
What others would, thou maist, and yet wilt not.
Haue I reiected those that me ador'd,
To be of him, whom I adore, abhor'd?
And pass'd by others teares, to make election
Of one, that should so passe-by my affection?
I haue: and see the heau'nly powers intend,
“To punish sinners in what they offend.
May be he takes delight to see in me
The burning rage of hellish Iealousie;
Tries if in fury any loue appeares;
And bathes his ioy within my floud of teares.
But if he lou'd to soile my spotlesse soule,
And me amongst deceiued Maids enroule,
To publish to the world my open shame:
Then, heart, take freedome; hence, accursed flame;
And, as Queene regent, in my heart shall moue
“Disdaine, that only ouer-ruleth Loue:
By this infranchiz'd sure my thoughts shall be,
And in the same sort loue, as thou lou'st me.

But what? or can I cancell or vnbinde
That which my heart hath seal'd & loue hath sign'd?
No, no, griefe doth deceiue me more each houre;
“For, who so truly loues, hath not that power.
I wrong to say so, since of all 'tis knowne,
“Who yeelds to loue doth leaue to be her owne.
But what auailes my liuing thus apart?
Can I forget him? or out of my heart
Can teares expulse his Image? surely no.
“We well may flie the place, but not the woe:
“Loues fire is of a nature which by turnes
“Consumes in presence, and in absence burnes.
And knowing this: aye me! vnhappy wight!
What meanes is left to helpe me in this plight?
And from that peeuish shooting, hood-winckt elfe,
To repossesse my Loue, my heart, my selfe?
Onely this helpe I finde, which I elect:
Since what my life nor can nor will effect,
My ruine shall: and by it, I shall finde,
“Death cures (when all helps faile) the grieued mind.
And welcome here, (then Loue, a better guest)
That of all labours are the onely rest:
Whilst thus I liue, all things discomfort giue,
The life is sure a death wherein I liue:
Saue life and death doe differ in this one,
That life hath euer cares, and death hath none.
But if that he (disdainfull Swaine) should know
That for his loue I wrought my ouerthrow;
Will he not glory in't? and from my death
Draw more delights, & giue new ioyes their breath?
Admit he doe, yet better 'tis that I
Render my selfe to Death then Misery.
I cannot liue, thus barred from his sight,
Nor yet endure, in presence, any wight
Should loue him but my selfe. O reasons eye,
How art thou blinded with vilde Iealousie!

And is it thus? Then which shall haue my blood,
Or certaine ruine, or vncertaine good?
Why do I doubt? Are we not still aduiz'd
“That certaintie in all things best is priz'd?
Then, if a certaine end can helpe my mone,
“Know Death hath certaintie, but Life hath none.

Here is a Mount, whose top seemes to despise
The farre inferiour Vale that vnder lies:
Who like a great man raisd aloft by Fate,
Measures his height by others meane estate:
Neere to whose foot there glides a siluer-flood,
Falling from hence, Ile climb vnto my good:
And by it finish Loue and Reasons strife,
And end my misery as well as life.
But as a Cowards hartener in warre,
The stirring Drum, keepes lesser noyse from farre:
So seeme the murmuring waues, tell in mine eare,
That guiltlesse bloud was neuer spilled there.
Then stay a while; the Beasts that haunt those springs,
Of whom I heare the fearefull bellowings,
May doe that deed, (as moued by my cry)
Whereby my soule, as spotlesse Iuory,
May turn from whence it came, and, freed from hence,
Be vnpolluted of that foule offence.
But why protract I time? Death is no stranger:
“And generous spirits neuer feare for danger:
“Death is a thing most naturall to vs,
“And Feare doth onely make it odious.
As when to seeke her food abroad doth roue
The Nuncius of peace, the seely Doue,
Two sharpe-set hawkes doe her on each side hem,
And she knowes not which way to flie from them:
Or like a ship that tossed to and fro
With wind and tide; the wind doth sternly blow,
And driues her to the Maine, the tide comes sore
And hurles her backe again towards the shore.

And since her balast, and her sailes doe lacke,
One brings her out, the other beats her backe:
Till one of them increasing more his shockes,
Hurles her to shore, and rends her on the Rockes:
So stood she long, twixt Loue and Reason tost,
Vntill Despaire (who where it comes rules most)
Wonne her to throw her selfe, to meet with Death,
From off the Rocke into the floud beneath.
The waues that were aboue when as she fell,
For feare flew backe againe into their Well;
Doubting ensuing times on them would frowne,
That they so rare a beauty helpt to drowne.
Her fall, in griefe, did make the streame so rore,
That sullen murmurings fill'd all the shore.

A Shepheard (neere this floud that fed his sheepe,
Who at this chance left grazing and did weepe)
Hauing so sad an obiect for his eyes,
Left Pipe and Flocke, and in the water flyes,
To saue a Iewell, which was neuer sent
To be possest by one sole Element:
But such a worke Nature disposde and gaue,
Where all the Elements concordance haue.
He tooke her in his armes, for pittie cride,
And brought her to the Riuers further side:
Yea, and he sought by all his Art and paine,
To bring her likewise to her selfe againe:
While she that by her fall was senselesse left,
And almost in the waues had life bereft,
Lay long, as if her sweet immortall spirit
Was fled some other Palace to inherit.

But as cleere Phœbus, when some foggy cloud
His brightnesse from the world a while doth shrowd,
Doth by degrees begin to shew his light
Vnto the view: Or, as the Queene of night,
In her increasing hornes, doth rounder grow,
Till full and perfect she appeare in show:

Such order in this Maid the Shepheard spies,
When she began to shew the world her eyes.
Who (thinking now that she had past Deaths dreame,
Occasion'd by her fall into the streame,
And that Hells Ferriman did then deliuer
Her to the other side th' infernall Riuer)
Said to the Swaine: O Charon, I am bound
More to thy kindnesse, then all else, that round
Come thronging to thy Boat: thou hast past ouer
The wofulst Maid that ere these shades did couer:
But prithee Ferriman direct my Spright
Where that blacke Riuer runs that Lethe hight,
That I of it (as other Ghosts) may drinke,
And neuer of the world, or Loue, more thinke,
The Swaine perceiuing by her words ill sorted,
That she was wholly from her selfe transported:
And fearing left those often idle fits
Might cleane expell her vncollected wits:
Faire Nymph, (said he) the powers aboue deny
So faire a Beauty should so quickly die.
The Heauens vnto the World haue made a loane,
And must for you haue interest, Three for One:
Call backe your thoughts ore-cast with dolours night;
Do you not see the day, the heauens, the light?
Doe you not know in Plutoes darksome place
The light of heauen did neuer shew his face?
Do not your pulses beat, y'are warme, haue breath,
Your sense is rapt with feare, but not with death?
I am not Charon, nor of Plutoes host;
Nor is there flesh and bloud found in a Ghost:
But as you see, a seely Shepheards swaine,
Who though my meere reuenues be the traine
Of milk-white sheepe, yet am I ioyd as much,
In sauing you, (O, who would not saue such?)
As euer was the wandring youth of Greece,
That brought, from Colchos, home, the golden Fleece.

The neuer-too-much-praised faire Marine,
Hearing those words, beleeu'd her eares and eyne:
And knew how she escaped had the flood
By meanes of this young Swaine that neere her stood.
Whereat for griefe she gan againe to faint,
Redoubling thus her cryes and sad complaint:
Alas! and is that likewise barr'd from me,
Which for all persons else lies euer free?
Will life, nor death, nor ought abridge my paine?
But liue still dying, dye to liue againe?
Then most vnhappy I! which finde most sure,
The wound of Loue neglected is past cure.
Most cruell God of Loue (if such there be),
That still to my desires art contrarie!
Why should I not in reason this obtaine,
That as I loue, I may be lou'd againe?
Alas! with thee too, Nature playes her parts,
That fram'd so great a discord tweene two harts:
One flyes, and alwayes doth in hate perseuer;
The other followes, and in loue growes euer.
Why dost thou not extinguish cleane this flame,
And plac't on him that best deserues the same?
Why had not I affected some kinde youth,
Whose euery word had beene the word of Truth?
Who might haue had to loue, and lou'd to haue,
So true a Heart as I to Celand gaue.
For Psyches loue! if beautie gaue thee birth,
Or if thou hast attractiue power on earth,
Dame Venus sweetest Childe, requite this loue.
Or Fate yeeld meanes my soule may hence remoue!
Once seeing in a spring her drowned eyes,
O cruell beautie, cause of this, (she cryes,)
Mother of Loue, (my ioyes most fatall knife)
That workst her death, by whom thy selfe hast life!

The youthfull Swaine that heard this louing Saint
So oftentimes to poure forth such complaint,

Within his heart such true affection prais'd,
And did perceiue kinde loue and pittie rais'd
His minde to sighs; yea, beautie forced this,
That all her griefe he thought was likewise his.
And hauing brought her what his lodge affords,
Sometime he wept with her, sometime with words
Would seeke to comfort; when alas poore elfe
He needed then a comforter himselfe.
Daily whole troopes of griefe vnto him came,
For her who languish'd of another flame.
If that she sigh'd, he thought him lou'd of her,
When 'twas another saile her wind did stirre:
But had her sighs and teares beene for this Boy,
Her sorrow had beene lesse, and more her ioy.
Long time in griefe he hid his loue-made paines,
And did attend her walkes in woods and plaines:
Bearing a fuell, which her Sun-like eies
Enflam'd, and made his heart the sacrifice.
Yet he, sad Swaine, to shew it did not dare;
And she, lest he should loue, nie dy'd for feare.
She, euer-wailing, blam'd the powers aboue,
That night nor day giue any rest to Loue.
He prais'd the Heauens in silence, oft was mute,
And thought with teares and sighs to winne his sute.

Once in the shade, when she by sleepe repos'd,
And her cleere eies twixt her faire lids enclos'd;
The Shepheard Swaine began to hate and curse
That day vnfortunate, which was the nurse
Of all his sorrowes. He had giuen breath
And life to her which was his cause of death.
O Æsops Snake, that thirstest for his bloud,
From whom thy selfe receiu'dst a certaine good.
Thus oftentimes vnto himselfe alone
Would he recount his griefe, vtter his mone;
And after much debating, did resolue
Rather his Grandame earth should cleane inuolue

His pining bodie, ere he would make knowne
To her, what Tares Loue in his breast had sowne.
Yea, he would say when griefe for speech hath cride;
“Tis better neuer aske than be denide.

But as the Queene of Riuers, fairest Thames,
That for her buildings other flouds enflames
With greatest enuie: Or the Nymph of Kent,
That stateliest Ships to Sea hath euer sent;
Some baser groome, for lucres hellish course,
Her channell hauing stopt, kept backe her sourse,
(Fill'd with disdaine) doth swell aboue her mounds,
And ouerfloweth all the neighb'ring grounds,
Angry she teares vp all that stops her way,
And with more violence runnes to the Sea:
So the kinde Shepheards griefe (which long vppent
Grew more in power, and longer in extent)
Forth of his heart more violently thrust,
And all his vow'd intentions quickly burst.
Marina hearing sighs, to him drew neere,
And did intreat his cause of griefe to heare:
But had she knowne her beautie was the sting
That caused all that instant sorrowing;
Silence in bands her tongue had stronger kept,
And sh'ad not ask'd for what the Shepheard wept.

The Swaine first, of all times, this best did thinke,
To shew his loue, whilst on the Riuers brinke
They sate alone, then thought, hee next would moue her
With sighs and teares, (true tokens of a Louer:)
And since she knew what helpe from him she found
When in the Riuer she had else beene drown'd,
He thinketh sure she cannot but grant this,
To giue reliefe to him, by whom she is:
By this incited, said; Whom I adore,
Sole Mistresse of my heart, I thee implore,
Doe not in bondage hold my freedome long.
And since I life or death hold from your tongue,

Suffer my heart to loue; yea, dare to hope
To get that good of loues intended scope.
Grant I may praise that light in you I see,
And dying to my selfe, may liue in thee.
Faire Nymph, surcease this death-alluring languish,
So rare a beautie was not borne for anguish.
Why shouldst thou care for him that cares not for thee?
Yea, most vnworthy wight, seemes to abhorre thee.
And if he be as you doe here paint forth him,
He thinkes you, best of beauties, are not worth him;
That all the ioies of Loue will not quite cost
For all lou'd-freedome which by it is lost.
Within his heart such selfe-opinion dwels,
That his conceit in this he thinkes excels;
Accounting womens beauties sugred baits,
That neuer catch, but fooles, with their deceits:
“Who of himselfe harbours so vaine a thought,
“Truly to loue could neuer yet be brought.
Then loue that heart where lies no faithlesse seed,
That neuer wore dissimulations weed:
Who doth account all beauties of the Spring,
That iocund Summer-daies are vshering,
As foiles to yours. But if this cannot moue
Your minde to pittie, nor your heart to loue;
Yet sweetest grant me loue to quench that flame,
Which burnes you now. Expell his worthlesse name,
Cleane root him out by me, and in his place
Let him inhabit, that will runne a race
More true in loue. It may be for your rest.
And when he sees her, who did loue him best,
Possessed by another, he will rate
The much of good he lost, when 'tis too late:
“For what is in our powers, we little deeme,
“And things possest by others, best esteeme.
If all this gaine you not a Shepherds wife,
Yet giue not death to him which gaue you life.

Marine the faire, hearing his wooing tale,
Perceiued well what wall his thoughts did scale.
And answer'd thus: I pray sir Swaine, what boot
Is it to me to plucke vp by the root
My former loue, and in his place to sow
As ill a seed, for any thing I know?
Rather gainst thee I mortall hate retaine,
That seek'st to plant in me new cares, new paine:
Alas! th' hast kept my soule from deaths sweet bands,
To giue me ouer to a Tyrants hands;
Who on his racks will torture by his power,
This weakned, harmelesse body, euery howre.
Be you the Iudge, and see if reasons lawes
Giue recompence of fauour for this cause:
You from the streames of death, brought life on shore;
Releas'd one paine, to giue me ten times more.
For loues sake, let my thoughts in this be free;
Obiect no more your haplesse sauing mee:
That Obligation which you thinke should binde;
Doth still increase more hatred in my minde;
Yea, I doe thinke more thankes to him were due
That would bereaue my life, than vnto you.

The Thunder-stroken Swaine lean'd to a tree,
As void of sense as weeping Niobe:
Making his teares the instruments to wooe her,
The Sea wherein his loue should swimme vnto her:
And, could there flow from his two-headed font,
As great a floud as is the Hellespont;
Within that deepe he would as willing wander,
To meet his Hero, as did ere Leander.
Meane while the Nymph with-drew her selfe aside,
And to a Groue at hand her steps applide.

With that sad sigh (O! had he neuer seene,
His heart in better case had euer beene)
Against his heart, against the streame he went,
With this resolue, and with a full intent,

When of that streame he had discouered
The fount, the well-spring, or the bubling head,
He there would sit, and with the Well drop vie,
That it before his eies would first runne drie:
But then he thought the

Dea fanè, i. Nymphæ, pierumque fontibus & fluuijs præfunt apud poetas, quæ, Ephydriades, & Naiades dictæ: verum & nobis tamen deum præficere (sic Alpheum Tyberinum, & Rhenum, & idegnus alios divos legimus) haud illicitum.

god that haunts that Lake,
The spoiling of his Spring would not well take.
And therefore leauing soone the Crystall flood,
Did take his way vnto the neerest Wood:
Seating himselfe within a darksome Caue,
(Such places heauie Saturnists doe craue,)
Where yet the gladsome day was neuer seene,
Nor Phœbus peircing beames had euer beene.
Fit for the Synode house of those fell Legions,
That walke the Mountaines, and Siluanus regions.
Where Tragedie might haue her full scope giuen,
From men aspects, and from the view of heauen.
Within the same some crannies did deliuer
Into the midst thereof a pretty Riuer;
The Nymph whereof came by out of the veines
Of our first mother, hauing late tane paines
In scouring of her channell all the way,
From where it first began to leaue the Sea.
And in her labour thus farre now had gone,
When cōming through the Caue, she heard that one
Spake thus: If I doe in my death perseuer,
Pittie may that effect, which Loue could neuer.
By this she can coniecture 'twas some Swaine,
Who ouerladen by a Maids disdaine,
Had here (as fittest) chosen out a place,
Where he might giue a period to the race
Of his loath'd life: which she (sor pitties sake)
Minding to hinder, diu'd into her Lake,
And hastned where the euer-teeming Earth
Vnto her Current giues a wished birth;
And by her new-deliuered Riuers side,
Vpon a Banke of flow'rs, had soone espide

Remond, young Remond, that full well could sing,
And tune his Pipe at Pans-birth carolling:
Who for his nimble leaping, sweetest layes,
A Lawrell garland wore on Holy-dayes;
In framing of whose hand Dame Nature swore
There neuer was his like, nor should be more:
Whose locks (insnaring nets) were like the rayes,
Wherewith the Sunne doth diaper the Seas:
Which if they had been cut, and hung vpon
The snow-white Cliffes of fertile Albion,
Would haue allured more, to be, their winner,
Then all the

Iulium Cæsarem, spe Margaritarū Britanniam petisse, scribit Sueton. in Iul. cap. 47. & ex ijs Thoracem factum Veneri genetrici dicâsse. Plin. Hist. Nat. 9, ca. 35. De Margartiis verò nostris consulas Camden. in Cornub. & Somerset.

Diamonds that are hidden in her.
Him she accosted thus: Swaine of the Wreathe,
Thou art not placed, onely here to breathe;
But Nature in thy framing shewes to mee,
Thou shouldst to others, as she did to thee,
Doe good; and surely I my selfe perswade,
Thou neuer wert for euill action made.
In heauens Consistory 'twas decreed,
That choycest fruit should come from choycest seed;
In baser vessels we doe euer put
Basest materials, doe neuer shut
Those Iewels most in estimation set,
But in some curious costly Cabinet.
If I may iudge by th' outward shape alone,
Within, all vertues haue conuention:
“For't giues most lustre vnto Vertues feature,
“When she appeares cloth'd in a goodly creature.
Halfe way the hill, neere to those aged trees,
Whose insides are as Hiues for labring Bees,
(As who should say (before their roots were dead)
For good workes sake and almes, they harboured
Those whom nought else did couer but the Skies:)
A path (vntroden but of Beasts) there lies,
Directing to a Caue in yonder glade,
Where all this Forrests Citizens, for shade

At noone-time come, and are the first, I thinke,
That (running through that Caue) my waters drinke:
Within this Rocke there sits a wofull wight,
As void of comfort as that Caue of light;
And as I wot, occasioned by the frownes
Of some coy Shepheardesse that haunts these Downes.
This I doe know (whos'euer wrought his care)
He is a man nye treading to despaire.
Then hie thee thither, since 'tis charitie
To saue a man; leaue here thy flocke with me:
For whilst thou sau'st him from the Stygian Bay,
Ile keepe thy Lambkins from all beasts of prey.
The neernesse of the danger (in his thought)
As it doth euer, more compassion wrought:
So that with reuerence to the Nymph, he went
With winged speed, and hast'ned to preuent
Th' vntimely seisure of the greedy graue:
Breathlesse, at last, he came into the Caue;
Where, by a sigh directed to the man,
To comfort him he in this sort began:
Shepheard all haile, what meane these plaints? this Caue
(Th' image of death, true portrait of the graue)
Why dost frequent? and waile thee vnder ground,
From whence there neuer yet was pitty found?
Come forth, and shew thy selfe vnto the light,
Thy griefe to me. If there be ought that might
Giue any ease vnto thy troubled minde,
We ioy as much to giue, as thou to finde.
The Loue-sicke Swaine replide: Remond, thou art
The man alone to whom I would impart
My woes, more willing then to any Swaine,
That liues and feeds his sheepe vpon the plaine.
But vaine it is, and 'twould increase my woes
By their relation, or to thee or those
That cannot remedy. Let it suffise,
No fond distrust of thee makes me precise

To shew my griefe. Leaue me then, and forgo
This Caue more sad, fince I haue made it so.
Here teares broke forth, and Remond gan anew
With such intreaties, earnest to pursue
His former suit, that he (though hardly) wan
The Shepherd to disclose; and thus began:
Know briefly Remond then, heauenly face,
Natures Idea, and perfections grace,
Within my breast hath kindled such a fire,
That doth consume all things, except desire;
Which daily doth increase, though alwaies burning,
And I want teares, but lacke no cause of mourning:
“For he whome Loue vnder his colours drawes,
“May often want th' effect, but ne're the cause.
Quoth th' other, haue thy starres maligne been such,
That their predominations sway so much
Ouer the rest, that with a milde aspect
The Liues and loues of Shepherds doe affect?
Then doe I thinke there is some greater hand,
Which thy endeuours still doth countermand:
Wherfore I wish thee quench the flame, thus mou'd,
“And neuer loue except thou be belou'd:
“For such an humour euery woman seiseth,
“She loues not him that plaineth, but that pleaseth.
“Whē much thou louest, most disdain coms on thee;
“And whē thou thinkst to hold her, she flies frō thee:
“She follow'd, flies; she fled from followes post,
“And loueth best where she is hated most.
“'Tis euer noted both in Maids and Wiues,
“Their hearts and tongues are neuer Relatiues.
“Hearts full of holes, (so elder Shepherds saine)
“As apter to receiue then [to] retaine.
Whose crafts and wiles did I intend to show,
This day would not permit me time I know:
The dayes swift horses would their course haue run,
And diu'd themselues within the Ocean,

Ere I should haue performed halfe my taske,
Striuing their craftie subtilties t'vnmaske.
And gentle Swaine some counsell take of me;
Loue not still where thou maist; loue, who loues thee;
Draw to the courteous, flie thy loues abhorror,
“And if she be not for thee, be not for her.
If that she still be wauering, will away,
Why shouldst thou striue to hold that will not stay?
This Maxime, Reason neuer can confute,
“Better to liue by losse then die by sute.
If to some other Loue she is inclinde,
Time will at length cleane root that from her minde.
Time will extinct Loues flames, his hell-like flashes,
And like a burning brand consum'd to ashes.
Yet maist thou still attend, but not importune:
“Who seekes oft misseth, sleepers light on fortune,
Yea and on women too. “Thus doltish sots
“Haue Fate and fairest women for their lots.
“Fauour and pittie wait on Patience:
And hatred oft attendeth violence.
If thou wilt get desire, whence Loue hath pawn'd it,
Beleeue me, take thy time, but ne'r demand it.
Women, as well as men, retaine desire;
But can dissemble, more then men, their fire.
Be neuer caught with looks, nor selfe-wrought rumor;
Nor by a quaint disguise, nor singing humor.
Those out-side shewes are toies, which outwards snare:
But vertue lodg'd within, is onely faire.
If thou hast seene the beautie of our Nation,
And find'st her haue no loue, haue thou no passion:
But seeke thou further; other places sure
May yeeld a face as faire, a Loue more pure:
Leaue (ô then leaue) fond Swaine this idle course,
For Loue's a God no mortall wight can force.

Thus Remond said, and saw the faire Marine
Plac'd neere a Spring, whose waters Crystalline

Did in their murmurings beare a part, and plained
That one so true, so faire, should be disdained:
Whilst in her cries, that fild the vale along,
Still Celand was the burthen of her song.
The stranger Shepherd left the other Swaine,
To giue attendance to his fleecy traine;
Who in departing from him, let him know,
That yonder was his freedomes ouerthrow,
Who sate bewailing (as he late had done)
That loue by true affection was not wonne.
This fully knowne: Remond came to the Maid
And after some few words (her teares allaid)
Began to blame her rigour, call'd her cruell,
To follow hate, and flie loues chiefest Iewell.

Faire, doe not blame him that he thus is moued;
For women sure were made to be beloued.
If beautie wanting louers long should stay,
It like an house vndwelt in would decay:
When in the heart if it haue taken place
Time cannot blot, nor crooked age deface.
The Adamant and Beauty we discouer
To be alike; for Beauty drawes a Louer,
The Adamant his Iron. Doe not blame
His louing then, but that which caus'd the same.
Who so is lou'd, doth glory so to be:
The more your Louers, more your victorie.
Know, if you stand on faith, most womens lothing,
Tis but a word, a character of nothing.
Admit it somewhat, if what we call constance,
Within a heart hath long time residence,
And in a woman, she becomes alone
Faire to her selfe, but foule to euery one.
If in a man it once haue taken place,
He is a foole, or dotes, or wants a face
To win a woman, and I thinke it be
No vertue, but a meere necessitie.

Heauens powers deny it Swain (quoth she) haue done,
Striue not to bring that in derision,
Which whosoe'er detracts in setting forth,
Doth truly derogate from his owne worth.
It is a thing which heauen to all hath lent
To be their vertues chiefest ornament:
Which who so wants, is well compar'd to these
False tables, wrought by Alcibiades;
Which noted well of all, were found t'haue bin
Most faire without, but most deform'd within.
Then Shepherd know, that I intend to be
As true to one, as he is false to me.

To one? (quoth he) why so? Maids pleasure take
To see a thousand languish for their sake:
Women desire for Louers of each sort,
And why not you? Th' amorous Swaine for sport;
The Lad that driues the greatest flocke to field,
Will Buskins, Gloues, and other fancies yeeld;
The gallant Swaine will saue you from the iawes
Of rauenous Beares, and from the Lions pawes.
Beleeue what I propound; doe many chuse,
“The least Herbe in the field serues for some vse.

Nothing perswaded, nor asswag'd by this,
Was fairest Marine, or her heauinesse:
But prai'd the Shepherd as he ere did hope
His silly sheepe should fearlesse haue the scope
Of all the shadowes that the trees doe lend,
From Raynards stealth, when Titan doth ascend,
And runne his mid-way course: to leaue her there,
And to his bleating charge againe repaire.
He condescended; left her by the brooke,
And to the Swaine and 's sheepe himselfe betooke.

He gone: she with her selfe thus gan to saine;
Alas poore Marine, think'st thou to attaine
His loue by sitting here? or can the fire
Be quencht with wood? can we allay desire

By wanting what's desired? O that breath,
The cause of life, should be the cause of death!
That who is shipwrackt on loues hidden shelfe,
Doth liue to others, dies vnto her selfe.
Why might not I attempt by Death as yet
To gaine that freedome, which I could not get,
Being hind'red heretofore, a time as free:
A place as fit offers it selfe to me,
Whose seed of ill is growne to such a height,
That makes the earth groane to support his weight.
Who so is lull'd asleepe with Midas' treasures,
And onely feares by death to lose lifes pleasures;
Let them feare death: but since my fault is such,
And onely fault, that I haue lou'd too much,
On ioyes of life, why should I stand! for those
Which I neere had, I surely cannot lose.
Admit a while I to these thoughts consented,
“Death can be but deferred, not preuented.
Then raging with delay, her teares that fell
Vsher'd her way, and she into a Well
Straight-waies leapt after: “O! how desperation
“Attends vpon the minde enthral'd to passion!

The fall of her did make the God below,
Starting, to wonder whence that noise should grow:
Whether some ruder Clowne in spight did fling
A Lambe, vntimely falne, into his Spring:
And if it were, he solemnly then swore
His Spring should flow some other way: no more
Should it in wanton manner ere be seene
To writhe in knots, or giue a gowne of greene
Vnto their Meadowes, nor be seene to play,
Nor driue the Rushy-mils, that in his way
The Shepherds made: but rather for their lot,
Send them red waters that their sheepe should rot.
And with such Moorish Springs embrace their field,
That it should nought but Mosse and Rushes yeeld.

Vpon each hillocke, where the merry Boy
Sits piping in the shades his Notes of ioy,
Hee'd shew his anger, by some floud at hand,
And turne the same into a running sand.
Vpon the Oake, the Plumbe-tree, and the Holme,
The Stock-doue and the Blackbird should not come,
Whose muting on those trees doe make to grow
Rots curing

Hyphear ad saginanda Pecora vtilimus: nino autem satum nullo modo nascitur, nec nisiper aluum [alvum] auium redditum maximè Palumbis & Turdis. Plin. Hist. Nat. 16. cap. 44. Hinc illud vetus verbum Turdus sibi malum cacat.

Hyphear, and the Misseltoe.
Nor shall this helpe their sheep, whose stomacks failes,
By tying knots of wooll neere to their tailes:
But as the place next to the knot doth die,
So shall it all the body mortifie.
Thus spake the God: but when as in the water
The corps came sinking downe, he spide the matter,
And catching softly in his armes the Maid,
He brought her vp, and hauing gently laid
Her on his banke, did presently command
Those waters in her to come forth: at hand
They straight came gushing out, and did contest
Which chiefly should obey their Gods behest.
This done, her then pale lips he straight held ope,
And from his siluer haire let fall a drop
Into her mouth, of such an excellence,
That call'd backe life, which grieu'd to part from thence,
Being for troth assur'd, that, then this one,
She ne'er possest a fairer mansion.
Then did the God her body forwards steepe,
And cast her for a while into a sleepe;
Sitting still by her did his full view take
Of Natures Master-peece. Here for her sake,
My Pipe in silence as of right shall mourne,
Till from the watring we againe returne.