University of Virginia Library

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.