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 |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
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.
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
220
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)
221
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.
O who would not aspire, and by his wing
Keep stroke with fame, and of an earthly iarre
Another lesson teach the Spheres to sing?
Who would a shepheard that might be a star?
See, learned Cutty, on yond mountaines are
Cleere springs arising, and the climbing goat,
That can get vp, hath water cleerer farre
Then when the streames do in the vallies float.
What mad-man would a race by torch-light run
That might his steps haue vsher'd by the Sunne?
Keep stroke with fame, and of an earthly iarre
Another lesson teach the Spheres to sing?
Who would a shepheard that might be a star?
222
Cleere springs arising, and the climbing goat,
That can get vp, hath water cleerer farre
Then when the streames do in the vallies float.
What mad-man would a race by torch-light run
That might his steps haue vsher'd by the Sunne?
We Shepheards tune our layes of Shepheards loues,
Or in the praise of shady groues or springs;
We seldome heare of Citherea's Doues,
Except when some more learned Shepheard sings;
And equall meed haue to our sonetings:
A Belt, a sheep-hooke, or a wreath of flowres,
Is all we seeke, and all our versing brings;
And more deserts then these are seldome ours.
But thou whose muse a falcons pitch can sore
Maist share the bayes euen with a Conqueror.
Or in the praise of shady groues or springs;
We seldome heare of Citherea's Doues,
Except when some more learned Shepheard sings;
And equall meed haue to our sonetings:
A Belt, a sheep-hooke, or a wreath of flowres,
Is all we seeke, and all our versing brings;
And more deserts then these are seldome ours.
But thou whose muse a falcons pitch can sore
Maist share the bayes euen with a Conqueror.
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?
223
All heauenly dewes the goddesses distill.
Willie.
Let earthly mindes base mucke for euer fill,
Whose musicke onely is the chime of gold,
Deafe be their eares to each harmonious quil!
As they of learning thinke, so of them hold.
And if ther's none deserues what thou canst doe,
Be then the Poet and the Patron too.
Whose musicke onely is the chime of gold,
Deafe be their eares to each harmonious quil!
As they of learning thinke, so of them hold.
And if ther's none deserues what thou canst doe,
Be then the Poet and the Patron too.
I tell thee, Cuttie, had I all the sheepe,
With thrice as many moe, as on these plaines
Or shepheard or faire maiden sits to keepe,
I would them all forgoe, so I thy straines
Could equalize. O how our neatest swaines
Do trim themselues, when on a holy-day
They hast to heare thee sing, knowing the traines
Of fairest Nymphs wil come to learne thy lay.
Well may they run and wish a parting neuer,
So thy sweet tongue might charme their eares for euer.
With thrice as many moe, as on these plaines
Or shepheard or faire maiden sits to keepe,
I would them all forgoe, so I thy straines
Could equalize. O how our neatest swaines
Do trim themselues, when on a holy-day
They hast to heare thee sing, knowing the traines
Of fairest Nymphs wil come to learne thy lay.
Well may they run and wish a parting neuer,
So thy sweet tongue might charme their eares for euer.
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.
224
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 Whole Works of William Browne | |