University of Virginia Library

The first Booke.

Carmine Dij superi placantur, carmine Manes.
Horat.


3

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:

4

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.
Your Honors: W. Brovvne.

To the Reader.

The times are swolne so big with nicer wits,
That nought sounds good but what Opinion strikes.
Censure with Iudgement seld together sits;
And now the Man more then the Matter likes.
The great Rewardresse of a Poets Pen,
Fame, is by those so clogg'd shee seldome flyes,
The Muses sitting on the graues of men,
Singing that Vertue liues and neuer dyes,
Are chas'd away by the malignant Tongues
Of such, by whom Detraction is ador'd:
Hence growes the want of euer-liuing Songs,
With which our Ile was whilome brauely stor'd.
If such a Basiliske dart downe his Eye,
(Impoyson'd with the dregs of vtmost hate)
To kill the first Bloomes of my Poesie,
It is his worst, and makes me fortunate.
Kinde wits I vaile to, but to fooles precise
I am as confident as they are nice.
W. B. From the Inner Temple, Iune the 18. 1613.

5

[Commendatory Verses.]


6

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

7

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.
I. Selden Iuris C.

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!
Michael Draiton.

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,

8

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,

9

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.
Edvvard Heyward, è So. Int. Templ.

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.
Christopher Brooke.

10

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.
Tho. Gardiner, è So. Int. Templ.

11

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.
W. Ferrar, è So. Med. Templ.

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.
Fr. Ovide. è S. In. Templ.

12

[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.

13

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.—
Phil. Papillon, E. Coll. Exon.

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.
P. S. Coll. Ex.

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.

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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;

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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.
Edw. Hall, e Coll. Exon.

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.
Jo. Dynham, e Coll. Exon.

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Uppon the occasion of Readinge this compleet Poem.

TO THE AUTHOR W. BROWNE.

αυτοχεδιαστικον:

1

Cease, cease Pierian dames,
Be henceforth mute,
Leave of your wanton games,
Apollos lute
Hath crackt a stringe: it grates my eares,
'Tis harsh, as are the heavenly spheares:
List Willie sings and tunes his oaten reed,
To whom all hearts, all eares doe yield themsess: as meed.

2

Hearke, hearke, the joylly lad
So sweetly sings,
The vales as proude, as glad
The murmuring springes:
Both joyne to tell the neighbour hills
That theres no musicke like to Willes.
Eccho enamoured one the pipinge swaine
Recovers (sylly wretch!) her voice, repeats each straine.

3

The bucksome sheepheardesse
Hearke! ha! no more?
Ah! what unhappinesse
Wast left us poore,
Bereft by thy neglected songs
Of life, of joy! tell tell wt wrongs
What sad disaster (Willie) is betide,
That we thy laies (not yet half done) should be denyed?

17

4

What has some satyre rude,
Wode to those groves
His wily snares bestrewd
To catch your loves?
To tempt a credlous sheepheardesse,
Who crying out in her distresse,
Have made you breake or flinge your pipe away,
Oh no! your charmes would erst have made the monster stay.

5

Or is your pipe ybroke,
And 'twill not sounde?
Goe, goe unto the oake
By yonder mounde:
Take Colins pipe (there't hangs) in hand,
Or if not that you may command
The whillome jolly swaine's Philicides,
But ah your broken pipe will sound as well as these.

6

Has subtell Reynard caught
A friskinge lambe,
Or the fearce woolfe distraught
The bleatinge dam?
And you by riffling of their folds,
Which to regaine your sport witholds,
Or has your lagginge ewe a lambkin yean'd,
Which makes you cease your notes, and midwifrie attend.

7

Or did some sheepheards boy
(Thy layes are good,)
Nod's head or pause and coy,
He understood,

18

Not that it which he did soe taunt
(If there were such) dull ignorant,
Or else despairinge ere to rise so high,
Would worke thee swaine from thy deserved supremacy.

8

Did the round yesterday,
Which thou beganst
Soe merriely to play,
Thou them entraunct'st?
O did they rayse thy worth soe high,
And made thee blush for modestie:
Did they with garlands girt thy curled locks,
Cald thee fine piper while thou lookest all griefe for mocks.

9

And wd th' had wood thee too,
A second part,
Cause from their promisd vow
They gan to start:
In which th' hadst bound their seely swaine,
Nor to commend nor praise thy veine,
Yet when they did begin, and who could spare?
Thou cruell tor'st thy chaplets, and wouldst willow weare.

10

See cruell faire, see, see
Each sheapheards brow,
That wont to smile with glee,
Is tearswolne now;
And prisninge up their pearly wealth,
The straglinge drops get out by stealth,
Yet could they hope to win thee for their prize,
To finish up thy song theyde bankerupt all their eyes.

19

11

The pretty birds were mute
To heare thee singe,
And see the shepheard youth
All wantonninge;
When having ceast thy noates all fitty,
They all reservd there mournful dittye:
Philomel fearinge tis her fate denyes,
Thy sweeter accents falls into thy breast and dyes.

12

The winds that erst were whist
Beginne to roare,
Each tree yr songes beinge mist,
Skreeks as before:
Each sproutinge pauncie in the meade
For greife begins to hang a head,
The weepinge brooke in grumblinge tones glide[s] doune,
Dimples its once sleeke cheeks, and thanks you with a frowne.

13

Come, come lets heare your skill,
Here say you can't,
Wt are you angrie still,
By Pan you sha'nt.
Nere let your modestie deprive
Y' of what will keepe your name alive,
Whilst ore the curld-haird-Tavies flowery side
There does on[e] shepheard lodge or seely sheepe abide.

14

Oh let not nice conceit,
You are too younge,
That there are lads more feete
Ith shepheards thronge,

20

Who better able are to distill
There soule in sonnets at their will,
If still to me you be obdurate then,
Let sheepe, birds, trees, winds, flowers, brooks, teach thee melt again.
Sam. Hardinge, E. Coll. Exon.

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,

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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.
Chr. Gewen, e Coll. Exon.

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;

22

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.

23

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.
B. N.

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.
E. Coll. Exon.

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?

24

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.
Ro. Tayler, Exon. Coll.

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

25

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

26

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.
Nich. Downey, Coll. Exon.

Idem ad Eundem.

AN ODE.

I hearde the mountaine gods complaine,
Sweet Willy thou neglects thy straine,
And that thou wouldst not blesse againe
Thy fellow swaine.
The sisters did bewaile,
That hee whose notes did oft assaile
Apollos skill, yea did prevaile,
Their art disdaines.
What if some forward stub-chind boy
Takes upp a reed, and dos employ
His artlesse lipps, can this annoy
Thy sweeter song?

27

Could thy exactnesse brooke a foile,
Without disparagement; their soile
Commends thy toungue more smoothe than oile,
Our sports amonge.
Great Pan eer since thou wentst away,
Has mist the glories of his day,
No shepheard dares begin a lay
To honor him.
Behold how all our joyes do turne
To sadnesse, see hot sighs which burne
Our brests, look how our swolne eyes mourne
And weepe till drie.
Our crooks are trailed along the ground,
Our pipes grow dumb, or sadly sound,
No flowrie chaplets eer hath crownd,
Since thine a browe.
Each shepheardesse as in despaire,
Mean more to be proclaimed faire,
T'fitt time to trim her fluent haire
Doth scarce allow.
Our lambs doe leave to skipp about,
And ape their dames sad pace throughout,
The hills with woes, as if they doubt
Securitie.
Now thou art absent, whose smooth reed
Did in the woulfs and tigers breed
A nature tame, and thus them freed
From crueltie.

28

Each muse, godd, sheep, and shepheards all,
Joyn in the art thy madrigall,
For Pans sake at thy festivall
Renew thy straines.
Why should that spright which sored so hie
Above the ken of emulous eye,
Eer Doridon be finishd die,
And shun our playnes.
N. D. Ex. Coll.

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

1

Looke how the dying swan on Tagus shore,
Singing a lullaby to her last sleepe,
Tyes to her golden tongue the leaping ore,
And bindes th' ashamed water nymphs to keepe
Eternall silence, whilst the dumbe waves stay,
And dare not with their murmuring pebles play,
Or through the whistling rushes take their wonted way.

2

Looke how the gentle breath of southerne gales,
Buzzing their tunes amongst the querulous reedes,
Or whispering musicke to the sounding vales,
In all the aery nation envy breedes,
And into sleepe the lazy groomes doth rocke,
Or calls th' amazed sheapheard from his flocke,
And prompts the strayning eccho of the neighbouring rocke.

29

3

So sate our noble Willy, happy swayne,
With peerelesse songs incroaching sorrow drowning,
And Tavyes curled locks (who danc't amaine
Unto his pipe) with bayes immortall crowning,
The whilst the woods their leafy heads inclined,
In listening wise, and mixt their envious winde
With those more heavenly aires which in his voyce they finde.

4

Once when the jolly lad began a lay,
Of his Marina's fate, the wondring route
Of neighbouring swaynes, leaving their wonted play,
Ran to incircle their new Pan about,
Where growne forgetful of theire former care,
Although they fed on nought but his sweet ayre,
Vowd that the quintessence of nectar was their fare.

5

And as their captive soules were chained unto
The charming pipe; when they it least suspected,
The smiles and winkes which forth did steale, would show
How much that loved sound they all respected,
And all amased in a deep extasy
Would sweare he was some chorister of the sky,
Or (though their eyes sayd no) Phœbus owne deity.

6

Each peerelesse nymph that baths her dewy curls
In too too happy Tavyes chrystall waves,
Into the singing ecchoing champion hurles,
And there our Willyes head with flowers embraves,
Robs her own bankes, and decks a coronet
With blushing roses and the violet,
Which on the head of her admired swayne is set.

30

7

The merry emulous songsters of the wood
In silence listened to his better song,
And the soft murmurs of the bubbling flood
(Which seemed to laugh as he did ride along)
Presumed to beare the burthen of his lay,
The whilst the jocund satyres all would say
They were not half so blest even on Pan's holyday.

8

But midst these thankful shouts and signes of joy,
Whilst all expect to see a happy close,
Upon the sudden starts the peevish boy,
And runs away in haste as from his foes:
Nor can our speaking sighs, and begging teares,
Nor all our prayers and plaints he daily heares,
Or melt his stubborn heart, or banish his vain feares.

9

So, when as Philomel her haplesse fate
Unto the tell-tale eccho doth bemoane,
The whilst some envious bough presents in hate
A dagger to her breast, and there is none
That praises not her musicks heavenly grace,
The bashful bird with leaves doth vaile her face,
Or to her shrowd and tombe some thicket, flyes apace.

10

And now he hauntes the woodes and silent groves,
(Poore lad) and teaches silence to the windes,
H'as now forgot our sports and harmlesse loves,
Ah can such deeds agree with heavenly mindes;
Great flakes of moss, bred in some silent cave,
Stop his pipes mouth, and now his spirit leave,
Now a dead soule entombed within a living grave.

31

11

But Willy boy, let not eternall sleepe
Captive thy sprightly muse; so shall we all
Rejoice at her new life, and henceforth keepe
Unto thy name a yearly festivall;
May shee but impe her wings with thy blest pen,
And take her wonted flight, heaven says Amen,
The musicke of the spheares shall nere be heard agen.

12

So may a sun shine day smile on our sports,
So may the pretty lambs live free from harme,
So may the tender lasse that here resorts,
Nere feele the clownish winds cold boisterous arm.
As we do love thee Willy, as we all
Do wistly for thy peereless musick call,
And as we plat for thee a matchlesse coronall.
Perigot.]

33

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:

34

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.

35

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.

36

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.

37

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!

38

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.

39

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:

40

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.

41

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,

42

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

43

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,

44

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.

45

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,

46

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

47

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

48

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

49

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,

50

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

51

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.

52

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

53

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.

54

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.

55

The Second Song.

The Argvment.

Obliuions Spring, and Dory's loue,
With faire Marina's rape, first moue
Mine Oaten Pipe, which after sings
The birth of two renowned Springs.
Now till the Sunne shall leave vs to our rest,
And Cynthia haue her Brothers place possest,
I shall goe on: and first in diffring stripe,
The floud-Gods speech thus tune on Oaten Pipe.
Or mortall, or a power aboue,
Inrag'd by Fury, or by Loue,
Or both, I know not; such a deed
Thou would'st effected, that I bleed
To thinke thereon: alas poore else,
What growne a traitour to thy selfe?
This face, this haire, this hand so pure
Were not ordain'd for nothing sure.
Nor was it meant so sweet a breath
Should be expos'd by such a death;

56

But rather in some louers brest
Be giuen vp, the place that best
Befits a louer yeeld his soule.
Nor should those mortals ere controule
The Gods, that in their wisdome sage
Appointed haue what Pilgrimage
Each one should runne: and why should men
Abridge the iourney set for them?
But much I wonder any wight
If he did turne his outward sight
Into his inward, dar'd to act
Her death, whose body is compact
Of all the beauties euer Nature
Laid vp in store for earthly creature.
No sauage beast can be so cruell
To rob the earth of such a Iewell.
Rather the stately Vnicorne
Would in his breast enraged scorne,
That Maids committed to his charge
By any beast in Forrest large
Should so be wronged. Satyres rude
Durst not attempt, or ere intrude
With such a minde the flowry balkes
Where harmlesse Virgins haue their walkes.
Would she be won with me to stay,
My waters should bring from the Sea
The Corrall red, as tribute due,
And roundest pearles of Orient hue:
Or in the richer veines of ground
Should seeke for her the Diamond.
And whereas now vnto my Spring
They nothing else but grauell bring,
They should within a Mine of Gold
In piercing manner long time hold,
And hauing it to dust well wrought,
By them it hither should be brought;

57

With which Ile paue and ouer-spread
My bottome, where her foot shall tread.
The best of Fishes in my flood
Shall giue themselues to be her food.
The Trout, the Dace, the Pike, the Breame,
The Eele, that loues the troubled streame,
The Millers thombe, the hiding Loach,
The Perch, the euer-nibbling Roach,
The Shoats with whom is Tauie fraught,
The foolish Gudgeon, quickly caught,
And last the little Minnow-fish,
Whose chiefe delight in grauell is.
In right she cannot me despise
Because so low mine Empire lies.
For I could tell how Natures store
Of Maiesty appeareth more
In waters, then in all the rest
Of Elements. It seem'd her best
To giue the waues most strength and power:
For they doe swallow and deuoure
The earth; the waters quench and kill
The flames of fire: and mounting still
Vp in the aire, are seene to be,
As challenging a Seignorie
Within the heauens, and to be one
That should haue like dominion.
They be a seeling and a floore
Of clouds, caus'd by the vapours store
Arising from them, vitall spirit
By which all things their life inherit
From them is stopped, kept asunder.
And what's the reason else of Thunder,
Of lightnings flashes all about,
That with such violence breake out,
Causing such troubles and such iarres,
As with it selfe the world had warres?

58

And can there any thing appeare
More wonderfull, then in the aire
Congealed waters oft to spie
Continuing pendant in the Skie?
Till falling downe in haile or snow,
They make those mortall wights below
To runne, and euer helpe desire
From his foe Element the fire,
Which fearing then to come abroad,
Within doores maketh his aboad.
Or falling downe oft time in raine,
Doth giue greene Liueries to the plaine,
Make[s] Shepheards Lambs fit for the dish,
And giueth nutriment to fish.
Which nourisheth all things of worth
The earth produceth and brings forth;
And therefore well considering
The nature of it in each thing:
As when the teeming earth doth grow
So hard, that none can plow nor sow,
Her breast it doth so mollifie,
That it not onely comes to be
More easie for the share and Oxe,
But that in Haruest times the shocks
Of Ceres hanging eared corne
Doth fill the Houell and the Barne.
To Trees and Plants I comfort giue,
By me they fructifie and liue:
For first ascending from beneath
Into the Skie, with liuely breath,
I thence am furnish'd, and bestow
The same on Herbs that are below.
So that by this each one may see
I cause them spring and multiply.
Who seeth this, can doe no lesse,
Then of his owne accord confesse,

59

That notwithstanding all the strength
The earth enioyes in breadth and length,
She is beholding to each streame,
And hath receiued all from them.
Her loue to him she then must giue
By whom her selfe doth chiefly liue.
This being spoken by this waters God,
He straight-way in his hand did take his rod,
And stroke it on his banke, wherewith the flood
Did such a roaring make within the wood,
That straight the

The watry Nymph that spoke to Remond.

Nimph who then sate on her shore,

Knew there was somewhat do be done in store:
And therefore hasting to her Brothers Spring
She spide what caus'd the waters ecchoing.
Saw where faire Marine fast asleepe did lie,
Whilst that the God still viewing her sate by:
Who when he saw his Sister Nymph draw neare,
He thus gane tune his voice vnto her eare.
My fairest Sister (for we come
Both from the swelling Thetis wombe)
The reason why of late I strooke
My ruling wand vpon my Brooke
Was for this purpose; Late this Maid
Which on my banke asleepe is laid,
Was by her selfe or other wight,
Cast in my spring, and did affright
With her late fall, the fish that take
Their chiefest pleasure in my Lake:
Of all the Fry within my deepe,
None durst out of their dwellings peepe.
The Trout within the weeds did scud,
The Eele him hid within the mud.
Yea, from this feare I was not free:
For as I musing sate to see
How that the prettie Pibbles round
Came with my Spring from vnder ground,

60

And how the waters issuing
Did make them dance about my Spring;
The noise thereof did me appall:
That starting vpward therewithall,
I in my armes her bodie caught,
And both to light and life her brought:
Then cast her in a sleepe you see.
But Brother, to the cause (quoth she)
Why by your raging waters wilde
Am I here called? Thetis childe,
Replide the God, for thee I sent,
That when her time of sleepe is spent,
I may commit her to thy gage,
Since women best know womens rage.
Meanewhile, faire Nymph, accompanie
My Spring with thy sweet harmonie;
And we will make her soule to take
Some pleasure, which is said to wake,
Although the body hath his rest.
She gaue consent, and each of them addrest
Vnto their part. The watrie Nymph did sing
In manner of a prettie questioning:
The God made answer to what she propounded,
Whilst from the Spring a pleasant musicke sounded,
(Making each shrub in silence to adore them)
Taking their subiect from what lay before them.
Nymph.
Whats that, compact of earth, infus'd with aire;
A certaine, made full with vncertainties;
Sway'd by the motion of each seuerall Spheare;
Who's fed with nought but infelicities;
Endures nor heat nor cold; is like a Swan,
That this houre sings, next dies?

God.
It is a Man.


61

Nymph.
Whats he, borne to be sicke, so alwaies dying,
That's guided by ineuitable Fate;
That comes in weeping, and that goes out crying;
Whose Kalender of woes is still in date;
Whose life's a bubble, and in length a span;
A consort still in discords?

God.
Tis a man.

Nymph.
What's hee, whose thoughts are still quell'd in th' euent,
Though ne'r so lawfull, by an opposite,
Hath all things fleeting, nothing permanent:
And at his eares weares still a Parasite:
Hath friends in wealth, or wealthie friends, who can
In want proue meere illusions?

God.
Tis a Man.

Nymph.
What's he, that what he is not, striues to seeme,
That doth support an Atlas-weight of care:
That of an outward good doth best esteeme:
And looketh not within how solid they are:
That doth not vertuous, but the richest scan;
Learning and worth by wealth?

God.
It is a Man.

Nymph.
What's that possessor, which of good makes bad;
And what is worst, makes choice still for the best;
That grieueth most to thinke of what he had;
And of his chiefest losse accounteth least;
That doth not what he ought, but what he can;
Whose fancie's euer boundlesse?

God.
Tis a man.

Nymph.
But what is it wherein Dame Nature wrought

The first woman is fained to be named Pandora, i. a creature framed of the concurrence of the gifts and ornaments of all the Gods. As Hesiod, οτι παντης ολυμπια δωματ' εχοντες Δωρον εδορησαν.


The best of works, the onely frame of Heauen;
And hauing long to finde a present sought,
Wherein the worlds whole beautie might be giuen;

62

She did resolue in it all arts to summon,
To ioine with Natures framing?

God.
Tis this Woman.

Nymph.
If beautie be a thing to be admired;
And if admiring draw to it affection;
And what we doe affect is most desired;
What wight is he to loue denies subiection?
And can his thoughts within himselfe confine?

Marine that waking lay, said: Celandine.
He is the man that hates which some admire;
He is the wight that loathes whom most desire:
'Tis onely he to loue denies subiecting,
And but himselfe, thinkes none is worth affecting.
Vnhappy me the while, accurst my Fate,
That Nature giues no loue where she gaue hate.
The watrie Rulers then perceiued plaine,
Nipt with the Winter of loues frost, Disdaine;
This Non-par-el of beautie had beene led
To doe an act which Enuie pitied:
Therefore in pitie did conferre together,
What Physicke best might cure this burning Feuer.
At last found out that in a Groue below,
Where shadowing Sicamours past number grow,
A Fountaine takes his iourney to the Maine,
Whose liquors nature was so soueraigne,
(Like to the wondrous Well and famous Spring,
Which in

Plinie writes of two Springs rising in Boe[o]tia, the first helping memory, called μνημη: The latter causing obliuion, called ληθη.

Boe[o]tia hath his issuing)

That whoso of it doth but onely taste,
All former memorie from him doth waste.
Not changing any other worke of Nature,
But doth endow the drinker with a feature
More louely, faire Medea tooke from hence
Some of this water, by whose quintessence,
Æson from age came backe to youth. This knowne,

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The God thus spake:
Nymph, be thine owne,
And after mine. This Goddesse here
(For shees no lesse) will bring thee where
Thou shalt acknowledge Springs haue do[n]e
As much for thee as any one.
Which ended, and thou gotten free,
If thou wilt come and liue with me,
No Shepherds daughter, nor his wife,
Shall boast them of a better life.
Meane while I leaue thy thoughts at large,
Thy body to my sisters charge;
Whilst I into my Spring doe diue,
To see that they doe not depriue
The Meadowes neere, which much doe thirst,
Thus heated by the Sunne. May first
(Quoth Marine) Swaines giue Lambs to thee;
And may thy Floud haue seignorie
Of all Flouds else, and to thy fame
Meet greater Springs, yet keepe thy name.
May neuer Euet nor the Tode,
Within thy bankes make their abode!
Taking thy iourney from the Sea,
Maist thou ne'er happen in thy way
On Niter or on Brimstone Mine,
To spoile thy taste! this Spring of thine
Let it of nothing taste but earth,
And salt conceiued, in their birth
Be euer fresh! Let no man dare
To spoile thy Fish, make locke or ware,
But on thy Margent still let dwell
Those flowers which haue the sweetest smell.
And let the dust vpon thy strand
Become like Tagus golden sand.
Let as much good betide to thee,
As thou hast fauour shew'd to mee.

64

Thus said, in gentle paces they remoue,
And hastned onward to the shadie Groue:
Where both arriu'd; and hauing found the Rocke,
Saw how this precious water it did locke.
As he whom Auarice possesseth most,
Drawne by necessitie vnto his cost,
Doth drop by peece-meale downe his prison'd gold,
And seemes vnwilling to let goe his hold:
So the strong rocke the water long time stops,
And by degrees lets it fall downe in drops.
Like hoording huswiues that doe mold their food,
And keepe from others, what doth them no good.
The drops within a Cesterne, fell of stone,
Which fram'd by Nature, Art had neuer one
Halfe part so curious. Many spells then vsing,
The waters Nymph twixt Marines lips infusing
Part of this water, she might straight perceiue
How soone her troubled thoughts began to leaue
Her Loue-swolne-breast; and that her inward flame
Was cleane asswaged, and the very name
Of Celandine forgotten; did scarce know
If there were such a thing as Loue or no.
And sighing, therewithall threw in the aire
All former loue, all sorrow, all despaire;
And all the former causes of her mone
Did therewith burie in obliuion.
Then mustring vp her thoughts, growne vagabonds
Prest to releeue her inward bleeding wounds,
She had as quickly all things past forgotten,
As men doe Monarchs that in earth lie rotten.
As one new borne she seem'd, so al discerning,
“Though things long learned are the longst vnlearning.
Then walk'd they to a Groue but neere at hand,
Where fierie Titan had but small command,
Because the leaues conspiring kept his beames,
For feare of hurting (when hee's in extreames)

65

The vnder-flowers, which did enrich the ground
With sweeter sents than in Arabia found.
The earth doth yeeld (which they through pores exhale)
Earths best of odours, th' Aromaticall:
Like to that smell which oft our sense descries
Within a field which long vnplowed lies,
Somewhat before the setting of the Sunne;
And where the Raine-bow in the Horizon
Doth pitch her tips: or as when in the prime,
The earth being troubled with a drought long time,
The hand of Heauen his spungie Clouds doth straine,
And throwes into her lap a showre of raine;
She sendeth vp (conceiued from the Sunne)
A sweet perfume and exhalation.
Not all the Ointments brought from Delos Ile;
Nor from the confines of seuen-headed Nile;
Nor that brought whence Phœnicians haue abodes;
Nor Cyprus wilde Vine-flowers, nor that of Rhodes,
Nor Roses-oile from Naples, Capua,
Saffron confected in Cilicia;
Nor that of Quinces, nor of Marioram,
That euer from the Ile of Coos came.
Nor these, nor any else, though ne'er so rare,
Could with this place for sweetest smels compare.
There stood the Elme, whose shade so mildly dim
Doth nourish all that groweth vnder him.
Cypresse that like Piramides runne topping,
And hurt the least of any by their dropping.
The Alder, whose fat shadow nourisheth,
Each Plant set neere to him long flourisheth.
The heauie-headed Plane-tree, by whose shade
The grasse growes thickest, men are fresher made.
The Oake, that best endures the Thunder-shocks
The euerlasting Ebene, Cedar, Box.
The Oliue that in Wainscot neuer cleaues.
The amorous Vine which in the Elme still weaues.

66

The Lotus, Iuniper, where wormes ne'er enter:
The Pyne, with whom men through the Ocean venter.
The warlike Yewgh, by which (more then the Lance)
The strong-arm'd English spirits conquer'd France.
Amongst the rest the Tamariske there stood,
For Huswiues bosomes onely knowne most good.
The cold-place-louing Birch, and Seruis tree:
The Walnut louing vales, and Mulbury.
The Maple, Ashe; that doe delight in Fountaines,
Which haue their currents by the sides of Mountains.
The Laurell, Mirtle, Iuy, Date, which hold
Their leaues all Winter, be it ne'er so cold.
The Firre, that oftentimes doth Rosin drop:
The Beech that scales the Welkin with his top:
All these, and thousand more within this Groue,
By all the industry of Nature stroue
To frame an Harbour that might keepe within it
The best of beauties that the world hath in it.
Here entring, at the entrance of which shroud,
The Sunne halfe angry hid him in a cloud,
As raging that a Groue should from his sight
Locke vp a beauty whence himselfe had light.
The flowers pull'd in their heads as being sham'd
Their beauties by the others were defam'd.
Neere to this Wood there lay a pleasant Mead,
Where Fairies often did their Measures tread,
Which in the Meadow made such circles g[r]eene,
As if with Garlands it had crowned beene,
Or like the Circle where the Signes we tracke,
And learned Shepherds call't the Zodiacke:
Within one of these rounds was to be seene
A Hillocke rise, where oft the Fairy-Queene
At twy-light sate, and did command her Elues,
To pinch those Maids that had not swept their shelues:
And further if by Maidens ouer-sight,
Within doores water were not brought at night:

67

Or if they spread no Table, set no Bread,
They should haue nips from toe vnto the head:
And for the Maid that had perform'd each thing,
She in the Water-paile bade leaue a Ring.
Vpon this Hill there sat a louely Swaine,
As if that Nature thought it great disdaine
That he should (so through her his Genius told him)
Take equall place with Swaines, since she did hold him
Her chiefest worke, and therefore thought it fit,
That with inferiours he should neuer sit.
Narcissus change, sure Ouid cleane mistooke,
He dy'd not looking in a Crystall brooke,
But (as those which in emulation gaze)
He pinde to death by looking on this face.
When he stood fishing by some Riuers brim,
The fish would leape, more for a sight of him
Then for the flie. The Eagle highest bred,
Was taking him once vp for Ganimed.
The shag-haird Satyres, and the tripping Fawnes,
With all the troope that frolicke on the Lawnes,
Would come and gaze on him, as who should say
They had not seene his like this many a day.
Yea Venus knew no difference twixt these twaine,
Saue Adon was a Hunter, this a Swaine.
The woods sweet Queristers from spray to spray
Would hop them neerer him, and then there stay:
Each ioying greatly from his little hart,
That they with his sweet Reed might beare a part:
This was the Boy, (the Poets did mistake)
To whom bright Cynthia so much loue did make;
And promis'd for his loue no scornfull eyes
Should euer see her more in horned guize:
But she at his command would as of dutie
Become as full of light as he of beautie.
Lucina at his birth for Mid-wife stucke:
And Citherea nurc'd and gaue him sucke,

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Who to that end, once Doue-drawne from the Sea,
Her full Paps dropt, whence came the Milkie-way.
And as when Plato did i'th' Cradle thriue,
Bees to his lips brought honey from their Hiue:
So to this Boy they came, I know not whether
They brought, or from his lips did honey gather.
The Wood-Nymphs oftentimes would busied be,
And plucke for him the blushing Strawberie:
Making of them a Bracelet on a Bent,
Which for a fauour to this Swaine they sent.
Sitting in shades, the Sunne would oft by skips
Steale through the boughes, and seize vpon his lips.
The chiefest cause the Sunne did condescend
To Phaetons request, was to this end,
That whilst the other did his Horses reyne,
He might slide from his Spheare, & court this Swaine;
Whose sparkling eyes vi'd lustre with the Starres,
The truest Center of all Circulars.
In briefe, if any man in skill were able
To finish vp Apelles halfe-done Table,
This Boy (the man left out) were fittest sure
To be the patterne of that portraiture.
Piping he sate, as merry as his looke,
And by him lay his Bottle and his Hooke.
His buskins (edg'd with siluer) were of silke,
Which held a legge more white then mornings milk.
Those Buskins he had got and brought away
For dancing best vpon the Reuell day:
His Oaten Reede did yeeld forth such sweet Notes,
Ioyned in consort with the Birds shrill throtes,
That equaliz'd the Harmony of Spheares,
A Musicke that would rauish choicest eares.
Long look'd they on (who would not long looke on,
That such an obiect had to looke vpon?)
Till at the last the Nymph did Marine send,
To aske the neerest way, whereby to wend

69

To those faire walkes where sprung Marina's ill
Whilst she would stay: Marine obey'd her will,
And hastned towards him (who would not doe so,
That such a pretty iourney had to goe?)
Sweetly she came, and with a modest blush,
Gaue him the day, and then accosted thus:
Fairest of men, that (whilst thy flocke doth feed)
Sitt'st sweetly piping on thine Oaten Reed
Vpon this Little berry (some ycleep
A Hillocke) void of care, as are thy sheepe
Deuoid of spots, and sure on all this greene
A fairer flocke as yet was neuer seene:
Doe me this fauour (men should fauour Maids)
That whatsoeuer path directly leads,
And void of danger, thou to me doe show,
That by it to the Marish I might goe.
Mariage! (quoth he) mistaking what she said,
Natures perfection: thou most fairest Maid,
(If any fairer then the fairest may be)
Come sit thee downe by me; know louely Ladie,
Loue is the readiest way: if tane aright
You may attaine thereto full long ere night.
The Maiden thinking he of Marish spoke,
And not of Mariage, straight-way did inuoke,
And praid the Shepheards God might alwaies keepe
Him from all danger, and from Wolues his sheepe.
Wishing withall that in the prime of Spring
Each sheepe he had, two Lambs might yeerely bring.
But yet (quoth she) arede good gentle Swaine,
If in the Dale below, or on yond Plaine;
Or is the Village situate in a Groue,
Through which my way lies, and ycleeped loue?
Nor on yond Plaine, nor in this neighbouring wood;
Nor in the Dale where glides the siluer flood;
But like a Beacon on a hill so hie,
That euery one may see't which passeth by,

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Is Loue yplac'd: ther's nothing can it hide,
Although of you as yet 'tis vnespide.
But on which hill (quoth she) pray tell me true?
Why here (quoth he) it sits and talkes to you.
And are you Loue (quoth she?) fond Swaine adue,
You guide me wrong, my way lies not by you.
Though not your way, yet you may lye by me:
Nymph, with a Shepherd thou as merrily
Maist loue and liue, as with the greatest Lord.
“Greatnesse doth neuer most content afford.
I loue thee onely, not affect worlds pelfe,
“She is not lou'd, that's lou'd not for her selfe.
How many Shepherds daughters, who in dutie
To griping fathers haue inthral'd their beautie,
To wait vpon the Gout, to walke when pleases
Old Ianuary halt. O that diseases
Should linke with youth: She that hath such a mate
Is like two twins borne both incorporate:
Th' one liuing, th' other dead: the liuing twin
Must needs be slaine through noysomnesse of him
He carrieth with him: such are their estates,
Who meerely marry wealth and not their mates.
As ebbing waters freely slide away,
To pay their tribute to the raging Sea;
When meeting with the floud they iustle stout,
Whether the one shall in, or th' other out:
Till the strong floud new power of waues doth bring,
And driues the Riuer backe into his Spring:
So Marine's words offring to take their course,
By Loue then entring, were kept backe, and force
To it, his sweet face, eyes, and tongue assign'd,
And threw them backe againe into her minde.
“How hard it is to leaue and not to do
“That which by nature we are prone vnto?
“We hardly can (alas why not?) discusse,
“When Nature hath decreed it must be thus.
“It is a Maxime held of all, knowne plaine,

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“Thrust Nature off with forkes, she'll turne againe.
Blithe Doridon (so men this Shepherd hight)
Seeing his Goddesse in a silent plight,
(“Loue often makes the speeches organs mute,)
Began againe thus to renue his sute:
If by my words your silence hath beene such,
Faith I am sorry I haue spoke so much.
Barre I those lips? fit to be th' vttrers, when
The heauens would parly with the chiefe of men.
Fit to direct (a tongue all hearts conuinces)
When best of Scribes writes to the best of Princes,
Were mine like yours, of choicest words compleatest,
“Ide shew how grief's a thing weighs down the greatest
“The best of formes (who knows not) grief doth taint it,
“The skilfull'st Pēcil neuer yet could paint it.
And reason good, since no man yet could finde
What figure represents a grieued minde.
Me thinkes a troubled thought is thus exprest,
To be a Chaos rude and indigest:
Where all doe rule, and yet none beares chiefe sway:
Checkt onely by a power that's more then they.
This doe I speake, since to this euery louer
That thus doth loue, is thus still giuen ouer.
If that you say you will not, cannot loue:
Oh Heauens! for what cause then do you here moue?
Are you not fram'd of that expertest mold,
For whom all in this Round concordance hold?
Or are you framed of some other fashion,
And haue a forme and heart, but yet no passion?
It cannot be: for then vnto what end
Did the best worke-man this great worke intend?
Not that by minds commerce, and ioynt estate,
The worlds continuers still should propagate?
Yea, if that Reason (Regent of the Senses)
Haue but a part amongst your excellences,

72

Shee'll tell you what you call Virginitie,
Is fitly lik'ned to a barren tree;
Which when the Gardner on it paines bestowes,
To graffe an Impe thereon, in time it growes
To such perfection, that it yeerely brings
As goodly fruit, as any tree that springs.
Beleeue me Maiden, vow no chastitie:
For maidens but imperfect creatures be.
Alas poore Boy (quoth Marine) haue the Fates
Exempted no degrees? are no estates
Free from Loues rage? Be rul'd: vnhappy Swaine,
Call backe thy spirits, and recollect againe
Thy vagrant wits. I tell thee for a truth
“Loue is a Syren that doth shipwracke youth.
Be well aduis'd, thou entertainst a guest
That is the Harbinger of all vnrest:
VVhich like the Vipers young, that licke the earth,
Eat out the breeders wombe to get a birth.
Faith (quoth the Boy) I know there cannot be,
Danger in louing or inioying thee.
For what cause were things made and called good,
But to be loued? If you vnderstood
The Birds that prattle here, you would know then,
As birds wooe birds, maids should be woo'd of men.
But I want power to wooe, since what was mine
Is fled, and lye as vassals at your shrine:
And since what's mine is yours, let that same moue,
Although in me you see nought worthy Loue.
Marine about to speake, forth of a sling
(Fortune to all misfortunes plyes her wing
More quicke and speedy) came a sharpned flint,
VVhich in the faire boyes necke made such a dint,
That crimson bloud came streaming from the wound,
And he fell downe into a deadly swound.
The bloud ran all along where it did fall,
And could not finde a place of buriall:

73

But where it came, it there congealed stood,
As if the Earth loath'd to drinke guiltlesse blood.
Gold-haird Apollo, Muses sacred King,
VVhose praise in Delphos He doth euer ring:
Physickes first founder, whose Arts excellence
Extracted Natures chiefest quintessence,
Vnwilling that a thing of such a worth
Should so be lost; straight sent a Dragon forth
To fetch his bloud, and he perform'd the same:
And now Apothecaries giue it name,
From him that fetcht it: (Doctors know it good
In Physicks vse) and call it Dragons bloud.
Some of the bloud by chance did down-ward fall,
And by a veine got to a Minerall,
VVhence came a Red, decayed Dames infuse it
VVith Venice Ceruse, and for painting vse it.
Marine astonisht (most vnhappy Maid)
O'er-come with feare, and at the view afraid,
Fell downe into a trance, eyes lost their sight,
VVhich being open, made all darknesse light.
Her bloud ran to her heart, of life to feed,
Or lothing to behold so vile a deed.
And as when VVinter doth the Earth array
In siluer sute, and when the night and day
Are in dissention, Night locks vp the ground,
VVhich by the helpe of day is oft vnbound:
A shepherds boy with bow and shafts addrest,
Ranging the fields, hauing once pierc'd the brest
Of some poore fowle, doth with the blow straight rush
To catch the Bird lyes panting in the Bush:

An expression of the natures of two Riuers rising neere together, and differing in their tastes and manner of running.


So rusht this striker in, vp Marine tooke,
And hastned with her to a neare-hand Brooke.
Old Shepherds saine (old shepherds sooth haue saine)
Two Riuers tooke their issue from the Maine,
Both neere together, and each bent his race,
VVhich of them both should first behold the face

74

Of Radiant Phœbus: One of them in gliding
Chanc'd on a Veine where Niter had abiding:
The other loathing that her purer Waue
Should be defil'd with that the Niter gaue,
Fled fast away, the other follow'd fast,
Till both beene in a Rocke ymet at last.
As seemed best, the Rocke did first deliuer
Out of his hollow sides the purer Riuer:
(As if it taught those men in honour clad,
To helpe the vertuous and suppresse the bad.)
Which gotten loose, did softly glide away.
As men from earth, to earth; from sea to sea;
So Riuers run: and that from whence both came
Takes what she gaue: Waues, Earth: but leaues a name.
As waters haue their course, & in their place
Succeeding streames will out, so is mans race:
The Name doth still suruiue, and cannot die,
Vntill the Channels stop, or Spring grow dry.
As I haue seene vpon a Bridall day
Full many Maids clad in their best array,
In honour of the Bride come with their Flaskets
Fill'd full with flowers: others in wicker-baskets
Bring from the Marish Rushes, to o'er-spread
The ground, whereon to Church the Louers tread;
Whilst that the quaintest youth of all the Plaine
Vshers their way with many a piping straine:
So, as in ioy, at this faire Riuers birth,
Triton came vp a Channell with his mirth,
And call'd the neighb'ring Nymphs each in her turne
To poure their pretty Riuilets from their Vrne;
To wait vpon this new-deliuered Spring.
Some running through the Meadowes, with them bring
Cowslip and Mint: and 'tis anothers lot
To light vpon some Gardeners curious knot,
Whence she vpon her brest (loues sweet repose)
Doth bring the Queene of flowers, the English Rose.

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Some from the Fenne bring Reeds, Wilde-tyme from Downs;
Some frō a Groue the Bay that Poets crowns;
Some from an aged Rocke the Mosse hath torne,
And leaues him naked vnto winters storme:
Another from her bankes (in meere good will)
Brings nutriment for fish, the Camomill.
Thus all bring somewhat, and doe ouer-spread
The way the Spring vnto the Sea doth tread.
This while the Floud which yet the Rocke vp pent,
And suffered not with iocund merriment
To tread rounds in his Spring, came rushing forth,
As angry that his waues (he thought) of worth
Should not haue libertie, nor helpe the pryme.
And as some ruder Swaine composing ryme,
Spends many a gray Goose quill vnto the handle,
Buries within his socket many a Candle;
Blots Paper by the quire, and dries vp Inke,
As Xerxes Armie did whole Riuers drinke,
Hoping thereby his name his worke should raise
That it should liue vntill the last of dayes:
Which finished, he boldly doth addresse
Him and his workes to vnder-goe the Presse;
When loe (O Fate!) his worke not seeming fit
To walke in equipage with better wit,
Is kept from light, there gnawne by Moathes and wormes,
At which he frets: Right so this Riuer stormes:
But broken forth; As Tauy creepes vpon
The Westerne vales of fertile Albion,
Here dashes roughly on an aged Rocke,
That his entended passage doth vp locke;
There intricately mongst the Woods doth wander,
Losing himselfe in many a wry Meander:
Here amorously bent, clips some faire Mead;
And then disperst in rils, doth measures tread
Vpon her bosome 'mongst her flowry ranks:
There in another place beares downe the banks,

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Of some day-labouring wretch: here meets a rill,
And with their forces ioyn'd cuts out a Mill
Into an Iland, then in iocund guise
Suruayes his conquest, lauds his enterprise:
Here digs a Caue at some high Mountaines foot:
There vndermines an Oake, teares vp his root:
Thence rushing to some Country-farme at hand,
Breaks o'er the Yeomans mounds, sweepes from his land
His Haruest hope of Wheat, of Rye, or Pease:
And makes that channell which was Shepherds lease:
Here, as our wicked age doth sacriledge,
Helpes downe an Abbey, then a naturall bridge
By creeping vnder ground he frameth out,
As who should say he either went about
To right the wrong he did, or hid his face,
For hauing done a deed so vile and base:
So ran this Riuer on, and did bestirre
Himselfe, to finde his fellow-Traueller.
But th' other fearing least her noyse might show
What path she took, which way her streams did flow:
As some way-faring man strayes th' row a wood,
Where beasts of prey thirsting for humane bloud
Lurke in their dens, he softly listning goes,
Not trusting to his heeles, treads on his toes:
Dreads euery noise he heares, thinks each small bush
To be a beast that would vpon him rush:
Feareth to dye, and yet his winde doth smother;
Now leaues this path, takes that, then to another:
Such was her course. This feared to be found,
The other not to finde, swels o'er each mound,
Roares, rages, foames, against a mountaine dashes,
And in recoile, makes Meadowes standing plashes:
Yet findes not what he seekes in all his way,
But in despaire runs headlong to the Sea.
This was the cause them by tradition taught,
Why one floud ran so fast, th' other so soft,

77

Both from one head. Vnto the rougher streame,
(Crown'd by that Meadowes flowry Diadem,
Where Doridon lay hurt) the cruell Swaine
Hurries the Shepherdesse, where hauing laine
Her in a Boat like the Cannowes of Inde,
Some silly trough of wood, or some trees rinde;
Puts from the shoare, and leaues the weeping strand,
Intends an act by water, which the land
Abhorr'd to boulster; yea, the guiltlesse earth
Loath'd to be Mid-wife to so vile a birth.
Which to relate I am inforc'd to wrong
The modest blushes of my Maiden-song.
Then each faire Nymph whom Nature doth endow
With beauties cheeke, crown'd with a shamefast brow;
Whose well-tun'd eares, chast-obiect-louing eyne
Ne'er heard nor saw the workes of

An obscene Italian Poet.

Aretine;

Who ne'er came on the Citherean shelfe,
But is as true as Chastitie it selfe;
Where hated Impudence ne'er set her seed;
Where lust lies not vail'd in a virgins weed:
Let her with-draw. Let each young Shepherdling
Walke by, or stop his eare, the whilst I sing.
But yee, whose bloud, like Kids vpon a plaine,
Doth skip, and dance Lauoltoes in each veine;
Whose brests are swolne with the Venerean game,
And warme your selues at lusts alluring flame;
Who dare to act as much as men dare thinke,
And wallowing lye within a sensuall sinke;
Whose fained gestures doe entrap our youth
With an apparancie of simple truth;
Insatiate gulphs, in your defectiue part
By Art helpe Nature, and by Nature, Art:
Lend me your eares, and I will touch a string
Shall lull your sense asleepe the while I sing.
But stay: me thinkes I heare something in me
That bids me keepe the bounds of modestie;

78

Sayes, “Each mans voice to that is quickly moued
“Which of himselfe is best of all beloued;
“By vttring what thou knowst lesse glory's got,
“Then by concealing what thou knowest not.
If so, I yeeld to it, and set my rest
Rather to lose the bad, then wrong the best.
My Maiden-Muse flies the lasciuious Swaines,
And scornes to soyle her lines with lustfull straines:
Will not dilate (nor on her fore-head beare
Immodesties abhorred Character)
His shamelesse pryings, his vndecent doings;
His curious searches, his respectlesse wooings:
How that he saw. But what? I dare not breake it,
You safer may conceiue then I dare speake it.
Yet verily had he not thought her dead,
Sh'ad lost, ne'er to be found, her Maiden-head.
The rougher streame loathing a thing compacted
Of so great shame, should on his Floud be acted;
(According to our times not well allow'd
In others, what he in himselfe auow'd)
Bent hard his fore-head, furrow'd vp his face,
And danger led the way the boat did trace.
And as within a Landskip that doth stand
Wrought by the Pencill of some curious hand,
We may discry, here meadow, there a wood:
Here standing ponds, and there a running floud:
Here on some mount a house of pleasure vanted,
Where once the roaring Cannon had beene planted:
There on a hill a Swaine pipes out the day,
Out-brauing all the Quiristers of May.
A Hunts-man here followes his cry of hounds,
Driuing the Hare along the fallow grounds:
Whilst one at hand seeming the sport t'allow,
Followes the hounds, and carelesse leaues the Plow.
There in another place some high-rais'd land,
In pride beares out her breasts vnto the strand.

79

Here stands a bridge, and there a conduit head:
Here round a May-pole some the measures tread:
There boyes the truant play and leaue their booke:
Here stands an Angler with a baited hooke.
There for a Stagge one lurkes within a bough:
Here sits a Maiden milking of her Cow.
There on a goodly plaine (by time throwne downe)
Lies buried in his dust some ancient Towne;
Who now inuillaged, there's onely seene
In his vaste ruines what his state had beene:
And all of these in shadowes so exprest
Make the beholders eyes to take no rest.
So for the Swaine the Floud did meane to him
To shew in Nature (not by Art to limbe)
A Tempests rage, his furious waters threat,
Some on this shoare, some on the other beat.
Here stands a Mountaine, where was once a Dale;
There where a Mountaine stood is now a Vale.
Here flowes a billow, there another meets:
Each, on each side the skiffe, vnkindly greets.
The waters vnderneath gan vpward moue,
Wondring what stratagems were wrought aboue:
Billowes that mist the boat, still onward thrust,
And on the Cliffes, as swolne with anger, burst.
All these, and more, in substance so exprest,
Made the beholders thoughts to take no rest.
Horror in triumph rid vpon the waues;
And all the Furies from their gloomy caues
Came houering o're the Boat, summond each sence
Before the fearefull barre of Conscience;
Were guilty all, and all condemned were
To vnder-goe their horrors with despaire.
What Muse? what Powre? or what thrice sacred Herse,
That liues immortall in a well-tun'd Verse,
Can lend me such a sight that I might see
A guilty conscience true Anatomie;

80

That well-kept Register wherein is writ
All ils men doe, all goodnesse they omit?
His pallid feares, his sorrowes, his affrightings;
His late wisht had-I-wists, remorcefull bitings:
His many tortures, his heart-renting paine:
How were his griefes composed in one chaine,
And he by it let downe into the Seas,
Or th' row the Center to th' Antipodes?
He might change Climates, or be barr'd Heauens face;
Yet finde no salue, nor euer change his case.
Feares, sorrowes, tortures, sad affrights, nor any,
Like to the Conscience sting, though thrice as many;
Yet all these torments by the Swaine were borne.
Whilst Deaths grim visage lay vpon the storme.
But as when some kinde Nurse doth long time keep
Her pretty babe at sucke, whom falne asleepe
She layes downe in his Cradle, stints his cry
With many a sweet and pleasing Lullaby;
Whilst the sweet childe, not troubled with the shock,
As sweetly slumbers, as his Nurse doth rocke:
So lay the Maid, th' amazed Swaine sate weeping,
And death in her was dispossest by sleeping.
The roaring voyce of winds, the billowes raues;
Nor all the muttring of the sullen waues
Could once disquiet, or her slumber stirre:
But lull'd her more asleepe then wakened her.
Such are their states, whose soules from foule offence
Enthroned sit in spotlesse Innocence.
Where rest my Muse; till (iolly Shepheards Swaines)
Next morne with Pearles of dew bedecks our plaines
Wee'll fold our flockes, then in fit time goe on
To tune mine Oaten pipe for Doridon.

81

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;)

82

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,

83

“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;

84

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:

85

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;

86

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.

87

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.

88

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.


89

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.
How may a Maiden be assur'd of loue,
Since falshood late in euerie Swaine excelleth?

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.

90

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

91

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.

92

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

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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.
Happy are you so enclosed,
May the Maids be still disposed
In their gestures and their dances,
So to grace you with intwining,
That Enuy wish in such combining,
Fortunes smile with happy chances.
Here it seemes as if the Graces
Measur'd out the Plaine in traces,

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In a Shepherdesse disguising.
Are the Spheares so nimbly turning?
Wandring Lamps in heauen burning,
To the eye so much intising?
Yes, Heauen meanes to take these thither,
And adde one ioy to see both dance together.
Gentle Nymphes be not refusing,
Loues neglect is times abusing,
They and beauty are but lent you,
Take the one and keepe the other:
Loue keepes fresh, what age doth smother.
Beauty gone you will repent you.
'Twill be said when yee haue proued,
Neuer Swaines more truly loued:
O then flye all nice behauiour.
Pitty faine would (as her dutie)
Be attending still on beautie,
Let her not be out of fauour.
Disdaine is now so much rewarded,
That Pitty weepes since she is vnregarded.
The measure and the Song here being ended:
Each Swain his thoughts thus to his Loue cōmended.

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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?

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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.

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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

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The Tenth

illustration
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.

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The Eleauenth

illustration
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.

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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.

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The Fovrth Song.

The Argvment.

Fida's distresse, the Hinde is slaine,
Yet from her ruines liues againe.
Riots description next I rime;
Then Aletheia, and old Time:
And lastly, from this Song I goe,
Hauing describ'd the Vale of Woe.
Happy yee dayes of old, when euery waste
VVas like a Sanctvarie to the chaste:
VVhen Incests, Rapes, Adulteries, were not knowne;
All pure as blossomes, which are newly blowne.
Maids were as free from spots, and soiles within,
As most vnblemisht in the outward skin.
Men euery Plaine and Cottage did afford,
As smooth in deeds, as they were faire of word.
Maidens with Men as sisters with their brothers;
And Men with Maids conuers'd as with their Mothers;
Free from suspition, or the rage of blood.
Strife onely raign'd, for all striu'd to be good.

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But then as little Wrens but newly fledge,
First, by their nests hop vp and downe the hedge;
Then one from bough to bough gets vp a tree:
His fellow noting his agilitie,
Thinkes he as well may venter as the other,
So flushing from one spray vnto another,
Gets to the top, and then enbold'ned flies,
Vnto an height past ken of humane eyes:
So time brought worse, men first desir'd to talke;
Then came suspect; and then a priuate walke;
Then by consent appointed times of meeting,
Where most securely each might kisse his sweeting;
Lastly, with lusts their panting brests so swell,
They came to. But to what I blush to tell,
And entred thus, Rapes vsed were of all,
Incest, Adultery, held as Veniall:
The certainty in doubtfull ballance rests,
If beasts did learne of men, or men of beasts.
Had they not learn'd of man who was their King,
So to insult vpon an vnderling,
They ciuilly had spent their liues gradation,
As meeke and milde as in their first creation;
Nor had th' infections of infected minds
So alter'd nature, and disorder'd kinds,
Fida had beene lesse wretched, I more glad,
That so true loue so true a progresse had.
When Remond left her (Remond then vnkinde)
Fida went downe the dale to seeke the Hinde;
And found her taking soyle within a flood:
Whom when she call'd straight follow'd to the wood.
Fida then wearied, sought the cooling shade,
And found an arbour by the Shepherds made
To frolike in (when Sol did hottest shine)
With cates which were farre cleanlier then fine.
For in those dayes men neuer vs'd to feed
So much for pleasure as they did for need.

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Enriching then the arbour downe she sate her;
Where many a busie Bee came flying at her:
Thinking when she for ayre her brests discloses,
That there had growne some tuft of Damaske-Roses,
And that her azure veines which then did swell,
Were Conduit-pipes brought from a liuing Well.
Whose liquor might the world enioy for money,
Bees would be bank-rupt, none would care for honey.
The Hinde lay still without (poore silly creature,
How like a woman art thou fram'd by nature?
Timerous, apt to teares, wilie in running,
Caught best when force is intermixt with cunning)
Lying thus distant, different chances meet them,
And with a fearfull obiect Fate doth greet them.
Something appear'd, which seem'd farre off, a man,

Description of Riot.


In stature, habit, gate, proportion:
But when their eyes their obiects Masters were,
And it for stricter censure came more neere,
By all his properties one well might ghesse,
Than of a man, he sure had nothing lesse.
For verily since old Deucalions flood
Earths slime did ne'er produce a viler brood.
Vpon the various earths embrodered gowne
There is a weed vpon whose head growes Downe;
Sow-thistle 'tis ycleep'd, whose downy wreath,
If any one can blow off at a breath,
We deeme her for a Maid: such was his haire,
Ready to shed at any stirring ayre.
His eares were strucken deafe when he came nie,
To heare the Widowes or the Orphans crie.
His eyes encircled with a bloody chaine,
With poaring in the blood of bodies slaine.
His mouth exceeding wide, from whence did flie
Vollies of execrable blasphemie;
Banning the Heauens, and he that rideth on them,
Dar'd vengeance to the teeth to fall vpon him:

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Like Scythian Wolues, or

Men of Scirum shoot against the Starres.

men of wit bereauen,

Which howle and shoot against the lights of Heauen.
His hands (if hands they were) like some dead corse,
With digging vp his buried ancestors;
Making his Fathers tombe and sacred shrine
The trough wherein the Hog-heard fed his Swine.
And as that Beast hath legs (which shepherds feare,
Ycleep'd a Badger, which our Lambs doth teare)
One long, the other short, that when he runs
Vpon the plaines, he halts; but when he wons
On craggy Rocks, or steepy stils, we see
None runs more swift, nor easier then he:
Such legs the Monster had, one sinew shrunke,
That in the plaines he reel'd, as being drunke;
And halted in the paths to Vertue tending:
And therefore neuer durst be that way bending:
But when he came on carued Monuments,
Spiring Colosses, and high raised rents,
He past them o're, quicke, as the Easterne winde
Sweepes through a Meadow; or a nimble Hinde,
Or Satyre on a Lawne; or skipping Roe;
Or well-wing'd Shaft forth of a Parthian bow.
His body made (still in consumptions rife)
A miserable prison for a life.
Riot he hight; whom some curs'd Fiend did raise,
When like a Chaos were the nights and daies:
Got and brought vp in the Cymerian Clime,
Where Sun nor Moon, nor daies, nor nights do time:
As who should say, they scorn'd to shew their faces
To such a Fiend should seeke to spoile the Graces.
At sight whereof, Fida nigh drown'd in feare,
Was cleane dismaid when he approched neare;
Nor durst she call the Deere, nor whistling winde her,
Fearing her noise might make the Monster finde her;
Who slily came, for he had cunning learn'd him,
And seiz'd vpon the Hinde, ere she discern'd him.

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Oh how she striu'd and strugled; euery nerue
Is prest at all assaies a life to serue:
Yet soone we lose, what we might longer keepe
Were not Preuention commonly a sleepe.
Maids, of this Monsters brood be fearefull all,
What to the Hinde may hap to you befall.
Who with her feet held vp in stead of hands,
And teares which pittie from the Rocke commands,
She sighes, and shrikes, & weeps, and looks vpon him:
Alas she sobs, and many a groane throwes on him;
With plaints which might abate a Tyrants knife;
She begs for pardon, and entreats for life.
The hollow caues resound her moanings neere it,
That heart was flint which did not grieue to heare it:
The high topt Firres which on that mountaine keep,
Haue euer since that time beene seene to weepe.
The Owle till then, 'tis thought full well could sing,
And tune her voyce to euery bubling Spring:
But when she heard those plaints, then forth she yode
Out of the couert of an Iuy rod,
And hollowing for aide, so strain'd her throat,
That since she cleane forgot her former noat.
A little Robin sitting on a tree,
In dolefull noats bewail'd her Tragedie.
An Aspe, who thought him stout, could not dissemble,
But shew'd his feare, and yet is seene to tremble.
Yet Cruelty was deafe, and had no sight
In ought which might gain-say the appetite:
But with his teeth rending her throat asunder,
Besprinkl'd with her blood the greene grasse vnder
And gurmundizing on her flesh and blood,
He vomiting returned to the Wood.
Ryot but newly gone, as strange a vision
Though farre more heauenly, came in apparition.
As that Arabian bird (whom all admire)
Her exequies prepar'd and funerall fire,

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Burnt in a flame conceiued from the Sun,
And nourished with slips of Cynamon,
Out of her ashes hath a second birth,
And flies abroad, a wonderment on earth:
So from the ruines of this mangled Creature
Arose so faire and so diuine a feature,

Description of Truth.

That Enuy for her heart would doat vpon her;

Heauen could not chuse but be enamour'd on her:
Were I a Starre, and she a second Spheare,
Ide leaue the other, and be fixed there.
Had faire Arachne wrought this Maidens haire,
When she with Pallas did for skill compare,
Minerua's worke had neuer beene esteem'd,
But this had beene more rare and highly deem'd.
Yet gladly now she would reuerse her doome,
Weauing this haire within a Spiders Loome.
Vpon her fore-head, as in glory sate
Mercy and Maiesty, for wondring at,
As pure and simple as Albania's snow,
Or milke-white Swans which stem the streams of Poe:
Like to some goodly fore-land, bearing out
Her haire, the tufts which fring'd the shoare about.
And lest the man which sought those coasts might slip,
Her eyes like Stars, did serue to guide the ship.
Vpon her front (heauens fairest Promontory)
Delineated was, th' Authentique Story
Of those Elect, whose sheepe at first began
To nibble by the springs of Canaan:
Out of whose sacred loynes (brought by the stem
Of that sweet Singer of Ierusalem)
Came the best Shepherd euer flocks did keepe,
Who yeelded vp his life to saue his sheepe.
O thou Eterne! by whom all beings moue,
Giuing the Springs beneath, and Springs aboue:
Whose Finger doth this Vniuerse sustaine,
Bringing the former and the latter raine:

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Who dost with plenty Meads and Pastures fill,
By drops distill'd like dew on Hermon Hill:
Pardon a silly Swaine, who (farre vnable
In that which is so rare, so admirable)
Dares on an Oaten-pipe, thus meanly sing
Her praise immense, worthy a siluer string.
And thou which through the Desart and the Deepe,
Didst lead thy Chosen like a flocke of sheepe:
As sometime by a Starre thou guidedst them,
Which fed vpon the plaines of Bethelem;
So by thy sacred Spirit direct my quill,
When I shall sing ought of thy Holy hill,
That times to come, when they my rymes rehearse,
May wonder at me, and admire my Verse:
For who but one rapt in Cœlestiall fire,
Can by his Muse to such a pitch aspire;
That from aloft he might behold and tell
Her worth, whereon an iron Pen might dwell.
When she was borne, Nature in sport began,
To learne the cunning of an Artizan,
And did Vermilion with a white compose,
To mocke her selfe, and paint a Damaske Rose.
But scorning Nature vnto Art should seeke,
She spilt her colours on this Maidens cheeke.
Her mouth the gate from whence all goodnesse came,
Of power to giue the dead a liuing name.
Her words embalmed in so sweet a breath,
That made them triumph both on Time and Death,
Whose fragrant sweets, since the Camelion knew,
And tasted of, he to this humor grew:
Left other Elements, held this so rare,
That since he neuer feeds on ought but Ayre.
O had I Virgils verse, or Tullies Tongue!
Or raping numbers like the Thracian's Song,
I haue a Theame would make the Rocks to dance,
And surly Beasts that through the Desart prance,

108

Hie from their Caues, and euery gloomy den,
To wonder at the excellence of men.
Nay, they would thinke their states for euer raised,
But once to looke on one, so highly praised.
Out of whose Maiden brests (which sweetly rise)
The Seers suckt their hidden Prophecies:
And told that for her loue in times to come,
Many should seeke the Crowne of Martyrdome,
By fire, by sword, by tortures, dungeons, chaines,
By stripes, by famine, and a world of paines;
Yet constant still remaine (to her they loued)
Like Syon Mount, that cannot be remoued.
Proportion on her armes and hands recorded,
The world for her no fitter place afforded.
Praise her who list, he still shall be her debter:
For Art ne'er fain'd, nor Nature fram'd a better.
As when a holy Father hath began
To offer sacrifice to mighty Pan,
Doth the request of euery Swaine assume,
To scale the Welkin in a sacred fume,
Made by a widow'd Turtles louing mate,
Or Lamkin, or some Kid immaculate,
The offring heaues aloft, with both his hands;
Which all adore, that neere the Altar stands:
So was her heauenly body comely rais'd
On two faire columnes; those that Ouid prais'd
In Iulia's borrowed name, compar'd with these,
Were Crabs to Apples of th' Hespherides;
Or stumpe-foot Vulcan in comparison,
With all the height of true perfection.
Nature was here so lauish of her store,
That she bestow'd vntill she had no more.
VVhose Treasure being weakned (by this Dame)
She thrusts into the world so many lame.
The highest Synode of the glorious Skie,
(I heard a VVood-Nymph sing) sent Mercurie

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To take a suruay of the fairest faces,
And to describe to them all womens graces;
VVho long time wandring in a serious quest,
Noting what parts by Beauty were possest:
At last he saw this Maid, then thinking fit
To end his iourney, here, Nil-vltra, writ.
Fida in adoration kiss'd her knee,
And thus bespake; Haile glorious Deitie!
(If such thou art, and who can deeme you lesse?)
VVhether thou raign'st Queene of the Wildernesse,
Or art that Goddesse ('tis vnknowne to me)
Which from the Ocean drawes her pettigree:
Or one of those, who by the mossie bankes
Of drisling Hellicon, in airie rankes
Tread Roundelayes vpon the siluer sands,
Whilst shaggy Satyres tripping o're the strands,
Stand still at gaze, and yeeld their senses thrals
To the sweet cadence of your Madrigals:
Or of the Faiery troope which nimbly play,
And by the Springs dance out the Summers day;
Teaching the little birds to build their nests,
And in their singing how to keepen rests:
Or one of those, who watching where a Spring
Out of our Grandame Earth hath issuing,
With your attractiue Musicke wooe the streame
(As men by Faieries led, falne in a dreame)
To follow you, which sweetly trilling wanders
In many Mazes, intricate Meanders;
Till at the last, to mocke th' enamour'd rill,
Ye bend your traces vp some shady hill;
And laugh to see the waue no further tread;
But in a chafe run foaming on his head,
Being enforc'd a channell new to frame,
Leauing the other destitute of name.
If thou be one of these, or all, or more,
Succour a seely Maid, that doth implore

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Aid, on a bended heart, vnfain'd and meeke,
As true as blushes of a Maiden cheeke.
Maiden, arise, repli'd the new-borne Maid:
“Pure Innocence the senslesse stones will aide.
Nor of the Fairie troope, nor Muses nine;
Nor am I Venus, nor of Proserpine:
But daughter to a lusty aged Swaine,
That cuts the greene tufts off th' enamel'd plaine;
And with his Sythe hath many a Summer shorne
The plow'd-lands lab'ring with a crop of corne;

Description of Time.

Who from the cloud-clipt mountaine by his stroake

Fels downe the lofty Pine, the Cedar, Oake:
He opes the flood-gates as occasion is
Sometimes on that mans land, sometimes on this.
When Verolame, a stately Nymph of yore
Did vse to decke her selfe on Isis shore,
One morne (among the rest) as there she stood,
Saw the pure Channell all besmear'd with blood;
Inquiring for the cause, one did impart,
Those drops came from her holy Albans hart;
Herewith in griefe she gan intreat my Syre,
That Isis streame, which yeerely did attire
Those gallant fields in changeable array,
Might turne her course and run some other way.
Lest that her waues might wash away the guilt
From off their hands which Albans blood had spilt:
He condescended, and the nimble waue
Her Fish no more within that channell draue:
But as a witnesse left the crimson gore
To staine the earth, as they their hands before.
He had a being ere there was a birth,
And shall not cease vntill the Sea and Earth,
And what they both containe, shall cease to be,
Nothing confines him but Eternitie.
By him the names of good men euer liue,
Which short liu'd men vnto Obliuion giue:

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And in forgetfulnesse he lets him fall,
That is no other man then naturall:
'Tis he alone that rightly can discouer,
Who is the true, and who the fained Louer.
In Summers heat when any Swaine to sleepe
Doth more addict himselfe then to his sheepe;
And whilst the Leaden God sits on his eyes,
If any of his Fold or strayes or dyes,
And to the waking Swaine it be vnknowne,
Whether his sheepe be dead, or straid, or stolne;
To meet my Syre he bends his course in paine,
Either where some high hill suruaies the plaine;
Or takes his step toward the flowrie vallies,
Where Zephyre with the Cowslip hourely dallies;
Or to the groues, where birds from heat or weather,
Sit sweetly tuning of their noates together:
Or to a Mead a wanton Riuer dresses
With richest Collers of her turning Esses;
Or where the Shepherds sit old stories telling,
Chronos my Syre hath no set place of dwelling;
But if the Shepherd meet the aged Swaine,
He tels him of his sheepe, or shewes them slaine.
So great a gift the sacred Powers of heauen
(Aboue all others) to my Syre haue giuen,
That the abhorred Stratagems of night,
Lurking in cauernes from the glorious light,
By him (perforce) are from their dungeons hurl'd,
And shew'd as monsters to the wondring World.
What Mariner is he sailing vpon
The watry Desart clipping Albion,
Heares not the billowes in their dances roare
Answer'd by Eccoes from the neighbour shoare?
To whose accord the Maids trip from the Downes,
And Riuers dancing come, ycrown'd with Townes,
All singing forth the victories of Time,
Vpon the Monsters of the Westerne Clime,

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VVhose horrid, damned, bloody, plots would bring
Confusion on the Laureate Poets King,
VVhose Hell-fed hearts deuis'd how neuer more
A Swan might singing sit on Isis shore:
But croaking Rauens, and the Scrich-owles crie,
The fit Musitians for a Tragedie,
Should euermore be heard about her strand,
To fright all Passengers from that sad Land.
Long Summers dayes I on his worth might spend,
And yet begin againe when I would end.
All Ages since the first age first begun,
Ere they could know his worth their age was done:
VVhose absence all the Treasury of earth
Cannot buy out. From farre-fam'd Tagus birth,
Not all the golden grauell he treads ouer,
One minute past, that minute can recouer.
I am his onely Childe (he hath no other)
Cleep'd Aletheia, borne without a Mother.
Poore Aletheia long despis'd of all,
Scarce Charitie would lend an Hospitall
To giue my Months cold watching one nights rest,
But in my roome tooke in the Misers Chest.
In winters time when hardly fed the flocks,
And Isicles hung dangling on the Rocks;
When Hyems bound the floods in siluer chaines,
And hoary Frosts had candy'd all the Plaines;
When euery Barne rung with the threshing Flailes,
And Shepherds Boyes for cold gan blow their nailes:
(Wearied with toyle in seeking out some one
That had a sparke of true deuotion;)
It was my chance (chance onely helpeth need)
To finde an house ybuilt for holy deed,
With goodly Architect, and Cloisters wide,
With groues and walkes along a Riuers side;
The place it selfe afforded admiration,
And euery spray a Theame of contemplation.

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But (woe is me) when knocking at the gate,

Aletheia seeks reliefe at an Abbey, and is denide.


I gan intreat an enterance thereat:
The Porter askt my name: I told; He swell'd,
And bade me thence: wherewith in griefe repell'd,
I sought for shelter to a ruin'd house,
Harb'ring the Weasell, and the dust-bred Mouse;
And others none, except the two-kinde Bat,
Which all the day there melancholy sate:
Here sate I downe with winde and raine ybeat;
Griefe fed my minde, and did my body eat.
Yet Idlenesse I saw (lam'd with the Gout)
Had entrance when poore Truth was kept without.
There saw I Drunkennesse with Dropsies swolne;
And pamper'd Lust that many a night had stolne
Ouer the Abby-wall when Gates were lock'd,
To be in Venus wanton bosome rock'd:
And Gluttony that surfetting had bin,
Knocke at the gate and straight-way taken in:
Sadly I sate, and sighing grieu'd to see,
Their happinesse, my infelicitie.
At last came Enuy by, who hauing spide
Where I was sadly seated, inward hide,
And to the Conuent eagerly she cries,
Why sit you here, when with these eares and eyes
I heard and saw a strumpet dares to say,
She is the true faire Aletheia,
Which you haue boasted long to liue among you,
Yet suffer not a peeuish Girle to wrong you?
With this prouok'd, all rose, and in a rout
Ran to the gate, stroue who should first get out,
Bade me be gone, and then (in tearmes vnciuill)
Did call me counterfait, witch, hag, whore, deuill;
Then like a strumpet droue me from their cels,
With tinkling pans, and with the noise of bels.
And he that lou'd me, or but moan'd my case,
Had heapes of fire-brands banded at his face.

114

Thus beaten thence (distrest, forsaken wight)
Inforc'd in fields to sleepe, or wake all night;
A silly sheepe seeing me straying by,
Forsooke the shrub where once she meant to lye;
As if she in her kinde (vnhurting elfe)
Did bid me take such lodging as her selfe:
Gladly I tooke the place the sheepe had giuen,
Vncanopy'd of any thing but heauen.
Where nigh benumb'd with cold, with grief frequented,
Vnto the silent night I thus lamented:
Faire Cynthia, if from thy siluer Throne,
Thou euer lentst an eare to Virgins mone!
Or in thy Monthly course, one minute staid
Thy Palfrayes trot, to heare a wretched Maid!
Pull in their reynes, and lend thine eare to me,
Forlorne, forsaken, cloath'd in miserie:
But if a woe hath neuer woo'd thine eare,
To stop those Coursers in their full Cariere;
But as stone-hearted men, vncharitable,
Passe carelesse by the poore, when men lesse able
Hold not the needed helpe in long suspence,
But in their hands poure their beneuolence.
O! if thou be so hard to stop thine eares!
When stars in pitty drop downe from their Spheares,
Yet for a while in gloomy vaile of night,
Inshrowd the pale beames of thy borrowed light:
O! neuer once discourage goodnesse (lending
One glimpse of light) to see misfortune spending
Her vtmost rage on Truth, despis'd, distressed,
Vnhappy, vnrelieued, yet vndressed.
Where is the heart at vertues suffring grieueth?
Where is the eye that pittying relieueth?
Where is the hand that still the hungry feedeth?
Where is the eare that the decrepit steedeth?
That heart, that hand, that eare, or else that eye,
Giueth, relieueth, feeds, steeds misery?

115

O earth produce me one (of all thy store)
Enioyes; and be vaine-glorious no more.
By this had Chanticlere, the village-clocke,
Bidden the good-wife for her Maids to knocke:
And the swart plow man for his breakfast staid,
That he might till those lands were fallow laid:
The hils and vallies here and there resound
With the re-ecchoes of the deepe-mouth'd hound.
Each Shepherds daughter with her cleanly Peale,
Was come a field to milke the Mornings meale,
And ere the Sunne had clymb'd the Easterne hils,
To guild the muttring bournes, and pritty rils,
Before the lab'ring Bee had left the Hiue,
And nimble Fishes which in Riuers diue,
Began to leape, and catch the drowned Flie,
I rose from rest, not in felicitie.
Seeking the place of Charities resort,
Vnware I hapned on a Princes Court;
Where meeting Greatnesse, I requir'd reliefe,
(O happy vndelay'd) she said in briefe,
To small effect thine oratorie tends,
How can I keepe thee and so many friends?
If of my houshold I should make thee one,
Farewell my seruant Adulation:
I know she will not stay when thou art there:
But seeke some Great mans seruice other-where.
Darknesse and light, summer and winters weather
May be at once, ere you two liue together.
Thus with a nod she left me cloath'd in woe.
Thence to the Citie once I thought to goe,
But somewhat in my mind this thought had thrown,
It was a place wherein I was not knowne.
And therefore went vnto these homely townes,
Sweetly enuiron'd with the Dazied Downes.
Vpon a streame washing a village end
A Mill is plac'd, that neuer difference kend

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Twixt dayes for worke, and holy-tides for rest,

Truth entreats succor from a Miller, a Tayler & a Weauer.

But alwaies wrought & ground the neighbors grest.

Before the doore I saw the Miller walking,
And other two (his neighbours) with him talking:
One of them was a Weauer, and the other
The Village Tayler, and his trusty brother;
To them I came, and thus my suit began:
Content, the riches of a Country-man,
Attend your Actions, be more happy still,
Then I am haplesse! and as yonder Mill,
Though in his turning it obey the streame,
Yet by the head-strong torrent from his beame
Is vnremou'd, and till the wheele be tore,
It daily toyles; then rests, and workes no more:
So in lifes motion may you neuer be
(Though swayd with griefes) o'er-borne with misery.
With that the Miller laughing, brush'd his cloathes,
Then swore by Cocke and other dung-hill oathes,
I greatly was to blame, that durst so wade
Into the knowledge of the Wheel-wrights trade.
I, neighbour, quoth the Tayler (then he bent
His pace to me, spruce like a Iacke of Lent)
Your iudgement is not seame-rent when you spend it,
Nor is it botching, for I cannot mend it.
And Maiden, let me tell you in displeasure,
You must not presse the cloth you cannot measure:
But let your steps be stitcht to wisdomes chalking,
And cast presumptuous shreds out of your walking.
The Weauer said, Fie wench, your selfe you wrong,
Thus to let slip the shuttle of your rong:
For marke me well, yea, marke me well, I say,
I see you worke your speeches Web astray.
Sad to the Soule, o'er laid with idle words,
O heauen, quoth I, where is the place affords
A friend to helpe, or any heart that ruth
The most deiected hopes of wronged Truth?

117

Truth! quoth the Miller, plainly for our parts,
I and the Weauer hate thee with our hearts:
The strifes you raise I will not now discusse,
Betweene our honest Customers and vs:
But get you gone, for sure you may despaire
Of comfort here, seeke it some other-where.
Maid (quoth the Tayler) we no succour owe you,
For as I guesse her's none of vs doth know you:
Nor my remembrance any thought can seize
That I haue euer seene you in my dayes.
Seene you? nay, therein confident I am;
Nay, till this time I neuer heard your name,
Excepting once, and by this token chiefe,
My neighbour at that instant cald me thiefe,
By this you see you are vnknowne among vs,
We cannot help you, though your stay may wrong vs.
Thus went I on, and further went in woe:
For as shrill sounding Fame, that's neuer slow,
Growes in her going, and increaseth more,
Where she is now, then where she was before:
So Griefe (that neuer healthy, euer sicke,
That froward Scholler to Arethmeticke,
Who doth Diuision and Substraction flie,
And chiefly learnes to adde and multiply)
In longest iourneys hath the strongest strength,
And is at hand, supprest, vnquaild at length.

Description of a solitarie Vale.


Betweene two hils, the highest Phœbus sees
Gallantly crownd with large Skie-kissing trees,
Vnder whose shade the humble vallies lay;
And Wilde-Bores from their dens their gambols play:
There lay a graueld walke ore-growne with greene,
Where neither tract of man nor beast was seene.
And as the Plow-man when the land he tils,
Throwes vp the fruitfull earth in ridged hils,
Betweene whose Cheuron forme he leaues a balke;
So twixt those hils had Nature fram'd this walke,

118

Not ouer-darke, nor light, in angles bending,
And like the gliding of a Snake descending:
All husht and silent as the mid of night:
No chattring Pie, nor Crow appear'd in sight;
But further in I heard the Turtle-Doue,
Singing sad Dirges on her lifelesse Loue.
Birds that compassion from the rocks could bring,
Had onely license in that place to sing:
Whose dolefull noates the melancholly Cat
Close in a hollow tree sate wondring at.
And Trees that on the hill-side comely grew,
When any little blast of Æol blew,
Did nod their curled heads, as they would be
The Iudges to approue their melody.
Iust halfe the way this solitary Groue,
A Crystall Spring from either hill-side stroue,
Which of them first should wooe the meeker ground,
And make the Pibbles dance vnto their sound.
But as when children hauing leaue to play,
And neare their Masters eye sport out the day,
(Beyond condition) in their childish toyes
Oft vex their Tutor with too great a noyse,
And make him send some seruant out of doore,
To cease their clamour, lest they play no more:
So when the prettie Rill a place espies,
Where with the Pibbles she would wantonize;
And that her vpper streame so much doth wrong her
To driue her thence, and let her play no longer;
If she with too loud mutt'ring ran away,
As being [too] much incens'd to leaue her play;
A westerne milde, and pretty whispering gale,
Came dallying with the leaues along the dale,
And seem'd as with the water it did chide,
Because it ran so long vnpacifide:
Yea, and me thought it bade her leaue that coyle,
Or he would choake her vp with leaues and soyle:

119

Whereat the riuelet in my minde did weepe,
And hurl'd her head into a silent deepe.
Now he that guides the Chariot of the Sunne,
Vpon th' Eclipticke Circle had so runne,
That his brasse-hoof'd fire-breathing horses wan
The stately height of the Meridian:
And the day-lab'ring man (who all the morne
Had from the quarry with his Pick-axe torne
A large well squared stone, which he would cut
To serue his stile, or for some water-shut)
Seeing the Sunne preparing to decline,
Tooke out his Bag, and sate him downe to dine.
When by a sliding, yet not steepe descent,
I gain'd a place, ne'er Poet did inuent
The like for sorrow: not in all this Round
A fitter seat for passion can be found.
As when a dainty Fount, and Crystall Spring,
Got newly from the earths imprisoning,
And ready prest some channell cleere to win,
Is round his rise by Rockes immured in,
And from the thirsty earth would be with-held,
Till to the Cesterne top the waues haue swell'd:
But that a carefull Hinde the Well hath found,
As he walkes sadly through his parched ground;
Whose patience suffring not his land to stay
Vntill the water o'er the Cesterne play,
He gets a Picke-axe and with blowes so stout,
Digs on the Rocke, that all the groues about
Resound his stroke, and still the rocke doth charge,
Till he hath made a hole both long and large,
Whereby the waters from their prison run,
To close earths gaping wounds made by the Sun:
So through these high rais'd hils, embracing round
This shady, sad, and solitary ground,
Some power (respecting one whose heauy mone
Requir'd a place to sit and weepe alone)

120

Had cut a path, whereby the grieued wight
Might freely take the comfort of this Scyte.
About the edges of whose roundly forme,
In order grew such Trees as doe adorne
The sable hearse, and sad forsaken mate;
And Trees whose teares their losse commiserate,
Such are the Cypresse, and the weeping Myrrhe,
The dropping Amber, and the refin'd Fyrrhe,
The bleeding Vine, the watry Sicamour,
And Willough for the forlorne Paramour;
In comely distance: vnderneath whose shade
Most neat in rudenesse Nature arbors made:
Some had a light; some so obscure a seat,
Would entertaine a sufferance ne'er so great:
Where grieued wights sate (as I after found,
Whose heauy hearts the height of sorrow crown'd)
Wailing in saddest tunes the doomes of Fate
On men by vertue cleeped fortunate.
The first note that I heard I soone was won,
To thinke the sighes of faire Endymion;
The subiect of whose mournfull heauy lay
Was his declining with faire Cynthia.
Next him a great man sate, in woe no lesse;
Teares were but barren shadowes to expresse
The substance of his griefe, and therefore stood
Distilling from his heart red streames of blood:
He was a Swaine whom all the Graces kist,
A braue, heroicke, worthy Martialist:
Yet on the Downes he oftentimes was seene
To draw the merry Maidens of the Greene
With his sweet voyce: Once, as he sate alone,
He sung the outrage of the lazy Drone,
Vpon the lab'ring Bee, in straines so rare,
That all the flitting Pinnionists of ayre
Attentiue sate, and in their kindes did long
To learne some Noat from his well-timed Song.

121

Exiled Naso (from whose golden pen
The Muses did distill delights for men)
Thus sang of Cepalus (whose name was worne
Within the bosome of the blushing Morn:)
He had a dart was neuer set on wing,
But death flew with it: he could neuer fling,
But life fled from the place where stucke the head.
A Hunters frolicke life in Woods he lead
In separation from his yoaked Mate,
Whose beauty, once, he valued at a rate
Beyond Aurora's cheeke, when she (in pride)
Promis'd their off-spring should be Deifide:
Procris she hight; who (seeking to restore
Her selfe that happinesse she had before)
Vnto the greene wood wends, omits no paine
Might bring her to her Lords embrace againe:
But Fate thus crost her, comming where he lay
Wearied with hunting all a Summers day,
He somewhat heard within the thicket rush,
And deeming it some Beast, hid in a bush,
Raised himselfe, then set on wing a dart,
Which tooke a sad rest in the restlesse heart
Of his chaste wife; who with a bleeding brest
Left loue and life, and slept in endlesse rest.
With Procris heauie Fate this Shepherds wrong
Might be compar'd, and aske as sad a song.
In th' Autumne of his youth, and manhoods Spring,
Desert (growne now a most deiected thing)
Won him the fauour of a Royall Maid,
Who with Diana's Nymphs in forests stray'd,
And liu'd a Huntresse life exempt from feare.
She once encountred with a surly Beare,
Neare to a Crystall Fountaines flowery brink
Heat brought them thither both, and both would drinke,
When from her golden quiuer she tooke forth
A Dart, aboue the rest esteem'd for worth,

122

And sent it to his side: the gaping wound
Gaue purple streames to coole the parched ground.
Whereat he gnasht his teeth, storm'd his hurt lym,
Yeelded the earth what it denied him:
Yet sunke not there, but (wrapt in horror) hy'd
Vnto his hellish caue, despair'd and dy'd.
After the Beares just death, the quickning Sunne
Had twice six times about the Zodiacke run,
And (as respectlesse) neuer cast an eye,
Vpon the night-inuail'd Cymmerij,
When this braue Swaine (approued valorous)
In opposition, of a tyrannous
And bloody Sauage being long time gone
Quelling his rage with faithlesse Gerion
Returned from the stratagems of warres,
(Inriched with his quail'd foes bootlesse scarres)
To see the cleare eyes of his dearest Loue,
And that her skill in hearbs might helpe remoue
The freshing of a wound which he had got
In her defence, by Enuies poyson'd shot,
And comming through a Groue wherein his faire
Lay with her brests displai'd to take the aire,
His rushing through the boughes made her arise,
And dreading some wilde beasts rude enterprize,
Directs towards the noyse a sharpned dart,
That reach'd the life of his vndaunted heart,
Which when shee knew, twice twenty Moones nie spent
In teares for him, and dy'd in languishment.
Within an arbour shadow'd with a Vine,
Mixed with Rosemary and Eglantine,
A Shepherdesse was set, as faire as young,
Whose praise full many a Shepherd whilome sung,
Who on an Altar faire had to her Name,
In consecration many an Anagram:
And when with sugred straines they stroue to raise
Worth, to a garland of immortall Bayes;

123

She as the learnedst Maid was chose by them,
(Her flaxen haire crown'd with an Anadem)
To iudge who best deseru'd, for she could fit
The height of praise vnto the height of wit.
But well-a-day those happy times were gone,
(Millions admit a small subtraction.)
And as the Yeere hath first his iocund Spring,
Wherein the Leaues, to Birds sweet carrolling,
Dance with the winde: then sees, the Summers day
Perfect the Embrion Blossome of each spray:
Next commeth Autumne, when the threshed sheafe
Loseth his graine, and every tree his leafe:
Lastly, cold Winters rage, with many a storme,
Threats the proud Pines which Ida's top adorne,
And makes the sap leaue succourlesse the shoot,
Shrinking to comfort his decaying root.
Or as a quaint Musitian being won,
To run a point of sweet Diuision,
Gets by degrees vnto the highest Key;
Then, with like order falleth in his play
Into a deeper Tone; and lastly, throwes
His Period in a Diapazon Close:
So euery humane thing terrestriall,
His vtmost height attain'd, bends to his fall.
And as a comely youth, in fairest age,
Enamour'd on a Maid (whose parentage
Had Fate adorn'd, as Nature deckt her eye,
Might at a becke command a Monarchie)
But poore and faire could neuer yet bewitch
A misers minde, preferring foule and rich,
And therefore (as a Kings heart left behinde,
When as his corps are borne to be enshrin'd)
(His Parents will, a Law) like that dead corse,
Leauing his heart, is brought vnto his Horse,
Carried vnto a place that can impart
No secret Embassie vnto his heart,

124

Climbes some proud hill, whose stately eminence
Vassals the fruitfull vales circumference:
From whence, no sooner can his lights descry
The place enriched by his Mistresse eye:
But some thicke cloud his happy prospect blends,
And he in sorrow rais'd, in teares descends:
So this sad Nymph (whom all commiserate)
Once pac'd the hill of Greatnesse and of State,
And got the top; but when she gan addresse
Her sight, from thence to see true happinesse,
Fate interpos'd an enuious cloud of feares,
And she with-drew into this vale of teares,
Where Sorrow so enthral'd best Vertues Iewell,
Stones check'd griefs hardnes, call'd her too-too cruel,
A streame of teares vpon her faire cheekes flowes,
As morning dew vpon the Damaske-Rose,
Or Crystall-glasse vailing Vermilion;
Or drops of Milke on the Carnation:
She sang and wept (ô yee Sea-binding Cleeues,
Yeeld Tributary drops, for Vertue grieues!)
And to the Period of her sad sweet Key
Intwinn'd her case with chaste Penelope:
But see the drisling South, my mournfull straine
Answers, in weeping drops of quickning raine,
And since this day we can no further goe,
Restlesse I rest within this Vale of Woe,
Vntill the modest morne on earths vast Zone,
The euer gladsome day shall re-inthrone.

125

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.

126

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

127

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.

128

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.

129

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:

130

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.
What time the world clad in a mourning robe,
A Stage made for a wofull Tragedie:
When showers of teares from the Cœlestiall Globe
Bewaild the fate of Sea-lou'd Britanie;
When sighs as frequent were as various sights,
When Hope lay bed-rid, and all pleasures dying,
When Enuy wept,
And Comfort slept:
When Cruelty it selfe sate almost crying,
Nought being heard but what the minde affrights,
When Autumne had disrob'd the Summers pride,
Then Englands honour, Europes wonder dy'd.
O saddest straine that e'er the Muses sung!
A text of Woe for Griefe to comment on;
Teares, sighes, and sobs, giue passage to my tongue,
Or I shall spend you till the last is gone.
Which done, my heart in flames of burning loue
(Wanting his moisture) shall to cinders turne:
But first, by me
Bequeathed be
To strew the place wherein his sacred Vrne
Shall be inclos'd, this might in many moue
The like effect: (who would not doe it?) when
No graue befits him but the hearts of men.
That man whose masse of sorrowes hath been such,
That by their weight laid on each seuerall part,

131

His fountaines are so drie, he but as much
As one poore drop hath left to ease his heart;
Why should he keepe it? since the time doth call,
That he ne'er better can bestow it in:
If so he feares
That others teares
In greater number, greatest prizes winne;
Know none giues more then he which giueth all.
Then he which hath but one poore teare in store,
O let him spend that drop, and weepe no more.
Why flowes not Helicon beyond her strands?
Is Henry dead, and doe the Muses sleepe?
Alas! I see each one amazed stands,
“Shallow foords mutter, silent are the deepe:
Faine would they tell their griefes, but know not where:
All are so full, nought can augment their store:
Then how should they
Their griefes display
To men, so cloid, they faine would heare no more?
Though blaming those whose plaints they cannot heare:
And with this wish their passions I allow,
May that Muse neuer speake that's silent now!
Is Henry dead? alas! and doe I liue
To sing a Scrich-owles Note that he is dead?
If any one a fitter Theame can giue,
Come giue it now, or neuer to be read.
But let him see it doe of horror tast,
Anguish, destruction: could it rend in sunder
With fearefull grones
The senselesse stones,
Yet should we hardly be enforc'd to wonder,
Our former griefes would so exceed their last:
Time cannot make our sorrowes ought compleater;
Nor adde one griefe to make our mourning greater.

132

England was ne'er ingirt with waues till now;
Till now it held part with the Continent:
Aye me! some one in pitty shew me, how
I might in dolefull numbers so lament;
That any one which lou'd him, hated me,
Might dearely loue me, for lamenting him.
Alas! my plaint
In such constraint
Breaks forth in rage, that though my passions swimme,
Yet are they drowned ere they landed be:
Imperfect lines! O happy! were I hurld
And cut from life as England from the world.
O happier had we beene! if we had beene
Neuer made happie by enioying thee!
Where hath the glorious eye of heauen seene
A spectacle of greater miserie?
Time turne thy course; and bring againe the Spring;
Breake Natures lawes; search the records of old,
If ought befell
Might paralell
Sad Britain's case: weepe Rocks, and Heauen behold,
What Seas of sorrow she is plunged in.
Where stormes of woe so mainly haue beset her;
She hath no place for worse, nor hope for better.
Britaine was whilome knowne (by more then fame)
To be one of the Ilands fortunate;
What franticke man would giue her now that name,
Lying so rufull and disconsolate?
Hath not her watry Zone in murmuring,
Fill'd euery shoare with Ecchoes of her crie?
Yes, Thetis raues,
And bids her waues
Bring all the Nymphes within her Emperie
To be assistant in her sorrowing:

133

See where they sadly sit on Isis shore,
And rend their haires as they would ioy no more.
Isis the glory of the Westerne world,
When our Heroë (honour'd Essex) dy'd,
Strucken with wonder, backe againe she hurld,
And fill'd her banckes with an vnwoonted Tyde:
As if she stood in doubt, if it were so,
And for the certaintie had turn'd her way.
Why doe not now
Her waues reflow?
Poore Nymph, her sorrowes will not let her stay;
Or flies to tell the world her Countries woe:
Or cares not to come backe, perhaps, as showing
Our teares should make the flood, not her reflowing.
Sometimes a Tyrant held the reynes of Rome,
Wishing to all the City but one head,
That all at once might vndergoe his doome,
And by one blow from life be seuered.
Fate wisht the like on England, and 'twas giuen:
(O miserable men, enthral'd to Fate!)
Whose heauy hand
That neuer scand
The misery of Kingdomes ruinate,
Minding to leaue her of all ioyes bereauen,
With one sad blow (Alas! can worser fall!)
Hath giuen this little Ile her Funerall.
O come yee blessed Impes of Memory,
Erect a new Parnassus on his graue!
There tune your voices to an Elegy,
The saddest Note that ere Apollo gaue.
Let euery Accent make the stander by
Keepe time vnto your Song with dropping teares,
Till drops that fell
Haue made a well

134

To swallow him which still vnmoued heares?
And though my selfe proue senselesse of your cry,
Yet gladly should my light of life grow dim,
To be intomb'd in teares are wept for him.
When last he sickned, then we first began
To tread the Labyrinth of Woe about:
And by degrees we further inward ran,
Hauing his thread of life to guide vs out.
But Destinie no sooner saw vs enter
Sad Sorrowes Maze, immured vp in night,
(Where nothing dwels
But cryes and yels
Throwne from the hearts of men depriu'd of light,)
When we were almost come into the Center,
Fate (cruelly) to barre our ioyes returning,
Cut off our Thread, and left vs all in mourning.
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:

135

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;

136

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.

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(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)

138

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

139

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;

140

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,

141

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

142

(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.
Vaine man, doe not mistrust
Of heauen winning;
Nor (though the most vniust)
Despaire for sinning
God will be seene his sentence changing.
If he behold thee wicked wayes estranging.
Climbe vp where pleasures dwell
In flowry Allies:
And taste the liuing Well
That decks the Vallies.
Faire Metanoia is attending
To crowne thee with those ioyes which know no ending.
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.

143

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,

144

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

145

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:

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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;

147

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.

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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,

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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

150

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!

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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 end of the first Booke.