University of Virginia Library

The first Booke.

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

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

To the Reader.

[Commendatory Verses.]

By the Same.

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

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

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

To his Friend the Avthor.

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

To his Ingenious and worthy Friend the Avthor.

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

On him; a Pastorall Ode to his fairest Shepheardesse.

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

To his Friend the Avthor vpon his Poem.

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

To his Friend the Author.

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

To the Avthor.

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

To the Avthor.

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

[Euterpe to her deerest Darling W. B.

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

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

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

On the Author of Britannias Peerlesse Pastoralls.

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

On the Same.

AN ODE.

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

On the Author of Britannias Peerlesse Pastoralls.

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

Uppon the occasion of Readinge this compleet Poem.

TO THE AUTHOR W. BROWNE.

αυτοχεδιαστικον:

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

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

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

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

To the Authour, W. B.

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

On the Author, W. B.

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

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

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

Idem ad Eundem.

AN ODE.

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

The First Song.

The Second Song.

Nymph.

God.
It is a Man.

Nymph.

God.
Tis a man.

Nymph.

God.
Tis a Man.

Nymph.

God.
It is a Man.

Nymph.

God.
Tis a man.

Nymph.

God.
Tis this Woman.

Nymph.

The Third Song.

The Argvment.

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

Homer.

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

Alluding to our English pronunciation and indifferent Orthographie.

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

Iuly tooke his name from Iulius Cæsar.

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

A description of a Musicall Consort of Birds.

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

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

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

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

F.
Seeke ioy and finde it.

R.
Griefe doth not minde it.

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

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

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

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

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

F.
Hath Loue young Remond moued?

R.
'Tis Fida that is loued.

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

F.

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

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

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

F.
None other shall haue grace.

R.
None else in my heart place.

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

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

The first presents his Dogge, with these:

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

The second, his Pipe, with these:

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

The third, a paire of Gloues, thus:

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

The fourth, an Anagram. Maiden aid Men.

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

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

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

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

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

The seuenth, a Girdle.

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

The Eight

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

The Nynth

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

The Tenth

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

The Eleauenth

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

The Twelfth

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

The Fovrth Song.

The Fifth Song.

The Argvment.

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

A. Funerall song before the corps be interred.

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

A fall of waters from a very high place.

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

Aletheia to Fida.

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

Aletheia commeth to Idya.

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

Idya cherisheth Aletheia.

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

Ecch.
In Heauens aye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Description of the house of Repentance.

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