The Countesse of Mountgomeries Urania :: :: University of Virginia Library

A Sheephard who no care did take.
of ought but of his flock,
Whose thoughts no pride could higher make,
Then to maintaine his stock,
Whose sheepe his loue was, and his care,
Their good, his best delight:
The Lambs his ioy, their sport his fare,
His pleasure was their sight.

2

Till Loue (an enuier of mans blisse)
Did turne this merry life
To teares, to wishes which nere misse
Incombrances with strife.
For whereas he was best content,
With looking on his sheepe:
His time in woes, must now be spent,
And broken is his sleepe.

513

3

Thus first his wofull change beganne,
A Lamb he chanc't to misse,
Which to finde out, about hee ran.
Yet finds not where it is.
But as he past (O fate vnkind)
his ill led him that way,
Whereas a willow Tree behind,
A faire young Maiden lay.

4

Her bed was on the humble ground,
her head vpon her hand,
While sighs di'd shew, her heart was bound
In Loue's vntying band.
Cleere teares her cleerest eyes let fall,
Vpon her Loue-borne face:
Which Heauenly drops did sorrow call,
proud witnes of disgrace.

5

The Shephard stay'd, and fed his eyes,
no farther might he passe,
But there his freedome to sight tyes,
His bondage, his ioy was.
His Lambe he deemes not halfe so faire,
Though it were very white:
And liberty he thinkes a care,
Nor breath's but by her sight.

6

His former life is alter'd quite,
His Sheepe feede in her eyes,
Her face his feild is of delight,
And flocks he doth despise.
The rule of them he leaues to none,
His Scrip he threw away:
And many he forsakes for one,
One, he must now obey.

7

Vnhappy man whose loosing found,
What better had bin lost:
Whose gaine doth spring from such a ground,
Whereby he must be crost.

522

The worldly care he now neglects,
for Cupids seruice tyes,
Care only to his fond respects,
where waue-like treasure lyes.

8

As this lost man still gazing stood,
Amaz'd at such a sight:
Imagining no heauenly food
To feede on but her sight;
Wishing but her beames to behold,
Yet greiu'd he for her griefe,
When mournfully he did vnfold
Her woes without reliefe.

9

His new Sun rose, and rysing said,
Farwell faire Willow tree,
The roote of my estate decay'd,
The fruit for haplesse me:
What though thy branch, a signe be made,
Of labour lost in loue?
Thy beauty doth no sooner vade,
Then those best fortunes proue.

10

My songs shall end with willow still,
Thy branches I will weare:
Thou wilt accompany my ill,
And with me sorrow beare.
True friend said she, then sigh'd, and turn'd,
Leauing that restlesse place,
And Sheephard, who in pasiions burn'd
lamenting his sad case.

11

Ths Maid now gone, alone he left,
Still on her footsteps gaz'd,
And heartlesse growne, by loue bereft
of mirth, in spirit rais'd,
To satisfie his restlesse thought,
He after her will hye,
His ruine to be sooner brought,
And sooner harme to try.

523

12

Then thus his latest leaue he tooke,
My Sheepe (said he) farwell,
Let some new Shepheard to you looke
Whose care may mine excell.
I leaue you to your freedome now,
Loues-lawes so fast me bind,
As no time I can you allow,
Or goe poore flock, and find

13

The Maid whom I so dearely loue,
Say it was her deare sight,
Which from your keepe doth me remoue,
And kills my first delight.
Goe you my Dog, who carefull were
To guard my Sheepe from harme,
Looke to them still, no care forbeare,
Though loue my senses charme.

14

But you my Pipe that musick gaue,
And pleasd my silent rest,
Of you I company will craue,
Our states now suteth best.
For if that Faire no pity giue,
My dying breath shall cry,
Through thee the paines, wherein I liue,
Whereby I breath to dye.

15

Madly he ran from ease to paine
Not sicke, yet farre from well,
Heart robd by two faire eyes, his gaine
Must prooue his worldly Hell.
After his heart he fast doth hie,
His heart to her did flie,
And for a biding place did crie,
Within her breast to lie.

16

She that refusd, when he her spide,
Her whom he held most deare,
Lie weeping by a Riuers side
Beholding papers neare.

524

Her ruling eyes must yet be dimbd,
While pearle like teares she shed,
Like shadowes on a Picture limbd;
At last these words she read.

17

When I vnconstant am to thee
Or false doe euer proue,
Let happinesse be banisht me,
Nor haue least taste of loue.
But this alas too soone, cryd she,
Is O by thee forgot,
My hopes and ioyes now murtherd be,
And falsehood is my lot.

18

Too late I find what tis to trust
To words, or oathes, or teares,
Since they that vse them prooue vniust
And colour but our feares.
Poore fooles ordaind to be deceiu'd
And trust to be betrayd,
Scornd when our hearts are vs bereau'd
Sought to, a while delayd.

19

Yet though that thou so false hast been,
I still will faithfull be;
And though thou thinkst to leaue no sinne,
Ile make my loyalty
To shine so cleare, as thy foule fault
To all men shall be knowne,
Thy change to thy changd heart be brought,
My faith abroad be blowne.

20

This hauing said, againe she rose
The papers putting by,
And once againe a new way chose
Striuing from griefe to fly:
But as she going was along
That pleasant running streame,
She saw the Sallow trees among,
The Shepheard Aradeame.

525

21

For so this wofull Lad was call'd,
But when she him beheld,
What witchcraft hath thee now inthral'd,
And brought thee to this field?
What can the cause, or reason be,
That thou art hither come:
Where all must tast of misery,
And mirth with griefe intombe?

22

If mirth must heere intombed be,
Faire Sheephardesse, said he?
This place the fittest is for me,
If you vse cruelty:
For know I hither come, to see
Your selfe, wherein now lyes
My life, whose absence martir'd me,
Whose sight my power tyes.

23

Giue me but leaue to liue with you,
It is the life I craue:
To you I bound am to be true,
My life to you I gaue;
When first I did behold you lye,
In shade of willow tree:
That time my soule did to you tye,
Those eyes did murther me.

24

Is this the reason (ah cryd she?)
The more I waile your case,
Who thus partaker, needs will be
In griefe, and in disgrace,
I pitty you, but cannot ayd
You, nor redresse your ill,
Since ioy and paine together pay'd,
Scarce satisfies the will.

25

If I doe tye you, I release
The bond wherein you are,
Your freedome shall not find decrease,
Nor you accuse my care.

526

The paine I haue is all my owne,
None can of it beare part,
Sorrow my strength hath ouerthrowne,
Disdaine hath killd my heart.

26

And Sheepheard if that you doe loue,
This counsell take of me,
This humor fond in time remoue,
Which can but torture thee;
Take it from her who too too well
Can witnesse it is so:
Whose hope seem'd Heauen, yet prou'd a Hell,
And comfort chang'd to woe.

27

For I was lou'd, or so I thought,
And for it lou'd againe,
But soone those thoughts my ruine brought,
And nourish'd all my paine,
They gaue the milke that fed beleife
Till wean'd, they proued dry:
Their latter nourishment was griefe,
So famish't I must dye.

28

Then see your chance, I cannot change,
Nor my affection turne,
Disdaine which others moues to range,
Makes me more constant burne,
My sighs I'me sure cannot you please,
My griefe no Musicke prooue,
My flowing teares your passions ease,
Nor woes delight your Loue.

29

If my sight haue your freedome wonn,
Receiue it backe againe;
So much my selfe I finde vndone,
By gifts which proue no gaine.
As I lament with them that loue,
So true in Loue I am,
And liberty wish all to proue,
Whose hearts waste in this flame.

527

30

Yet giue me leaue (sigh'd he with teares)
To liue but where you are,
My woes shal waite vpon your feares,
My sighs attend your care:
Ile weepe when euer you shall waile,
If you sigh, I will cry,
When you complaine, Ile neuer faile
To waile my misery.

31

I will you guard, and safely keepe
From danger, and from feare,
Still will I watch when you doe sleepe,
And for both, sorrowes beare.
Make me not free, I bondage craue,
Nor seeke else but to serue,
This freedome will procure my graue,
These bonds my life preserue.

32

For life, and ioy, and ease, and all
Alasse lyes in your hands:
Then doe not cause my only fall,
I ty'd am in such bands.
Part hence I cannot, nor loue leaue,
But heere must euer bide:
Then pitty let my paine receiue,
Doe not from mercy slide.

33

If that (said she) you constant are,
Vnto your comming ill,
Ile leaue this place, yet let all care
Accompany me still:
And Sheepheard liue, and happy be,
Let iudgment rule your will,
Seeke one whose hart from loue is free,
And who your ioy may fill.

34

For I loue's bond-slaue am, and ty'd
In fetters of Disdaine:
My hopes are frozen, my Spring dry'd,
My Sommer drown'd with paine:

528

I lou'd, and worse, I said I lou'd,
Free truth my ruine brought,
And so your speech the like hath mou'd
and losse for gayning bought.

35

With that away she hasted fast,
Left him his cares to holde,
Who now to sorrow make all hast,
Woes driue his hopes to fould:
Now he can see, and weeping say
His fortune blind he finds,
A heart to harbour his decay,
A state which mischeife binds.

36

This now he feeles, and wofully
His birth, and life he blames,
Yet passions rules, when reasons lye
in darke, or quenched flames:
That place he first beheld her in,
his byding he doth make:
The Tree his liberty did win,
He cals his Martyr stake.

37

And pleasingly doth take his fall,
his griefe accoumpts delight:
Freedome, and ioy this bitter thrall,
His food her absent sight.
In contraryes his pleasures be,
While mourning giues him ease,
His Tombe shall be that haplesse Tree,
Where sorow did him ceaze.

38

And thus did liue, though daily dy'd,
The Sheephard Arideame,
Whose causlesse teares which neuer dry'd
were turnd into a streame,
Himselfe the head, his eyes the spring
Which fed that Riuer cleere,
Which to true harts this good doth bring
When they approch it neere,

529

39

And drinke of it, to banish quite
All fickell thoughts of change,
But still in one choyce to delight,
And neuer thinke to range:
Of this sweete water I did drinke,
Which did such faith infuse,
As since to change, I cannot thinke,
Loue will death sooner chuse.