The Poetical Works of William Basse :: :: University of Virginia Library

I that in seruice yet haue never knowne
More than might well content my humble hart:
(I thank the God of heauens mightie Throne,
My masters favour, and mine owne desart)
Yet am for you the Champion of good will
Because I feelingly conceive your ill;

To taxe their minds to whom we doe belong
I neither purpose nor desier much:
The publike multitude that do's us wrong,
And none but them, my vaine must chiefly touch:
In whose rude thoughts my youth is grieu'd to see
That Serving-men so slightly reckon'd bee.

Long stood we mute, and heard ourselves defam'd
In every moodie jest, and idle braul;
But now our prize is seriously proclaim'd,
And I become the chalenger for all:
My stage is peace, my combat is a word,
My Muse my buckler, and my pen my sword.

Who treads my stage is chaleng'd, yet not tride:
Who tries my combat fights, yet feels no weapon:
Who sees my buckler's dar'd, but not defide:
Who touch my sword is hit, but neuer beaten:
For peace tries no man, words can make no fight,
Muses doe but inuent, and pens but write.

Now if my actions prosper, you shall see
Your titles grac'd with greater estimation;
Or at the least we shall no longer bee
Deprived of deserved reputation.
But if my first attempts have no prevailing,
I will supplie them still in never failing

To be your faithfull brother Will. Bas.

TO THE READER.

Reade if you will: And if you will not chuse,
My booke (Sir) shall be read though you refuse:
But if you doe, I pray commend my wit,
For, by my faith, 'tis first that ere I writ.
Who reades and not commends, it is a rule
To hold him very wise, or very foole.

But whosoere commends, and doth not reede,
What ere the other is, he's a foole indeede:
But who doth neither reade nor yet commend,
God speed him well; his labour's at an end.
But reade, or praise, or not, or how it pas,
I rest your honest, carelesse friend

Will. Bas.

SWORD AND BVCKLER,

OR SERVINGMANS DEFENCE.

1

A man that's neither borne to wealth, nor place,
But to the meere despite of Fortunes brow,
Though, peradventure, well endew'd with grace
Of stature, forme, and other giftes enow,

Submits himself unto a servile yoke,
And is content to weare a livery cloke;

2

Whether it be by hard constraint of need
Or love to be made perfect in good fashion,
Or by the meanes of some unlawfull deed,
That might deprive an ancient reputation;
Who-euer to this course himself doth giue,
Is call'd a Serving-man. And thus doth liue

3

Continually at hand, to see, to heare
His Lords his Masters, Ladies, Mistris will
T'attempt with dutie, readines and feare,
What they command his service to fulfill:
And yet not as he would, but as he shall,
To grudge at nothing, to accept of all,

4

To act with truth and serviceable skill
The tasks or offices imposde on him,
To be observant and industrious still,
Well manner'd, and disposde to goe as trim,
As wages, gifts, or proper state affords;
Active in deedes, and curteous in words.

5

Having a head well wonted to abide
To goe without his shelter, cold and bare;
Having a heart well hammerd, strongly tride,
On Chances Anviles, fornaces of care;
A good capacitie to understand
A legging foote, a well-embracing hand.

6

This man of all things must abandon pride,
Chieflie in gestures, and in acts exteriour;
For greater states can by no meanes abide
Ambition in a person so inferiour:
Yet in his private thoughts no whit dismist
To prize his reputation as he list.

7

Though if he be himselfe of gentle blood,
Or of his nature loftily disposde
Yet never let him brag himselfe so good;
But rather hold such matters undisclosde,
And keepe his state and cariage in one fashion,
Gracing himselfe with inward estimation.

8

For if we doe insult in tearmes or show
Above our callings, then we seeme to swarve;
But if we humble our affections low,
We must needs gaine the love of them we sarve:
Which to our merits if they list not pay,
Then we are men of more respect than they.

9

But in these Times (alas, poore seruing-men!)
How cheape a credit are we growne into!
With what enforcing taxes, now and then,
This envious world doth our estates pursue!

How poore, alas, we are ordain'd to be,
How ill regarded in our povertie!

10

What dutie, what obedience daily now
Our hard commanders looke for at our hands!
And yet how deadly cold their bounties grow,
And how unconstant all their favours stands!
How much we hazard for how little gaine,
How fraile our state, how meane our entertaine!

11

How subject are we to the checking front,
For every small and trifled oversight!
Compeld to shift, predestinate to want,
Surfet with wrong, yet dare demaund no right:
Organs of profit upon imputation,
Outcasts of losse on euery small occasion!

12

Our Lords they charge, our Ladies they command,
And who but us? And for a thing not done,
Our Lords and Ladies anger, out of hand,
Must turne us walking in the Summers Sunne,
While those things that are done must alwaies lye,
As objects to a nice exceptious eye.

13

In common-wealth or bus'nesses of state,
If Lord or Master exercisde hath bin,
Who but his servant thereupon must waite,
What accidents soever fall therein,

And be industrious in all meanes he can:
For why he weares his badge, and is his man.

14

And in contempt of any adversarie
Or mortall triall of the life or land,
How oftentimes the master might miscarie,
Unlesse he be attended, and well mand
With serving resolutes, that at a word
Will rather lose their lives, than leave their Lord.

15

But what should I care to recount or no
Partiquerly every thing we doe?
Ye Lords and Masters cannot chuse but know,
That whatsoever thing belongs to you,
That danger, trouble, paines, attention asks,
We are your servants, and it is our tasks.

16

Your slight regard and recompence of this,
So duplifies the bondage of our state,
That oftentimes, solicited amis
By extreame want: and overrul'd by fate,
Thereby it comes to passe, that now and then
Many mischances hap to Serving-men.

17

The countrie, then, that with her purblind eyes
Beholds these things in lothsome ignorance,

Catch at report, and piece it out with lyes,
Rash censures, and defaming circumstance,
Affirming what they would have oft denide,
If in such case they might be roughly tride.

18

But see, how hatefull is but lately growne
This fatall title of a Serving-man,
That euery dunghill clowne and every Drone,
Nor wise in nature nor condition,
Spares not to vilefie our name and place,
In Dunsicall reproch, and blockish phrase.

19

A morkin-gnoffe that in his Chimney nooke
Sits carping how t' advance his shapelesse brood,
And in their severall properties doth looke,
To see whats best to bring them all to good,
One points he out a Smith, and one a Baker,
A third a Piper, fourth a Coller-maker.

20

If one, more native gentle than the rest,
To be a Serving-man doth now demaund,

Up starts his sire, as bedlim or possest,
And asks his sonne, and if he will be hangd?
Shalt be a hangman, villaine, first (quoth he):
Amen (say I) so he be none for me.

21

The Pearking citizen, and minsing Dame
Of any paltrie beggerd Market towne,
Through rotten teeth will giggle out the same,
Though not in so harsh manner as the clowne:
—I have but two sonnes, but if I had ten,
The worst of them should be no Serving-men.

22

Thus is our servile innocence exposde
To the reprochfull censures of all sorts,
To whom our lives were justly ne'r disclosde
But by uncertaine larums, false reports
Whereof, men apt to judge (be't truth or no)
Doe rashly speake, before they rightly know.

23

Who let's us now to finde our owne defence
Against all such encounters offer'd thus?
Who is so void of loue, or bare of sence,
To thinke it any misdemeasne in us,
If we, to right our selves, doe fall againe
Into our ancient Sword and Buckler vaine?

24

Yet will we not an Insurrection make
Against our owne superiour Lords and Masters,

With whose kinde love we may more order take
By dutie, then by trying out with wasters;
Though in this case who need to feare our might
For we meane nothing but a speaking fight.

25

But you, the nice tongu'd huswifes of our time,
That seldome cease to execrate our calling,
We doe esteeme it now an odious crime,
With your licentious mouthes to stand a brauling:
Our Sword and Buckler's out, our stomack's come;
We will not hurt you much, but hit you home.

26

Yet doe we not replie to only you,
Or those that you instruct, but every man
That gives us more discurtesie then due:
The Merchant, or the Machivilian,
The Yeoman, Tradesman, Clowne, or any one,
What ere he be, we turne our backs to none.

27

You Gentles all, that through your worthines,
Your birth, your place, your wealth, or other cause,
Deserve to entertaine and to possesse
These Serving-men the subjects of your lawes,
Be moved not with wrath and spleenish freakes,
When in their right your poore inferiour speakes.

28

When you command, remember 'tis but speech
To bid a thing be acted to your minde,
Th' obedient man that shall performe the which,
In doing it shall greater labour finde:
Yet where a servants diligence may please,
He may doe all his acts with greater ease.

29

You give him food and wages: That's most true,
And other matters to sustaine his living:
Why, els he is not bound to follow you;
Ill service that is worth no more then giving.
Who Rent's your lands is sure to pay to you,
And if y' have servants, you must pay them too.

30

Alas, if must your great affaires be done,
Know that faire means encrease your servants vigour:
Hearts by unpleasing checks are never won,
And willingnes is not enlarg'd by rigour,
When good respect may cherish servile harts,
And helpe t' augment the number of desarts.

31

If with reviling, and disdainfull scorne,
You urge us with the baseness of our kinde,
Pray, who was Adams man when Cain was borne?
Or in what scripture doe we reade or finde
That ever God created Adams two,
Or we proceeded of worse stocke then you?

32

For though that like a brood of starres divine
You thus maintaine your glorie without date,
And we more like a heard of Circes swine,
Are chang'd into a baser forme of state,
Antiquitie yet saies, that you and wee,
Like Ants of Æacus, came all of a tree.

33

But mightie God, the more to glorifie
His pow'rfull hand by manifold creation,
Hath since advisde himselfe to multiplie
The kindred of our mortall generation,
That this great sixe daies labour of his hand
Might not unstor'd, or long unpeopled stand.

34

And we, like wretches, carelesly oreseene,
Neglecting all continuance of our good,
Of our owne birth have immemorious beene,
And quite forgot the Nephewes of our blood,
And of neere kin are growne meere strāgers rather,
Almost forgetting we had all one father.

35

The Times then fild with Avarice and strife,
Th' unequalnes of states did happen thus:

Fell out to some a large delightfull life,
To othersome the like as fals to us:
Thereafter, as in worldly scraping thrift,
Each craftie mortall for himselfe could shift.

36

Those that in scorne of discentious striving,
Or b'ing too weake, could not themselues enrich,
Submitted were by force (in servile living)
To them that by their pow'r had gain'd so much.
Thus scambl'd al the world: some gain'd, some lost,
And who got least serv'd him that gained most,

37

Yeelding themselves by a devout submission
To those that were ordain'd to high degree,
Well seas'ning with an humble disposition
Their little pow'r, and small abilitie,
To doe all rev'rent seruice. Thus began
Th' estate and title of a Seruing-man.

38

And since that time the kindreds, b'ing all one,
Are now encreas'd into two kindreds more:
The great are Nephewes to the great alone,
And all the poore are Cosins to the poore.
The Serving-men stand in a state betweene,
As brothers all, but very little kin.

39

Thus it appeares that mongst the meaner sort,
Those that come neerest to the gentle kinde,

Either in labour to get good report,
Or els in nature, curtesie, or minde,
Digressing from the rudenes of their blood,
Become partakers in this brotherhood.

40

And sure me thinks, although unequall lot
Hath ill distributed all worldly goods,
That all alliance single is forgot,
And we dispers'd into so many bloods,
Yet that we were all one, and shall agen,
Appeares in the good minds of Serving-men.

41

For though the great, by learning and by might,
Gaine all the honour, as they doe the lands,
And though the poorer sort lose all their right
Of noblenes, for want of pow'rfull hands,
Yet while the band of Serving-men encrease,
The gentrie of the poore shall never cease.

42

O! then be pleas'd to cast away disdaine,
Exile injustice, and detest all ire:
Let faire respect in your conditions raigne,
And bountie curbe all orderlesse desire;
That as you profit by your servants labour,
So he may be encourag'd by your favour.

43

We grudge you not upon a just occasion
To use your rigour in discretion on us,
When proofe, or triall, or examination,
Shall truly burthen some misdeed upon us:

Herein we rest the patients of your lawes,
So that your med'cines not exceed the cause.

44

Yet if sometimes we doe transgresse in acts
Either concerning you or other things,
This is no proofe that we are paltrie Jacks,
As the rude wind-pipe of the countrie sings.
All flesh will faile, and grace will helpe to mend,
And often they finde fault that most offend.

45

Thus speake I to the barbrous multitude
That every rotten hamlet's fild withall
Or to the viprous foes of servitude,
The prescise flirts of ev'ry trades-mans stall,
Whose busie tongues, and lothing maw, defiles
Our honest sort with vomited reviles.

46

O! see (saies one) how fine yon yonker goes,
As bad for pride as Lucifer, or worse;
I, a right Serving-creature, weares gay clothes,
But little Chinke (I warrant you) in's purse.
This is a thing I will not much denie,
But sometimes the judicious Cox-combs lie.

47

If he goe handsome, then you say he's proud:
I hope ther's no necessitie in that;

Besides, if 'twere a matter to be vow'd,
Or answerd by long proofe (as sure 'tis not)
I only could compell you to confes
Your judgments false by many instances.

48

And if his vestiments be fine and gay,
Belike that argu's that he ha's no pence;
But seeing him now so brave, what will you say
If he goe braver farre a twel'month hence?
Then you wil eate your vomit up againe,
And say 'tis Crownes that doe him thus maintaine.

49

But what should make the gallant lasses say
That ev'ry Serving-man doth love a whore,
But that sometimes, when the good man's away,
She ha's some proofe, which makes her say the more?
This was a rule with some in auncient time,
And now imposed as a gen'rall crime.

50

For too much tippling we are chaleng'd, too,
Which as I'll absolutely not confes,
So I could wish (to please both God and you)
We had the grace and power to use it les;
Yet (which is no excuse) I dare to say,
We are not all that doe offend that way.

51

In this foule vice you all sometimes transgresse,
Clarke, lay-man, yeoman, trades-man, clowne, & all;
And many gentlemen love Dronkennesse,
And use it to their great disgrace and fall;

And therefore 'tis absurditie to thinke
That none but we do use immoderat drinke.

52

I graunt, it is a vice that at this day
Disgraceth much the rare sufficiencie
Of many a Serving-man, inclin'd that way
Through great abundance of his curtesie:
For to no other end, that I can see,
Is this excesse of drinking said to be.

53

Though some for meere love of the very pot
In this excesse are very vicious growne;
And whether such be Serving-men, or not,
I wish them finde excuses of their owne:
For what so ere he be that's so possest
I doe his actions and himselfe detest.

54

But as I said, it is not we alone
From whom proceed such store of swilling mates;
A cunning spie would now and then finde one,
And twentie dronkards amongst other states:
Then hit not one peculiarly i' th' teeth,
With that that all men are infected with.

55

Besides, you charge us much with idlenes,
And chiefly those that have superiour roomes
In seruice; but to meaner offices,
As Bailiffes, Caters, Vndercooks and Groomes,
You doe impute more labour and less sloth:
Here err's againe your judgement in the troth.

56

No Serving-man, that ever waited well
In's Master's chamber, or in other place,
But will be sworne with me his toyles excell
The daily labours of th' inferiour race;
But that the name, authoritie, and gaines
Of place or office easeth well the paines.

57

A Gentleman in Countrie rides or walks
From place to place, as his occasions bind him,
One of his men carries a cast of Hawks,
The other ha's a clokebag tide behind him;
The Faulkners work passeth the other double,
But that the credit do's abate the trouble.

58

Thus understand our labour is all great,
Ev'n as our charge and offices be many:
If through condition, leasure, or respect,
There seeme a single libertie in any,
Judge him not idle, lest your thoughts be lost;
For some seeme slothfull when they labour most.

59

Like as a man that round about his head,
In a strong garter, or a twisted lace,
Windeth a plummet, or a ball of lead;
Sometimes it goes but slow, sometimes apace;
When it goes fastest 'tis not seene a whit,
But then takes he most paines in winding it.

60

Sometimes our changed fashions trouble you,
Things that amongst our selves are nothing strange:
And it may be a thing your selves would doe,
If you were not too miserly to change,
Or els too bankrupt; but we seldome finde
That vesture alters any whit the minde.

61

And with a hundred rude comparisons,
Injurious censures, and defaming mocks,
You needlesly ubbray our haire: for once
Receive this slight defendant of our locks,
A man may catch a cold with going bare;
And he that weares not hat, allow him haire.

62

For curteous speech, and congeyes of delight,
Which your grosse joynts were never taught to doe,
If oftentimes we use them in your sight,
We shall be censur'd, and be laught at too:
But when you come where others have to doe,
Our betters will beseeme to laugh at you.

63

This speake I not unto the countrie clownes,
For their simplicitie will seldome do't;

But to the mongrill gentles of good townes,
That mock the motions of anothers foot,
And yet make halting bowes to them they meete,
And drop ill favour'd curt'sies in the streete.

64

If I should touch particularly all
Wherein the moodie spleene of captious Time
Doth taxe our functions, I should then enthrall
My moved spirit in perpetuall rime:
A gentle vaine that every careles sight
Peruseth much, but nothing mended by't.

65

I will not all my daies in combat spend,
So much I honour Charitie and peace;
And what is past, I did it to defend,
Yet am the first that do's the quarrell cease,
Ev'n as I was the latest that began
And yet I am a Sword and Buckler man.

66

Poore Serving-man, ordain'd to leade his daies,
Not as himselfe, but as another list,
Whose hoped wealth depends upon delaies,
Whose priviledges upon doubts consist,
Whose pleasures still ore-cast with sorrowes spight,
As swarfie vapours doe a twinkling night!

67

Whose sleepes are, like a warrants force, cut short
By vertue of a new Commissions might;
Or like the blisse of some affected sport,
Vntimely ended by approach of night:
And like a tertian fever is his joy,
That ha's an ill fit ev'ry second day.

68

His libertie is in an howers while,
Both done and undone like Penelop's web;
His fortunes like an Æthiopian Nile,
That ha's a months flow for a twel-months ebbe:
His zealous actions like Æneas pietie,
Cras'd by the hate of every envious Deitie.

69

His labours like a Sysiphus his wait,
Continually beginning where they stay;
His Recompence like Tantalus his bait,
That do's but kis his mouth and vade away:
His gaines like winters hoarie hailestones, felt
Betweene the hands, doe in the handling melt.

70

Now to be short: All that I wish is this,
That all you great, to whom these men repaire,
Respect your servant, as your servant is
The instrument of every great affaire,

The necessarie vicar of your good,
The next in manners to your gentle blood.

71

That you with love their duties would regard,
With gentlenes allow them all their rights;
Respect their paines with bountie and reward;
Consider mildly of their oversights:
For where the master's milde, the servant's merrie,
But where the master's wilde, the servant's wearie.

72

Unto the world I wish more skill in judging,
More temp'rance in deriding and declaring,
More charitable honestie in grudging,
And more contented humour of forbearing,
Of anything she nicely can espie
In Serving-men with her unlearned eye.

73

I that have served but a little while,
And that for want of more encrease in age.
Scarse having yet attain'd an elder stile
Live in the place and manner of a Page:
Yet in meere hope and love of what I shall,
I have begun this combat for them all.

74

Excepting yet two sorts of men that serve,
In whose behalfe I neither fight nor write:

1. Those that through basenes of condition swarve
Into all odious luxure and delight.
2. Those that in place of Serving-men doe stand,
Yet scorne the title of a Serving-man.

75

For the good fellowes and true-hearts am I,
The rest I lothe, as they our name doe scorne;
And I will stoutly stand to 't till I dye,
Or till my Buckler rot, and Sword be worne,
For good condition, manhood, wit, and Art,
The Serving-man to no estate comes short.

FINIS.

THREE PASTORAL ELEGIES;

OF ANANDER, ANETOR, AND MURIDELLA.

By WILLIAM BAS.

TO THE HONOURABLE AND VIRTUOUS LADY, THE LADY TASBURGH.

That when encrease of Age and Learning sets
My Minde in wealthi'r state then now it is,
Ile pay a greater portion of my debts,
Or morgage you a better Muse then this;
Till then, no kinde forbearance is amisse;
While, though I owe more then I can make good,
This is inough, to shew how faine I woo'd.

Your Ladiships in all humblenes, William Bas.

TO THE READER.

Reade one, and say, tis good; I beare the name:
Reade one, and say, tis ill; I beare the shame:
If thou sayst, good, and think'st it too in heart,
Sweetely farewell, no matter who thou art:
If thou sayst meane, thou iudgest like a frend,
I would be so, because I meane to mend:
If thou sayst, ill, and doost in heart dispraise it,
I yeeld not till I know a Wiseman saies it.
Thus quit me, or condemne me, Ile not grudge,
So that I know a foole be not my Iudge.

Yours, William Bas.

[A Shepheards youth dwelt on the plaines]

A Shepheards youth dwelt on the plaines,
That passt the common sort of Swaines,
By how much had himselfe before
Beene nursed up in Colins lore;
Who, while his flocke, ybent to stray,
Glad of the Sunne-shine of the day,
Wanderd the field, and were abroade dispers'd,
He tooke his Pipe and sate him downe and vers'd.

ELEGIE I.

Anander lets Anetor wot,
His Loue, his Lady, and his Lot.

A ciuill Youth, whose life was led in Court,
—In Court, the place of all Ciuilitie;—
Who lou'd no riot, tho delighted sport,
Such sport as with such place might well agree
To giue him credite, by a true report:
The only glory of his time was hee:
For (mote I sweare,) the gentry of his kind,
Was fairely match'd with gentlenes of mind.

His personage, a thing for Gods to tell,
Whose wits can reach, beyond the reach of Muse;
Diuine proportion in his limmes did dwell,
Eye-wonder'd feature did his visage vse:
He was (as may the wiser tell,)
For Ladies choice, (if Ladies list to chuse:)

If not, what help? the weaker his successe,
Though his perfections be nothing lesse.

His birth was great, his bloud the nobler then,
His thoughts (no doubt) the worthier by his bloud;
And his desires, though somewhat like to men,
Yet as his thoughts (I guesse) were faire and good:
And for his loues, none knew them but him sen,
And that faire she, on whom their fortune stood:
Yet did he often plaine of ill succeed;
The hoter loue, somtime the colder speed.

And in his passions, (for I must needs breake
Into some speech of him, and his mis-lot;)
He vnto me, as whom he lou'd, did speake
The cleare discou'rie of his eager plot
In gracefull termes, and yet the best too weake,
To tell his thoughts sufficiently (God wot:)
That I should often stand and weepe to see,
His griefes more copious then his language bee.

First did he lay his fine vnswarfed hand
Vpon my shoulder, close unto my necke;
And then for twentie minutes did he stand,
As one that spar'd to speake, in feare of checke:
Then sighs, then speakes, but speakes words three times scand,
As if he durst not trust his tongues defect:

Lest in his woes, his woes might seeme to bite
Th' vnfriendly dealings of his hearts delight.

Shepheard (quoth he) and giu's me one faint smile,
That signifi'de a long sustained wrong;
Suffer a Courtier to record a stile,
More zealous then the Thracian widow's song:
When he in his immortall Musicks guile
Besought the freedome of his wife so long:
With pitty marke the treatize of my ruth;
The like hereafter may befall thy youth.

Meanewhile, the childhood of thy younger wit,
That neuer did more then thy flocks regard,
Shall haue a stronger cause to wonder it,
Then those that like my haples selfe hath car'd:
While I, ne vowes, ne circumstance omit
Of those mishaps, wherein I haue bene snar'd:
Vnder the leaue (sweet boy) of thy forbearing;
An elders griefe profits a youngers hearing.

Woo'd thou had'st had in Court but halfe that skill,
As here thou hast with thy obezant sheepe;
T' haue seene the strictnes of a Ladies will,
And how vnmou'd she doth hir fauor keepe;
T' haue knowne the hardship of a Louer's ill,
And what a wretchednes it is to weepe:
And I had kept thy pastures as mine owne;
No life too base where better is vnknowne.

Then hadst thou seene faire Muridellaes eyes,
The dangerous planets of my ripening youth;
Thou shoud'st haue knowne how beautifull, how wise
My Lady was: Perhaps vnto thy ruth
Thou shouldst ha' knowne, more then thou canst deuise
Of that deare Girle, and yet no more then truth:
For he that mounts the high'st degree of hie,
In praising of her Beautie, cannot lie.

But he that sai's the mercy of hir minde
Is like the grace of hir admired blee;
He might doe well to bridle in that winde,
Vntill his fortune were to speake with me:
Lesse it be one, to whom sh' ha's beene more kinde,
Then to my true affection she cou'd be:
And then I thanke him to commend hir hart,
For the best Loue deserues the best report.

Yet shalt thou thinke, that that deare truth I beare
To that faire Sight that first subdude mine eie,
Shall say the best, although she be not here,
To see how woe, how discontent am I:
That when henceforth it comes vnto hir eare,
That I speake wonders of hir Curtesie;
She may recall me with a gracious minde,
For praising of hir when she was vnkinde.

And if it euer be thy hap to view
Her on this greene, where thou inhabitest,
First, for my sake, salute her to the shoo,
And tell hir with so solemne a protest,

That her poore seruant, and hir only true,
Doth liue that life, that she with hate disblest:
How, where, and in what sorrow, let her know:
She loues to heare, though not to helpe my woe.

Sha't know her by that bright and curious brow,
Where Loue in his eternall triumph sits
Chastising with the warfarre of his bow
The rumour of desires, the force of wits;
And by her eyes, and other glories moe,
That first in me wrought these rebellious fits:
But (to be short) if thou a thousand see,
Looke which is fairest, and be sure that's shee.

Hir hand (if thou hir hand canst naked see
From those blest muffes that guard their blisfull whitenes,)
Is like that gripe that Alpheus maz'd to see,
Place Arethusa in perpetuall brightnes,
And by her foote these plaines shall blessed bee,
Vnles the ground relent not at her lightnes:
Hir substance is so girt in slender finenes,
That nothing's heauy, but hir owne vnkindenes.

But that thou mayst belieue she is a creature
As hardly else thou mout'st conceiue the same,
I tell thee shall: when that Creatres nature
Once set a Princely webbe into her frame,
And was about to loome her sacred feature,
T'is sed, that in the while Minerua came,
Who by enquirie faine would vnderstand,
What blessed body now she had in hand.

Nature, for then, no otherwise inclinde
In thought but to obezant curtesie,
Freely acquaints the goddes of hir minde
And humbly craues hir gracious remedie,
In such defects, as may hir wisedome finde
In this new portion of hir huswifery;
Or if at least there might no fault bee had,
Yet, that she would some more perfection adde.

For truth she said, that whensoe're she might
Once bring to good this Idoll that she wrought,
She would present it to the gracious sight
Of hir owne selfe, (for so she had bethought);
And since hir comming now fell out so right,
The larger was her hope, that she had brought
Some ornamentall grace, whose large infusing
Might make it fit the gift, and worth the chusing.

Then Pallas tooke into her owne embrace
This curious Plot that Nature was about,
Hauing no meanes to worke into hir face
This bloud that glorifies hir shape without,
Nor could of Venus borrow any grace,
Cause they alate had sharpely fallen out,
Therefore bids Nature for some beautie goe:
High hearts disdaine the kindenes of the foe.

Meanewhile from th' issue of that sacred vaine,
That her whole selfe with wits abundance fills,
She freely powres into this Infants braine,
By hony drops; and plentifull distills
That puissant conceit that now doth raigne
Ouer herselfe, her Loue, her Louers ills:
Yet by this gift hir selfe no lesse cou'd haue;
She gaue hir selfe what to her owne she gaue.

Two siluer cuppes then drew she from her brest,
The one of Spirit and hauty influence,
The other fild with maydenly Protest
Of Chastities diuinest continence;
Some drops whereof she in this hart imprest,
Therein to double Natures excellence:
But chiefely in these heau'nly honours three,
Of Wisedome, Puissance, and Chastitie.

Yet hast thou leaue to thinke, and so doe I,
(Vnlesse my thoughts should sinne in thinking so,)
That loues wise daughter did not meane hereby
That both these gifts should be alike in show:
For if her Chastnes liue perpetually,
As does hir spirit, Ananders cake were dow;
Though neuer gift descended from aboue
Of greater honesty then honest loue.

Then neither is her labour vainely spent,
Nor yet her gifts in idlenes defray'd,
If Muridella with true loue content
Anander, in encreasing Loues decay'd:
For why doth ciuill curtesie consent
The marri'd wife to goe aboue the mayde?

Because the Life by Loue is doubly grac'de,
And to be wed is more then to be chaste.

This, while the busie dame in eager post,
Comes home to see how faire hir worke went on,
And from an Iuory boxe of wonders cost,
That friendly Venus had bestowed vpon
Her, for her Infant sake, began to cast,
With greater art then was in Belus son,
That red and white: thus, in hir beauties making,
Nature and heau'ns themselves were al pertaking.

And this is it that holdes in Loue and Muse
The two blacke circles of my conquer'd sight,
What wondrous cunning Nature seem'd to vse
In placing of this mingled faire so right,
And what a skill she shewed when she did chuse
So red a crimson, and so white a white:
O heau'ns (sed I) what gifts were Beauties Peeres,
If it might neuer beene yclad in yeares?

Thus, or as like to thus as I can say,
The youth, concluding his teare-liquored vaine,
Leaues my vnletter'd thoughts to beare away
Both what he said and what he wood ha saine;

And though I want his griefe, yet sure I may
Well ground vpon his passionate complaine,
His Loue was faire, and blest in euery lim,
With no default, but that she lou'd not him.

My youngling wit amuzed at the hearing
Of that her dayes had no conuersement in,
Like a new-fielded souldier, wanting chearing,
Stands all astoni'd, two conceits betwin;
Whether I mote with small or no forbearing,
Burden some disobedience vpon him,
Or shou'd in verdict of dispraises tuch
Her whom himselfe durst [not] dispraise too much.

If you (quoth I) haue neuer yet misdone,
To their faire Lady more then I can deeme
In these your words; By heau'n, and by this Sunne,
Your Seruice should deserue a more esteeme.
But if (alas) your selfe y' haue ouer-run
In things to her that mote vngratefull seeme,
Grudge not a sharpe rewardance of the same;
Men must doe well that wou'd enioy good name.

With this, about to aske him somwhat more,
With hasty answer, and a hearty oth,
He clips my speech; and said, and vow'd, and swore,
No spot of guilt in his attaintles troth;
But as t'is now, so euer heretofore:
Quoth I, the better, for I would be loth;
Though now I aske you, as t'is fit he shu'd
Well know your ill, that must procure your good.

Yet did my soule within it selfe y-doubt
No vndeseruings in his noble heart,
Though I (for reasons sake,) mote go about
To shew him that I fear'd some vndesart:
He mought ha thought me, else, some soothing lout,
Ylearn'd in neither iudgement, nor good part,
To discommend hir thoughts, and mourne his fall,
Without examining the cause of all.

Yet speake no further of thy chaunce, said I,
A single cause wou'd haue a single telling,
But griefes discourse, hopes mortall enemy,
Tat's his preuailing in his oft reuealing:
O giue me leaue, saith he, to balme mine eie,
And let those teares that hurt it giue it healing!
For since hir loues are not disposde to granting,
Poore helpes are welcome, when the best are wanting.

These teares shall witnes, (when he wept indeed,)
How neere vnto my soule hir enuy crept;
How much my hart doth hir owne substance bleed,
In fresh remembrance of what vowes I kept,
And in what hate that Lady did exceed,
That threw me downe to this (and still he wept);
O thing for euer to be vnforgot,
Vntill she loues me, as she loues me not.

My flocks this while, that saw their maisters eie
Perus'd in things vntutching their estate,

Ywended to a neighbors seu'ral nie,
That for faire feed was mounded in alate:
Where lest they shou'd too much offendingly
Ore-ramp the grasse, and get the owners hate,
I crau'd his name, and leaue away to go;
No shame to part, when need compelles thereto.

My name tho now it may a causer be
Of too long memory of a man forlorne;
Is called Anander of the Court (quoth he),
Though neuer Country-man abid more scorne:
Yet keep it as thy heardlam close to thee,
That no day heare it but that blessed morne
Wherein that angell of my good and ill
Salutes thy flocks, and thee, vpon this hill.

Then tell hir, when she giues thee hir good morrow,
That thou alate didst see Anander here;
And then speake teares of my vnfained sorrow,
Or speake vnfained sorrow of my teares:
And when she doth some light occasion borrow
Of other reasons to employ hir eares,
Seeme thou as if thou didst not vnderstand hir,
And mixe thy speeches with distrest Anander.

If she dispraise or praise thy wanton flocke,
Tell thou hir that Anander did so too;

If brode the field she for some mate doth looke,
Anander, (tell hir,) thus did looke for you;
And let remembrance worke some better lucke,
For sure I am more harme it cannot do;
And sometimes absence do's ingender Passion,
By giuing leasure to consideration.

So hie thee to thy sheep (good Shepheard boy:)
But stay, (O) first enrich me with thy name;
Anetor of the Field, (Sir), did I say,
Though (vnderstand yee) I am not the same
That in amendall of the woolues annoy
That mighty voyage vnto Peleus, came:
Anetor he, and I Anetor am;
But he seru'd Peleus, I as good a man.

Discourses ended: t'was now time a day
For him to ride, and for myselfe to wander;
Such causes call vs both, we cannot stay;
His dear's at Court, and my deere flockes be yonder:
And all our part no more but this to say,
Farewell Anetor, and farewell Anander:
Saue that in our farewelles, this wish we moue,
Me to recall my Flocks, and he his Loue.

ELEGIE II.

Anetor seeing, seemes to tell
The beauty of faire Muridell,
And in the end, he lets hir know
Ananders plaint, his loue, his woe.

When Ianiuere in 's one and thirtith age
Had late embrac'd the wintring Feuerill,
And March, departed with his windy rage,
Presented time with honny'd April,
And Shepheards to their lasses layd to gage
The yellow Cowslip and the Daffadill;
When flocks gan to be lusty, lambes to skip,
That ioy'd the well yscape of Winters nip:

The dayes were wealthie in a greater store,
Of temp'rate minutes, and of calmer weather;
The Welkin blast was milder then before,
The winde and Sunne was blended so togither;
The spready Beech, and dangling Sycomores
Were clad in tender leaues and shady shiuer,
Where was by Sheapheards toyle and Shepheards wit,
Banks vnder-set, for Nimphes to vnder-sit.

Morne-walking Feiries, halfe gods of the woods,
Trip through the plenty of our flowery plots,
Gracing our Medowes, hallowing our floods,
With wholesome blessings to our gladsome flocks;

Chearing their colours, chearing of their bloods,
Their milky vdders and their milke-white locks:
All ioy the lib'rall sweetenes of the aire,
Beauty's renewed, and all things now looke faire.

Now Proserpine besets her comely locks
With such perfumes as Ætnaes woods can yeeld,
And Ceres with hir rolle and weeding hookes
Betrims the Infant huswifery of her field,
And Ocean calls in his immounded brookes
From spoyling where Triptolemus hath til'd;
Our master Pan seekes Syrinx in the reedes,
Poynts out our Pastures, and diuides our feedes.

This sacred Time inuited to the hill,
This hill where I my louing Lambes do feede,
That comely mistris of vnhappy will,
In whom that Court'ers comforts first did breed,
Though with vnkinde succession of that ill
That, wrought by hir, in him did more exceed:
The Infant Spring breath'd out his youthful aire,
A gratefull thing to Ladies yong and faire.

Now as mine eyes did stretch their curious looke,
Ouer the spreading heardlam of my worth,
Eu'n from that king, the formost of my troupe,
That beares the ringing triumph of their mirth,
Vnto that poorest Lambe that seemes to droope
Through weaknes, youth, and latternes of birth,

With many blessings to my wandring flocke,
And wishes of amendance to their stocke;

I might afarre discerne a princely crew
Of twenty Ladies, (pera'uenture more),
A hie on yonder greene where dayses grew,
And sommers mistresse kept her flowers in store;
Too heau'nly prospect for so poore a view,
And yet a case in vulgar sence forbore;
The eyes themselves haue euer bene thus free,
What things must needes be seene, they must needs see.

No man at all to guard this louely traine,
Where Peeres and Princes might haue guardants beene,
Saue one faire youth of a pure modest graine,
That neuer yet desirous dayes had seene,
Nor neuer greater thoughts besieg'd his braine,
Then what belongs to one of seuenteene,
Brought vp a purpose for this mayden taske,
One that would shame to loue, and blush to aske.

And by his nouice lookes, and childish grace,
Cast on himselfe wherein was all his glory,
I saw he made a poorer vse on's place
Then wou'd that worthy causer of my Story,
That sober sad Anander, if in case
His Muridella were not peremptory:

Who now that grace, that fauour, and that ioy,
That longs vnto her man, she giues hir boy.

This feate yong stripling, guided by the will
And wandring finger of his Ladies hand,
Thus leades his blessed Army o're the hill,
Yet not where he list, but where they command,
A thing that taught me one faire point of skill,
That my rude dayes yet did not vnderstand,
The last may haue the first in seruile dreade,
And some are led, although they seeme to leade.

And as they stood aloofe beyond my heard,
Marking the homely ioyes of them and mee,
With many curteous smiles, and much good word
To their encrease and my prosperitie,
To quittance all the graces they affoord,
I went aside, where I vnseene may see
These walking Saints, and giue them secret praise,
Since tis not good to stand in sight and gase.

And as I note their faces, iudge their yeares,
Compare their Beauties to discerne the best;
One saw I gone, betwixt two women peares,
Two gentles Lady-like, and maides profest,
Who, by youre leaue, if she had not beene there
That for hir state their seruices possest,
For comlines and beauty might haue got
The vndissembled verdict of my thought.

But she, whose Armes were folded vp in theirs,
(Three gracefull fadams twisted all in one),
—Like Pallas led twixt Iunos hand and Ceres,
Where nothing but the midst is look't vpon—
So rich yclad in beauties pomp appeares,
Besides the wonders cost she had put on,
That when I look't vpon no more but she,
I cou'd ha wisht ther had beene no more to see.

But O! what eye can be contented in
So straight a compasse, or so small a round,
But that some sparkle of his sight shall sinne
In glauncing here, or there, or vp, or downe?
So did these dazeled circles neuer line
To looke on all, till they the fairest found:
Then fixe themselues, still to behold the best;
Some peeuish light wou'd swarue and see the rest.

On cloudy sullen implement of blacke,
Ycald a maske, or some such hideous name,
Vpon hir face: whether it was for lacke
Of things more fit, more gracefull then the same,
Or whether careles might she be to take
A vesture that the place so ill became,

I wot not: But, in conscience, God forbid
That things so worthy sight should e're be hid.

This enuious visard—glories needles Iaile,
Deformed enemy of Beauties praise;
This new-inuented Night, that so doth vaile
The mingled looks of Natures holy dayes;
This artificiall Morphew, that assailes
The seemely obiect of our mortall ioyes;
This cloud, this face-case, this attire of Chance,
This ougly outside of a countenance—

Did thus, as in despightfull bondage, hold
The wondrous feature of so blest a looke,
Till beautie snuffing to be so control'd,
Nor wou'd her slaue to be hir mistresse brooke,
This strange garment aboue hir browe did fold,
And thereby hir deserued freedome tooke;
And as in taske I kept mine eyes to see
If shee so beaut'ous might as comely bee.

Like to Queene Morning when she fresh appear'd
To Cephalus vpon th' Hymetian hill,
Or Wisedome, when she lookt from skie, and rear'd,
The barb'rous kin that did each other kill,
Or smiling Loue, when in hir armes she chear'd
That beauteous youngling that the Bore did kill:

So look't she out, to giue hir eyes such scope
As Appias do's when heauens windowes ope.

How blessed are you flocks and fieldes (quoth I)
To be perus'd with such Immortall view?
How can thou but excell in Iolitie,
When fairer sight then heau'n doth visit you?
Yet did I speake these words but whisperingly,
As one that had not mate to tell them to,
With eager griefe that I had none with me
To sooth me in the praise of that I see.

Like to some banke, whose grounds of Lillies white
Was here and there with roses inter-set;
Empaled in with flowers of faire delight,
As if Cibèle were in Floraes debt,
And, to incurre more wonder to the sight,
Fronted with veines of Azure violet:
So did she seeme, if I may like a face
So excellent vnto a thing so base.

But how much do I weaken and depriue
Those honours great that in hir greatnes are,
When like my selfe, fond shepheard, I do striue
To bring such beautie into rude compare;
Knowing full well, that nothing is aliue
That mought be reckon'd like to one so faire:

Yet pardon, Beauty, me vnskilfull wight,
That wrong thee in desire to do thee right.

So long bewitched with this mateles hiew
Of th' unbeguiling beautie of hir face,
Mine earnest eies with teares at length withdrew,
And wandring, wonder at another grace
That in hir necke and bosome was to view,
That ioyned plot, that admirable place:
And while to maze at that I had desier,
Contentles sight woo'd still be gasing hier.

So long as yet I haue the keeper bin,
Of these faire meades (starres be my witnes true;)
No winters snow that euer fell therein,
Or summers Affodill that euer grew,
Passed the Natiue whitenes of her skin,
So mixt with bashfull red and vaynie blue:
Yet dare I brag, that neuer shepheard moe
Saw fairer flowres then I, or whiter snowe.

O creature blessed, mot'st thou neuer die;
For if thou should'st with mortalls breathe thy last,
Where find we Pearle to fashion such an eye,
Or whither shall we send for Aliblast',
Or seeke for Iuory of so white a die
Wherein thy Bosom's Picture may be cast?
When thy names highnes, and thy beauties newnes,
Should be sepulchred in the truest truenes.

This Bosome is Loues owne delightfull walke,
When coming from hir eye, his princely nèst,
He wanders downe to dally and to talke
With Chastitie that dwelleth in hir brest:
Where, like a Lambe vpon a bed of chalke,
Lies downe, and whites himselfe and takes his rest;
The Iourney is so delicate, vpon
The way twixt his and hir pauilion.

Then comes he to that double-fronted place,
The temple of a chaste and prudent feare,
In whose bright out-side he beholds hir face,
As if Loue asked here, and answered there;
But the beguiled boys in no such grace,
As for Ananders sake I wish he were:
Tho leaue him there, and I the while be telling
This brest, of Chastitie the sumptuous dwelling.

It is as cleere as is the finest glasse,
And men would think it easie to be broken,
But when the violence of intreat wou'd passe,
The substance doth no brittlenes betoken,
But still it stands as close and firme as brasse,
Yet is so pure, that one wou'd iudge it open;
And by this day (forgiue me, heau'ns, to sweare,)
Those that disdaine to loue, why are they faire?

Anander (oh) that thou wer't Porter here,
To walke the entrance of this Castle dore;

And I the Vicar of thine office were,
When thou bee'st feeble, and can toile no more:
But let me blush, I was too sawcie there,
Yet in thy quarraile, dare I say therefore:
Faire is the Portall, but the house is hate,
Poorest the Almes, though purest is the gate.

Before this gate there are two fountaines built,
Of ycie Cristall and of Diamond,
Whose Cisternes siluer be, whose Conduits gilt,
And in them sweeter wines then Nectar stond:
Yet neuer was (they say) one spoonfull spilt,
Nor neuer any drop that from them run'd;
Nor neuer shall, till th'are vnlock't below,
But who doth keep the key therof, God know.

Oft hath Anander in loues likenes shot
His hardy shaftes against this Castle great,
Where, though he made frank warre and battry hot,
The end of all was euer meere retreat:
That I say this in ieasting thinke ye not,
Farre is from me the wanton of conceit,
Punish me, heauens, if I meane nought,
More then his earnest loue, and hir chast thought.

Next to her brest, that faire and beauteous strond,
(Describe I now by guesse, and not by sight)
That white empaled walke, that spacy laund,
That smooth, and milky high-way of delight,
Where the same loue walks at his owne commaund
To make experience lower of his might,
Whenas himselfe vnworthily hath borne,
From hir hard brest, this great repulse of scorne.

But in the midst, or neere the lower end
Of this faire belly-walke, a marke is set,
And further then the same he may not wend,
Where want of liberty doth make him fret,
And where he may not come, his shafts doth send;
But where they light was neuer heard on yet,
For if they did, t'would quickely be appearant,
For where Loue woundeth, Loue is like to heare on't.

Nature hirselfe did set that limit there,
To curb young Cupids freakish Infancy,
As often as his boyship durst come neere,
Or enter his assault so sawcily,
Upon the hidden blis of that place, where
Hirselfe doth liue in secret secrecy:
And yet there is no doubt, but loue shall dwell
Hereafter there, if he please Nature well.

Now sober thought shall silently passe o're,
Without rude language or immodest wrong,
The things that reason euer hath forbore,
Cause they surpasse the eloquence of tongue;
While I pursue the meaner dainties lower:
And so in faire Content I passe along;
For where the eye doth leade, the lips are bold,
But what was neuer seene must not be told.

When I haue then bethought hir veinie thighne,
Hir smooth and dainty leg, hir handsome knee,
The pillers of this euer-worthy shrine,
Where Chastnes, Beauty, Wit, enrooded bee,
Who can perswade me, that hir foot's not fine,
When these adoring eyes the shooe did see,
That for his length, might of the sixes bee,
But sure for bredth, it cou'd be but the three.

To tell how faire and straight this vnder-part
Held vp the rest to bright and goodly hie,
Would make the heau'n-supporting Atlas start,
And in a rage let fall the mighty skie,
And whisper to himselfe within his hart,
How base and euerlasting slaue am I,
Whom this eternall drudgery contents,
While meaner props beare fairer elements!

How comely, Lord, (me thinks) hir backe was made,
How right hir shoulders to the same were knit;
How excellently both hir sides were laide;
How straight, how long hir armes were, and how fit:
How white hir hand was, and how vndecai'd,
And what faire fingers ioyned were to it:
How delicately euery limme was plac't,
And euery member by another grac't.

No painter that did euer pensill dip
In oryent Russet or in sable die,

Ha's pow'r to match the rednes of hir lip,
Or the three-colour'd harts-ease of hir eie:
Pygmalion at her cheekes and chin wou'd trip,
And at hir browes would blush and looke awry:
And for hir Nose, Nature would doe as much,
For heauen and earth yields not another such.

A wounden wreathe she had of Baies and Firre,
That had y'clipt hir formost locks in greene;
Whose trembling Leafe the mildest blast would stirre,
Vnlesse the winde had much forbearefull beene:
And for hir haire, except you look on hir
I'm sure there is no more such to be seene:
And all hir head was dressed in that haire;
So might it best, no dressing is so faire.

Hir band about hir necke was plaine y'spread,
Withouten doubles, settes, but falling flat;
And all vpon it, wrought in golden thread,
Roses, vines, pances, and I wot not what:
A curled locke, descending from hir head,
Hung on her shoulder, partly hiding that:
On hir left shoulder: Shoulders that do beare
Somthing: what? Nothing, but the things they weare.

She wore withall a Tyrian mantle, made
Of silken yearne, with strippe of siluer mixt;
Of the same webbe that young Appollo had;
For certainely went but the sheares betwixt:

Hir vpper-part was in a Doublet clad,
Wrought o're with cloudes, and golden planets fixt,
And skirted like a man, but that before
Hir buttons, and hir girdle, came much lowre.

Hir buttons were great store, and very small,
In colour like vnto hir doublet wrought;
Hir Belt was finer geare, but yet withall
As semblant to the rest as might be thought,
Saue that it was with pearle as round as ball,
With aggets, and with glimsy saphyres fraught:
And all was like hir doublet to hir hand,
Sauing hir cuffes, and they were like hir band.

Hir kirtle was an equall minglement
Of diuers silks in diuers beauties dide;
And with a tucke it was, that, as she went,
Her middle-leg the fringe did scarcely hide;
And to this tucke brode lace in order spent,
One from another not a finger wide:
And from hir ankle to hir knee did rise
Gamashaes of the best of Fasons prise.

Of silken greene hir nether stocks were knit;
One of her garters cou'd I hardly see,
For she aboue the ioynt had twisted it,
Yet seem'd it like to that below the knee,
Because I saw the endes were sembled fit,
With broydery as like as like might bee:

Hir shooe was lowe, because she did defie
Any aditions to make hir hie.

As I a while was standen in a weare,
In ill conceit of my vnworthy state,
Whether I mote presume to let hir heare
What of hirselfe was told to me so late,
I sodainly might see approaching neere
A handsome bonny Virgin that did waite
Vpon this lady: and in hand she led
A milke-white Steede, and richly furnished.

Withouten bashfull dread, or further thought,
I crosst aloofe vnto this comely Maide,
And hauing bid hir welcome as I ought
And broke into a homely speech, and sayde:
Faire Mistresse, you are she that I haue sought,
But certes for no harme, be not afraide:
If you a mayde to Muridella be,
Pray tell me, is she here, and which is she?

This Damsell seeming proud and angry too,
Snuffes at my plainenesse, flouts, and walkes awry;
I follow on, and for an answere wooe,
But for my heart I cou'd haue no reply:
What shall it boote me then in vaine to sue?
If thou be thus, what is thy Dame? thought I,
Or mayst thou be, as ancient tales expresse,
A Mayde more dainty then thy Misteresse?

But yet (anon) because she would not stay,
Nor I thinke of her any worse then well,
She threw this minsing Answere in my way;
I am: she's here: that's she, and so farewel.
But which (quoth I) is that you meane I pray?
Whoo then (she sayth) go looke, I will not tell.
With this we part, and both our wayes we keepe;
And she leades on hir Horse, and I my sheepe.

And well I was that I so much cou'd know,
And for the same I gaue hir faire God-speed,
And after that preparde myselfe to go
To meete with hir whom I shou'd meete indeed,
I meane the lady that I praysed so,
The Mistresse of the Mayde and of the Steed;
Ananders goddes and his loue for aye,
My goddes and my Mistresse for to day.

Now look'd I on my selfe what must be don,
And rub'd my garments cleane in euery seame;
My face, that long had basked in the Sunne,
I made it handsome in the gentle streame;
I combd my bustled locks, and wipt my shoon,
And made myselfe as tricke as Polypheme,
When he first kept his heardlam neere the Sea,
For loue and sake of constant Galate.

The gentle Ladies, when they did behold
My rude approch, anon began to fleere;

Ether th' occasion was to see me bold,
To venter in a Swaynish guise so neere,
Or else they highly wonderd what I would,
Or what might be the bus'nes I had there,
Yet feared not, for they full well did know,
The Country to the Court was neuer foe.

The princocke youth, (as I alate did tell,)
That mand this goodly sort along the hil,
In his pure wisdome thought I did not well,
(Though I had sworne in thought to do no ill:)
And therefore meetes me with a count'nance fell,
And this disdaineful question: What's your will?
No harme sweet maister (sed I) but to see,
My Land-lady, if any here be she.

These are the Ladies of the court (quoth he,)
Whose pleasure is to walke vpon this greene;
Whose honour'd offices and high degree,
Is daily waiting on our Soueraigne Queene:
(And with that word his head vncouer'd he),
And all his youthfull yellow locks were seene:
And I kneeld downe and cride, O heauens so deare!
Preserue hir grace and all her Ladies here.

With that on gentle Lady mong them all,
Partly resolu'd I had some tale to tell,

With becking hand, the Image of a call,
Examins what I would, and where I dwell:
Quoth I, my wonning is in yonder stall,
And I would speake with beauteous Muridell:
All honour be to euery one of you,
But she is whom my message longs vnto.

Whose faire respect in such abundance wrought,
And curtesie did in such sort supplie,
That euery grace, and euery gentle thought,
Did seeme to be assembl'd in hir eie,
When with a piercing smiling glaunce it sought
The arrand of the homely stander by:
And did inspire the mouing lips to say,
What newes to Muridella, (Shepheards boy.)

If shepheards then may dare to be so bolde
With such estates as yours, I gan to say,
Or if Loues Message may be rudely tolde,
(As better know my betters what it may)
Duty and promise vrge me to vnfolde
That on this greene I met vpon a day
Youthfull Anander, that in Court doth dwell,
As you well know, if you be Muridell.

And that aboue the world he loues you deare,
If be to you vnthought of, or vnknowne,
Once trust my oth vpon it (if I sweare)
Wherein I yet haue bene vntrue to none:
If euer Loues did by the lookes appeare,
Or euer miseries were declar'd by mone,
Anander is as farre in loue with you
As he on this side death ha's powre to goe.

But are you sure (she saith) it is to me?
As sure as I am sure y'are Muridell:
But are you sure (she sayth) that that was hee?
As sure as I am sure he loues you well:
But are you sure (she sayth) that I am shee?
That is (quoth I) the thing I least can tell;
But that's the name I'm sure he do's adore,
And shee that owes that name he honours more.

Be-like (she saith) your message doth pertaine
To Muridella; and that's I indeed:
But that those loues and honors that you saine,
And those high thoughts that from his heart proceed,
Are done to me, it is a Jest but vaine;
And let it be no member of your creed:
T'was he, I know't: he loues, I know it too:
But whom he loues, he knowes, not I, nor you.

For thee to sweare what thou hast heard him vow,
Is but the childish error of thy youth;
For me to trust things sworne I wot not how
Might argue fondnes, lightnes, and vntruth:
And therefore, (Shepheard) what a foole are thou,
To thinke that euery teare proceedes of ruth,
When men that other causes doe lament,
Will burden loue with all their Discontent?

Be thou not then so lightly borne away,
With euery idle tale that men professe;
And looke how much the more of Loues they say,
Be wise inough to credit them the lesse:
For if in sooth they are enclind that way,
Thy pitty do's but adde to their distresse:
But if they doe not meane the things they say,
What foole are you, and what dessemblers they?

Downe halts the beggar when he seekes to moue
The mistresse of the Almes-house to be kinde;
And craft is sickly when he meanes to proue
The lib'rall pitty of the innocent minde;
And light beliefe is but the Asse of Loue,
That beares his oathes before, his mocks behinde,
And neuer trauels with an empty poke,
Vntill all mockes be spent, all oathes be broke.

Mens vowes to us haue beene of small import,
Since Ioue put on Dianas moony cap,
And in the louely woods of chast disport
Opprest Calysto with a dire mishap;
Since Ilian outlawes came to Carthage Court,
And false Iulus play'd in Didoes lap:
No wily Loues into our hearts shall creepe,
(O word full ill to speake, full hard to keepe.)

All shamefac'd as I stood at this defense,
With all my wittes astounded in a muse;
I had a suddaine hap to call to sence,
Anander told me how she wou'd excuse
Hir drery hardnes, and unkind offence,
A thing she so familiarly did vse,
That to a meane and single vnderstander,
The fault of Loue seem'd rather in Anander.

Herewith the gentle silence of hir tongue,
Giues more tune to my message and his cause;
This feeble answer, from affection strong,
Fild vp the empty minutes of that pause:
Faire Lady, mote it please you, do no wrong,
Though for his Loue you guiden all the Lawes;

Nor him of fayning or false oathes condemne,
For sure that hart did neuer harbor them.

To count those vowes before me he did take,
To tell the teares that he did lauish here,
To call to minde the praises he did make
Of you his Muridella, you his deare;
What griefes, what thoughts, what labors for your sake,
What discontent, what fury he did beare;
Would make me (Lady) more distraught to tell,
Then is the maddest Eumenis of hell.

But since the Euening hastes, let all things rest,
Till please it you to meet him on this hill;
That happy heau'ns may make your hart possest,
With gentle pitty of Ananders ill,
And by a wished change restore him blest,
With Muridellaes gentles and good-will:
And if that then the fault in him shalbe,
Let me curse him, and you abandon me.

To this request hir greatness mildely spake,
Much is the Loue Anander might haue won,
If other courses he had pleas'd to take,
Then thus abroade haue cry'd himselfe vndon,
And by his open blames, a Tyrant make
Of me, that wisht him as I wou'd my son;
Though I confesse the loues he would haue had
I did denie, but not to make him mad.

For let our weakenes as it well hath need,
Resolue it selfe vpon profound aduise,

For when consent is made with too much speed,
Entreating Loue esteemes it of no price:
Such weighty bargaines are not soone agreed:
A substance is too much to play at twice:
The loue's but small that is too yong to know
That all the hope's not past when wee say no.

But on the day that I him here shall meete,
(The fairest day of all the fairest dayes),
I learne him shal how to be more discreete
And curteous in the bruite of my disprayse:
And then (if heau'ns ordaine it not vnmeete)
Vnarmed Loue shall part our lingring fraies,
And where the most vnkindenesse then shall bee,
There the iust sentence shall be giu'n by thee.

For I do know Anander young and faire,
And much I thinke, and much I wou'd doe for him,
And that it is my euerlasting care,
That discontent of loue should neuer marre him:
Witnes thy selfe (young shepheard boy) that are
The onely iudge to whom I shal referre him:
And so I must be gon, the night is neere;
Time stayes no longer at the Court then here.

With that the lightnes of hir nimble foote
Withdrew it selfe into a silent trace,
And all hir veiny limmes consenting to't
Made a faire turne and vanisht hence apace,
With all the comely troupe; leauing me mute
And languisht in the loosing of hir face,
While does the aire into mine eares infuse
The message of hir musicall adewes.

ELEGIE III.

Anander sicke with Loues disdaine
Doth change himselfe into a Swaine,
While dos the youthful Shepherd show him
His Muridellaes answere to him.

The Sunne that had himselfe a Courtier beene,
And for his beautie lou'd of Ladies faire,
Spread forth his yellow beames vpon the greene,
And with attentive eye, and Courtly care,
Flourisht his wandring torch, till he had seene
This troup arriue the place where now they are:
Which done, he hies him thence, and takes his rest
Behinde the furthest Mountaines of the West.

Blinde drouzie night, all clad in misty ray,
Began to ride along the welkins round,
Hangs out his gazing Lanthornes by the way,
And makes the outside of the world his bound;
The Queene of starres, in enuy of the daye,
Throwes the cold shadow of hir eyes to ground;
And supple grasse, opprest with heauy dew,
Doth wet the Sheepe and licke the shepheards shooe.

There as I dwelt there dwelled all my sheepe,
And home we went togither, flocks and I,

As euen where I rest and take my sleepe,
There are my flocks asleepe and resting by,
And when I rise to go to field and keepe,
So will my flocks, that can no longer lie:
Thus in the Sheepe is all the Shepheards care,
And in the Shepheard is the flocks welfare.

While did the yeare let slip his tender Spring,
And merry Moones went merrily away,
I with this happy flocke alone did sing,
And pipe the oaten galliard euery day,
As well content as Pan himselfe our King,
With a new Carroll or a Roundelay,
For he (as good a Minstrell as he is)
Couth neuer tune a better Lay then this.

When Shepheards sit vpon the hills,
Nursed in their Swainish wills,
Young, and in desires vnripe,
Curious of the flocke and pipe,
Then is Swaynish life the best,
And he that cares, and loues the lest,
Thinkes he fares aboue the rest.

Then our ioyes beguile our ruthes,
Shepheards boyes be merry youthes,
Loues do dwell in Courti'rs beds,
Peace doth swell in Shepheards heads
Lusts are like our flocks ypent,
Want of age doth barre consent,
Youth doth flourish with content.

But when elder dayes shall show,
Whether Swaines be men or no,
Loue shall rule in shepheards braines,
Grauitie shall guide the swaines.
Wanton thoughts shall then be checkt,
Shepheards shall no playes respect,
Age shall conquer youths defect.

Sing I then, heigh-ho for ioy,
Cause I yet am but a boy,
But when Shepheards boyes be men,
Ho my hart, what sing I then?
Heigh-ho—sorrow, Ioyes away,
Conqu'ring Loue ha's won the Day:
This is all my Roundelay.

Whilome when I was Collins loued boy,
(Ah, Collin, for thee, Collin, weep I now,)
For thou art dead, ah, that to me didst ioy,
As Coridon did to Alexis vow.
But (as I sed,) when I was Collins boy,
His deare young boy, and yet of yeares inow,
To leade his willing heard along the plaine,
I on his pipe did learne this singing vaine.

And oh, (well mote he now take rest therfore,)
How oft in pray'rs and songs he pray'd and sung,
That I (as had himselfe full long before,)
Mought liue a happy shepheard and a young;
And many vowes, and many wishes more,
When he his Pipe into my bosome flung:

And said, though Collin ne're shall be surpast,
Be while thou liu'st, as like him as thou maist.

Much was my deare therefore when Collin died,
When we (alacke) were both agreed in griefe:
He for his infant swaine, that me affide,
Yet happed not to liue to see my priefe.
And I that to his gouernance had tide
My bounden youth, in loosing such a chiefe:
Ah how wou'd he haue sung, and with what grace,
Ananders loue, and Muridellaes Face!

He wou'd haue blazed in eternall note,
Ananders Loue and worthy Manlines;
And then recorded with a wondrous throte,
His Muridellaes louely worthines;
And by those witching tunes he had by wrote,
Cur'd his Loues griefe with his desires succes;
And by his loftie pipe, and pleasing ditty,
Molted hir hearts hardnes with her Loues pitty.

Then mought full well these hils of Shepheards feed
Beene priuy to loues secret discontent,
And all these quarrels might ha beene agreed
And ended, by a Iudge so reuerent:
For he was letter'd well, and well couth reed,
And was a swaine profound and eloquent;
But now is left of him but bare report,
And I in fields must sing the Loues in Court.

Anander now, whose loues did waxe in age
So as they did in greatnes and in wait,
Sometimes bursts out into disbounded rage,
And cloy's his eager heart on Passions bait;
Sometimes the swelling minde begins to swage,
And slender hopes appeare, but vanish strait;
And Griefe drawes out the Anticks of his care,
Vpon his face, his bosome, and his haire.

Poore gentle youth, as yet a man vnwitting
With that true truth his arrand I had sed,
And with what milde respect, and hopefull pittying,
The answers of his loue were answered,
Liues wide from sumptuous Court, as one more fitting
To shrowd pale sicknes in a country bed:
And somtimes (though the space was farre between)
Casts his long looks, where his long Loues had been.

At length, what forc't by Loue, what by good-will,
Loue that he bore to hir, good-will to me,
It pleas'd him once more to salute this hill,
And me, and these my flocks that weakned be
For want of care and shepheards wary skill,
That for this while couth neuer well o're-see
Their fickle state, so greatly did me stir
The woe for him, the wondering at hir.

A weeping face (at first) I durst not shew him,
Lest he should swound in weening ill successe;
Nor wou'd I smile when I at first did view him,
Lest he shou'd dreame of greatest happinesse:

But look't as I look't when first I knew him,
Withouten change of feature, more or lesse:
So that my Count'nance cou'd him not disclose,
Great cause of ioyes, or greater meanes of woes.

Now while the action of his hand and foot,
Daunc't out the measures of his courtly greeting;
And I in silent bowes, and grosse salute,
Doubl'd the curteous Congees of our meeting:
His gentle heart, fed with no other fruite
But griefes sowre Plumme and Passions bitter sweeting,
Sends to the mouth the sighes that she had broken,
Where being shap't in words, they were thus spoken.

Sith is no doubt (young curteous boy) but thou
Hast seene my Loue vpon this gladsome plaine,
Therefore declare my doome vnto me now;
Declare thou happy, or vnhappy swaine;
Tell me what Muridella said, and how
Thou lik'st her speech, hir beauty, and hir traine:
Powre out hir praise to me with such a tongue
As vnto hir thou didst my loue and wrong.

Say, what she sed to thee, what to thy flocke,
What vnto me, and what vnto my Loue?
Say, did she pitty me, or did she mocke,
Or challenge witnes of the heau'ns aboue?
At what time came she, and at what a clocke
Went she away? for loue of mighty Ioue
Tell me, deere youth: and if my hopes succeed,
Ile crowne thy kindenes with a lib'rall deed.

For now my life stands on the crazie point
Of tott'ring hope, and feeble expectation:
Doubt trembles Agew-like in eu'ry ioynt,
And feare assaults with threats of desolation:
And now, vnless the balmes of comfort noint,
I die the luckelest man of all our nation;
Therefore discourse the fortunes of that day:
And at that word I thus began to say :—

That I this Lady faire haue seene and met,
Know wel mine eyes that were my arrands guide,
Out of whose circles is not vanisht yet
The Image of that beauty that they ey'd;
And that I told your loues and passions great
Shall by the iudgement of your selfe be try'd,
When lips vnlearned motion shal present you
With such a luke-warme answere as she sent you.

But first if you were not so farre in dote,
As that (O starres) you cou'd not iealous be,
Wonder would make me [to] digresse, and quote
Your answer, with the praise of blessed shee:
But at more leasure will I sing that note,
When in the vallies I alone shall bee.
Meanewhile (faire Knight) I will declare togither,
Your Ladies speech and my aduenture with hir.

At first, a comely Virgin groom that met me
For fauour to my tale I did beseech,

Who for a rude young Shepheard did outset me,
And with an answere of short carelesse speech
Runne from my earnest plaint; and scarce wou'd let me
Take knowledge, who was Muridell, and which:
And seeing then so little vexe hir maide,
I thought that nothing might to hir be saide.

At length a youth that led them o're the plaine,
A faire yong boy, of modest age and looke,
Clad in a silken garment di'd in graine,
As greene of hiew as Neptunes tidy brooke,
And a greene veluet cap of the same staine,
Wherein a plume of curled feathers stooke,
And round about his skirt, in seemly grace,
Thirteene bright circles made of siluer lace.

As it befell: this white-cheek'd youth and I,
Instead of bearding, chin'd at one another;
He, like a hauty spirit, obseruingly
Wou'd needs know what I go about, and whother;
I, in pure meekenesse, and in simplicy,
Leg'd him a faire excuse (sir) and no other;
While thus we both our wordey combate breake,
She gently heard me, and she bade me speake.

And what I sed full well to you is knowne,
Whose loue did lesson it to me before:

Vnles your thoughts cannot containe their owne,
Or memory let fall hir chiefest store,
That is, the teares, the pray'rs, the prayse, the mone,
That your great griefe vpon my lips did score;
And therefore read she halfe my message there,
And from my mouth the other halfe did beare.

She in milde termes repli'd, she wonderd much
That that faire knight shou'd bene so louely ill,
Sith she ne're knew that his desires were such
As to complaine the stiffnes of hir will.
And to be plaine, and giue the neerest tuch
Of that she vtter'd here vpon this hill,
She sed, some beautie had your loues ywon,
But loues to her were neither meant nor don.

Sometimes in sooth, (she couth it not deny,)
You wou'd in courtly dalliance, and in iest,
Discourse of your owne loues full amorously,
With much faire promises, and large protest;
And she hirselfe in sober contrary
Would answere as you aske, and bid you rest:
But that for hir you did so deerely pine,
She neuer thought it, by that Sun that shine.

Thou knowst (saith he) if youth debarre thee not,
That not in man can such dissemblance liue,
As faine himselfe vnsufferably hot,
Whenas his handes like melting yce forgiue,
Nor can yshroud himselfe in carelesse blot,
When in his thoughts the pangs of sorrowes grieue;

And that my Loues haue had time and appearing,
Be iudge thy youth, that giues me gentle hearing.

When first my youth was in that ages odnesse
That lacks the three bare twelue months of a score,
Loue was a suckling then in infant gladnesse
And onely liu'd on dalliance, and no more;
The eighteenth was the first yeare of his madnesse,
And greater were his randone then before;
The nineteenth yeare he silently befell
In single choyce of beauteous Muridell.

The twentith did I waste away in vttring
All that the yeare before I had fore-thought,
And this last tweluemonth is neere gone in suffring
The hard succeedings that my vttrance wrought;
If the next yield the like discomforting,
In such defects as sufferance hath brought,
The next to that is like to end in me
Loues long sixe yeares with Lifes short twenty-three.

Meane while, if thou fearst not the fellowship
Of lingring Loues infectious languishment,
In these delicious meades I will o're-slip
The wearisome discourse of discontent:
And in a shepheards humble out-side clip
My drouped Noblenesse, and liue vnkent
And vnrespected on the loanly hilles,
Till either Loue or Death conclude my illes.

My deare vnkind, that in the wanton Court
This while doth liue, admired and obaid,

Shall bide the blame of desperate report
From the grieu'd Nemesis of a minde decaid:
There let hir liue to dally and disport,
In selfe loues riuer, with hie beauties shade;
Vntil the louely Lilly of hir looke
Become the lowly Lilly of the brooke.

And those young Lordings, that with enuious eies
Tooke secret watch of my affection to hir,
Shall now haue time and liberty to guise
Their bounteous thoughts and gentle lips to woe hir,
And tire out their desiers unsuffice,
As I, the first, first did, when I first knew hir:
Till some more gallants suffer with Anander
The mastry of a feminine commander.

The eares of Ioue shall then be sicke to heare
The miserous complaint of courtly louers;
Old care shall clothe young loue as gray as freere,
When him with eie-deceiuing Anticks couers;
And men of Court shall dwell with shepheards heere,
And Pallace hawkes shall feast with Meadow plouers;
For thus none-sparing Loue did vanquish me,
That thought my selfe as strong as others be.

Though once I cou'd when I was weake and young,
(Is't not a wonder worthy three dayes weeping)

Contend in any game and be too strong
For Loue, that now hath all my strength in keeping:
Since in the Flower of Age I fall along,
Like vnto him that whilome at a meeting
Recoil'd rash wounding Death himself vpon,
When he with Sol durst throw the weighty stone.

O Hyacynth, how like thy case is mine!
Then from thy ventrous soule that flowrs didst bleed
When prowdly that presumptuous arme of thine
Attempted so vnpossible a deede:
I, while with Loue do in like combat ioine,
My courtly wanton turnes a meadow weed:
And shepheards seruants proue we both by that,
I grace his field, and thou dost decke his hat.

So shall this boie, whose eies ne're look't into
The fatall change of our Imperious state,
Be gouernour of those vnhappy twoo,
That in their glory found their glories date:
He that into a flowre dide long agoe,
He that into a weed chang'd now alate:
He that by Phœbus dide, by him suruiues;
He that by Muridella liu'd, and by hir dies.

And with this speech, and those dumbe sighes beside
Wherewith his lights shut vp his woes discourse,
His comely furnishments of courtly pride
He couers in a shape more homely worse;
And in a swainish Counterfet doth hide
His noble limmes, the ruines of Loues force:
And (O) it was to see a wondrous grace,
So deare a Iewell in so cheape a case.

I meane, saith he, a shepheards life to leade,
So long as Gods my Life a leading giue,
Or till that Lady shall salute this meade,
For whose deare hate I thus am bound to liue:
This wilfull penance put I on my head,
Which none but Muridella shall forgiue:
Till when, I liue that life in hope to mend it,
Or else in good-assurance ne're to end it.

If she proue kinde, as she was neuer yet,
(Though she in [euery] vertue else was blest)
Then shalbe voide the Couenants of this fit,
And ioyes shall lose the knot of strict Protest:
If still she in the like contempt doth sit,
My vowe continues as it is exprest:
Thus I am bound, though she the debt must pay,
And I must forfait, though she breake the day.

Herewith the youthfull noble-seeming swaine,
Adowne and set himselfe besiden me,
All in the middest of the lightsome plaine,
Where all around wee might our heardlams see;

Withouten signe or shew of nice disdaine,
The Shep-hooke in that hand receiued he
That was wont to beare the warlike lance,
And leade the Ladies many a courtly dance.

Thou ensigne of poore Life, badge of content,
Staffe of my cares, yet piller of my blisse,
Cheape relique of that ioie that is dispent,
And chiefe foundation of that ioie that is,
True watchman of those smiles that hopes present,
Strong porter of those griefes that hatred gi's,
Witnes of woes, my hooke, my hope as much,
The Shepheards weapon, and the Louers crutch.

I doe embrace thee, as I once imbrac't
(Saith he) that vertuous mistresse that I had,
When on the easie measure of hir waste
I in this sort desiringly fell mad.
Though vnto me thou yield'st not such repast,
Nor art so faire, nor art so gayly clad,
Yet looke how much hir beauties passe thy state,
So much thy Company excels hir hate.

Thus did the spirit of Ananders eie,
(Whose brightnes care had masked in a dim,)
Pertake with me the life of shepheardie,
As I both Life and Loue pertooke with him.
And vntill she relents, or till we die,
No second fortunes can in vs begin.
All liberties as thankles offers be,
Till Loue, that tide him vp, do set him free.

Till heau'ns aboue ordaine one pleasing day
Wherein that Angel of their iealous care,
That Muridella please to come this way,
And with hir foote steps lighter then the aire
Trip through the dwellings of hir amorous boy,
And chear'd his droup't limmes with embracings faire,
Anetor hath Ananders loues in keepe,
And faire Anander hath Anetors sheepe.

Till then, yee Gods, ordaine vs both good speed,
In Loues and flocks presented to your care;
And when your grace shall stand vs in such steed,
To end a Loues griefe, and do a happy chare,
Ile sacrifice the fairest lambe I feed,
And tune my pipe againe: and then prepare
One Dittie more, wherein the world shall view
How much you fauour vs, wee honour you.

FINIS.

—Quando vacat, quando est iucunda relatu,
historiam prima repetens ab origine pandam.

GREAT BRITTAINES SUNNES-SET.

BEWAILED WITH A SHOWER OF TEARES

BY WILLIAM BASSE.

GREAT BRITTAINES SUNNES-SET.

To His Honourable Master, Sr. Richard Wenman, Knight.

1

A soule ore-laden with a greater Summe
Of ponderous sorrow then she can sustaine,
(Like a distressed sayle that labours home)
Some object seekes, whereto she may complaine:
Not that (poore Soule) hir object can draw from
Hir groaning breast th' occasion of hir paine;
But, over-charg'd with Teares, shee (widow-like) bestowes
Upon her best friends eares some children of her woes.

2

Not (like as when some triviall discontents
First taught my raw and luckless youth to rue)

Doe I to Flockes, now, utter my laments,
Nor choose a tree, or streame, to mourn unto:
My waightier sorrow now (Deare Sir) presents
These hir afflicted features to your view,
Whose free and noble mind (were not this griefe your owne)
Would to my plaints be kind, if I complain'd alone.

3

But such true arguments of inward woe
In your sad face I lately have beheld,
As if your teares (like floods that overflowe
Their liquid shores) alone would have excell'd
This generall Deluge of our eies, that so
Sea-like our earth-like cheekes hath over-swell'd:
As if your heart would send forth greatest lamentation,
Or striue to comprehend our universall passion.

4

And as th' occasion (Sir) may justly moue
To maid-like sorrow the most man-like heart;
So may your griefe (to your beholders) proue
The justice of His grace, and your desart.
For teares and sighs are th' issues of true loue:
Our present woes our former joies imparte.
He loues the living best, who for the dead mournes most:
He merits not the rest, who not laments the lost.

5

To you I therefore weepe: To you alone
I shew the image of your teares, in mine;
That mine (by shewing your teares) may be show'n
To be like yours, so faithfull, so divine:
Such, as more make the publique woe their owne,
Then their woe publique; such as not confine
Thēselves to times, nor yet forms frō examples borrow:
Where losse is infinit, there boundlesse is the sorrow.

6

O let us (Muse) this heavynesse (that no
Just heart, vncleft, at one time can sustaine)
By fittes, and preparations vndergoe:
Let's feare, let's hope: tremble; and hope againe:
O, let us this dysastrous truth ne'er know;
But rather deafe and stupefied remaine:
For happier much it were the hearing sence to loose,
Then loose all sence to heare such an unhappy newes.

7

Like to a changeling (in his sleepes) become
Rob'd of his sexe, by some prodigious cause;
I am turn'd woman: wat'rish feares benumbe
My Heate: my Masculine existence thawes
To teares, wherein I could againe entombe
His tombe, or penetrate hir marble jawes:

But, O, why should I twice entombe him! O what folly
Were it to pierce (with sighes) a monument so holy!

8

Here then run forth thou River of my woes
In ceaselesse currents of complaining verse:
Here weepe (young Muse) while elder pens compose
More solemne Rites vnto his sacred Hearse.
And, as when happy earth did, here, enclose
His heav'nly minde, his Fame then Heav'n did pierce;
Now He in Heav'n doth rest, now let his Fame earth fill:
So both him then posses'd, so both possesse him still.

9

Or like a Nymph distracted or undone
With blubber'd face, hands wrong, neglected haire,
Run through moist Valleys, through wide deserts run;
Let speech-lesse Eccho eccho thy dispaire.
Declare th' vntimely Set of Brittaines Sun
To sorrowing Shepheards: to sad Nymphes declare
That such a night of woes his Occident doth follow,
That Day in darknes clothes, and mourner makes Apollo.

10

But of his partes thinke not t'expresse the least
Whom Nature did the best in all things forme.

First, borne a Prince (next to his Father) best;
Then, fram'd a Man, to be as he was borne:
Beauty his youth beyond all others blest,
Vertues did him beyond his youth adorne.
What Muse, what voice, what pen, cā give thee all thy duties?
O Prince of Princes, mē: youth, wisdō, deeds, and beauties.

11

Fates, that so soone beheld his Fame enrould,
Put to his golden thred their envious sheeres:
Death fear'd his magnanimitie to behold,
And (in his sleepe) basely reveng'd his feares:
Time, looking on his wisdom, thought him old,
And laid his rash Sythe to his Primest yeares:
Stars, that (in loue) did long t'embrace so faire a myrrhour,
Wink'd at Fates envious wrong, Death's treason, and Times errour.

12

O Fates, O Time, O Death, (But you must all
Act the dread will of your Immortal Guide)
O Fates, How much more life did you appaule,
When you his liuely texture did divide!
O Time, when by thy sythe this Flow'r did fall,
How many thousands did'st thou wound beside!

O Death, how many deathes is of that life compacted,
That, from all living breathes, his only death extracted!

13

How many braue Deedes ha's the wounded wombe
Of Hope mis-carryed, now, before their time!
How many high designes have seene their doome
Before their birth, Or perish'd in their Prime!
How many beauties drown'd are in his tombe!
How many glories, with him, heav'ns do clime!
How many sad cheekes mourne, Him laid in Earth to see,
As they to earth would turne, his Sepulcher to be!

14

Like a high Pyramis, in all his towers
Finish'd this morning, and laid prostrate soone;
Like as if Nighte's blacke and incestuous howers
Should force Apollo's beauty before Noone:
Like as some strange change in the heav'nly powers
Should in hir Full quench the refulgent Moone:
So He, his daies, his light, and his life (here) expir'd,
New-built, most Sū-like, bright Ful Mā, and most admir'd.

15

But Heav'ns, Disposers of all Life and Death,
That our pied pride, and wretched liues mislike,

Tooke Him that's gone (from vs) to better breath,
Vs that remaine with death (from him) to strike.
His flower-like youth here, there more flourisheth;
His graces then, are now more Angel-like.
Those glories, that in Him so shone, now shine much more;
Our glories now are dim, that shin'd in him before.

16

And thou faire Ile, whose threefold beauties face
Enchants the Three-fork'd Scepter of thy Lover,
That with thine owne eies drown'st thy lap, the place
That his enamour'd armes and streames would cover;
Make true and twofold use of griefe, That grace
May with affliction now it selfe discouer.
These teares thou dost begin to shed for Henryes sake,
Continue for thy sinne, which made Heav'n Henry take.

17

That thy just James, who hitherto hath sway'd
Thy Scepter Many-fold and ample Frame,
Many more ages yet may live obay'd
T'enlarge thy glories, and to yeeld the same
Divine examples vnto Charles that made
Henry so noble, and so great in Fame.
For who but such a King as He can such another
In place of Henry bring? who match him but a Brother?

18

And neighbour Lands, to whome our moanes we lent,
May to our greater losse now lend us theirs.
Florence hir old Duke mourn'd; but we lament
A greater then a Duke in flow'ring yeares.
Spaine for a Queene hir eyes sad moisture spent:
We for a Prince (and for a Man) shed teares.
But France, whose cheek's still wet, nearest our griefe hath smarted;
For she from Henry Great, wee from Great Henry, parted.

19

And thus, as I haue seene an even showre
(When Phœbus to Joues other splendent heyres
Bequeath'd the Day) down from Olympus powre,
When Earth in teares of Trees, and Trees in tears
Of Mountaines wade; Like some neglected flowre
(Whose sorrow is scarce visible with theirs)
Downe to my silent brest my hidden face I bow:
My Phœbus in his Rest hath hid his heav'nly brow.

FINIS.

A MORNING AFTER MOVRNING.

Let me no longer presse your gentle eies,
Be'ing of themselues franke of religious teares:
But stanch these streames with solace from the Skies
Whence Hymen deck'd in Saffron robes appeares.
Let Henry now rest in our memories,
And let the Rest, rest in our eies and eares.
Now He hath had his Rites, Let Those have their adorning
By whose bright beames our Night of mourning ha's a morning.

100

And now (my Muse) unmasque thee: And see how
A second Sonne in Henries place doth shine.
See Fiue great Feastes all meete in one Day, now.
Our Maker keepes his Sabaoth most divine.
Isis and Rhene are joyn'd in sacred vow;
And faire Eliza's Fredericke's Valentine.
The Court in joy attires hir splendent brow:
The Country shroues; And all in mirth combine.
Fiue-times be hallowed The Day wherein God rests,
Saints triumph, Princes wed; and Court and Coūtry feaste's.

FINIS.

103

COMMENDATORY VERSES TO WILLIAM BROWNE'S “BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.”

To Mr. Browne.

Were there a thought so strange as to deny
That happy Bayes doe some mens Births adorne,
Thy work alone might serue to iustifie
That Poets are not made so, but so borne.
How could thy plumes thus soone haue soard thus hie
Hadst thou not Lawrell in thy Cradle worne?
Thy Birth o'er-took thy Youth: and it doth make
Thy youth (herein) thine elders ouer-take.

W.B.

107

VERSES FROM THE “ANNALIA DUBRENSIA.”

London, 1636.

To the Noble and Fayre Assemblies, the harmonious Concourse of Muses, and their Joviall entertainer, my right Generous Friend, Master Robert Dover, upon Cotswold.

1

You faire assemblies that renowne
These Mountaines with th' Olimpick sport,
And Sisters sweete, that make this downe
Parnassus like, by your resort,
Since Shepheards of each neighbour'd Towne,
Enamour'd of your rare report
Their honours to this meeting bring,
Yee looke your Swaine his part should sing.

2

For Songs as sweete, as hallowes deepe,
Deserves the sport, whose harmelesse ends

108

Are to helpe Nature life to keepe,
And second Love, in joyning friends;
That neither breakes the loosers sleepe,
Nor winner home Triumphing sends;
Where none, a little gold so spent,
Nor Time more pretious, need repent.

3

Where no vaine Card, nor witching dy,
Doth Gamster strip of lands or clothes;
No impious mouth makes blushing sky
Reverberate with thundring oathes;
Nor Earth's neate face doth slubber'd lie
In foule excesse, that nature loathes:
Furies that Masque in shapes of sport,
And, sted of lengthning, cut life short.

4

But where men meet, not for delight
So much, as for delight to meete;
And where, to use their Pastime right,
They make it not so great, as sweete;
Where Love doth, more then gaine, invite,
Hands part at last as first they greete;
And loosers none, where all that's plaid
With friendship won may not be weigh'd.

5

Where horse not for his price doth ride,
More then his truth (a match as faire);

109

And Grey-hound is for Coller tride,
More then for death of harmlesse Hare;
And kennells pack't, that how they cry'd,
Not what they kill'd, men may declare;
For hunters most heroyick are they,
That seeke the prise and shun the prey.

6

Where bountifull horizons give
Vs shepheards leave, that walke on foote,
As long to see the Leurett live,
As hee that rides with bloodie boote:
Where Cinthias horne, and Floras sive,
Give Viletts breath, and Cowslipps roote;
And Lillies chaste, by chaster treades
Of Damsells, more perfume their Beds.

7

Brave DOVER, from whose Ioviall hand
Their yearely Life these revells take,
In mid'st whereof doth shining stand
Thy Castle built for solace sake,
Which is so well with vertue man'd,
That vice dare no approaches make:

110

Still may thy ports all good retaine,
And Ordnance batter all thats' vaine.

8

The Sun the day will then delay,
Still more to view thy Troupes so sweete;
The Earth will lay with carpets gay
Her bosome for their gentle feete;
Aprill and May strive which of they
Most freshly shall thee yeerely meete:
And learned Nymphs by Stower sing
As by the Pegasean Spring.

9

For, of all honour to thy sport,
Tis not the least that thou didst chuse
To furnish thy renowned Fort
With straines of every gentle Muse;
For by the power of their report
New ages still doe old peruse,
Forbidding Time, or Hate, to kill
Deeds, honest, sav'd by honest quill.

10

Enough of this, the slendrest Oate
That Mirth hath to your Mountaine brought:

111

But Muses just from Shepheards throate
Except no more then they have taught,
But now, if Art will lend a noate
Where shee has borrowed many a thought,
To Pipe, or Lyre, or Violl strung,
Which others reade, let mee bee sung.

—dulcia sunt que
Rarius eveniunt solatia—

William Basse.

115

ELEGY ON SHAKESPEARE

[_]

From Lansdowne MS. temp. James I. On Mr. Wm. Shakespeare. he dyed in aprill 1616.

Renowned Spencer lye a thought more nye
To learned Chaucer, and rare Beaumond lye
A little neerer Spenser, to make roome
For Shakespeare in your threefold, fowerfold Tombe.
To lodge all fowre in one bed make a shift
Vntill Doomesdaye, for hardly will a fift
Betwixt ys day and yt by Fate be slayne,
For whom your Curtaines may be drawn againe.

116

If your precedency in death doth barre
A fourth place in your sacred sepulcher,
Vnder this carued marble of thine owne,
Sleepe, rare Tragœdian, Shakespeare, sleep alone;
Thy unmolested peace, vnshared Caue,
Possesse as Lord, not Tenant, of thy Graue,
That vnto us & others it may be
Honor hereafter to be layde by thee.

Wm. Basse.

117

ELEGY ON SHAKESPEARE,
[_]

as given in Fennell's “Shakespeare Repository,” 1853, p. 10, from a MS. temp. Charles I.

Mr. Basse On Mr. William Shakespeare.

Renowned Spencer lie a thought more nigh
To learned Beaumont, and rare Beaumont ly
A little nearer Chaucer, to make rome
For Shakespeare in your threfold, fourfold tombe.
To lodge all fouer in one bed make a shifte
Vntil Domes day, for hardly will (a) fifte
Betwixt this day and that by fate bee slaine,
For whom the curtains shal bee drawne, againe.
But if Precedencie in death doe barre
A fourth place in your sacred Sepulcher,
In this uncarved marble of thy owne,
Sleepe, brave Tragedian, Shakespeare, sleepe alone;
Thy unmolested rest, unshared cave,
Possesse as lord, not tenant, to thy grave,
That unto others it may counted bee
Honour hereafter to bee layed by thee.

121

COMMENDATORY VERSES TO MASSINGER'S PLAY, “THE BONDMAN.”

The Authors Friend to the Reader.

The Printers haste calls on; I must not driue
My time past Sixe, though I begin at Fiue.
One houre I haue entire, and 'tis enough:
Here are no Gipsie Iigges, no Drumming stuffe,
Dances, or other Trumpery to delight,
Or take by common way the common sight.
The Avthor of this Poem, as he dares
To stand th' austerest Censure, so he cares
As little what it is. His owne Best way
Is, to be Iudge and Avthor of his Play
It is his Knowledge makes him thus secure;
Nor do's he write to please, but to endure.
And (Reader) if you haue disburs'd a shilling

122

To see this worthy Story, and are willing
To haue a large encrease, (if rul'd by me)
You may a Marchant and a Poet be.
'Tis granted for your twelue-pence you did sit,
And See, and Heare, and Vnderstand not yet,
The Avthor (in a Christian pitty) takes
Care of your good, and Prints it for your sakes:
That such as will but venter Six-pence more,
May Know, what they but Saw and Heard before:
'Twill not be money lost, if you can reed,
(Ther's all the doubt now); but your gains exceed
If you can Vnderstand, and you are made
Free of the freest and the noblest trade.
And in the way of Poetry, now adayes,
Of all that are call'd Workes, the best are Playes.

W.B.

125

THE ANGLERS SONG

[_]

(from Walton's “Complete Angler”).

As inward love breeds outward talk,
The Hound some praise, and some the Hawk;
Some, better pleas'd with private sport,
Use Tenis; some a Mistris court:
But these delights I neither wish,
Nor envy, while I freely fish.

Who hunts, doth oft in danger ride;
Who hauks, lures oft both far & wide;
Who uses games, may often prove
A loser; but who fals in love,
Is fettered in fond Cupids snare:
My Angle breeds me no such care.

Of Recreation there is none
So free as fishing is alone;
All other pastimes do no less
Then mind and body both possess;
My hand alone my work can do,
So I can fish and study too.

I care not, I, to fish in seas,
Fresh rivers best my mind do please,

126

Whose sweet calm course I contemplate,
And seek in life to imitate;
In civil bounds I fain would keep
And for my past offences weep.

And when the timerous Trout I wait
To take, and he devours my bait,
How poor a thing, sometimes I find,
Will captivate a greedy mind;
And when none bite, I praise the wise
Whom vain alurements ne're surprise.

But yet, though while I fish I fast,
I make good fortune my repast;
And thereunto my friend invite,
In whom I more then that delight:
Who is more welcome to my dish,
Then to my Angle was my fish.

As well content no prize to take,
As use of taken prize to make;
For so our Lord was pleased, when
He Fishers made Fishers of men;
Where (which is in no other game)
A man may fish and praise his name.

The first men that our Saviour dear
Did chuse to wait upon him here,
Blest Fishers were; and fish the last
Food was, that he on earth did taste:
I therefore strive to follow those
Whom he to follow him hath chose.

W.B.

129

THE HUNTERS SONG.

I

Long e're the Morn
Expects the Return
Of Apollo from th' Ocean Queen;
Before the Creak
Of the Crow and the Break
Of the day in the welkin seen;
Mounted he'd hallow
And chearfully follow
To the Chace with his Bugle clear:
Eccho doth he make
And the Mountains shake
With the Thunder of his Career.

II

Oft doth he trace
Through Wood, Parke and Chase,
When he mounteth his Steed aloft:
Oft he doth runne
Beyond farre his home
And deceiveth his pillow soft:

130

Oft he expects,
Yet still hath defects,
For still he is crost by the Hare:
But more often he bounds
To the cry of his Hounds,
And doth thunder out his Careere.

III

Now bonny Bay
With his foame waxeth gray,
Dapple Gray waxeth bay with blood;
White Lilly stops
With the scent in her chaps,
And Black-Lady makes it good.
Sorrowful Watte
Her widowes estate
Forgets, these delights for to hear;
Nimbly she bounds
To the cry of the Hounds
And the Musick of their Career.

IV

Hills with the heat
Of the Gallopers sweat,
Reviving their Frozen Tops;
The Dales purple Flowres,
The[y] spring from the showers
That down from the Rowels drops:
Swains their repast,
And Strangers their haste
Neglect when the Horns they do hear;
To see a fleet
Pack of Hounds in a Sheet,
And the Hunter in his Career.

131

V

Thus he Careers
Over Heaths, over Meers,
Over Deeps, over Downs, over Clay;
Till he hath wonne
The day from the Sunne,
And the Evening from the Day.
His sport then he ends,
And joyfully wends
Home again to his Cottage, where
Frankly he feasts
Himself and his Guests
And carouseth to his Career.

135

TOM A BEDLAM.

[_]

(For a Bass alone.)

[[I.]]

Forth from the dark and dismal Cell,
Or from the deep abiss of Hell,
Mad Tom is come to view the World again,
To see if he can Cure his destemper'd Brain:

Fears and Cares oppress my Soul;
Hark, how the angry Furies howl;
Pluto laughs, and Proserpine is glad,
To see poor angry Tom of Bedlam mad.

Through the World I wander night and day,
To find my stragling Senses,
In an angry mood I met Old Time
With his Pentateuch of Tenses;

136

When me he spies,
Away he flies,
For Time will stay for no man;
In vain with cryes,
I rend the Skies,
For Pity is not common.

Cold and comfortless I lye,
Help, help, oh help, or else I dye!
Hark, I hear Apollo's Team,
The Carman 'gins to whistle;
Chast Diana bends her Bow,
And the Boar begins to bristle.

Come Vulcan with Tools and with Tackles,
To knock off my troublesome shackles:
Bid Charles make ready his Wain,
To bring me my Senses again.

II.

Last Night I heard the Dog-star bark,
Mars met Venus in the Dark;
Limping Vulcan heat an Iron Bar,
And furiously made at the great God of War.

Mars with his weapon laid about,
Limping Vulcan had got the Gout;
His broad Horns did hang so in his light,
That he could not see to aim his blows aright.

137

Mercury the nimble Post of Heaven
Stood still to see the Quarrel;
Gorrel-belly'd Bacchus, Gyant-like,
Bestrid a Strong-beer Barrel:

To me he Drank,
I did him thank,
But I could drink no Sider;
He drank whole Buts,
'Till he burst his Guts,
But mine was ne're the wider.

Poor Tom is very Dry;
A little Drink, for Charity:
Hark! I hear Aeteon's Hounds,
The Huntsman Hoops and Hollows;
Ringwood, Rockwood, Jowler, Bowman,
All the Chace doth follow.

The Man in the Moon drinks Clarret,
Eats Powder'd-Beef, Turnep, and Carret:
But a Cup of Malligo Sack
Will fire the Bush at his Back.

143

POLYHYMNIA

A POEM

WRITTEN BY William Basse, Gent.

Nos convivia, nos prœlia virginum
Sectis in juvenes unguibus acrium
Cantamus vacui, sive quod urimur,
Non præter solitum leves.
Hor. I. Ode 6.

149

To the Right noble and vertuous Lady, the Lady Bridget, Countess of Lindsey, and Baroness of Eresbie and Ricot.

1

This Laureat Nymph, one of the daughters nine
Of fruitfull Memory, whose maine delight
Is various verse, to honour those who shine
In noble deeds, true fame, and vertues bright
(And therefore by her Parents both divine
By name of Polihymnia stiled right),
No more contented with the slender light
Of my poore bower, Thus venters to arise
Into the rayes of your resplendant eyes.

2

For why, she (like her other sisters) knowes
Renowned Ricots garlands still are seene

150

Like to the Bayes that on Pernassus growes,
And there shall last eternally as greene:
Where Love in friends, and feare in forraigne foes
To Norreys namein former dayes, are seene
As fresh as if they yesterday had beene:
And you (Rare Lady) both in birth and spirit
The only heire that all their worthes inherit.

3

Now since the happy humor of this Muse
(Happy in choyce of noblenesse so true)
Aymes at your vertuous hand, lest she should loose
Through my obscuritie the way thereto,
She humbly sues that she the light may use
Of your bright eyes to lead her unto you
Load-star too radiant such prize to view,
But noble grace enriches what is poore,
The lesse the merit, th'honor is the more.

4

For had not you into this twofold light,
Of Muse-befreinding Phœbus, and your owne,

151

Commanded them, my slender Poems might
In dark obscuritye have slept unknowne.
Whence, so by you redeem'd, These (as your right,
Illustrious Lady) wait on you alone,
Their life to lengthen, by depending on
Your name and vertues that will live renown'd
While Fame has breath her ivory Trump to sound.

153

To the Right Hon. Francis Lord Norreys, Earl of Berkshire (In his dayes).

(Fragment.)

5

O true nobilitie, and rightly grac'd
With all the jewels that on thee depend;
Where goodnesse doth wth greatnesse live embrac'd,
And outward stiles on inward worth attend;
Where ample lands in ample hands are plac'd,
And ancient deeds with ancient coats descend:
Where noble bloud combin'd with noble spirit
Forefathers fames doth, with their formes, inherit:

154

6

Where ancestors examples are perus'd
Not in large tomes or costly tombs alone,
But in their heires; and, being dayly us'd,
Are (like their robes) more honourable growne:
Where Loyalty with Piety is infus'd,
And publique rights are cherished wth their owne;
Where worth still finds respect; good friend, good word;
Desart, reward. And such is Ricot's Lord.

7

But what make I (vaine voyce) in midst of all
The Quires that have already sung the fame
Of this great House, and those that henceforth shall
(As that will last) for ever sing the same?
But if on me my garland justly fall,
I justly owe my musique to this name:
For he unlawfully usurps the Bayes,
That has not sung in noble Norrey's prayse.

8

In playne (my honour'd Lord) I was not borne,
Audacious vowes, or forraigne legs, to use;
Nature denyed my outside to adorne,
And I of art to learne outsides refuse.
Yet, haveing of them both enough to scorne
Silence & vulgar prayse, this humble Muse,
And her meane favourite, at yor com̄and
Chose, in this kinde, to kisse your noble hand.

155

To the Right Hon. the Lady Viscountess Falkland, upon her going into Ireland, two Sonnets.

What happy song might my Muse take in hand,
Great Lady, to deserve your Muses care?
Or skill to hold you in this amorous land,
That held you first, and holds you still so deare?
Must needs your anchor taste another sand,
Cause you your praise are nobly loth to heare?
Be sure your praises are before you there,

156

How much your fame exceeds your Caracts sayle:
Nay, more than so; your selfe are every where
In worth, but where the world of worth doth fayle.
What boots it, then, to drive, or what to steere?
What doth the axle or the ore avayle?
Since whence you ride you cannot part away,
And may performe your voyage, though you stay.

157

THE YOUTH IN THE BOAT.

(Fragment.)

When we our young and wanton houres
Have spent in vaine delight,
To shew you how celestiall powers
At length can set us right;

How they can frame our mindes unfixt
Unto their just directions,
When waveringly we reele betwixt.
Opinions or affections;

158

How fatall it may sometimes prove
Unto our frayle estate,
Vainly to hate what we should love,
And love what we should hate.

1

For some unknowne, but grievous crime
Against the Gods committed,
A young man on a time, (sad time,
And young man to be pittyed)

2

Put forth to Sea (when Sea was swell'd
With winde and tempest sore)
Abourd a little Barque, which held
Himselfe, and but two more.

3

As Master, Mate, and Sayler far'd
This youth, and with his hand
Rul'd Helme and Rudder, Sayle and Cord,
And Boat both steer'd and man'd.

4

And though the building of this Boate
Concernes my tale not much,
Nor much it doth deserve your note
The workmans name to touch—

5

Her Keele was all of Cypresse built,
Her Mast of fragrant Firre;
Her Oares were Ivory, Sterne was guilt,
And calk'd she was with Myrrh.

159

6

He that her Ship-wright was, and made
Her timber-worke, is thought
To be young Perdix, who this trade
By Dedalus was taught.

7

Her Sayles, some say, Arachne wove,
They were so richly done:
And that Ulisses constant Love
Her flaxen Cable spun.

8

And grant all this for true, (or true
Though grant it to be thought)
Yet works of Art, how short are you
Of works by Nature wrought?

9

For though this Barke was but three strong,
(Weake Vessel! strong but three,)
Tall Ship from Indian voyage long
Ne're brought such prize as she.

10

For with two Damsells was she lade,
The one of beauty such

160

The Captaine her his idoll made,
And she him scorn'd as much.

11

The other though not all so bright
As was her Mate; yet one
That in him tooke all true delight,
But he in her tooke none.

12

No other ballast (then) did trim
This Ship: you may conceit
His Love to one, one's Love to him,
Made both sides equall weight.

13

And Neèdle (sure) she needed none
By poynt or pole to passe,
When he was Loadstone unto one,
And one his Load-star was. [OMITTED]

161

FRAGMENTS

[_]

(Probably from the poem entitled “Of Witham House, Oxfordshire, the house of a Noble Knight and favourer of my Muse”).

These prov'd themselves from Pegasus derived:
There doth the northern spur oft draw a rayne
From the fleet flanks of Barbary or Spayne,

162

And wilde Arabia, whose tincture dyed
Greene earth with purple staynes of bestiall pride.
[OMITTED]
Lo! but too ofte of man and horse, when young,
The naked heele and hammered hoofe I sung;
Which now to heare, or reade, might please some men,
Perchance, as youthful now as I was then.

L'ENVOY.

[_]

(From the Cole MS.)

Go, sweet Polymnia, Thanks for all your Cost
And Love to me; wherein no Love is lost.
As you have taught me various verse to use,
I have taught you to be a Christian Muse.

165

THE PASTORALS AND OTHER WORKES OF WILLIAM BASSE

Dat frondem fronti singula Musa meæ

167

TO MR. WILLIAM BASSE upon the now publishing of his Poems.

Basse, whose rich mine of wit wee here behold,
As Porseland earth, more precious cause more old,
Who like an aged oake so long hast stood
And art Religion now as well as food,
Though thy gray Muse grew up with elder times
And our deceased Grandsires lisp'd thy Rhymes,
Yet we can sing thee too, and make that Bayes
Which deckes thy brow looke fresher wth thy praise.
Some Poets, like some fashions, onely fit
One age or place; you to mankind haue writ:
Whose well-weigh'd fancy flyes an even pitch,
And neither creepes, nor soares beyond our reach.
Like some cleare streame, whose everlasting store
Still filles it's bankes, and yet not drownes the shore,

168

Art governes Nature's bounty, and your Feast
Feares no Cookes palat, yet contents the guest:
Where wealth like Guajan's gold i'th surface dwelles,
As the best Kernelles haue the thinnest shelles;
Not lesse in worth, cause more attain'd with ease:
You can even Criticks without Criticks please:
Seene by your owne light still your vaine so flowes
It yeildes good verse without the helpe of prose:
Where a soft strength, and generous handsomnesse,
Shewes like Achilles in a female dresse:
Like polish'd steele where force and smoothnes meet,
Or like the riddle of the strong and sweet.
Goe then secure into the armes of Fame;
Applause, which others beg, is your iust claime.
Goe censure-proofe, (as when Apelles lay
Behinde his worke, list'ning what all would say,
The worke stood yet unalter'd; and now more
We praise his modesty then skill before.)
That when some greater names admired lye,
But let alone, men may reade yours and buy.
Though these your happy births haue silent past
More yeares then some abortiue wits shall last,
He still writes new, who once so well hath sung;
That Muse can ne're be old which ne're was young.

R. B.

169

CLIO

or The first Muse in 9 Eglogues in honor OF 9 VERTUES

To the right honorable Sr Richard Wenman, Knt, Baron of Kilmainham, Lord Wis-Count Wenman of Tuham, my much honoured Lord & Master.
[_]

(As it was in his dayes intended)

Since, (Noble Lord), your groues haue been the bowers
Where Shepheards songs not onely sung haue been,

170

But Shepheards selues been sheltred from the powers
Of Summers heate and blastes of Winters keene,
The gentle fruites of all these freindly howers
To climbe your hand are thus ambitious seene.
For Swaine is none so simple on the greene
But knowes these honors all so much your due,
That other claime there can be none between
Your title unto them and theirs to you.
For this, that of all Ilandes is the Queene,
Neuer Mæcenas bred more nobly true:
And O what vertue more, then life to giue
To verse, whereby all other vertues liue?

The famous Shepheard Collin, whom we looke
Never to match, (though follow him we may

171

That follow sheep, and carry scrip and hooke)
By iust aduantage of his time and way
Has plac'd the moneths in his eternall booke,
All in their owne due order and aray;
(A Kalendar to last, we cannot say
For one yeare, but as long as yeares shal bee);
Yet of the weeke has left me euery day
Vertues to sing, though in more low degree.
And could they reach, my Lord, a higher key,
Yours as the Shepheard is the songes should be.
Great merit may claime grace in Noble breast;
Favour is greatest where desart is least.

And were I not an English workeman right,
That neuer thought his worke enough well done,
These sooner had unto your noble sight
Been off'red by the all beholding Sun.
Pardon the bashfull Shepheard: Tis no slight
Aduenture through a world of eyes to run.
As in some Clymate half a yeare is spun
Away by Night before the Day appeare,
And when Aurora there hath rayes begun
There is againe no Night for halfe a yeare;
Like that is this my Muse, who, hauing won
From halfe an ages sleep a Morning cleare
Of your aspect and favour, hopes she may
For so long Night purchase perpetuall Day.

Your Lordships uery humble servant, Will: Basse.

172

AN APOLOGIE TO CLIO & HER SISTERS.

1

Renowne of Nymphes, that sits on verdant throne,
Where Lawrell chast doeth thy chast temples crowne,
On stately hill to neighbour starres well knowne,
And deck'd by Phœbus in a flowery gowne,
Yet has't in all this glory looked downe
On me so worthles Swayne in simple guise;
Blest favours that descend from vertuous eyes!

173

2

Lo, here the fruits of thine owne bounty wrought
In measures such as granted was thy Swaine,
Whenas admiring thee (O Muse) I sought
Renowne (whereof thou Mistresse art) to gaine,
Though full of earthly imperfections' staine.
New wine shall spirit loose in vessell olde,
And so shall heau'nly guift in earthly molde.

3

Let not offended be thy noble state
(What can, though meane, if honest, Muse offend?)
That I my songes so simply literate
Entitle to thy hand; from whence descend
The stately Storyes that haue oft been pen'd,
And workes of wonder, that in antique age
Were done by Writers graue and Singers sage.

4

But thou art first of all the sisters nine
(Nine Ladyes great, and yet none wrong'd thereby)
For place is set to all estates that shine
And starres their limits know. The hand on hye
That framed all things fram'd this heraldry,
Which harmony preserues, and order frees
From blinde confusion that knowes no degrees.

174

5

And these poore numbers clad in Swainish maske
Are eldest issues of my slender quill.
Much worthier tribute might thy favours aske,
But that the strength of thy infused skill
Is lessen'd by my frailty imbecill.
Great minde that more receiues may render more;
Small can no more then it receiues restore.

6

But some (perchance) in my too hasty prime
May haue escap'd my young and looser hand,
And fare as fruits fallen before their time.
Pardon what pass'd ere I did understand
The sober method of thy graue command;
And let it be to youth not too much blame
Lightly to erre in coueting of Fame.

7

Much workes on our fond youth our elders praise:
(And when we well doe, praises doe as well.)
Strongest is selfe-conceit in weakest dayes:
Wee vainly deeme our selues our times t'excell
When time and selues we want; whereby hath fell
Full often from green reed of youthfull Swaine
Much musique wilde, that age would call againe.

8

Of these light layes some heretofore were made,
When as alone (my but too much delight)
Vnder the diff'ring bowers of Sun and Shade
I sat, and thought no ill to liuing wight,
But good to all, (to some but too much right);

175

And to the world might haue been heard & seene
Long since, that long has mus'd where they haue beene.

9

For many elder shepheards, and more such
As deeper diu'd haue in your happy springes,
This sloath of mine haue oft condemned much,
And forward workes blam'd for so backward winges;
And would with pitty say so harmeles thinges,
That merit may the grace of pleasant light,
Should not obscured rest in endles night.

10

And certainly, as Painter doeth not lim
A liuely peice in closet darke to hide,
Nor Nature doeth the earth with flowers trim
In her black womb to drowne againe their pride,
Nor harmles verse is made to lay aside.
Iewell as good ne're had, as neuer worne:
Neglected fame may iustly turne to scorne.

11

Yet (Noble Muses) doe I not repent
That I this sloth (if sloth it be) did use
Ere I these songes into the world haue sent;
Since Time the while hath taught me how to chuse
What hopefull are, and others to refuse,
At whose undeck'd and childish rudenes you
Would then haue blush'd, and now your Shepheard too.

176

12

As worthles drosse with precious metall growes,
As sweetest nut doth bitter worme conceiue,
As painted fly doth blast the gallant rose,
To our best actions imperfections cleaue.
Our vanities our serious thoughts deceiue,
And Vice is subtill, and with cunning snares
Oft steales on human weakenes unawares.

13

But like as carefull Shepheard sheds the sound
From sheep diseas'd, that might infection breed;
And heedfull husband, that manures the ground,
Culles harmfull cockle from his hopefull seed;
Seeke I my verse of vicious staines to weed,
That none may blush a worke to looke upon
Of vertues some, of wilfull vices none.

your servant Colliden

177

TO THE READER

This Shepheards plaine apologie (deare Freind)
To me addres'd, to you I recommend:
Since I conceiue, and (sure) I not mistake,
Tis done for yours, as well as for my sake.
Let this therefore, at my request, suffize
Into the rest to leade your gentle eyes;
(Though little to expect from promise lesse;
They onely much doe owe that much professe).
But you shall finde, as tis true Shepheards part
In simple weeds to masque an honest heart,
So in his songes, of slender composition,
Some vertue is his innocent ambition.
If brightest Iewell, and of richest worth,
Is by the darkest foyle the more set forth,
Without all question we the more should prize
Any true vertue found in swaynish guize.
Hee (if he gaine your loue) has his designe;
And, if his workes deserue it, I haue mine:

your servant Clio and the Shepheard Colliden.

179

MUNDAY

Laurinella (Eglogue I) of true and chast Loue

Colliden. Wilkin.

The Shepheard Colliden, who ere him know,
(Who know him not that Shepheards liues do fare?)
He that was wont with siluer sheep-hooke goe,
And by his belt the silken scrip to weare,

180

A iolly Shep-heard to the outward showe,
Till sadly crazed with loues youthfull care,
Low kept his flock in humble vale where hye
Upon a hill kept Laurinella by.

Scarce cou'd he looke so hye, so weake was he,
Yet, when he could, hee weakely looked hye:
Though she but seldome would looke downe to see
The wofull plight of him now waxen, by
His loue to her, almost as faire as shee;
This onely diff'rence seene to euery eye,
Her natiue white with rosey ioy was spread,
His louesick pale had little hopefull red.

His sheepe, that bore the brand of his neglect
On their bare ribbes, resembled his desire;
As if perceiuing where he did affect,
From their owne vale attempt to clamber higher;
But, like their gentle keepers loue, soon check't,
To his and their owne miseries retire;
While her proud lambs mark'd with her like disdaine
Shew careles lookes to the despised playne.

Looke home, (quoth he) you my ungraced heard
And on your owne soile chew your harmeles cuds:
Tis for your Shepheards sake you thus haue er'd,
For no such heate boyles in your chiller bloods;
Or if it could, although a sweeter sweard
Growes on the hill, the vale has cooler floods:
Water your thirst may quench; but my desire,
Drinking loue dry, yet drinkes it self the dryer.

181

O Laurinella! Little dost thou wot
How fraile a flower thou dost so highly prize.
Beauty's the flower, but Loue the flower-pot
That must preserue it, els it quickly dyes.
As care and sorrow (thou see'st) mine can blot,
Lonesse and time 'ore thine will tyrannize.
Joyes wast asunder that would thriue togither,
As double daisyes last when single wither.

View all my stock of pineing sheep, and see
In their gaunt wombs the fulness of my woe.
My carelesnes of them's my care for thee;
Thy neglect mine, and mine their ouerthrow.
Loyall desire is true-loues husbandrie,
Which till it gaines, it lets all other goe.
Admiring thee, what wealth can I affect?
Had I thy Loue, what els could I neglect?

The Shepheard that hath once well understood
What 'tis to keepe so neare the groues, (he may
Winter his cattell under sheltring wood)
No more will much for naked pasture pray:
So yeild to loue would beauty, if she cou'd
Foresee her louers care, or her decay:
For what, (when ages winter shall take place)
But Love can shelter Beauty from disgrace?

I am not faire. If euer so I were,
I lost my beauty after thine to seeke:
Which ere I sought (unlesse our riuers here
Dissemble much) I had a liuely cheeke.
But now my suit, that might make thee more cleare
(If thou didst want it), makes me wan and meeke:
Such force hath loue, beauty to make or marre,
That they are onely faire that loued are.

182

O that thou would'st come downe to me, that I
With Pœmenarcha might bring thee acquainted,

183

To waite on her and learne to beare an eye
Of humblenes, that thou so long has't wanted.
As in more danger is the Cedar high
Then Jilly-flower that under wall is planted,
High mindes to fate are subiect most of all;
They surest stand that can no lower fall.

Or, (if thou would'st) I could thee recommend
To the great Lady of the house of Thame:
And, by those holy 'stories she hath pen'd,
Shew how she hath immortaliz'd her name.
On her I for her vertues doe attend.
More free are such as wait on worthy fame,
Then such as their owne humors vaine obey,
Although they haue no Mistresses but they.

184

Or I could bring thee (beauteous Laurinell)
Hard by to old Antaprium, where is found
Another such Penelope to dwell
As was in Ithaca so much renown'd;
One that in bounty doth (like her) excell,
In workes alike, and chastity, as sound.
If thou wert louingly, or humble hearted,
Then wert thou both, for they cannot be parted.

Come, Laurinell, come downe the haughty hill
Into this vale, where thou on beds shalt sit
Of yellow hyacynth and Daffadill
And lillies chast, that therein best befit
My loyall thoughts and thy long-wooed will,
And neuer blemish beauty, birth, nor wit;
For wisedome, birth, and beauty their owne graces
Euer encrease by graceing humble places.

While to the stately hill thou doest repaire
With thy faire flock and fairer guifts thou hast,
Be thou as Cytherea spruce and faire,
As Pallas wise, and as Diana chaste,
Yet should'st thou here a wonder be more rare:
The highest starres the lesser light doe cast;
But, as a chrystall in a marble mine,
Rare graces doe in lowly places shine.

Come downe and weare my scrip of azure hue
(Too fine for mee but onely for thy sake)

185

For no requitall but affection true;
And such exchange us both shall richer make:
For all that Lovers haue to both is due,
And tis no losse to giue, nor gaine to take;
When in thy Swayne thou shalt thy selfe possesse,
And I mine owne in mine owne Shepheardesse.

Wilkin

Now, Colliden, good day. I stood behinde
Yon little haw thorne bush and heard thee say
Such plaint to Laurinella, that I finde
Thou art in loue (I thinke in honest way).
If it be so, though yet she seeme unkinde,
Shepheard, let that not thee too much dismay:
Young maidens that mens suits too eas'ly grant,
Wit, modesty, or both, may seeme to want.

As thy affection, the more thou doest sue,
The more doth shew it self both true and strong;
So her delays do promise her more true
When she shall yeild, (though she to yeild be long).
We feare we doe for wares bid more then due,
When Merchant takes first offer of our tongue:
Holds easily won haue little prize within,
The truest heart may hardest be to win.

But gentle Swayne if thou wilt counsell take,
(None counsell need so much as Louers doe,
Though none lesse apt thereof true use to make)
Doe as Amyntas did when he did wooe:
Frame to thy pipe a Ditty for her sake,
And sing it in her eares, and praises too.
His song (if thou canst second) I'le begin;
Where speeches faile sometimes examples win.

186

[_]

In the following section the speakers' names are abbreviated as follows:

For Will. read Wilkin
For Coll. read Colliden

Will:
As Amyntas young did ad
His lip unto his liuely reed,
When as in her bower he had
Of louely Phyllis taken heed,
Mee thought I thus ore-heard the Lad:
Come let our flockes together feed.

Coll:
Little seeme thy lambes alone,
And mine (like mee) of mates haue need:
Let thy sheep amend the mone
Of mine, and mine amend their breed.
So both our flocks shalbe thine owne,
And wee will them together feed.

Will:
What although so black I shew
With flames that from Sun-shine proceed;
When as yonder milke-white ewe
My best and blackest lamb did breed,
What couler'd locks (I faine would know)
Had he that then did with her feed?

Coll:
Match thou canst none like thee faire;
Or, if thou could'st, it would but breed
Jealous thoughtes: let Nymph be rare
In face, and swayne in faith exceed.
So full of loue and free'd of care,
Both shall their flocks together feed.

Will:
Looke upon this garland gay,
Which here I giue thee for thy meed;

187

Marigoldes are match'd with May,
Pinkes and Panseys are agreed:
Why should not wee as well as they
Agree, and flockes together feed?

Coll:
In mine armes a fairer light
Will from thine eyes then now proceed:
Starres at Noone-tide shew not bright;
Tis blacknes doth their brightnes breed.
Come be my starre, I'le be thy night,
While both our flocks together feed.

Will:
Whether Phyllis had no power
To deny so kinde a deed,
Or Amyntas chose an hower
When fortune would that loue should speed,
Amyntas liues in Phyllis bower,
And both their flockes together feed.

Colliden
How euer in my suite I shall succeed,
I ioy Amyntas loue succeeded so.

Wilkin
And so doe I: he merits not to speed
In his owne wish, that wishes others woe.

Colliden
Neuer to enuy others shall hee need,
That could in Laurinella's favour grow;
Who now (I see) retir'd is to her bower.

188

So (now tis noone) let us: Dayes brightest hower
To Loue (in Beauties absence) seemes to lower.

Wilkins Embleme
Vulnus non herbis esset medicabile verbis.

Collidens Emblem
Falsa libido procul: noster honestus amor.

189

Pœmenarcha (Eglogue 2) of Gratitude

Cuddy. Jesper

Jesper, How comes to pas you now alate
With hook so trim and scrip so laced shine?
Beware (young lad) thou 'pouerish not the state
Of thy fine flock, to make thy selfe so fine.
Shepheards, that long haue liu'd at thrifty rate,
And wealthy Neat-heards, that of pasture-kine
Good store of golden creame before hand haue,
Are seldom seene to deck themselues so braue.

Jesper

Cuddy, The more may thou and I condemne
Such as possesse and yet not use their wealth.
As he that thirstes in midst of pleasant streame,
And will not drinke, robs his owne self of health;

190

Vnused gaine is but a golden dreame,
And niggardnes unto it self a stealth.
Vse is the life of riches: take away
Both, life and use, both man and wealth are clay.

The man is truely rich on whom we see
The seemely arguments thereof appeare:
His wealth hath him, his riches hath not hee,
Who on himselfe doeth not the 'samples weare.
But know my little flock, and like degree,
Doe not this dressing ably yeild or beare;
For this fine hook, and scrip so gayly lac'd,
(No cost to me) rare bounty on me plac'd.

For which my fold, upon a solemne day,
To the faire hands of the bestower shall
A tender lambe full gratefully repay,
All stuck with flow'res as thick and sweet as fall
Of Sommers honey-dewes: whereto a lay
I will inuent to render it withall,
Set to as many notes as shall fulfill
All the divisions of mine oaten quill.

Cuddy

Borne wert thou (shepheard) on a lucky day,
Fauour to win, or fortunes to obtaine,
Such as, without destruction or decay
Vnto the sheep, so well becomes the swaine.

191

Alas! for us poore heards, whom euery way
Our niggard fortune hath in such disdaine,
That neither heard nor heardsman well can thriue,
Although for thrift we late and early striue.

I wot not what disaster hath fore-shew'd
My cattells ruth, what fate my thrift forbids,
What rauens death presaging song, or lewd
Witch-craft fore-speakes my miserable kids.
Some are with soares, with sicknesse some beshrew'd;
Some ore their eyes let fall their meagre lids:
Both old and young together often grone.
Direfull misfortune seldome comes alone.

Jesper
Yee wretched goat-heards thus cry out of fate,
Fortune, and starres, and witches wicked skill,
When 'tis more like your peruerse and ingrate
Behauiour is the cause of all your ill.
Who euer hopes for 'mendment of his state,
Must his ill manners mend and froward will.
This lesson learne of Pœmenarcha's Swayne:
There's none but ciuill shepheards in her traine.

192

Cuddy
Where haue I liu'd, that I till now that name
Did neuer heare reported on this greene?
Thou dost some idoll, Swaine, or fiction frame.

Jesper

O silly heardsman, that hast neuer seene
Thespe nor Tempe's shades; nor learn'd of Fame
That Pœmenarcha is the shepheards Queene;
The story of whose praise to sing or say
My wits too weake, and thine to bear away.

But thou this night beside my gentler sheep
May'st pen thy goats, and rest thy selfe with me.
Wee cider haue that will enchaunt thy lip,
And flawnes as yellow as the cow-slips bee.
Where something to her praise, that's in my scrip,
Thou by her sister Cynthia's light shall see;
For as she borrowes, and yet lends us light,
What Muse to me ha's lent, I'le lend thy sight.

Cuddy
Well hast thou done to minde me (gentle swaine)
That now the moone doth in her fulnes shine.
I may walke home with thee, and thou againe
With me retire from thine owne home to mine.
Though like to yours be not our entertaine,
Thy counsell sweet ha's made my heart like thine:
And thou shalt haue a quarter of the best
And fattest kid I haue, for supper drest.

193

Jesper
No keepe such feast of ven'son for some guest
Of better worth; thy offer is so kinde
It is to me more welcom then a feast,
To heare thy heart so thankefully inclin'd.
For Gratitude's a vertue of the breast,
That worke enough for both our breasts may finde,
From time the Queene of night begins to rise,
Vntill her brother gildes againe the skyes.

Iesper's Emblem
Vertue to know, and not to use, is vice.

Cuddye's Emblem
Vertue to know, and use, is vertue twice.

194

TUESDAY

Euthymia (Eglogue 3) of Contentment

Meliden. Chantlet.
Meliden
Chauntlet, I muse what solitary vaine
So bindes thee prentice to the lowly plaine,
That we thy pleasant pipe can neuer heare
In Chilterne now a dayes, nor see thee there.
Would not the hilles yeild lambes a sweeter feed
And woods a lowder Eccho to thy reed?

195

Chauntlet
O Meliden, Thou well perceius't these plaines
To hold my humble heart in easy chaines:
But in my heart, the while, thou doest not see
That freedom from all vaine ambition free,
Content, that truely makes a lowly state,
And shuns aspiring as a dangerous mate;
Content that bounds each minde within her owne,
Makes want to weale, and woe to want unknowne,
That by perswading men to feare to rise
Aduances them, and teaching to despise
Riches, enriches men. Happy Content,
The bodies safeguard, and soules ornament,
Gentle (detaines me) Shepheard, in this playne,
As I with me my gentle sheepe detaine.
Here, where their feedes and floods as equall bee
As my affections are with my degree;
Here where their daily walke and nightly lare
Is always one, as night and day my care
Of them is alwayes one, keepe I my sheepe;
As them and me these humble valleys keepe.

196

While on yon mountains side thy ramping kine
To crop the blooming gosse that is not thine,
And on the tender tops and veluet buds
Of the young spring to whet their hungry cuds,
I see, and am agas't to see them, creep
Ready to tumble downe the des'prate steep,
To writhe their doubling chines against their sides,
And with their sharp hornes gore their lenow hides.
Beleeue me, such bold climbeing often throwes
The heardlem low, and in the heardsman showes
Or too much couetize, or little care.
Such perillous wayes my flock shall neuer fare.

Meliden
But since a blessing such befalles thy minde
Vnsought, that all our labours cannot finde,
Say (gentle Shepheard) what is true content?
Where do's it grow? or whence hath it descent?
And how (sith to this vale confin'd thou art)
Dwelles free content in so confin'd a heart?

Chantlet
That haue I told thee (Neatheard) once in short;
And more, if thou wilt be the better for't.

197

Contentment is a guift proceeding forth
Of inward grace, and not of outward worth:
That, that of Fortunes baser seed doth grow,
After her baser kinde, doth ebbe and flow
As Fortune ebs and flowes: it is not found
On Cedars tops, nor dig'd from under ground.
It is a Iewell, lost by being sought
With too much trauell, found by seeking naught
But what it truely ownes: it is the grace
Of greatnes, Greatnes of inferiour place.
Tis double freedom to condition free;
Tis sorrows ease, and thraldom's libertie.
Delighting not extreames but middle part,
It dwelles in neither head, nor heeles, but heart.
And thus thou hearest what, and wheres, Content
But since thou askest whence it hath descent,
Tis (doubtles) from some place descended hither
As farre beyond the starres as it is thither.
For who can thinke but such a heau'nly grace
Must needs descend from such celestiall place?
And this is that that ha's my lowly minde,
And little flock, so in this vale confin'd;
Joyn'd with his favour, who doth my content
(Mecænas like) both cherish and augment.

Meliden
Well fare thy heart, wherein content doth dwell,
And tongue for representing it, as well

198

As I desire. But I desire withall
Who's that whom thou dost thy Mecænas call?

Chauntlet

I cannot tell whether he would be knowne,
Who noble deeds more loues to doe, then owne:
But I can tell the lesse that such men would
Their names to be declar'd, the more they should.
Who nobly doe, and seeke no praise therefore,
The more's our shame if they not prais'd the more.
But Shepheard's slender Muse in great descents,
In Chronicles, or ancient monuments,
Is little learn'd (such storyes doe belong
Not to the Heard's but to the Herald's song).
Yet in my younger and delightfull dayes,
Through him, and my content, his name and praise
I once compos'd, in such Acrostick verse
As then I could, and thus to thee reherse.

[_]

The next eight sections form an acrostic: Sir Richard Wenman Knight Lord Viscount Wenman Rw.

Sole Lord is he of these now teeming feilds;
In time this herbage him her barbage yeilds:
Rays'd were these bankes at his cost and command.

Releiuing arbours, under which we stand
In heate and cold, are his: yon pale so neare
Containes his speckled heard of nimble deere,
He for his freinds more then himselfe doth keep
(As doe their flesh, and fleeces beare our sheep).
Right as it should, there stands his house, to sight
Delightfull, and within of more delight.

199

Where my Mecænas, in all rightes and merits,
Expired Lords of his great line inherits.
Nature with almost all her beauties grac'd it;
Mans art in midst of Natures pleasures plac'd it;
And Isis ancient freind, the river Thame,
Nam'd it (for neighbourhood) by his owne name.

Knowne far and neare, and as well lou'd as knowne;
Neighbour to all good men, and strange to none:
Ingenuous, temperate, of generous molde;
Good Souldier young, and as good Statesman olde.
Honours for youth and age deseruing well,
True honours in both ages on him fell.

Looke o're yon Parke of his and thou shalt finde
Of beastes and birdes of sundry sortes and kinde
Rest there for mutuall loue and place so faire,
Deere jealous of the bow, and timerous hare.

Vnto the sluces there the Hearne resortes;
In the thick groue airyes the hawke for sportes:
Sage Rauens build, amidst the oaken stelmes,
Castles; and Rookes encampe in groue of elmes.
Owzles (more old then oakes) their golden billes
Vse in wilde musick, there to shew their skilles.
Nuts, plummes, and berryes, there doe cherish well
The Robin sweet, and sweeter Philomel.

200

When winter comes the poore finde warming there,
Excepted not against for his most deare
Name that accompts them his: and worke there made
Maintaines the handler of the axe and spade.
And (which is most to be admir'd of all)
No losse but more encrease doth still befall.

Rare things, but see what blessings heauens hye
Will render those whose mindes are heauenly.

Meliden
I now perceiue his noble name by thee,
And doe by him perceiue Nobilitie
In thy Content, so foster'd by his grace
And favour who descends of noble race.
How might I now requite thy honest Muse?

Chantlet
For me thy best requitall is to scuse
My simple verse, that being ty'd to letters
Thus puts the Muse (that should be free) in fetters.
But since I able am to doe no more
In my Mecænas right then this so poore,
While here my flock by help of Summer showers
The healing spoyles of the sharpe sythe devoures,
Or winters enuy makes the swayne anew
To spred the fodder where before it grew,
This pipe of mine shall fill succeeding dayes

201

With neuer silenc'd Musick in his praise.
And while with streames of wealth and pure good will
Our amourous neighbour Thame doth hourely fill
The lap of his belou'd, and doth no lesse
Therewith this house and lands his minions blesse,
As long as I upon his feilds shall feed
My slender flock, of such as there I breed
He shall haue fruits, with honours of the Muse
Whose simple state he doth so nobly use.

Meliden
I neuer will thee (Chantlet) more perswade
From the Sun-shine into our woodland shade.
Contented Shep-heard, here repose thee still,
In low and louely vale: and while our hill
Eccho's applauding answere to thy notes,
Leade thy well-likeing lambes unto their cotes.

Chantlet
And, restles Neat-heard, thinke not wealth to gaine
By lewd encroachings, or aspirings vaine,
But learne to be contented with thine owne,
(There's neither thrift nor ioy in what is stolne):
And homeward turne thy heard of harmefull cowes,
That now upon thy neighbours beeches browze.

Chantlets Emblem
Seque, suus animus placitus, res possidet omnes.

Melidens Emblem
Nec sua, nec se, mens insatiata tenet.

202

WEDNESDAY

Epitaphium (Eglogue 4) worthy Memory

Watty. Willy

Vnder the sorry shelter of a bryer
Two mournfull shepheards sate in sad attire;
Watty, full woe for his freind dead and gone,
And Willy, that for his no lesse did moane.

Watty
O Willy! If thou canst to me declare
This ayre of life (or if it be not ayre
That life we call) then what should called be
So fickle thing, that hath no certaintie?
Or what offended hath the Destinies,
That they so most unsparingly surprize
Our freinds that we most sorrow to forgoe.
How great a strength has gastly death, that no
Humane authoritie can check his force,

203

Vertue, nor Beauty, moue him to remorse!
No age can dotage plead to his inquest,
Nor youth by nonage hinder his arrest;
No sex excuse, nor no excuse perswade;
No wisedome charme his sythe, nor teares his spade.
But that I see how quickly fades and dyes
All earthly pride, as flowers doe, mine eyes
Would on these flowers a drowning shower shed,
For Meredic, for Meredic, is dead.

Willy
O Wat! and so is rare Brianoled.
But know—There is no wit, no worth, nor skill,
That can withstand pale death's deserued ill.
Could mortall dayes prolonged be by Arts,
Or greedy Time sufficed with desarts;
Could mans acquain[tan]ce with the starres produce
The limits of his life, or treate a truce
With spinn[in]g Fates; could sage Philosophy
Prevaile with Death, or pleasant Poesy
Enchant his eare: I should almost with ruth
To image of old age transforme my youth
For my Brianoled that young did dye

Watty.
And so for my young Meredic should I.
For in yon Towne, that doeth with Cities sort,

204

Whose old foundations (as old times report)
On England's centre stand, and once the knowne
Metropolis vnto the Mercian throne,
Though now (alas!) disfigur'd with the scarres
Of Saxon tumultes, and of bloody warre[s]
With yellow Danes (that there were ouerthrowne)
Whose metamorphos'd blood to weeds is growne:
But whether that but fable be, or true,
The branch of both our garlands now is rue
For gentle Meredic, who there was sprung.

Willy
And sweet Brianoled, there nursed young

Watty
And that faire city, that as farre exceeds
Our towne as Cedars doe excell the reeds,
That famous Academ and happy Place
Belou'd of Phœbus and of Memories race,
That, fil'd with springes of more renown'd account
Then Aganippe or Libethris fount,

205

More rich in knowledge and deep learning flowes
Then others doe in mercenary showes,
Fill'd studious Meredic with store of arts.

Willy
And ripe Brianoled with wondrous parts.

Watty
Young Meredic, as he was freind to me,
So freinded by my greatest freind was he:
And there on Baliols and their bounty fed.

Willy
Great Maudlins streames refresh'd Brianoled.

Watty
Rare Meredic rankes early with Divines.

206

Willy
Rare wisdome in Brianoled so shines,
That he in Philosophique chaire doeth sit.

Watty
Sage Meredic expoundeth holy writ,
And like a Shep-heard true, the ioyfull fame
Of our redemption and Redeemers name
That there he learn'd in euery place he spred.

Willy
Brianoled fed flockes where he was fed,
And where the wondrous knowledge he did reach
Of Pipe, and starres, he did as freely teach.

Watty
But as the lambe that most maturely growes,
Vnhappy slaughter sooner undergoes:

Willy
As store of fruit makes the abounding tree
To stoop, and burthens bow the bearing knee:

Watty
As ripest eares of wheate doe soonest shed,
Is Meredic in early ripenes dead.

Willy
As fairest flower's soone blasted in his prime,
Brianoled fell in his flow'ring time.

Watty
What then avayles us more to waste our eyes
(Poore Swaynes) for them that wee, 'till all men rise,
No more shall see? Teares doe but wrong such men,
Who for no wages would liue here agen.

207

Wee that suruiue the losse of dead sustaine,
And Death to all that vertuous are is gaine.

Willy
I neither sing nor weepe to win from clay
Fraile bodies iustly doomed to decay:
I onely striue to memorize the best
Examples, of those mindes whose bodies rest.
And though the frame of mortall flesh doe dye,
Let's giue th' immortall minde her memory
Wee cannot keepe aliue what perish will:
What Death cannot, let not our silence kill.

Watty
If guiftes, entreates, or teares of freinds might saue,
I guesse so few had euer gone to graue
That, by this time, the whole Earths ample plaine
Had wanted roome the liuing to containe.
But if we should like savadges, or worse,
Interre each dead mans vertues with his corse,
I'me sure we should impouerish then too much
The world, that cannot be too rich in such.
But since true vertue never fades away,

Willy
Nor Fame, with forme, doth euer turne to clay,

Watty
So long as Piety is reverenc'd here,

Willy
Or Poesy is pleasing to the eare;

Watty
My gentle Meredic shall liue, though dead;

208

Willy
Though dead, shall liue my sweet Brianoled.

Watty
As glorious rose the Sun to day, and so
Continues still, and so is like to goe,
They two, by his example, both their dayes
Begun, and led, and ended, in their praise.

Willy
Then like th' example rare of two such freinds
Let be our liues, that like may be our ends:
So both our flocks let both our dayly cares
In proofe and safety keepe, as they did theirs:
And when we rest our selues, learne Death to keepe
In memory by her elder brother, Sleepe.

Wattyes Emblem
Longa dies struxit, destruit arcta dies.

Willies Emblem
Nulla quies primâ, vita secunda quies.

209

(Eglogue 5) of Temperance

Orpin. Clorus
Orpin
How sad and lonely (Clorus) doest thou stand!
Beware such vaine not melancholly bring.
Come, either take thy charmefull reed in hand,
Some wakefull note in Eccho's eares to ring;

210

Or with shrill bosome entertaine the spring,
If thou thy breast canst more then fingers use;
Or, be thy Muse not bent to pipe nor sing,
(Pitie so bent should euer be thy Muse)
Say (gentle Swayne) how thou the time hast spent,
The tedious time, since Pœmenarcha went.

Clorus

Yon Bush our nymphes with Summers wreaths adornes,
As thick as he in natiue bloomes is blowne,
How fares he that sad time, wherein forlorne
He standes of their fine dressings and his owne?
This streame that hath by our greene meaddows flowne
Before our ancestour of us did dreame,
Suppose his chrystall head some course unknowne
Should chance to take, how then would fare this streame?
How fare the sheepe by shepheard left alone?
So Shep-heard fares since Pœminarcha's gone.

Since Pœminarcha's paces plaines forsooke,
And playnes forsooke their pleasance with her paces,
And under Decks (not for their owne faire looke
So call'd, but for so deckt within with graces)
Caus'd emulation in the proud embraces
Of amorous Pine and odoriferous Firre:
While they with fame of farre discouer'd places

211

And perfumes, like Sea-courtiers, honour her;
And our owne winde the swelling canvas stores,
Longing to shew such prize to forrayne shores.

When this fayre Iland, fond of her, was seene
Cast chalky cheekes from her relinquis'd shore
And wish'd her selfe in gray or (since in greene)
Wish'd all th' apparrell willow that she wore;
And Ocean proud, imagining he bore
His Gouernesse upon his curled crest,
(And blame not much his over-ioy therefore
For in this fare was all that Ladyes best)
With Dolphins yoak'd, and songes of Syrens sweet,
From followeing eyes steales on the less'ning Fleet.

Rough Saylers now leade Shep-heards liues at Sea,
Shep-heards at land now Saylours fortune beare;
We plung'd in greifes, in calme delightes are they;
Ships there as sheepe, and sheepe as ships are here.
Wee now keepe flocks with more then wonted feare,
Since from our sight our Shep-heards star doth slip:
And they without their Card or needle steare,
All while they haue their Load-starre in their Ship.
So cross'd are wee: They bless'd. Thou think'st me long:

212

But what means't thou, to thrall me in this song?

Orpin
That thou mayst tell thy greife: it is the way
The danger of it from thy heart to draw.

Clorus

The Belgique boates enamour'd, as they say,
Then ventur'd drowning when her sayle they saw.
Slow-paced Seyne besought her for a law,
That he might eb and flow like Thames, and shine
Bright as his brothers brow: and famous Spaw,
That lineally from stock of precious mines
Deriues him-selfe, yet more advanc'd his streames,
To flow from earthly into heauenly gemmes.

When in our treasure strangers rich became,
When forraine Shepheards thriue and wee decay,
Hast thou forgotten (Orpin) what I am,
That thou demand'st how I passe time away?
Why what is Time? the eldest and most gray
Of all the starres, and therefore drawne by howers
In forme of fleetest stags; and what are they
That draw his coach, if Sun with-drew his powers?
Hide he his face, will Diall shaddow show?
Or Cynthia hers, how shall we Midnight know?

213

Orpin
Well, Clorus, well: I finde thou doat'st on much,
Though dost but little good: and I confesse
Such passions may attend on causes such.
Some great felicities make mindes the lesse.
But what! doth vow thy solemne thoughts possesse?

Clorus
He parts the wed that vowes and thoughts doth seuer.

Orpin
Plac'd in one place, is thy hearts happiness?

Clorus
Hearts 'till so plac'd, (thou know'st), are happy never.

Orpin
Containes thy minde but one delight in all?
Then great is that delight or minde is small.
But that some one mans great delight I note
Is in his eye, some others in his breast;
And some doe ioy to thinke on joyes remote,
More then to bee of present joyes posses'd.
Art so vnbles't, or should I say so bles't,
Thou canst not loue? so dull thou canst not dance?
Nymphes neuer were more worthy thy request;
Nor did in any age more Bridalls chance.
Who sorrow can so out of sweetnes borrow,
Me thinks might steale some sweetnes out of sorrow.
When civill streame, diseas'd with storme, denyes
The patient hooke his siluer hopes by day;
Perhaps with plumed pris'ners smiling skyes
By night the Sprindge or lime-twig prosper may.

214

Our youngest lads, when lillyes fade away,
With Lady-gloues can deck their hoods againe;
And simple Shep-heardesse, that walkes in gray,
More then one suiter hath, if not then twaine.
If what I say thou thinks't is true to finde,
But will to joy, what ioy then wantes thy minde?

Clorus

Say (simple Swaine) The sayling Pilots eye
Should loose the sight of the Arcadian Beare,
Could he as well by fickle Mercury,
As by his fixed starre, his vessell steere?
Should wee forget in thriueing Moone to sheare
Will fleeces thriue as well in her decay?
So may we fowle with danger, fish with feare,
In languour loue, and dance in dumpes we may;
But when nor mindes nor meanes are present to
Our deeds, wee doe but undoe what we doe.

As mans owne garment euer suites him best,
So suites him best that humour is his owne,
Be'it white or black or myrth or mone: The rest
Are borrow'd vizars, and behauiours stol'ne.

215

Like as yon lambe, that (motherles and lone)
In a false skin now suckes a lambeles mother,
Is not to us, (though to his nurse), unknowne
By his loose robe from his dead foster-brother;
Delightes disguize so loose on sorrow showes
Fain'd joyes are much lesse gracious then true woes.

And though my pipe I had no minde to use
Since shee went hence, yet, to giue these content,
Shalt heare a little of my slender Muse
In song that I deuised since shee went;
Though some-thing sad, (for sadly was I bent,
When first I fram'd it, I must needs confesse).

Orpin
O sing it (though): 'Twill help the woe to vent
That doeth thy gentle heart too much possesse.

Clorus

1

Silly Swaine, sit downe and weepe
Weepe that she from hence is gone;
She, of all that follow'd sheepe
By her matchles beauty knowne.

2

All the playne by her bright eyes
Shin'd, while she did here remaine:
Now her eye her light denyes,
Darkenes seemes to hide the playne.

216

3

Phœbus now seemes lesser light
To th' unhappy vale to send,
Hauing lost more by her flight
Then he doth his sister lend.

4

Cynthia yeilds Night fewer rayes,
Since the Sun her fewer yeildes;
He has wanted for the Dayes,
Since her wanted haue the feildes.

5

Mountaines neuer knowne to rue,
Rockes that strangers were to woes,
Since her absence cleaue in two,
And their ruin'd hearts disclose.

6

Feildes are left to winters wrack;
Sheepe that share the Shep-heard's woe
Change their hue to mourning black,
Once as white as mornings snow.

7

Earth in withring weeds doth mourne,
Flowers droop their heads dismay'd,
Trees let fall their leaues, that borne
Were, her beautious browes to shade.

217

8

All the yeare, while she was here,
Spring and Summer seem'd to last:
Since shee left us, all the yeare
Autumne seemes and Winters blast.

9

While she grac'd us and these plaines,
Forraine Swaynes of her did heare;
Now she graces forraine Swaines
Wee envy their Fortunes there;
Fame where-euer she remaines
Soundes her wonder euery-where.

It should be more but that my voyce is faint:
The rest by thus much may bee understood.

Orpin
It is enough; Exceed not in complaint
To hurt thy selfe and doe thy freind no good.
Make vse of vertuous Temperance, that shou'd
The Mistresse bee of all our wordes and deeds.
And now the Sun in Tritons fomeing flood
Cooles the hot fet-locks of his yellow steeds,
Leade home thy Lambes with so much more good speed,
And sleepe, which thou a little seemes to need.

218

Clorus
Well fare thy heart, that mindes me Temperance,
Whose onely name mine eare doth so enchant
I wish that it may never be thy chance
The freindly counsell thou dost giue to want;
For thou (I know) canst not be ignorant
It is two vertues well to doe and teach.
But now, before the black Inhabitant
Of Cimeris shall this Horizon reach,
With thy faire Heardlem hye thee home apace.
Embrace my Counsell, I will thine embrace.

Orpins Emblem
Temperance tout asseure,
Violence nulle dure:

Clorus his Emblem
Amour loyal et ferme
N'a jamais fin, ne terme.

219

THURSDAY

Clemma (Eglogue 6) of Patience

Benedic. Nicco.
Benedic
How now (old Nick) what! ripe in age and teares?
What drawes such youthfull humour from such yeares?
I would thou didst but looke in yonder brooke,
How well this whimpring mood becomes thy looke.
Giue ore (for shame) thy childeish pueling notes,
And say what harmes befalne thee or thy goates.
What euer woes thee, let thy freind it know;
This th'onely way to ease thy heart in woe.

220

Nicco
O let my cause soften thy careles eares
Freind Benedic, before thou blame my teares.
As true it is, thou sayest, To ease the heart
Is to our freind our sorrow to impart;
So he anothers sorrow must beleeue,
That would be pitied when himselfe doth greiue.
That gallant goat, that I haue shew'd thee oft
In head of all my heard, lifting aloft
His gray and curled browes whereon he bore,
In his two horny Registers, the score
Of his owne yeares and of my yearely care,
Since of a kid I bred him up so faire,
That to his brisket from his streaked back
Shed parting lockes of blended white and black,
The yearne whereof almost with supple sleaue
Of Tyrian wormes I durst for wager weaue:
His oyly gilles let fall a checquerd beard
Downe to his knees, that awed all the heard;
Yet under awfull brow and visage bent
Harbring a Nature so beneuolent,
That he (ah he!) as willingly would stand
And leane his itching forehead to my hand
And in mine armes fodder, or play, or sleepe
As louingly as any kid I keepe.

Benedic
And what disease of him diseases thee?

221

Nicco
Sawest thou not him my best, and dost not see
That he of all my heard is now unseene?

Benedic
What is the cause that he forsakes the greene?

Nicco
Whilome by night (o night for rest ordain'd!
But with unrest and all abuses stayn'd)
A woolfe, or fox, our ill-defended cotes
Vseing to haunt, assaults my housed goates,
Till with his sharpe and cruell fangs he had
For his blood-thirsty throat an entry made:
Whereat a suddain fright and fearefull note
Of trembling kids waken'd my slumbring goate,
Who rowsing up and quickly casting eye
Of th' ugly snout of deadly enemye
To heard and heards-man, back he fetch'd his fees,
And with his fore-heads curl'd and crooked trees
He met the Vermine, with a brush so strong
As made his teeth meete through his burning tongue:
And while unsatisfy'd againe he flew
Vpon his foe, the savadge Dog withdrew;
And my heards champion through the breach so wrought
Ran head so feirce, His crooked antlers caught
A rafter on the out-side of my stack,
That hamper'd him, he could not forth nor back:

222

And then all sweltred in his paines and heate
Of rage, while in his bandes himselfe he beate,
The carion coward sometimes seis'd the throate,
Sometimes the eye-lids, of my luckles goate,
Who (though thus bound) maintain'd the desp'rat fight,
Till honest day reveal'd the wrongs of night,
And I with speare came in, to earth to ioyne
The salvage theifes already bleeding groyne.
But all too late: for what with grief, and what
With bruises sore and venime wounds thus got,
Ne're thriued more my goat, but pin'd away.
No clouer-grasse, corne-blade, nor odorous hay,
Garlique, nor Beet, nor Betony, nor Sage,
Mallow, nor Rue, nor Plantain would asswage
His inward sicknes or his outward smart:
No holy-thistle water chear'd his heart:
Stone-pitch did not his bruised fillets good,
Nor wholsome treacle cleanse his poison'd blood.
No faire wordes tic'd him to his woonted cribs,
Nor stroaking made him licke his stareing ribs.
Low lean't his head; his gray beard swept the dust:
Downe fell his crest, and with his crest his lust.
His ragged chines seem'd dayly more and more
Higher to grow, his starving belly lower:

223

Vntill, his eyes their black and liuely sightes
Shrowding in their owne pale and deadly whites,
Yeilding to death long-dying life, my goat
Left his unhappy heard and curled Coat.

Benedic
Now what a tedious tale (but that to doate
Thine age has leaue) hast thou told of a goat!
But thy condition's to be borne withall:
Small losses to the great are great to small,
And that may something iustify thy mone.
But as losse is not unto thee alone,
Be not alone to greife. It chanced me
In my young dayes in shade of poplar tree
To hide mine ore-watch'd eyes from illes—whereon
I seldome dreame, that wakeing thinke on none—
And while I stole (stole o why doe I say?
T'was but my right) one sleepe at high noone-day,
A spitefull theife that did (it seemes) not feare,
Nor shame, the Muses bowers to pilleare,
Of my best scrip and then my dearest mate
Left me to rise depriu'd and desolate.
Thou mayest (old Nic), as cause thou hast, inveigh
'Gainst Woolfe or Fox: but there's no beast of prey
So bad as Man, mischeiuously inclin'd.
What knows not truth nor reason's false by kinde:
But impious man, that reason hath and truth
Doeth know, against both truth and reason doth.

224

Scrip was it such as honest Colidens,
Furnis'd by mine (as his was with his) pens
With Eglogues, Sonnets, Elegies, and Layes,
In Vertues honour and her owners prayse.
But there (my comfort is) no scurrile song,
Nor hatefull Libell, freind or foe to wrong.
I neuer such invented, young nor old:
My harmelesse Muse me better lesson told.
Thus strip'd by false and cruell-hearted theft
Of all my little wealth, with nothing left
But woe and want, I, trotting worlds of ground
After my losse, more losse of labour found.
I could haue wept like thee, but 'tis in vaine
To thinke with teares our losses to regaine;
Or with consuming sorrow to betray
More to hard Fortune than shee takes away.
And since more learned Shep-heards haue us taught
(Lesson I feare of you Goat-heards unthought)
That heauens such chances suffer doe sometimes
Befall us, to chastise us for our crimes;
We must not quite heau'ns gentle punishments
With much more punishable discontents.
Like to a yeareling Lambe shorne of his best,
His first and dearest fleice, I meekly rest.
And that [had] been my onely losse, 'twere well:
But many greater haue me since befell;

225

Yet, for all my disasters, doe not whine
So much as thou for one poore goat of thine.

Nicco
Sure (Benedic) then, thou art fram'd of steele,
Or rocky substance, that no passion feele.
Had I endur'd so many ruthfull things
I thinke I should by this time into springs
Haue melted been, or been with sorrow pin'd.
O what is then that vertue of the minde,
That makes us men in suffrings differ so,
Whose bodies haue an equall sence of woe?
What man am I, that woman should haue been,
Whom small distresse hath so great power in?
Or of what more then common mold art thou,
Whose breast doeth under no distresses bow?

Benedic
Of neither stone nor steele. Continuall wet
Will weare the one, and fire the other fret.
But as foundations, layd on wooll, are sayd
To over-last those that on rocks are layd,
So gentle mindes their burthens long endure
When rocky hearts will cleaue and proue unsure.
As after heauy wheeles, whose routs remaine
In sinking earth, soft flowers rise againe;

226

And tender waters neither breake nor shrinke
Vnder the Barke, that gapeing sandes will sinke;
Great stomacks crack at sorrowes weighty summes,
But Patience yeilds and, yeilding, overcomes.
While yet a flock I haue, I ioy as much
In those that last as I should joy in such—
For those that stealth or sicknesses consume
I place content before me in their roome.
I doe not honour fickle fortunes name
For what I haue, nor on the Starres exclame
For what I part withall; I know that they
Are instruments of his immortall sway
Whence I receiue, with ioy and Patience, all
The good and ill me or my state befall.
I murmur not at crosse or casualties
Whereto all mortall Nature subiect lyes;
I onely striue with workes of honesty
To readvance the wracks of iniury:
So by repaire to make my losse my fame,
And by my Patience my theifes gaine his shame:
Who after losse yet liue on what is left,
Discourage Envy and discount'nance theft.
And while a heard of goats thou hast to keepe
Scorne not to follow him that followes sheepe
In this one lesson, that to all belongs,
Patience recovers losse and conquers wrongs.

227

Nicco
Shepheard, Thou know'st my substance is not great:
A tender kid from his dam's tender teat
I tender thy aduice, and take my leaue.
Our heards begin to mingle (I perceiue).
I will no more trust Night, who is to such
As robbe both thee and me a freind too much.

Benedic
Keepe still thy kid or take a lambe from mee
As good as him: I counsell not for fee.
(Yet blame not all that doe; for good advice,
That freindly is, may merit freindly price.)
Nor blame thou Night, that ill must not be thought
For wicked deeds, the wicked doers fault:
But sell thy Goats fine skin, and therewithall
Buy worser stuffe to build a better wall.
And so lets shed our cattell while tis light,
For sheepe and goats together mixe not right.

Benedics Emblem
Gloria prudentis patientia.

Nicco's Emblem
Who suffer will and doe none ill,
In the way to heaven are they.

230

FRIDAY

(Eglogue 7) of Hospitalitie

Nando. Ieffrey. Perigot.
Nando
Good day to Jeffrey, (if I not mistake).

Ieffrey
Like (if mistake not I) for Nando's sake.

Nando
How leades thou life and lambes, and whereaway?

229

I scarcely twice haue seene thee, since the day
That thy Mæcenas, that renowned Lord,
The Lady wed who by the chrystall fourd
Was Mistresse of that Castle, white and strong
Neare Chilterne hilles, where we led flocks along.
T'was at this Ilands most renowned Towne,
(Place fittest for a match of such renowne),
Where, at that wedding, thou a speech didst make
Whereof I once from thee did coppy take,
Since beg'd or stolne from me, (the common lot
Of novelties): if thou hast not forgot,
Pitie thou should'st! vouch-safe it to rehearse:
It was a plaine, but honest, peice of verse.

Ieffrey
How think'st thou (Nando) things so long fore-past,
In that so plaine and simple age, may last
To these more dainty dayes? or who but thou
Fancyes so olde esteeme or relish now?

Perigot
Yes: That doe I: and that's one more then he:
And so doe all that truely honest bee,
If truely honest be the verse, though plaine;
And I haue heard thou hast no greater straine.

230

Though fame allowes no life to vicious ryme,
No vertuous verse is subiect unto tyme.
All things, though old, to those that neuer knew
Nor neuer heard of them before, are new.
Age does not worth diminish but prolong:
True Muse is (like Apollo) alwayes young.
What's vile is old or dead as soone as borne;
What euers good more dayes doe more adorne.

Ieffrey

As I haue seene a Shepheardesse contriue
A way to keepe a gather'd rose aliue,
So this my withering fancy, by the merit
Of your desires, doth thus it selfe inherit.

I that n'ere gaz'd on Cheap-sides glistring rowe,
Nor went to bed by the deep sound of Bowe,
But lent my dayes to siluer-couler'd sheepe,
And from strawne cotes borrow'd my golden sleep,

231

(On deare occasion you may thinke to draw
To Citie him that neuer Citie saw)
Arriu'd these walles and towers of sumptuous pride
To seeke my deare Lord, whose faire flock I guide,
And for whose absent worth my tender feares
Haue far'd a little Tems of mine owne teares.
And as (which I, poore Swaine, with blushes say:
Though wherefore should I so?) I lost my way
Some hundred times in these amazefull streets,
The wing'd and quiuer'd Loue at last me meets;
Him had I known so well in our green Downe,
That he forgot not mee in this gay Towne;
And leades me to this place, which he though blinde
Better then I with my best eyes could finde:
And, while conducted betwixt him and care,

232

I did, as captiue led by keeper, fare.
But at this hallow'd threshold now receiu'd
By him that weares the robe of saffron weau'd,
The smileing Hymen, I such sweetnes found
As hearts redeem'd may feele that haue been bound;
And by his sacred counsell wish'd to frame
These rites to you (Fayre and illustrious Dame),
To whose rare graces here I can make no
Compare, since I no gemmes nor iewells know,
But in your modest smiles (me thinks) I view
Our Starre by day, and Summers rose anew.
More then I mourn'd his absence, I reioyce
Now in my rare Commanders rarer choice.
And as his sweet and richly founded Place
Your stately and well-shaded Towers embrace,
My Muse shall sing of your united name
In shades of Sherborne and by streames of Thame,
Songes that beyond these suddain straynes aspire
Shall in their iust desart and true desire,
That longs till all my Mates in joviall sort
Dance to my pipe and this more sweet report.

233

Such was the speech that Hymens high occasion
Gaue first life to; this second, your perswasion.

Perigot
No sure: If of it selfe thy Muse could dye,
It might haue endles life from cause so hye.

Nando
But what occurrents there befell thee more?
So noble eares could not so giue thee ore.

Jeffrey

Tis true, but I my part haue much forgot
But theirs (which was their Noblenes) cannot.
Amongst the rest a Lady faire, (to try
My wits, it seem'd; or else I know not why),
Was pleas'd to me a question to propose
Which either shee, or I, did out of prose
Transforme into a slender dresse of ryme,
Wherein it liues, though poorely, to this time.

Betwixt two Suiters sat a Lady fayre:
Vpon her head a garland did she weare;
And of th'enamour'd two the first alone
A garland wore (like her), the other none.
From her owne head she tooke the wreath she wore
And on his plac'd it who had none before:
And then (marke this) their browes were both about
Beset with garlands, and she sat without.
Beholding these Cor-rivals on each side
Of her, thus plac'd and deck'd in equall pride,
She from the first mans head the wreath he had
Tooke off, and therewith her owne browes she clad:
And then (marke this) she and the second were
In garlands deck'd, and the first man sate bare.

234

Now which did she loue best, of him to whom
She gaue the wreath, or him she tooke it from?

Nando
In my conceit she him would rather haue
From whom she tooke, then him to whom she gaue.
For, to bestow, many respectes may moue:
But, to receiue, none can perswade but Loue.
She grac'd him much on whom her wreath she placed,
But him whose wreath she wore she much more graced:
For where she giues she there a Seruant makes,
But makes her selfe a servant where shee takes.
Then where she takes she honors most, and where
She doth most honor she most loue doth beare.

Perigot
In my conceit she lou'd the man the more
To whom she gaue the garland that she wore.
An action such (me thinkes) seemes to expresse
That he, who that posses'd, should her possesse.
Where she the garland took and left him bare,
Might be his brows for Willow to prepare.
Receiuing does not always service proue,
But giuing is alwayes true signe of Loue.
On him whose wreath she weares she much confers;
But bindes him to more honor that weares hers:
And then if she, is fayre, be truely kinde,
Most loue she beares where she most lookes to finde.

235

Nando
Now (Ieff) what was the answer that you gaue?

Jeffrey
That I (with little greife) forgotten haue;
Though likely tis I sayd like one of you.
All is but guesse where none can tell what's true.
The depth of Ladyes minde no other knowes
(She knowes) and tis no answer to suppose.
He may him-selfe thinke in her greatest grace,
Vpon whose head she did her garland place,
And he whose wreath she wore may thinke the same,
(Loue all things doth to his owne vantage frame):
But he, in one or both, must needs be blinde;
And what himselfe sees not he hopes to finde.
Two Lovers may be equall in desart;
The diffr'ence is in the Beloueds heart.
Wise Ladyes thoughts are to them selues alone;
And better pleas'd to be admir'd then knowne.
Tis like she lou'd one best: but is more blest
If him she haue she loues, and loues her best.

Nando
How may we now requite thy loue and paine?

Ieffrey
My paines with pitie, loue with loue againe.

236

Nando
Nay (gentle Jefferey) from thy repast
We haue (I feare) caus'd thee too long to fast.
Walke with my freind and me unto my Bower,
And helpe to entertaine one pleasant hower,
That in th' enjoyance of so kinde a freind
Will but too swiftly hasten to his end.
My Dame to night a cheese-cake me allowes,
Whose borders are as browne as are her browes;
But curds within as candid as her favour,
Sprinkled with cynamonds delightfull savour.
We haue Queene-apples, some within to see
As beauteous as without: (as nymphes should bee):
And Russettings that, like true Shepheards, hide
Wilde disposition in a rough out-side:
Poore fare; yet so much richer for thy sake
As hearty wish and welcome may it make.

Jeffrey
Thy lookes and tongue both so performe their part
As shewes they haue Commission from thy heart.
These dayes of ours (Nando) no kinder qualitie
Produce, in great or small, then Hospitalitie.
It seemes thou canst remember I haue been
In noble houses, and I there haue seene
And tasted too their bountious entertaine
(Which may it euerlastingly remaine).
Continuance is the life of all well doeing,

237

And thereunto all blessings come a wooing.
And I haue far'd with Shepheards such as you;
And loueing euer to my power to doe
The good that I in others see and praise,
Haue had my fellow Shep-heards in my dayes;
Not to requite, for so I was not able,
But t'imitate heart free and hospitable.
As the rich farmers favour do's refine
His plenteous fare, and turnes his ale to wine;
The Shepheards loue so makes his poore repast
A banquet, and his whey like ale to tast:
And, at the greatest table and the least,
Loue and free welcome makes them both a feast.

Perigot
I that am idle and haue least to doe
All our three flocks the while may looke unto.

Nando
No Perigot; wee cannot spare such freind,
Whose worth is not invited to attend.
As wee, so let our flocks, together feed:
Sheep will agree where shep-heards are agreed:

238

And as for fitchet, fox, or such as those,
Inward agreement feares no outward foes.
Sheep learne the voyce of Shep-heards that them keep;
And mutuall loue shepheards may learne of sheep.

Nando's Emblem
Grex humilis vocem discit Pastoris amantis

Perigot's Emblem
Pastor ad exemplum discat amare gregis

Jeffrey's Emblem
Fœlix is Pastor qui ovis est Pastoris Olympi,
Cujus sunt gregibus cognita vox et amor.

239

SATTURDAY

(Eglogue 8) of Constancy

Perkin. Tomkin.
Perkin
Tomkin, what pipe hath lull'd thy Muse asleep,
Or sleepy dulnes lull'd thy pipe a late?
Do's some disease infect thy gentle sheep,
Or too much care of them infect thy state?

240

Say is the fault in the ill-will of Fate?
Or is the Fate in thine owne faulty will,
Thou do'st thyselfe so seldom recreate
On the sweet stops of thy once pleasant quill?

Tomkin
Wonder not (Perkin) that the Muse is still,
That wants some sweet occasions to awake.
Pipes must be dumb, fingers forget their skill,
When fauours and encouragements forsake.
It is not I, but Eccho, that's asleep,
Or in some desart farre remote remaines:
And wee our flocks in Desarts seeme to keep,
And sadly touch our unresounded canes.
Fayeries, sometime familiar freinds to plaines,
In their forsaken circles cease t'appeare;
And Nymphes and Naiades, once kinde to swaynes,
Now neither walke nor gather garlands here:
And this has brought my heart so out of cheare,
And, as thou find'st, so dull'd my pipe and pen.

241

Perkin
Sad story (Swaine) but what's your meaning, when
You doe those freinds to plaines, the Fayeries, name;
And Nym[p]hes and Naiades, that now and then
Vnto your Greenes to gather garlands came?

Tomkin
To tell thee plaine, I meane Philisiden,
And his deare sister, that renowned Dame
We Pœmenarcha call'd: he that of men
The wonder was; She of her Sex the same:
And that good Lord of th'ancient house of Thame;
His learned Lady; both of noble race:
And more like them, in honour, love, and fame,
That us'd us Sheap-heards and our songs to grace,
But now are gone to farre more happy place.
And therefore wee, not for their sakes, doe moane,
But since so few now shew so kinde a face.
As is our losse, our sorrow is our owne.

Perkin
Tomkin, Tis true; but yet not ours alone
Is losse or greife, but theirs that still surviue.
Tis good to praise their fauours that are gone,
Without despaire of those that are aliue.
But though wee Shep-heards not in favours thriue,

242

And careles times of us take little heed,
Yet must wee still our honest verse contriue
Vnto the slender timber of the reed.
As flowers pay their owne ungather'd seed
Vnto the earth, neglected trees their fruit,
Wee owe our dayes what they in us did breed,
Since onely ours we nothing can repute.
As crushed violets more sweetnes shute,
Obscured worth doth more it selfe adorne:
Eternall Lawrell stands on her owne roote,
Weake Ivy is on th'others shoulders borne;
And perseuering Constancyes pursuite
Of Vertue, honor wins and conquers scorne.

Tomkin
There hast thou nam'd a vertue that agrees
So with my heart, That I will hold me fast
To Vertues praise and honour. Though my trees
Yeild smaller fruit in this then Summer past,
And though I gaine by my Hyblæan Bees
A lighter stock of honey then the last,

243

I liue in hope that Heau'ns (whose iust distast
Ill seasons doth for our ill manners send)
Will cast of frownes when faults away we cast,
And mend our meanes when wee our selues amend.

Perkin
There art thou right; and as thou dost intend,
So to thy resolution hold thee true:
For as true Vertues neuer shall haue end,
No more shall their renowne that them pursue.
Hope neuer failes that doeth on Heau'n depend,
And they win Heaue'n that with repentance wooe.

Tomkin
Well hast thou sayd: And as I yeild thereto,
So hold thy selfe to thine owne discipline;
Which to requite is more then I can doe;
But, as thou seest, thy flock now feeds with mine:
Walke with me to my Bower, where let us two
On such poore fare I haue together dine,
While Phœbus, in his best and highest place,
Doth this halfe-holyday so kindely grace.

Perkins Emblem
Constancy is vertues crowne.

Tomkins Emblem
Vertue's Constancyes renowne.

244

(Eglogue 9) of Humility

Hobbinoll, Colliden.
Hobbinoll
If thou be not that gentle Shep-heard Swaine
That in the Muses wells, as good as wine,
(Freind Colliden) hast so refresh'd a braine,
That, for the Sonnet sweet, or lyrique line,
Few Shepheards be that may surpasse thy straine,

245

Or from thy forhead win the leaffy twine,
I haue forgot that honest looke of thine.

Colliden
Who would haue look'd for entertaine so fine
From Hobbinoll, if I mistake not you,
To Colliden, the same poore freind of thine,
To whom no such great complement is due.

Hobbinoll
Yet to reviue our spirits, that both decline,
Let's heare some pleasant Sonnet old or new.

Colliden
O Hobbinoll, Wee may not still pursue
The path of youth; nor walke beside the line
That from false ioyes should leade us to the true.
I now those wanton virelayes doe rue,
The fancyes of my like phantastique dayes,

246

Wherein to Swaines and Nymphes more praise then due:
The more I sung, I lessen'd mine owne praise.
With Oliue twine now twisted is my Bayes,
From whence my heart more hallow'd thoughts doth take.
Now let my songs be in my Makers praise,
Who to that purpose onely did me make,
(If so unworthy Shep-heard in his layes,
O blessed Lord, thy praise may undertake).
For Shepheard, sheepe, and all that for their sake
Thou sees't this goodly universe doth yield,
His mighty hand did forme, and voyce awake.
When out of nothing he did all things build,
The glorious Sun that doth the welkin guild,
And Welkin gilt, he plac'd in such estate,
And with such bounty made and deck'd the feild,
As well for heardsmans ioy as cattells gate,
As we them see: and (sikerly) he will'd,
When we them see, we him should meditate
Who hath these favours done for us ingrate
And worthles of the least of all his store,
Nay wretches much more meriting his hate
For our desarts, if ought we claime therefore.

Hobbinoll
Shep-heard I am full glad it was my fate

247

To meet thee so, a swaine of such good lore:
For I had thought, as I was taught to fore,
That Pan was God of Shep-heards and of sheep,
That Phœbus of the Sun the bridle bore,
And Cynthia sway'd the season when we sleep;
And that another Deity, old and hoare,
Thëy Neptune call'd, govern'd the Ocean deep;
That of the feilds Dame Flora had the keep,
And them in all their painted 'parrell clad;
And that the valley flat, the mountains steep,
And all things else, their severall Deity had.

Colliden
Who taught thee so, were Shep-heards not so wise
Or honest as they should; unlesse they meant
By these and all imagin'd Deities
One onely God, true and Omnipotent.
For like a reall truth in shady guise
Such fictions his true honours represent.

Hobbinoll
Sure (Colliden) such was their good intent,
Though I, then young, did scarcely understand.
But since of thee it is my blest event
More now to learne of his most high command,
Who made and gouerns all, be thou content
To follow on the song thou hast in hand.

248

Colliden

When I survey my heap of youthfull song
And Ditties quaint, to volumes neare arose,
I whilome did, to please the amorous throng
Of Nymphs and Swayns, to my green reed compose,
And finde so small a number them among
Of pious straine or vertues pure dispose,
Then muse not (Hobbinoll) that my Muse growes
Melancholly, but thinke her iustly sorry
For seeking earthly more then heau'nly glory.

The Man is happy (sure) to whom the Muse
So gracious is as with him deigne to dwell;
(For she in him more joyance may infuse
Then hath to some of greater place befell):
But much more happy hee that how to use
And entertaine so sweet a guest can tell.
She comes not hither from her sacred well
For thee or mee with her too bold to make:
Of daintiest things we soonest surfet take.

Doubtles The head of that so famous fount
By pranceing hoofe of flying horse was found,
That mens conceits, by taste thereof, should mount
Till they at Heauens azure gates rebound;
And not descend to theames of base account
To be in nine days vulgar wonder drown'd,
Or idle Minstrells mercinary sound,

249

And of eternity themselues depriue,
That noble mindes all labour to arriue.

Delightfull songs if fram'd on subiect vaine,
Though for a season vaunt and flourish may,
Yet sagest hand of Fame will them disdaine
In her immortall Treasury to lay;
But as yon wanton Sicamore to raine
Must yeild her pompe, so theirs to time must they,
Though yet as fresh as death-unknowing Bay,
Whose leafe who claimes to weare ought well fore-cast
His actions, life with life of Laurell last.

Wherefore thou seest not on my simple head
Such Coronet to sager Shep-heards due,
Whose Verses liue though they them-selues be dead
(If dye they could whose deeds their liues renew),
While most of mine unworthy to be read
Dye (while I liue), or should, if how I knew
To win successe my wishes to ensue:
Since tis the way to make one sin two-fold
To cout'nance youths vaine acts with forhead old.

250

But now I am in better vaine to sing
In his due honour, that on high doth sit:
(Which he, that is of all the Soveraigne King,
Grant I so may as may his servant fit).
If ought thou hear'st, wherefore in verdant ring
Of laurell branch Thou mayst my temples knit,
I shall at once embrace thy loue and it;
For whether meed assum'd hath right or none,
Just is the garland others hands put on.

Hobbinoll
Ah! woe is me! that pent in cottage poore,
And cottage poore as pent in valley low,
And sorry soyle that at my luckles doore
Such tree of triumph listeth not to grow.
But neighbour mine there is, that hath afore
His happy hatch some that he will bestow
More soone on me cause I to thee it owe:
My sweeting tree may one day him remeed;
The poore sometime hath what the rich may need.

Colliden

Awake, o virgin of celestiall race!
That thy first milke didst draw from sacred breast
Of Memory, and then receiu'ds thy place

251

By Thespian streames amongst thy sisters blest;
So highly sprung, yet scornest not to grace
Mee, lowly Swaine, of all thy seruants least:
No more let lump of liuing clay infest
Thy heauenly pinions, nor yet prevent
With plummets of dull sloth thy faire ascent.

But aboue all, o blessed Majesty,
Who by thy power and wisdome all hast wrought,
And all dost rule, aboue and under skye,
From greatest substance unto smallest thought,
That we thy name aright may magnify,
And sing thy works and wonders as we ought,—
Grant with such streames our feeble hearts be fraught
As thou doest giue, from forth thine euer-liuing
Fountaine of grace, that more abounds by giuing.

O sottish men! that dayes in silence spend,
Or in lewd tales that worse then silence bee;
While Creatures dumb by Nature doe commend
Their makers loue with greater praise then wee.
Who taught this Beech her branches to extend,
From storme to shelter us and flockes, but hee?
Who not alone into this freindly tree,
But into euery lesse-esteemed plant
And herbe and shrub, hath put life vegetant.

Nor hath he set the high aboue to grow,
As shrouds to be or shaddows to our need,
But hath commanded they their blossoms blow,
And usefull fruits their blossoms to succeed:

252

Nor doth the Earth with flowers and herbage sow
Onely for pleasant walke, or cattells feed,
Or sence of sight or smell; but us to steed
For wholsom cure, and often to supply
Our dying life, to render theirs to dy.

Goat-heard beware, or man, (who ere thou art),
That thou alone do not like cypher stand,
Conferring all thy fortunes, wit, and art
Vpon thy selfe, with too reseru'd a hand;
But learne for common good to act some part
Of vertuous office in thy natiue land,
Least thou be worse then weed in sorry sand,
Whereof the vilest that thou tread'st upon
For others use more vertues hath then one.

The Cowslip do's not onely deck the feilds,
But lends her yellow fingers to the cure
Of shaking sinnews: and the violet yeilds
Her azure blood fowle surfets to repure.
Contemned wormwood from infection sheilds;
And Rue makes wasting liuer longer dure.
Elacampane faint loungs doth reassure;
Plantain of bleeding wounds allayes the smart;
Mynt helps the head, and Rose mary the heart.

253

The Indian julep, mix'd for pallats paines,
Craues Woodbines help such dolour to asswage;
And quintessences diving to the reines
Disdaine not there the aid of Saxifrage.
Who Tansey tastes, or Clarey entertaines,
Need eate no snake with youth to couer age.
The holy-thistle quenches feuers rage.
Where costly Antidots shun poore estate
There sage is treacle, saffron Mythridate.

Nor stand tall woods alone for goodly port,
But each his proper businesse hath and state.
The Oake a builder is of lasting sort,
And him the Elme and Beech doe imitate.
The Ash a souldier, Ewe is his consort:

254

The Pine a Sayler, and the Fyrrhe his mate;
The Cypresse mourner at the funerall gate;
And Lawrell, that wee talked of but now,
A crowne of Victors and of Muses brow.

The Poplar can the climbeing workeman's wish
As well advance as fan the sunny glade;
The melancholly willow learne to fish
Rather then bee for fooles the garland made;
The Maple turne himselfe to Shep-heards dish,
And Holly prentice be to Vintners trade,
The hoary Palme the poore mans cottage shade:
And all this crue to solace, Walnut-tree,
And Box, and Plane, a set of Musique bee.

Where-to to dance becomes not us to call
Fayre fruitfull Ladies not to Shep-heards knowne,
Such as the great Pom-granate, Oliue small,
And lushious Figge, that loues to be alone,
The Abricot upheld with Southern wall,

255

And Orenge gilt that thrice a yeare doth grone,
The downy Quince, and golden Mell-cotone,
The sanguine Peach in silken robe install'd,
The Almond twice, and Nut-meg treble-wall'd.

But with our rurall nymphes we may be bold
(As to our rurall callings most be meet),
The ruddy Peare-main, and the Costard cold,
The spungy Russetting, and Violet sweet,
The Warden, and the Deus-ans two year'd old,
The Pippen when she leaues the stately street,
The Cherry when she scornes not us to greet,
The Hasell-nut familiar euery-where,
The harmeles Damson, and the Katterne Peare.

Thus like my selfe, although I simply sing
Song simple as my selfe, forbeare to blame,
For all my serious thoughts are on the King

256

Of trees and fruits, that yet I did not name,
The peereles Vine with clusters flourishing
Of mighty grapes, not onely for their fame,
But that the Lord of life, who man became,
Him-selfe is pleased the true Vine to call,
And all his members true his branches all.

And as we see that fixed to the stake,
So nayled to tree was this celestiall Vine,
Whose pierced side for our redemptions sake
Gush'd precious blood, as precious grapes doe wine.
O blessed Husband! that in hand dost take
To purge all liuing branch thereof, refine
With powerfull grace this feeble soule of mine,
And graffe it in this stock so sure, that fruite
Of praise to thee it euer forth may shute.

That turning ore new leafe of Natures booke
Thy hand or worke I further may behold
In creatures such whose knowledge thou dost brooke
To simple Man, clad in so wretched mold:
For (Nations all to hold in heau'nly hooke
Of mutuall loue) his wisedome doeth unfold,
To some, what he from others doth withold;
That men for wonders that they not possesse
Ought him admire, for those they haue him blesse.

His wonders then let us (with reuerence) note.
What learnedst tongues could never full expresse,
Thou mayest well thinke, in sound of slender Oate

257

The little learned Shep-heard can much lesse.
The Marriner that toyles in Sea's remote,
And Pilgrim, that doth halfe his life professe
To spend in farre-sought lands and wildernesse,
From freezing Laps to scorched Negro's walke,
His other halfe may thereof spend in talke.

Although the Sun him company had borne,
Companion such would tempt one venter farre
From the Vermillion palace of the morne
To Westerne waues oft gilded by his carre,
And shewen him euery land his rayes adorne
With yearely progresse, and his courts that are
All flourish'd 'ore with many a twinkling starre,
Some ouer head to us, some ouer-head
To those whose feet against our feet doe tread.

258

And all his sisters shining seates, betwixt
The golden Ram and siluer horned Kid;
The axle set, with Lords and Ladies mix't,
Now stellified for famous deeds they did;

259

The Cynosure with cout'nance grauely fix't,
Teaching the wonder in the Load-stone hid;
Th' Arcadian Lady, and her sonne, forbid
To wash in Ocean waues; and daughter seuen
Of him whose shoulders underset the heauen.

But how beseemes it me in russet robe
To sing of shineing wonders of the skye?
More fitting those that skill the astralobe
And haue high reach in sage astrologie.
But he that fram'd this uniuersall globe
Aboue all Creatures here would Man his eye
Should upward lift, and contemplate on hye
Those glympses of the glorious life of blisse,
The more to striue for that life after this.

And though poore Shep-heard be the least of men,
And I (poore I!) of Shep-heards be the least,
My Muse his honours must returne agen
In such degree as he my Muse hath bles't.
Though in the sound of highest pipe or pen
His praise can neuer fully be expres't,

260

None may his talent let in dust to rest;
And, shareing of his graces, I not dare
To silence in his praise my humble share.

Hobbinoll
Little wot I who is the skillfulst Swaine:
Of skill to iudge (certes) doth skill require:
Yet bene thy layes and loue not all in vaine;
For though I cannot iudge, I can admire;
But nothing haue, to quit thy gentle paine,
Till I some happier Fortune may aspire:
Vnlesse thou wilt (for want of better tire)
Accept a warme kids-skin, to keepe from cold
Thy neck that doth thy honest brain uphold.

Colliden
If Kid be lost, thou more his skin dost need:
I, waxen weake, yet no such gift may take.
Reward should not be taken for good deed,
That should be done for onely goodnes sake.
Now Pyro-ë-is, the Suns formost steed,
With flameing fet-lock gildes the brackish lake:
Let us with day to our reposure make;

261

And houze our heards, ere nights unhealthy dewes
Soake through the fleeces of the tender ewes.

Hobbinoll
Beshrew the Night, whose so unwelcome hast
Begins here to forbid our longer stay.

Colliden
O no. The sooner come, the sooner past
Is night, that brings on the more welcome day.

Hobbinoll
And for that welcome day I shall fore-cast,
Wherein with thee discourse againe I may.

Colliden
Come any day thou wilt, when he giues way
Who gaue us six for one, that we should borrow
For our vaine use, no part of his, to morrow.

Collidens Emblem
Visa Creatoris manus est miranda creatis.

Hobbinoll's Emblem
In his works, his power, his loue,
Seen, known, admir'd, is God aboue.

FINIS.

265

VRANIA THE WOMAN IN THE MOONE

IN FOURE CANTOES OR QUARTERS

BY WILLIAM BASSE gent.

Teque tuam Comitem cantat (Nocturna Diana)
Vraniæ magnis vox bene nota Deis

267

To the Honorable, vertuous, and Renowned Lady The Lady Penelope Dynham.

This Muses story, that a Princes eares
Did once vouchsafe to grace, and such a one
As in his tyme, and at his youthfull yeares,
In greatnes match'd with goodnes was alone,

268

You may coniecture, then in so much grace
Had little thought to seeke a second place.

Nor comes (Renowned Lady) to you now,
Though out of service has so long remain'd,
As one discarded: but to shew you how
And by whom then she first was entertain'd.
And loth vn-own'd now to and fro to waue,
That lost a master, would a Mistres haue.

For not to flatter (which no Muses can
Or if mine could, she durst not him, nor you)
In that he was a Prince, he was a Man
And therein his inferiour like vnto,
And so [a] lesse then he, in noble heart
May be like him: for that's a Princely part.

269

But (Noble Lady) though Vrania soung
This story then to him, that could infuse
No pride in Prince so vertuous (though so young),
Nor could his grace, such vice jn such a Muse:
And in your selfe of pride no danger seeing,
I am the likelyest to be proud in being

Madam Your Ladyships very humble Servant William Basse.

270

To the High and Mighty Prince, Henry, Prince of Wales, &c.

When Cynthia sitting on her siluer throne
First told my Muse the story you shall heare,
She strictly charg'd her not to make it knowne,
For any cause, to any mortall eare
Till 'twas related (as it once should be)
To some rare Prince of royall progenie.

The reason was (it seemes) That since herein
Some actions are of gods and passions shewne,
She thought it fit that to some nearest kin
To them (great Prince) it should at first be knowne:
Tender alliance, and a Princely brest
To heare and judge of such occurrents best.

This Muse (therfore) as Cynthia did her binde
Hath safely kept this secret undisclos'd
Till now, that, in your gracious forme, a minde
She findes (Sir) so celestially dispos'd
That she is full resolued it is you
The Delian Queene directed her vnto.

May't please you (then) to lend the Moone your light
Thus shadow'd vnder these ecliptique lines,
Your Sun-like gloryes shall not shine lesse bright,
But more, that Cynthia by your lustre shines,
And to your greatnesse purchase more divinesse
By more devoteing her vnto your highnesse.

271

VRANIA THE WOMAN IN THE MOONE

IN FOURE CANTOES OR QUARTERS

THE FIRST CANTO OR NEW MOONE.

Argument.

Two Gods (as Spies) descended.

1

How apt the slanderous and unciuill tongues
Of wicked men (vpon presumption small)
To rayse foule scandalls are, and jmpious wrongs
On Ladyes honours, neuer stayn'd at all,
Is manifested in bright Cynthia's case
To her extreame (but vndeseru'd) disgrace.

2

For when Endymion once in Latmos slept
The Moone (some say) came downe and kis'd him there,
Erronious Fame reports that she hath kept
Him euer since within her spotlesse Sphere.
And of this falshood, so profusely blowne,
The generall tale of Man i' th' Moone is growne.

272

3

But findeing no memoriall that jntends
A mans preferment to that pitch of grace,
My winged Muse vnsatisfyed ascends
Her glistring Orbe, In which Celestiall place
She findes no Man (as these old sots vs tell)
But that a Woman in the Moone doth dwell.

4

And how that Woman there became confin'd
Vrania knowes: who now descended thence
Shall (as she hath thereof enform'd my minde)
Impart you her divine jntelligence
By patience of the Gods that authors were,
And her fayre sex, whereto I honour beare.

5

Some ages since Deucalions deluge past
In peopling of the empty world agen,
When as the seede of Sin began as fast
To propagate anew, as seede of men,
And wretched worldlings almost in profund
Obliuion had the generall drowning drownd.

273

6

Jove waxing old resolued was to set
His sacred foote in sinfull mold no more,
Or at the least although the cause were great
He in his prudence thought it fit, before
He went himselfe in person, first to try
What good there might be done by Ambassie.

7

And for this action, he selects among
Th' Olimpique Race (if I may terme them so)
Two handsome youthfull Gods, and light, & Strong,
This paynfull pilgrimage to vndergoe;
But I conceale their names. Great minds defam'd
In their attempts, desire to passe vnnam'd.

8

And what the tenour of their charge should be
Though my playne pen, unexercis'd in state,
Can hardly reach a stile of such degree,
Neare as I can, I shall it yet relate,
As great Saturnides himselfe it spake
Whose thundring voyce makes all ye Center shake.

9

My Sonnes (sayth he) you shall from hence repaire
Downe to yon lowe and wretched vale of Man,
The care wherof hath turn'd mine aubron haire
Thus gray, and made my nectar'd cheeke thus wan,

274

And yet with litle jncense gratifyes
Mine open hands, and rest refuseing eyes.

10

Wherefore descend, and first take view of those
To whom Bootes curled face is shewne,
Then with those fixed lights that him oppose
Survay the more remote and hardlyer knowne:
From Nabathæan bounds to Phœbus fall,
From the hot Zone to the Septentrionall.

11

Be as your fathers All-beholding eyes:
See where my name is honour'd, where despis'd,
Where peace, where war, where want, where plenty lyes,
Where Vertue rules, where vice is exercis'd:
Where Right prevayles, where wretched wrong takes place,
And let me know the whole worlds generall case.

12

That I as well may furnish good mens needs
With blessings, as detrench th'abused store
Of thankles caytiffes; crowne true vertues deeds
With honour, and on vice my vengeance poure.

275

This sayd, his brow against his breast he strooke:
The brazen bases of Olympus shooke.

13

And thus instructed, at the azure knee
Of armed Iove these Legates tooke their leaue,
And of the whole Celestiall familie
Congeys at heauens christall ports receiue:
And so descend the Axletree, betwixt
The radiant Poles on either side vs fixt.

14

And when their ayrie feete felt earthly clay,
They jnstantly in Man-like habits drest
Their beautyous Godheads; and so tooke the way
That to their owne best wisdomes seemed best:
Resoluing not to leaue a Land vnspied,
Empire vnseene, or Island vndescried.

15

What euer people, civill or prophane,
Or continent, vnknowne or knowne, may lye,
Succinct or spacious, Mountagnous or playne,
In all the Orbes foure fold Cosmographye,

276

They visit would, and this our British land
That by it selfe from all the World doth stand.

16

Sometimes they walke, and sometimes they assume,
To ease their weary nerues, their nimble wings,
And sometimes, to refresh both foote and plume,
They voyage vnder pitchey tackleings
Of swelling Sayle, fullfilling th'awfull word
Of Iupiter, on foote, on wing, on board.

17

Obseruing seriously in every place
The manners, customes, and estates of men,
The Gods, Lawes, Liues, Religions, they embrace,
And Sacrifices, that they used then:
Ioyes, woes, wants, wealthes, sinnes, service; and of all
Kept just record, and sure memoriall.

18

But in these travells, such mischance befell
These heau'enly youths, as not alone for theirs
But for fayre Womens sakes, I greiue to tell:
But since th'vnhappy Causer of such teares
They in our world of Brittaine did not finde,
Ladyes vntouch'd neede not to be vnkinde.

19

For in the heate of middle-aged yeare
They chanc'd in Ethiopia to arriue
Where double flames, of time & Clymat, there

277

Perswaded rest, jn bathes of ease reviue
Their toyled limmes: where they an obiect found
That their delay in double fetters bound.

20

The tale wherof, Since now it seemes to aske
The spirit-full flight of an vntoyled Muse,
End here (Vrania) thy precedent taske:
And to beget new breath for what ensues,
(As those of thy Celestiall kindred doe)
Favour, a while, thy tender sarcells too.

278

THE SECOND CANTO OR FIRST QUARTER.

Argument.

Themselues to over-reach.

1

Men of the world how simply wonder wee
At th'alterations our small age hath seene,
When as the selfe-same jnstabilitie
Of state and chance, that is, hath ever beene;
Or thinke our times most singuler for change,
When elder worlds saw prodigies more strange.

279

2

For ere Apollo's sonne his fathers chayre,
To leade the Light, on day did vndertake,
The Æthiopians then were white & fayre,
Though by the worlds combustion since made black
When wanton Phaeton overthrew the Sun,
Which dreadfull mischeife had not yet been done.

3

When Fortune, who (jt seemes) in the designes
Of highest states & hartes will haue a hand,
Vnto a house conducts these fayre divines,
Where dwelt a woman, fayr'st of all the land;
And all the world (by good report of men)
None fayrer had then Ethiopia then.

4

Where they within no sooner set their feete,
But she as soone to entertaine them came,
For she an hostesse seem'd for guests so sweete,
And they seem'd strangers for so sweete a dame.
Only her humane forme was jnly frayle,
Their humane habits heauenly hearts did vayle.

280

5

But to what rare and matchles jmage wrought
Ioue's children were, jt bootes not me t'ensist;
But leauing that to all or more then thought,
Since Gods may be how beautyfull they list,
Her only, at all rights of life, to paint
More art then great Apelles had I want.

6

But I haue heard how Nature did prepare
Three Essences to make three women of,
An amorous, a subtill, and a fayre;
Which Fortune seeing came & mix'd her stuffe
All into one, that should haue seru'd for three;
And of that composition fram'd was shee.

7

For she had beauty to engrosse the eyes
Of all admirers in her sole possession,
And all the arts of loue Loue can devise
In womans heart or head to take jmpression,
But skill to teach her beauty to win many
And learne her Loue not to be won by any.

8

A table now she neatly furnish'd had,
Like a delicious vintage of varietyes
Of wine & fruits; wherto her welcomes adde
A sweetnes dareing appetite: But Dietyes,
Being mindes more apt to contemplate then eate,
Fed more vpon her lookes then on her meate.

281

9

Yet while they drinke a litle too and fro,
False Loue, that in some other jmage lurkes,
Nere this new Venus bends his jvory bowe,
And through his fruitfull freinds his purpose workes
So cun̄ingly, that he conveys his darts
From both her eyes in both her strangers hearts.

10

Which suddaine fire when in their breasts they felt,
They then to coole themselues with kisses sought,
For she had lips that pres'd would seeme to melt
Some precious balme to cure the wounds of thought,
Which they (by turnes) had free & vndenyed,
But a wrong Medicine vaynly is applyed.

11

Perceiuing lips more apt t'encrease the flame
By how much they doe more resemble fire,
They thence to Cheekes, to breasts & bosome came,
That whiter seem'd, more like to quench desire.
But, after thirsty wounds of Loue, to kis,
Like drinking after poyson, mortall is.

12

When eyes, th'Astronomers of Loue, were set,
And Lips, his Coniurers, were charm'd; Embraces,
As Loues Geographers, began to mete
Her Wastes fayre architect, and other places.

282

But (O) embraces are but double walls
To keepe the loue-sick hearts in closer thralls.

13

And in these dalliances and sweete delights
They not alone the life of this day spend,
But many dayes succeeding, many nights.
The buis'nes of great Ioue was at an end.
And now they tremble to forethinke that fate
Shall venge this fault, & now they thus debate.

14

Tush! we haue visited white Europe, queene
Of all the world, and Brittayne, lou'd of Seas.
Wee haue the Asiatique quarter seene,
Alle Affrica, and somwhat more then these
And of our time and obseruation there
Exact accompt and testimony beare.

15

Wee only want some base Americans
That know not Ioue, and Ioue cares not to know,
Some barb'rous Gotes or salvage Indians,
No matter whether euer seene or no.
(And so rests vndiscover'd to this day
The greater part of wilde America).

283

16

And while their owne affections thus they soothe
With jdle fancyes of their loues suggesting,
She (for her part) as craftily doth smoothe
Them vp with powerfull arguments of resting:
For as her lookes made them their charge forget,
Their loues made her her charge at nothing set.

17

The youths were both so briske & louely fayre
I dare well say that which she fancyed most
She did not know: she euer tooke such care
That not a sparke of eithers loue she lost.
As their affections equally agree
Vpon her loue, she loues them equallie.

18

But to herselfe she kept that only knowne,
And held them still vncertaine which might be
Dear'st in her favour. When one came alone
'Twas he she lik'd, when th'other came 'twas he.
If this her right hand, that her left hand tooke,
She bore a stedfast and jndifferent looke.

19

When she one's eyes had hidden in her lap,
She ore his shoulder lent the other smiles,
And so the one she catches in a trap,
And with a bayte the other she beguiles,
Ensnareing him that comes within her hands,
And angleing him that furthest off her stands.

20

To such advantage all her guifts she dealt,
And on both sides herselfe so well applyes,

284

If this the softnesse of her hands had felt,
The other had the glances of her eyes;
If th'one had in her tender bosome slept,
His fellow in his armes her wakeing kept.

21

Her suff'rance was but as a pleasing way
To fruitles ends, resistance more enflameing:
Her promises were like a slight aray
Worne by a Masquer for an houres gameing:
Her word a ballance was that weigh'd denyalls
That bred no greifes wth grants that dur'd no tryalls.

22

And thus she (to delight vaine-glory) stirres
Most innocent spleenes to mutuall emulations,
But makeing her divine Competitours
Frustrate each others hopes and expectations:
Enough to set fraternall bloud at ods,
And into partyes moue the factious Gods.

23

But (like wise men, that rather chuse to shew
Their evidence then try their rights at lawe)
They in free freindship let each other know
Their titles to her loue, wherby they saw
Her double dealing, and agreed to court
Her both together, joyntly, for their sport.

24

But by this meanes they doe but help to catch
Themselues anew, in a new kinde of snare;

285

One's motion do's but mar anothers match,
Diversitie of buyers rayse the fayre.
Loues priuie Counsell are (in all) but two;
A third, or more, his false designes vndoe.

25

Findeing all humane pollicies to fayle,
Hot Loue now loathes the garments of disguise;
And since, as Men, they can no more prevayle,
Resolueing to jngage their dietyes,
They now to her vnworthy eares declare
(For their loues latest refuge) what they are,

26

Imagining that Maiesty would ad
More penetrating flames vnto perswasion,
Or hope of golden showers to be had,
Or feare (at least) would check dissimulation,
As well they might, if they with one had dealt
That hopes had lik'd, Gods fear'd, or feare had felt.

27

But she, that had occasion in a string
Of vses bridl'd, strait proiects what boone,
What divine guift, or admirable thing,
She should demand: haueing conceited soone

286

Beauty's petition's a com̄and to Louers
That begs in shew, but in effect recouers.

28

Which when she was resolu'd on, (though 'twas long
Before she could resolue on one request),
Her longing heart fitting it to her tongue,
She to the next encounter it addrest
In Rhetorique that of Beauty is a most
Invisible and sence seduceing ghost.

29

“My Lords (she sayth) you haue a suite in hand
“To me, vnworthy to be sue'd by you,
“And I (for my part) haue a small demand
“To you, too worthy Gods for me to sue,
“Yet, jf for mine you please t'exchange yor grant,
“Aske & be ask'd, giue mine, and take your want.

30

If you from Clouds are come to earth belowe
For sweete fruition of mine honour here,
Teach me that pray'r wherby you thither goe,
And not alone possesse me here, but there:
What I grant you, is yours; what you grant me,
You grant your selues; both boones your vantage be.

287

31

Thus winged was her speech, as was her heart,
That in a hell of tedious longing burnes
To see fayre heau'n: and such is woman's art,
And thrift in the disposeing of good turnes,
She seldom sells a momentary pleasure
But for a bargaine of some speciall treasure.

32

This impudent request with many feares
The trembling hearts of the young Gods did seize:
T'vnrip heau'ns misteryes to mortall eares
Would Ioue and all th'Olimpique state displease,
And shew themselues vnworthy heau'n to be
That could not keepe jmmortall secresie.

33

But first, they wond'red much how she could tell
That they in vse had any such divine
And secret Charme; but they remembred well
That when Apollo kept Admetus kine
Light Mercury came by while Phœbus slept
And stole a Cow out of the heard he kept.

34

The Sun, (to be reveng'd), when Hermes lay
Asleepe in Herse's lap another while,
Came downe & stole his hat & spurres away,
Who (when he rose, and vnderstood the guile)
Was forc'd to mount Olympus by a Spell,
Wherof this quick-ear'd creature had heard tell.

288

35

Much modest passion, yet retayn'd, to calme
The billowes of vntame affection striues;
And gentle care applyes discretion's balme
To stanch the heate of Cupid's corrosiues;
But remedyes too milde too late devis'd
Where lust Love's fester'd wounds had cauteriz'd.

36

Looke how a Cittie, that beseig'd about
With hostile powers, and hath jntestine foes
Within her walles (to boote), long stands not out
Before she some conditions doth propose,
So in this like beleaguer'd state of theirs
With these loue-thirsty Dietyes it fares.

37

To Beautye's seige, and flatt'ryes vndermineing
(That quite subvert the strength of every Louer)
Their owne jntestine Love his treason ioyning,
They to her greedy eare at last discouer
This sacred Theame: O hot & dangerous Lust
To traffique heau'n for earth, & heart for thirst!

38

O simple Gods! (if gods may so be sayd
By men that woman scarse would so haue trusted):
But when you act like men, Men will vpbraid
Your actions: And now see on what you lusted,
Now see the fruits of all your fayre perswasions,
Your times, your labours, loues, & revelations.

289

39

When she her lecture cordially had gayn'd
And had as perfect meanes, as will, t'aspire,
She place and oppertunitye retayn'd,
Agents of loue and handmaydes of desire,
Wherto she quickly joynes her discipline,
And doth to that as soone her practice joine.

40

And jnstantly, a payre of ayre-like wings
Poyzeing her downey sides, her feete forget
Their earthly office: here & there she flings
To win the winde, as one jmperfect yet;
But quickly skill'd, The ayrie stades of skyes,
Like Loues postillion Mercury, she flyes.

41

Her sprawling heeles, in stead of wonted molde
Kick Cedars tops, her armes blue Clouds embrace:
While royall Eagles tremble to beholde
A greater then themselues vsurpe their place,
And welkin towering Larkes (with no lesse feare)
Wonder to see a Woman soreing there.

290

42

Which when the doubtful youthes look'd vp & saw,
They stood at first as in a maze, till shee
(Like some old beaten hare) had gotten law
Enough for once her jealous life to free:
And ere they could their tender wings put on,
This haggard her self-less'ning pitch was gon.

43

They haueing better skill on wing & winde
Thought certainly to overtake her soone,
But tir'd in their pursuite, they fell behinde,
Like trotting starres after the whirling Moone.
For in this Charme did such a vertue lye,
Those that could fastest speake, could fastest flye.

44

Wherein when they had call'd into conceit
The matchles vertue of a womans tongue,
Like men that in a chace had borne dead weight,
Their heads & hopeles hearts so heavy houng
Betwixt their wings, their wings began to flag;
The more they spur the ayre, the more they lag.

45

But she with plumes of ouer-ioy'd desires
Her outward Sayles of pow'r so well assists,
That with redoubled swiftnesse she aspires
The stately pitch of the Cœlestiall lists:

291

For light and hopefull mindes make bodyes light,
But pondérous thoughts hang plummets upon flight.

46

That (I suppose) they turn'd their course for shame
To Paphos, Latmos, or some vnknowne way.
But we will still pursue the nimble dame,
And let the sad deceiued Louers stray.
But (Muse) thou first shalt rest thee while she flies:
When her quills settle, thine againe shall rise.

292

THE THIRD CANTO OR FULL MOONE.

Argument.

The Gods pronounce her doome.

1

How great and comprehendles is the Minde!
How far, how high (for knowledge) she presumes,
When she herselfe with vertue arm'd doth finde,
And lightly borne vp with desirefull plumes!
One world containes her not: nor yet would she
Be held in more, if more there were then be.

2

Water her hopefull pinions not benums:
The curiasse of her boldnes is to thick

293

For aire to peirce: and when to fire she comes,
Her more light flames & feathers are too quick.
And thus this Dame (that represents this minde)
Leaues all the well-rank'd Elements behinde.

3

Till by the power of her celestiall charme,
With no lesse fortune, hauing pas'd the seauen
Next circuits of the Gods, she caus'd alarme
In th'inner guards of the supremer heauen
Where Mars, great Captaine both of watch & war,
Had plac'd a Centinell in every star.

4

Who through their loup-holes when they chanc'd to view
This fugitiue with such a fervour mount
To this sublimitie, jn all hast drew
Themselues into a head; and made account
Strait to discharge against this earthly wonder
Their harquebushes charg'd with dreadfull thunder.

294

5

But some (whose better wisdomes sway'd the rest)
Perswaded them their vollyes to with-hold,
Vntill amongst themselues they first had gues'd
What creature it might be that was so bold:
For throughout all the guard there was not one
That euer had a woman seene or knowne.

6

They saw that she was none of Titan's race
Who by pretence of eldership layd clayme
And title to expulsed Saturne's place;
For they long since by Ioue were overcame:
Nor of those Earth-borne gyants that rebell'd
Against the Gods: the Gods had them repell'd.

7

She was no Meteor'd shape, nor airy sp'rite
Begot by th'agitation of the Spheres,
Nor Comet (though both caudate and crinite);
For all those things fled from her in such feares
As did the monsters from Silenus Asse
That stellified for that good service was.

8

No Semi-Diety, nor seed of Pan,
Nayad nor Nymph, (for loue had them confin'd
Vnto terrestriall mansion), No Man
They by her face her flight and fashion finde,

295

No ghost, nor fiend: no goblin good or evill,
Nor bird, nor beast, nor goddesse, god, nor devill.

9

And as they descant thus, all while she striues
Their warlike walls and bullworkes to ascend,
They are no wiser when she there arriues,
But still her essence, state, and cause suspend;
And though their martiall lawes were so severe
No vnknowne seede of earth might enter there,

10

Yet since they found her arme-les armes pretending
No outward treason to the state at all,
(Her strangenes much but beauty more befreinding)
They brought her safe into th'Olympian hall;
For she such count'nance had, as might procure
Favour at hell's, much more at heavens dore.

11

This Noveltie to all th'assembly seene,
They from their severall Thrones in murmur rise;
Some stand amaz'd: some that on earth had been
A Woman! cryed: a Woman skal'd the skies!
Sterne Iupiter most highly was displeas'd,
Although her lookes some others much appeas'd.

12

Some of the Court are angry, some are glad,
The elder frowne, the younger flock about her,
But (of all other) Iuno was horne-mad,
She of great Ioue did so extreamly doubt her:
And Venus waxed leane, with strong suspect
That Mars would favour this, & her neglect.

296

13

Cupid, as busye as his nature was,
That Young-Deceipt, Old-youth! who (if he listed)
Could all haue told: but not a word doth pas
His lips, wherin his preiudice consisted.
For well he hop'd to finde in her fayre lookes
Sweete baytes enough to furnish all his hookes.

14

What with the loue of some, the feare of some,
Others partialitie, others jealousie,
A great confusion was in heau'n become,
And like to be a greater mutinie,
If out of hand was not determin'd on
What with this new-come stranger should be done.

15

For scarse the Sunne had number'd vp the day
Of her ascention, to the waxing yeare,
But she her wanton parts began to play
In such perfection of allurement there,
As if the world had plotted some device,
The flower of all the Gods from heau'n t'entice.

16

But the graue Rectour of Olympus hath
Summon'd therfore a present Parliament;
And all the Gods along the Lactean-path
Vnto the Pallace of the Thunderer went,

297

From forth their fayre & jvory cloysters built
On that fayre street were Iuno's milke was spilt.

17

The Court all plac'd vppon their marble seats
Below the awfull Sires supremest Throne,
His jvory Scepter twice or thrice he beats
About those curled tresses of his owne,
Whose fearfull motions doe displace & stir
Heau'ns hinges, and Earths firme diameter.

18

And thus he speakes; “This wretched woman here,
“I know by what vnhappy accident
“Wherof (by all jnfernall gulphes I sweare)
“I would be veng'd with dreadfull discontent,
“But that I see the natiue jnnocence
“Of heau'n it selfe euen stayn'd wth this offence.

19

“For I presage that those vngracious boyes
“I sent abroade, too humanly affected
“In female formes, haue spent the tyme in toyes,
“And my com̄ands so cursedly neglected

298

“That she this vantage wins of their vniust
“Carriage and carelesse weakenes of their lust.

20

“And I confesse that this audacious Dame
“This Iapet's daughter (as I well may call her)
“That comes like him that came to steale our flame,
“Deserues no meaner vengeance to befall her
“Then hundred-handed Giges, whom I slew,
“Or he that out of heau'n by th' heeles I threw.

21

“But, brothers, that in Counsell sit with me,
“Wee but vniust in our owne justice were,
“If we should plague the poore mortalitie,
“For that wherof ourselues are not all cleere,
“Before our subiects we with rigour vrge,
“It bootes vs we our owne example purge.

22

“Therfore whersoe're we venture to bestow
“This dangerous companion, Now shee's here
“She must in no wise be sent back below,
“Lest her loose tongue (that nothing holds) blab there
“Amongst vnworthy mortalls, mysteries
“Peculier to jmmortall eares and eyes.”

23

This speech the speech of all the rest depriues,
Vntill the crooked Fates, who in a hole
Sate windeing vp the bottoms of frayle liues
And only durst the words of Ioue controule,
This contradiction from their anxious Cell
With open mouth and earnest fury yell.

299

24

“Downe with the woman, downe with her againe
“To sinfull earth as lowe as she was borne,
“Vnles thou art dispos'd (great Soveraigne)
“To make thy glorious Realme to men a scorne
“By everlasting jarres and breach of lawes,
“Which her proud spirit eternally will cause.

25

“If thou wilt needs doe her base world that grace
“As to detayne her here, then send vs thither,
“For thou shalt finde that state in cursed case
“Where Fates and Women domineer together.
“Where we are (Ioue) there needs no such as she:
“Where she is, needs no other destinie.”

26

This opposition 'twixt th'incensed Fates
And Ægis-arm'd Saturnides divides
The sage opinions of the Starry-states
Into so potent faction on both sides,
They neither judge her to exile nor death,
Nor fit for heau'n nor (from heau'n) fit for earth.

27

Till the Cyllenian wing'd and witty God
Betwixt those two extreames, bethinking soone
Some middle place; propounded her abode
Within th'enclosure of the glorious Moone.
And all applauding what he did propose
The Session broke and the whole Senat' rose.

300

THE FOURTH CANTO OR LAST QUARTER.

Argument.

To her doth servile make.

1

The Moone's bright Throne by Mulciber was built
Of shineing Siluer out of Lemnos brought;
Wheron Apollo's glorious face was guilt,
And Neptune's Realme jn his owne colours wrought,
Within set round with seats & lights engrau'd
In Christall, and with Sky-like Marble pau'd.

301

2

On ax'e-trees rays'd resembling that of heauen
Vpon foure wheeles, whose Spokes of argent hue
Betwixt round Naves of Mother-pearle were driuen,
And Ivory circles shod with Saphirs blew;
Drawne by two nimble steeds, the one Milke white,
The other black, in starry harneis dight.

3

The Minion Day was newly stole to bed
In Cimeris with Somnus god of Sleepe,
Whose Mother Night the sable curtains spread
And set officious Starres the watch to keepe,
When all the Gods went forth but he alone
That vnto Thetis lap was newly gone.

4

Till in the Zodiaque they the watchfull Moone
Gearing hir two fleet horses over-caught.
When the bright Queene of Night, perceiuing soone
By their discourse the In-mate they had brought,
Changeing her lookes, and casting downe the yoke,
Stood still: vntill the mighty Sire thus spoke.

302

5

“Lucina, pale not on thy greatest freinds,
“That dearely tender thee; Thou liu'st alone,
“And round about the Worlds far distant ends
“Dost helplesse manage this thy whirling Throne;
“Which seemes to me (how ere it thee doth please)
“Life without comfort, labour without ease.

6

“Therfore (my girle) Thou now shalt haue a Mate,
“And one that best may fit thy chastitie.
“Since thou the company of man dost hate
“This Woman here shall beare thee companye.
“To finde thee talke, to help those raignes to carry,
“And solace thee, that art too solitary.”

7

“King of the Gods (answers the Delian Queene)
“I liue, I ride, I rule these raynes alone,
“Which not my greife, but happynes hath beene,
“As my content-full silence well hath shewne:
“Let this Assembly speake, when ere did I
“Assistance craue, or wish for companie?

8

“But I perceiue that, vnder this pretence
“Of fatherly and freindly councell giuing,
“You please t'obtrude an jnconvenience
“Vppon me, worse then solitary liuing.
“You can (alas) not punish private woman
“So harshly, as to yoke her with a common.

9

“And though by you it cannot be denyed
“But that I am of Chastitie the Queene,

303

“Yet some lewd tongues mine honor haue belyed
“As if a Man had once been with me seene;
“That a false slaunder, this vexation true,
“(Me thinks) th'vnhappyer fortune of the two.

10

“Which had I fear'd, I peradventure might
“Like other Ladyes lou'd and been a wife,
“And by preventing this, preseru'd my right
“Of freedome, though with losse of mayden life.
“Sore is the wrong that makes an honest heart
“Almost repent the goodnesse of desert.

11

“And, as for thee (good woman) Thou mayst guesse
“It glorious fortune here to liue with me:
“But thou wilt finde no lesse vnhappynesse
“In mine, then I in thy societie.
“Woman to woman yeilds contentment small:
“And paynted prisons doe not lessen thrall.

12

“But since it is your will (Sir) which my breast
“Has neither will nor power to disobey,
“Advance your woman where (I hope) her rest
“Will make her (shortly) wish her selfe away.”
This sayd, her eyes her pale cheekes drown'd, & sent
Downe to the earth a shower of discontent.

13

But with such maiestie she tow'rds her turn'd
Her stately bodyes whole Celestiall frame,

304

In all the choycest wealth of heau'n adorn'd
As, to the heart of the most ventrous dame
Strooke feare: and forc'd her in a masqueing guise
Of tiffanie to sheild her dazled eyes.

14

And takeing this advantage of her eyes
Blur'd in her teares & frownes (that to approach
Her most maiestick presence otherwise
Neuer had had the hope) her bright Caroach
This proud audacious soiourner ascends,
And heaue'n in tryumph her fayre riddance ends.

15

But poore pale Cynthia so enraged grew,
She whip's her steeds, and takes up a Cariere
That in some eight & twenty dayes she flew
A compasse, that in almost thirtye yeare
Old Tyme-like Saturne, that doth seeme to mowe
All hindrance downe before him, could not goe.

305

16

Eleauen yeares circuit, & eleauen moneths more
She beate great Ioue in his owne twelue yeares race;
And lusty Mars could hardly gallop ore
Her three tymes ten dayes course in two yeares space:
Wing'd Mercury, light Venus, and the Sun
In twelue moneths chace she full eleuen out-run.

17

Her Chariot thus outstripping all theyr thrones,
Some more, some lesse, (as speede they differ in)
Rattles her tedious guest, to make her bones
And well knit joynts to totter in her skin,
To turne her maw or shake th'ambitious dame
Downe from her seate to earth from whence she came.

18

But she no whit dismayd, nor mov'd at all,
Sits in the christall windowes of the Moone,
Now in this wire, that tire, this Quoife, that Call,
Dressing her dainty browes from Morne to Noone;
From noone to night deviseing for next morning
New shapes, and, next day, that dayes habit scorning.

306

19

Though she the jemms & bracelets of the Queene
On and off puts, as her affections varye,
As if the Moone's fayre house a shop had been
Of Goldsmiths workes, or jewells mercenarye;
To Natures better grace Arts ayde jnventing,
And to her selfe vayne joyes & sportes presenting.

20

Whereat the horne-mad Moone wth rage sometimes
Doth swell her selfe as big as halfe the earth,
And by & by with extreame sorrow pines
Her selfe more leane, and smaller then her birth;
And in this strange distraction now & then
Her happy face hides from vnhappy men.

21

That blinde Thessalians often thought she was
By some enchantment stollen from her Sphere,
And frighted Romans ring shrill pans of brasse
And trumpets sound to her absented eare,
And ceremonious Greekes with tapers light
Succour her beames, almost extinguish'd quite.

307

22

And then looke how the vile vnworthy foes
Of good desert (jn th'absence of her face)
Their base jnsinuations jnterpose,
So grosse & paysant Earth steps in her place
And intercepts the favours of her freind,
Her brothers beames, that should her glory lend.

23

Then (dragon-like) all smier'd in bloud she fights
Fierce Combats for ecclipsed Maiestie,
And from her bowe disperses vengefull flights
Of warres, of dearthes, and deathes presagacie;
And therwith not content her wrath to swage
She (in her ayd) moues curled Triton's rage.

24

That he sometymes in his vnanchour'd jawes
Earthes ample borders jnundates, and drownes
Her sollid ramparts: and sometimes withdrawes
His neighbouring releiffes from her famish'd bounds:
And often o're his full-rig'd vessells casts
Cloud-threat'ning, and flowes aboue the masts.

25

Sometymes with other jnstruments of fate
She joynes her sharpe and discontent aspects,

308

In Natures cradle to jnfatuate
Mens manners, sences, powers, and jntellects.
She practises her force on streames, on springs,
Beasts, trees, plants, fruits, & all terrestriall things.

26

But aboue all her great and strange effects,
She hath this Woman still in such offence,
That (for her sake) she generally subiects
All women to her powerfull jnfluence;
And with what humours she doth her perplex,
She still the same jnflicts vppon her sex.

27

With fancyes, frenzies, lunacyes, with strange
Feares, fashions, factions, furyes, & affections,
With fondnes, fayntnes, fugacy, and change
Of mindes, moodes, habits, houses, freinds, complections:
In breife she raignes o're Women as a Queene.
In her their state, In them her power, is seene.

28

But yet she many gracious vertues hath,
Which (whether she therwith be pleas'd or no)
Amongst those jmperfections of her wrath
On Woman kind from her sweet nature flowe:
As patience, silence, modestie, sobrietie,
Chastitie, beauty, bounty, pittie, pietie.

29

Which graces, since they most resplendent be
In those fayre dames these amorous Seas contayne,

309

Let those whose blameles hearts the Moone doth free
Of her distast, free me of their disdayne,
And favour this my Song, that honours them,
And none condemnes but those that it condemn.

30

And not, like planets of the worst dispose,
Cause Cynthia's browes vnwillingly reflect
Their frownes vppon themselues: but shine like those
That by their happyer & more kinde aspect
Purchase all honour from her eyes, who still
With good good cout'nance holds, & jll with jll.

31

If melancholy Saturne on her face
Cast scowleing lookes, she scowles on him againe;
Or cholerick Mars with vizage of disgrace
Affronts her, she returnes him like disdaine;
When Mercury a good indifferent eye
Vouchsafes her, she vouchsafes it Mercury.

32

If puissant Phœbus danger her in fight
She hazards him: jf he looke freindly on her
Her anger's past: When Ioue his plesant light
Tenders her beames, she renders his like honour:
When fayre Cyprina smiles on bright Lucina
Well-pleasd Lucina striues t'outsmile Cyprina.

33

For as it dos not stand with her nobilitie
Basely to flatter those that doe despise her,

310

So is she apt in her heroick civilitie
To honour those who freindly favourize her;
Wherein Vrania (of all the Muses
Her best belou'd) her best example uses.

34

Let not your brightnes, & more bright renownes,
Be then (fayre Dames) with Moone or Muse offended;
Nor looke with martiall or Saturnian frownes
Where no dishonor is to you intended:
For such aspects would yor owne beautyes wrong;
And bode jll fortune to this harmeles song.

35

But joyne your smiles with Ioue or Mercurie,
Or shine as Sol, or Cytherea shines:
You then fortuniate this Muse and me,
Presageing endles honour to these lines:
And with your best aspects the Moone to view
Declare her best effects to be in you.

FINIS.

311

THIS STORY MORALLIZED.

A freind that heard and not beleeu'd this story
(As he might chuse) demands some Allegory.
Fictions that yeild no morall are (sayd he)
Meere fables, those that doe are Poesie.
I sayd I could not tell. I had it told
As from Vrania I it heard of old;
Who is most like therof account to make.
And being thereto jntreated: Thus she spake.

Vice, masqu'd in vertuous shew, yeilds morall none;
But vertue, masqu'd in vanytie, yeilds one.
You may perceiue, This woman's way t'entice
Though wanton seem'd, was without actuall vice:
Which shews, She did all her allurements vse
Her minde to please, not body to abuse.
And there she rightly representeth Minde,
In a terrestriall frame so vnconfin'd

312

That no adventure dreads herselfe to rayse
Vnto celestiall knowledge: And that's prayse.
But when (by freinds) she compas'd hath her ends,
As she outstrips, so she neglects, her freinds;
And that's jngratitude: which was her stayne.
What action's without blemish that's humane?
A light behaviour may (sometimes) be sound,
As in darke frownes lightnes is sometimes found.
The youthfull dietyes shew how farre aboue
All other passions & respects is Loue:
And in their negligence of heau'enly dutye,
The strong enchantments of an earthly beautye,
That such seducements hath as into folly
Has power (almost) t'infatuate the holy:
And he that shun so strong enchantments can
Seemes to haue something in him more then man.

The Senate of the Gods declares how hard
It is for age to mend what Youth hath mar'd:
Yet when of no help humane fancye dreames,
How heauenly wisdome moderates extreames.

To be vnknowne in heauen only teaches
The rareness of the minde that thither reaches.
And murmuring Fates are those jgnoble spirits
That envye those who rise by vent'rous merits.
The glistring Chariot of the Moone to climbe
Was more her doome then her ambitious crime:

313

Yet with her Mistres there may share some woe
In seeking more to know then she would shew.

Her too much boldnes there To satisfie
(If that could be) her curiositie.
Belowe the Moone, All bodyes fullnes finde:
All jn, and vnder, her fill not one minde;
Although she were (as some great wits suppose)
Another world, but I am none of those.
Cynthia sets forth a Lady of such strayne
As is more vertuous then the other vayne;
Not only chast, but of a disposition
So noble as exempt from all suspition:
Some talke of her Endimion: more deny
That lewd report; and one of those am I.

Her changes, her eclipses, her aspects
In frowning manner, represent th'effects
Of her owne troubled patience: wherein she
The only sufferer is, the warned wee.
Where from her jnfluence succeeds some ill
To any, 'tis their faults and not her will.
And where 'tis sayd she favours doth bestow,
Tis their good natures help to make it so.
For as the Bee and Spider from one flower
Honey and poyson sayd are to devoure,

314

Her guifts all prove according to the frame
Of those capacities receiue the same.
She being jll with jll, and good with good,
No harm can doe: and would not if she cou'd.

Herewith my freind was pleas'd; & did excuse
As you (I hope) doe my well meaning Muse,
Who doth (though she of amorous dietyes sings
And fayned Gods) acknowledge no such things;
But only vse their names to shew the mayne
Distance betweene the vertuous and the vayne.
Weake eyes that cannot (like the Eagle) brooke
The brightnes of the Sun, through lawne must looke,
As Indian gold in Christian vse we spend,
So we vayne fictions vse to vertuous end;
And being not able heauenly workes t'expresse
In their owne greatnes, striue in what is lesse.
Through shadowes dim most shines a reall worth,
As a darke foyle best sets a diamond forth.

THE END OF THE MORALL.

319

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE WALLNUT-TREE OF BORESTALL.

In an Eglogue and 3 Canto's Betweene Iasper & Iefferye.

Iasper a Swayne vpon the Cotswold hill,
And Ieffrey, Shepheard on the banks of Thame,
Together met (as sometimes Shepheards will),
Iasper, who of a tale had heard the fame
That Iefferye told, desires to heare the same,
Which gentle Iefferye, easily entreated,
(At the desire of Iasper) thus repeated.

320

CANTO I.

1

Who has not heard, How many ages since
The famous Nigel slew the savage Boare
That did the Countrey spoyle, and by his Prince
Full worthily rewarded was therfore
With lands, and woods, & forrest-walkes good store,
Wherein he built vpon the Monsters stall
A Mansion fayre, wch by that name we call.

2

Of all the trees that yeilded foode or fruite
The horrid hog did kill, supplant, or gnaw
One only Wall-nut, then a tender Shute,
The fortune had to scape his cruell jaw
Which when the good & valorous Champion saw
Within his Castle wall, jn carefull sort,
He fenc'd it round in midst of all his Court.

321

3

A Raven much about that age (as me
My Muse jnformes) who oft had broke his fast
In the greene lofts of this jmproued Tree,
Coming of late in hope of like repast,
Findeing his host had now expir'd his last,
From his deepe throate he fetch'd a sigh so loud
As wak'd an Eccho in th'ore-whelming Cloud.

4

Towards the neighbouring woods in hast he flyes,
Where findeing first the Frith (or such a name)
He to the Trees reports with weeping eyes
Of their old freinds decease the dolefull fame,
And that no course was taken (was a shame)
To doe him his last rites, who was a Tree
Of so great fruits and such antiquitie.

5

They flourishing in greene & youthfull pride
Relish no newes that fate or death might send,

322

And doubting (as may seeme) he poorely dyed,
Who in his life so liberally did spend
His state, that little left was for his end,
Excus'd themselues, as being a generation
That to his bloud, or stock, had no relation.

6

But yet advis'd the Raven to repaire
To all the Nut-trees, which (they thought) he knew,
Who being of his kindred, would take care
For his last rites, to his deserued due.
Which Councell he doth jnstantly pursue,
And in those Woods, he first & quickly findes
The Hazle, whom he of this bus'ines mindes.

7

This was an honest Tree, but weake and poore
With charge of children great, that by him stooke,
Yet one that had in lib'rall deeds done more
Then some of them that bore a higher looke;
Yet at few wordes he gently vndertooke
In this so freindly office to be one,
So more would joyne; he was too meane alone.

8

I haue not (sayes the Raven) eaten all
My meate, or mast, in this my natiue land
But where I saw the Iordan Almonds fall
As thick vpon their famous Rivers sand
As yours doe here to Autumnes shakeing hand,
And where the odorous Nutmegs cheaper may
Be bought by th' peck, then by the pound we pay.

323

9

But being now three hundred yeares of age
(A time enough, if euer, to be wise)
I dare not my decaying wings engage
So farre abroade to seeke out your allyes;
To those that this fayre Island doth comprise
Herein to ioyne with you, I shall not fayle
My best perswasion, if that may prevayle.

10

This sayd, The sable herauld tooke his leaue,
And pond'ring well th'affayre he went about
In his old brayne, he sagely did conceiue
He must not only finde the Nut-trees out
But at such houses where he made no doubt
The Lords & Ladyes were great freinds vnto
The Ladye at whose house the Wall-nut grew.

11

And thus conceited The first flight he flew
Was to the great & auncient house of Thame,
Where stood another Wall-nut tree he knew
Of a fayre growth, and of a fruitfull fame,
To whom, full sadly, he reports the same
That to the Hazle he had done before,
And doth his help and presence both jmplore.

12

Whereat the gentle tree let fall a dew
Of yellow teares from his jndulgent eyes,

324

But vp his stayres the messenger did shew
Where he should finde a welcome to suffice
His appetite: The while he would advise
Some course to take, or to excuse this taske,
Which did no small consideration aske.

13

And when he had in his sound head revolu'd
The nature of the cause (and th'other fed)
He told him thus: My freind, I am resolu'd,
Although from hence I haue not travelled
These fifty yeares, yet for his sake that's dead
And more his Ladyes, when you next shall call
To wait vppon my Cousin's funerall.

14

From hence to Ditton was his second flight
Where he remembred, he did oft behold
A grove of Filberd trees (a plesant sight)
To whom his messuage solemnly he told,
And they, as curteous, grant him what he would,
And did the ablest of them all elect
Ready to goe, when he should so direct.

325

15

On his sad wings, with sweet encouragement
Thus strongly ymp'd, The mourning Post now bound
Is for the wildes of Sussex or of Kent,
(I know not which), and there vpon the ground
Of noble Delawar, or Wooton, found
A Chestnut tree, to whom (as to the rest)
He telles the newes and makes the same request.

16

The kinde Castanean thus did answer make;
I much condole (good freind) the newes I heare,
And for mine old deceased kindreds sake,
And more his Ladyes, I would fayne be there;
But being now aboue fourescore, I feare
My corps two fadoms round, and lazie roote,
Will neuer hold to walke so far afoote.

326

17

(For horse) a Camell will not carry me,
Or had I one that could, I could not ride:
And in a waggon, if your high wayes be
Like those of ours, I neuer shall abide.
Sir (sayes the Raven) take the Grauesend tide
Where you shall finde a Barge to bring vp you
To London first, and thence to Windsor too.

18

For I at Ditton (which to that is neere)
The Filberd tree already haue bespake,
And he (more young) shall wait vpon you there
(His loue assures me so to vndertake),
And thence to Thame the next dayes journey make,
To call the Wallnut, whom you shall arrive
At fifteene miles, & then to Borestall fiue.

19

But (sayes the Chestnut) when must be the day
Wheron we should this last good office doe,
That (sayes the Raven) you must name, say they,
Out of their fayre & kinde respects to you
That haue the longest journey thervnto,
They far more neare, their tyme on yours attends,
Trust me (sayd he) 'tis sayd like noble freinds.

20

This day (sayd he) is Tuesday, Mars his day,
By whose great helpe, or greater power, I shall
On Monday next, at Windsor (as you say)
The Filberd meete, that he and I may call
The Wallnut tree at Thame, and thence be all

327

At Borestall vpon Wednesday by night,
On Thursday to attend the funerall right.

21

This sayd, to bid the messenger farewell,
With rare respect he shooke him by the hand
With such a force, as from his sholders fell
A bayte of Nuts that cover'd all the land
That did within his large circumference stand:
And some the Raven tooke, and might as many
As laden would his horse, had he had any.

22

And so the black jndustrious Post retourning
First to the Filberd, in his place, declares
The Chestnuts resolution for this mourning,
And for the promis'd meeting him prepares:
Then to the Wallnut seconds these affayres,
And lastly to the Hazle makes relation
Of all, to keepe awake his expectation.

23

Thus feare I (Iasper) I haue been too long,
Yet hitherto my service but prepar'd:

Iasper
That is (jndeede) thy com̄on fault of song,
But yet goe on (good Iefferye): better heard
Were story none at all, then halfe declar'd;
And of the two, it is the lesse offence
To weary, then deceiue, the hearing sence.

328

CANTO II.

Jefferey

Amuse (like this) of great and good desires
Though litle power (and pittie 'twas no more),
To whom Calliope had lent some wires,
Wherof her owne Son's wond'rous harpe had store,
Whose bow'er was to the Wallnut tree next dore,
Which gaue to her occasion euery day
By him to passe, and him now thus to say.

2

As long (rare Nymph) as you & I haue dwelt
So neere this auncient noble house of Thame,
My old vnhappy eare hath neuer felt
Your wondrous notes, but only in their fame:
Whereat the gentle Pegasean dame
Her Harpe into her softe embraces tooke,
And clangour sweete on silver sinewes strooke.

329

3

And now, As when a lowe'ring Candlemas
Bodes future smileing winter for that yeare,
Th'vnmanag'd horse curvet's on his owne grasse,
Th'amazed oxen, the quick-senced deare,
And stareing weathers friscall here and there,
And Shepheards (but for joy) might stand amaz'd
To see their cattle dancing where they graz'd:

4

The Wallnut tree so ravish'd with the charmes
Proceeding from these mystique ayres of hers
That diue his darke foundation, spreads his armes,
His curled corpes and crisped shoulders stirs,
And teares his russet bootes and crooked spurres
Out of the dungeon of their earthly layre,
Into the lightsome freedome of the ayre.

5

Which done, He stood and told his neighbour all
The story of the buis'nes now in hand:
His Cousins death, his wanted funerall,
The Raven's newes, and travells o're the land
To Ditton-parke, and Sussex farre beyond,
The day appointed: and desir'd therein
That further helpe, which she did thus begin.

330

6

The Lady, that as promptly vnderstood
As he could tell, the course of all these things,
(Being apt for vertuous ends & actions good)
To her white shoulders fix'd her azure wings
And tooke her flight, & with her powerfull strings
That this had done, with those did so prevayle
The meeting did not the day pointed fayle.

7

Th'expected freinds arriu'd: No westerne winde
Did euer bow the courteous Wallnut tree
So lowe, as with his owne embraces kinde
He now salutes his Nephewes to the knee:
And on his bed, and entertaynment free
Of his provision, well refresh'd this night
Their wearied limbes and sharpen'd appetite.

8

Then through the Towne that stands on flowing Thame,
And o're his bridge, they did next morning goe,
The Wallnut leading way (who knew the same)
So early, that but few could see or know,
More then the Muse who would not leaue them so
But with them went, out of the Fryth to call
The Hazle last; and then to Borestall all.

9

The Camell once from Ethiopia brought,
And Dromedaryes of th'Arabian sands,

331

The sight wherof we haue for money bought,
Were not so strange as these that our owne lands
Affoarded haue thus (gratis) to our hands,
Wherof some few behelders scarsly well
Whether their eyes did dreame, or wake, could tell.

10

But now it did a second sorrow ad
In cause so great, to finde themselues so few.
The more Companions in a fortune sad,
The easelier beare the burthen of the woe.
They of the Raven then desir'd to know
If he (in all his travells) knew no more
Nut-trees throughout this Iland, but them foure.

11

Whereto he made this answer: I know none
More then your selues, vnles I should haue spoke
Vnto the Beech, in Chilterne, to be one
Or to this meeting mov'd the stately Oake;
And how much cloth makes each of them a cloke
Judge you (jf you in mourning meane to be)
I cannot tell: My blacks were giuen me.

12

Hereat amongst them first grew some dispute
Whether the Beech with Nut-trees might be plac'd,
And though some sayd he bore a Nut-like fruite,
Most voyces held 'twas but a kinde of Mast,
So he was none, they all conclude at last.
But then there did a second question growe
Whether the Oake a Nut-tree were or no.

332

13

The Raven with the Oake-tree far in loue
For old acquaintance & much kindnesse sake
The Oake a Nut-tree vndertakes to proue
Else, false (sayd he) they did the Riddle make.
They ask'd him, what was that? wch thus he spake:
What tree is that that in the forrest growes
And is house, land, meate, medcine, drinke, & clothes?

'Twas answer'd Tis the Oake: and that begot
These questions more, jf that were true or not.

How is he house? Because the Raven's dwelling,
And for all buildings tymber most excelling.

How is he Land? Because his shade preserues
From scorching heate the soyle that, naked, sterues.

How is he Meate? Because for want of bread,
In dolefull dearth, some on his fruites haue fed.

How is he Drinke? Because the freindly winde
Shakes his sweete dewes downe to the thirsty Hinde.

How is he Medcine? 'Cause the sickly body
His dyet-drinke makes with his Polipody.

How is he Clothes? 'Cause best of them for weather
With Oaken barke are made; and that's the Leather.

333

15

The gentle Trees approuing these good parts,
Confess'd they all the Oake a Nut-tree thought,
And told the Raven, They with all their hearts
Desir'd his presence Jf he might be brought:
He answer'd, That might possibly be wrought
With Muses helpe; whereto shee soone consents,
All motions good are Muses elements.

16

Soe leaueing them one night, more to renew
Their spirits spent in trauell, and in woe,
The Muse and Raven both together flew
Abroade, to seeke the fayrest Oake they know,
And findeing him that doth at Ricot grow
They made a stand, while thus the Raven spoke:
To you are we addres'd (Renowned Oake):

17

The Wallnut-tree of Borestall dead of late,
His freinds are all assembled there but you,
His latest rites, in some fayre forme of state
According to his fayre deserts to doe;
And sent vs to invite you therevnto,

334

If your great age may ioyne in such remoue
With your well knowne respect, and Noble loue.

18

Sad as thy habit, Raven (sayes the Tree)
Is thy report, yet sweete is thy request,
Though somthing strange & difficult to me,
That for so noble freinds would doe my best,
And for thee too, who art the ancient Crest
To th'Ensignes of this noble House, wherby
Thou summon'st me with double herauldry.

19

But by what magique I, that here haue stood
Foure hundred yeares (thou know'st how truly spoke)
Can nowe remoue, think'st thou? or, if I cou'd,
Where canst thou ease'ly finde so many yoke
Of Oxen, as from hence can draw an Oake
Whose spreading talons comprehend this hill,
And body would sixe gyants girdles fill?

20

Wherfore (my old contemporist and freind)
First climbe my storyes to thy wonted feast,
And then vpon those noble freinds attend
Full laden with my service, in thy best
And sagest language, there to be expres'd
In his behalfe whose heart here shares the woe,
And twice a mourner, that he cannot goe.

21

Of his braue compasse, and his like desires,
The Muse advantage takes, and downe she sits,
Her yellow Harpe, set with Orphean wires,
With ribbands to her jvory bosome knits,

335

And from her Thespian fingers ends some fits
Of such enchanting melody she strooke
As from his locks a hayle of Acornes shooke.

22

And now, Like as, when Æolus vnlocks
The Thracian Caues and into euery place
Let[s] loose his roreing sonnes, the Cedar rocks
And loftie Pines the lowly Shrubs embrace;
So now he rouzes (but in differing case)
His curled trunke, brode armes, & spacious feete,
Not mou'd with windes, but Musiques power more sweete.

23

Which, joyn'd with his affection, did so please
His sollid heart and vegetatiue bloud,
He ravish'd was that on such suddaine ease
He on the brest of his foundation stood:
Fayre meanes best moue a disposition good;
And Musique ioyn'd with loue performes a deede
That seem'd a hundred pioners to neede.

24

By his Inviters conduct and their ayd
He lifts his resty heeles, and forward set

336

Tow'rds the brode mouth of roreing Thame, affrayd
When as the trembling bridge of Ickford swet
Vnder his pond'rous steps, and all that met
Or saw this huge & wond'rous pilgrim walke,
Through the vast country caus'd as vast a talke.

25

The youth of these our tymes, that did behold
This motion strange of this vnweildy plant,
Now boldly brag with vs, that are more old,
That of our age they no advantage want,
Though in our youths we saw the Elephant,
And hee's no novice that did neuer see
The Lyons, if he saw this walking tree.

26

Bright Phœbus by his sister seconded
(Two gracious freinds to euery fayre intent)
By both their lights him thus to Borestall led,
Where meeting all those freinds, This night was spent
(You may be sure) in courteous compliment,
And sage discourse vpon the next dayes cause,
Which now (till then) giues me like breath to pawse.

337

CANTO III.

1

The Mornings Queene, to euery studious minde
A gentle freind, sollicits now the Trees
To put on mourning robes: but where to finde
(Vpon this suddaine), suiting their degrees,
Habits enough for such solemnities,
Was now a second care; wherein t'attend
Vppon the hearse of their deceased freind.

2

The Muse, no lesse to dolours then delights
(So true be both) a freind and servant true,
Informes the Trees that of all funerall rites
The Cypresse was the queene; & that she knew
Where one hard by her Laurell mansion grew,
Where (if they pleas'd) she did not doubt to borrow
For euery one a garland for this sorrow.

3

The Muses motion they all much commend,
But answer made, They all were first agreed
To haue the body opened; To which end

338

They sent the freindly Raven with all speed
To finde two rare Chirurgeons for this deed:
But he that word mistakeing (as is thought)
In stead of Surgeons two, two Sawyers brought.

4

But they (now come) vpon their scaffold layd
The naked cors, and therevnto applyed
Th'indented razour, and by mutuall ayd
Of eithers hands th'anatomy divide;
Wherein the mourning standers-by descryed
No blemishes of age, nor surfeit found,
But heart & all intestines fayre & sound.

5

And then, To see the ample forrest downe
That flourish'd had so many hundred yeare,
The Castle batter'd, and the neighbour-towne
And all that stood about him ruin'd were,
They all conclude, That either greife or feare
Were of the Wallnut's death th'occasion cheife.
And what more fatall is then feare or greife?

6

But oh, what things't thou, Iasper? If a Tree
For want of neighbours, mates or freinds can dye,
Of what more wooden stupid molde are wee
That into teares dissolue not, thou and I,
To see the Church, the Sanctuary, lye
As flat as when our ancestors devoute
Measur'd her ancient scituation out!

339

7

To see (nay, not to see) the Monuments
Of noble Nigell now depriu'd our sight,
The famous Ensignes of the long discents
Of Reade's and Dynham's once in windowes bright,
Almost all dash'd into Obliuions night,
But that when glasse & marble both expire
Fame's endles life is subiect to no fire.

Jasper
Sad story (Ieff:) but comfort take, Though downe
The Chappell be, it may be built againe
And (as thou say'st) To infinite renowne
All finite earthly gloryes are but vayne:
So dost thou cure the sore thou dost complayne:
All liues, to life eternall, moments be.
And what becomes then of the Wallnut-tree?

Jefferye
The freinds gaue order to the men that wrought,
His body sound in Wainscot to dissect,
And then the Lady of the place besought
Therewith to trim some gallery select,
And cause his limbes with pictures to be dect

340

Of the Nut-trees, the Raven, and the Muse,
Who did their parts herein so freindly vse.

10

Which graunted was: And with no wonder more
But Muses still continued loue and power,
The Trees were plac'd againe as heretofore:
For though we may be jealous euery houre
Of things that chance, or time, or theft, devoure,
To marke, or minde, or misse, we neuer vse
The things we thinke vnpossible to loose.

Jasper
Jeffe'ry, you haue a precious story sayd;
As strange as when the Rocks & Cedars tall
Did dance when Orpheus and Amphion playd:
But sure those fictions had true meanings all,
And therefore to accompt I must you call
To yeild some Morall meaning of your story;
Your story else will yeild you litle glory.

Jeffery
Though (fellow Iasper) those that wiser be
Then thou and I, well satisfyed remaine,
And though my tale has wearyed them and me
(As well it may), I'le take a litle payne
(At thy request) my story to explaine.
He either wrongs or merits not his Muse
Who, with her words, her meaneing fayles to vse.

341

13

In this so old and fruitfull Wallnut-tree
That flourish'd many ages and good dayes
In fruite so plesant, Moralliz'd is he
Who spends in fruitfull, free, and noble wayes
His precious tyme. And he that tells the prayse
And wayles the death of one that was so good,
Is in the gratefull Raven vnderstood.

14

The gallants of the groues, Th'Elme long & lazie,
The wauering Aspe, the Popler as vnstable,
The hungry Maple, brittle Ash and crazie,
The gosling Sallow, and the Boxe vnable,
Vayne Willow, and the like jnumerable,
A sort that yeild no fruite but proud neglect:
Who would no kindnesse shew, can none expect.

15

The Nut-trees are the true and noble freinds,
Which are in all (thou mayst obserue) but fiue,
To shew how many liue to their owne ends,
And to doe others good how few that striue:
The Muse's charmes, Sweate motions that enliue
All good affectons, teaching payne to please,
Make wonder feizible, and labour, ease.

16

Braue Hercules (they say) made cleane a Stable
Wherein three thousand sordid beasts had layne;

342

And proud Egeus (though a prince well able)
Basely denyed the wages for his payne.
If this be fable, yet the meanings playne:
Though trifles did a mind jgnoble sway,
No rubbs could stand in an heroicall way.

17

I haue once heard (and thinke it not vntrue)
That since our dayes a great man of this land
Remou'd a groue of ancient trees (that grew
Obscurely) in a plesant place to stand.
Great force has wisedome ioyn'd with willing hand:
And what seemes hard to sloth & comon sence,
Oft yeilds to strong desire and diligence.

18

But that thou mayst no further question aske,
When proud and lazie negligence, jnclin'd
To no good act, will vndergoe no taske
Of worthy consequence; A noble minde
(Though it a world of difficulty finde)
To doe a vertuous deede through all will run:
Best honors are with hardest labours won.

19

All breifly thus (my Iasper) I conclude;
Morall'd is Bounty in the Wallnut-tree,
In the jndustrious Raven, Gratitude,
In the fiue Nut-trees, freindly Charitie,
And in the Muses wond'rous Melodie,

343

The Mindes diuine encouragements to moue
Her earthly Mate to all good works of Loue.

20

So (brother Swayne) I hope you vnderstand
I to my tale my morall haue expres'd.

Jasper

Thou hast (indeed): And therfore at my hand
Here take a kidskin, in his furre well dres'd
To keepe from cold thy old & honest brest.
For now the blinking twylight on me calls
To leade my cattell to their wonted stalls.

Jefferye
I doe com̄end thee, that (though poore) art free;
And take thy will for guift, but guift not take,
Vnles thou wilt a lambe-skin take from me.
I haue not done this only for thy sake,
But greater freinds. But (as thou well hast spake)
Our freindly Starre warnes vs from falling dewes
In hazle castles now to fence our ewes.

THE END.