University of Virginia Library

[Eglogs.]

Egloga prima

Daphnes. Amintas.
Amin.
Thy prayses Daphnes are to great,
and more for me than meete:
Nor euer I, suche saged sawes,
coulde synge in Uerses sweete.
And now, to talke of spring time tales
my heares to hoare, do growe
Suche tales as these, I tolde in, tyme,
when youthfull yeares dyd flowe.
But synce, I can not the denye,
thy Fathers loue doth bynde:
In symple Songe I wyll adresse
my selfe, to showe my mynde.
Longe hast thou Daphnes me requyred
the state of Loue to tell,
For in my youth, I knewe the force,
and passions all, full well.
Nowe Loue therfore I wyll defyne
and what it is declare,
which way poore souls it doth entrap
and howe it them doth snare.
My Boie, remoue my beasts frō hens
and dryue them farther downe,
Upon the Hylles, let them go feade,
that ioyne to yender towne,
O Cupyde kynge of fyerye Loue,
ayde thou my syngynge Uerse,
And teache me heare the cause & case,
Of Louers to reherse,
Direct my tong, in trothe to treade,
with Furye fyll my brayne,
That I may able be to tell,
the cause of Louers payne.
Opinions diuers coulde I showe,
but chiefest of them all,
I wyll declare: and for the rest,
with silence leaue I shall.
A feruent Humour, (some do iudge)
within the Head doth lye,
Whiche yssuyng forth with poysoned beames
doth ron frō eye to eye:
And taking place abrode in heads,
a whyle doth fyrmely rest:
Till Phrensie framde in Fancie fond
discends from hed, to brest.

Plato.

And poison strong, frō eies outdrawn
doth perce the wretched harte,
And all infectes the bloud aboute,
and boyles in euery parte:
Thus: whē the beames, infected hath,
the wofull Louers blud:
Then Sences al, do strayght decaye,
opprest with Furyes flud.
Then Lybertie withdrawes herself,
and Bondage beares the swaye,
Affection blynd then leades the hart,
and Wyt, is wownde awaye.
O Daphnes then, the paines appeare,
and tormentes all of hell.
Then sekes, the selye wounded soule,
the flames for to expell.
But all to late, alas he stryues,
for Fancie beares the stroke
And he, must toyle (no helpe there is)
in slauysshe seruyle yoke.
His blud corrupted all within,
doth boyle in euery vayne,
Than sekes he howe to sewe for salue
that maye redresse his payne.
And when the face, he doth beholde
by whiche he shulde haue ayde,
And sees no helpe, thē lookes he long,
and trembleth all afrayde.
And museth at the framed shape,
that hath his lyfe in handes:
Nowe fast he flies, aboute the flames,
nowe styll amased standes:
Yet Hope relieues, his hurtful Heate
and Wyll doth Payne make lyght,
And al the griefes, that then he feeles
doth Presence styll requyght.
But when the Lyght absented is,
and Beames in hart remayne,
Then flames the Fyre fresh agayne,
and newe begyns his Payne.
Then longe he lookes, his losse to se,
then sobbes, and syghes abounde,
Then mourneth he, to mys the marke
that erst to soone he founde.
Then shadefull places oute he lookes,
and all alone he lyues,
Exylynge Ioye, and myrth from him,
hymselfe to waylynge gyues,
And styll his minde theron doth muse
and styll, therof he prates,
O Daphnes here I swere to the,
no griefe to Louers state.
Yf he but ones beholde the place,
where he was wont to mete,
The pleasaunt forme yt hym enflamd,
and ioyfull Countnaunce swete.
The place (a wonderous thing I tell)
his gryefe augmenteth newe,
Yet styll he sekes the place to se,
that moste he shulde eschewe.
Yf but the name rehearsed be,
(a thynge more straunge to heare)
Then Colour cōmes and goes in hast
then quaketh he for feare,
The verye name, hath suche a force,
that it can dase the mynde,
And make the man amasde to stande,
what force hath Loue to bynde?
Affection none to this is lyke,
it doth surmownt them all,
Of greiffes, the greatest greif no doubt
is to be Venus thrall,
And therfore, Daphnes nowe beware,
for thou art yonge, and fre,
Take heade of vewynge faces longe,
for losse of Lybertye,
I shall not nede (I thynke) to byd
the, to detest the Cryme,
Of wycked loue, that Ioue did vse,

Iupiter.

In Ganimedes tyme,
For rather wolde I (thoo it be muche)
that thou shuldest seake the fyre,
Of lawfull Loue, that I haue tolde,
than burne wyth suche desyre,
And thus an end, I weryed am,
my wynde is olde, and faynt,
Suche matters I, do leaue to suche,
as finer farre can paint,
Fetche in the Gote: that goes astraye,
and dryue hym to the folde,
My yeares be great I wyl be gone,
for spryngtyme nyghts be colde.

Daphnes
Great thankes to the, for this thy tale
Amintas here I gyue:
But neuer can I make amendes
to the whilste I do lyue.
Yet for thy paynes (no recompence)
a small rewarde haue here.
A whistle framed longe ago,
wherwith my father deare
His ioyfull beasts, was wont to kepe.
No Pype fortune so swete
Might shepharde euer yet posses.
(a thynge for the full mete.)

Egloga secunda.

Dametas.
My beasts, go fede vpon ye plaine,
and let your herdman lye,
Thou seest her mind, & fearst yu nowe,
Dametas for to dye?
Why stayest yu thus? why doste yu stay?
thy lyfe to longe doth laste:
Accounte this flud, thy fatall graue,
syth time of hope is paste.
What meanst thou thus to linger on?
thy life wolde fayne departe,
Alas: the wounde doth fester styll,
of cursed Cupids darte.
No salue but this, can helpe thy sore,
no thynge can moue her minde
She hath decreed, that thou shalt dye,
no helpe there is to finde.
Nowe syth there is, no other helpe,
nor ought but this to trye,
Thou seest her mind: why fearste thou than?
Dametas for to dye.
Long hast thou serued, & serued true,
but all alas, in vayne,
For she thy seruyce, nought estemes,
but deales the griefe for gayne.
For thy good wyll, (a gay rewarde)
Disdayne, for Loue she gyues,
Thou louest her while thy life doth last,
she hates the, wile she liues.
Thou flamste, when as yu seest her face
with Heate of hye desyre,
She flames agayne, but how? (alas)
with depe disdaynfull Ire.
The greatest pleasure is to the,
to se her voyde of Payne,
The greatest gryefe to her agayne,
to se thy Health remayne.
Thou couetste euer her to fynde,
she sekes from the to flye,
Thou seest her mynd, why fearst thou than?
Dametas for to dye?
Doste thou accounte it best to kepe,
thy lyfe in sorowes styll?
Or thynkste thou best it now to lyue,
Contrarye to her wyll?
Thynkste thou thy lyfe for to retaine?
when she is not content,
Canste thou addicte: thy selfe to lyue?
and she to murder bent.
Doste thou entende agayne, to sewe
for mercye at her handes?
As soone thou mayst go plow ye rocks,
and reape vpon the Sandes.
Draw nere O mighty Herd of beasts
syth no man els is bye,
Your Herdman longe that hathe you kept,
Dametas nowe must dye.
Resolue your Brutisshe eies to teares
and all togyther crye,
Bewayle the wofull ende of Loue,
Dametas nowe must dye.
My pleasaunt Songs, nowe shall you here
no more on Mountaines hye,
I leaue you all, I must be gone.
Dametas nowe must dye:
To Titirus I you resyne,
in Pasture good to lye,
For Titirus shall kepe you thoughe,
Dametas nowe must dye.
O cursed Cause, that hath me slayne,
My trothe alas to trye,
O Shephardes all, be Wytnesses,
Dametas here doth dye.

Egloga tertia.

Menalcas. Coridon.
Cor.
A great mishap, and griefe of mynde,
is him befalne of late,
Which causeth him, against his wyll,
to lose his olde estate.
A lustie flocke hath Titirus,
that him Dametas gaue,
Dametas he; that Martir died,
whose soule the heaues haue,
And in this flocke, full many Yewes
of pleasaunte forme do goe,
with thē almighty Rāme doth ronne,
that workes all Woers woe.
My Rāme, whē he the pleasaūt dames
had vewed rounde aboute,
Those groūde of battayle, with his foe
and thought to fyght it oute.
But all to weake, (alas) he was,
althoughe his harte was good,
For when his enemye him espied,
he rāne woth cruell moode.
And with his croked weapon smote,
him sore vpon the syde,
A blowe of force, that stayde not there
but to the legges dyd glyde.
And almoste laamd the woer quyte.
(suche happes in loue there be:)
This is the cause, of all his griefe
and waylynge that you se.

Men.
Well Coridon let hym go halte,
and let vs both go lye,
In yonder busshe of Iuniper,
the Beasts shall fede hereby.
A pleasaunt place here is to talke:
good Coridon begyn,
And let vs knowe the Townes estate,
that thou remaynest in.

Cor.
The Townes estate? Menalcas oh
thou makste my harte to grone,
For Uice hath euery place posseste,
and Uertue thence is flowne.
Pryde beares her selfe, as Goddesse chiefe
and boastes aboue ye Skye,
And Lowlynes an abiecte lyes,
with Gentlenes her bye,
Wyt is not ioynde with Symplenes,
as she was wont to be,
But sekes the ayde of Arrogance,
and craftye Polycie.
Nobylitie begyns to fade,
and Carters vp do sprynge,
Then whiche, no greater plague can hap,
nor more pernicious thynge.
Menalcas I haue knowen my selfe,
within this thyrtye yeare,
Of Lordes and Auncient Gentelmen
a hundreth dwellynge theare,
Of whom we Shephardes had reliefe
suche Gentlenes of mynde,
Was placed in theyr noble Hartes,
as none is nowe to fynde.
But Hawtynes and proude Disdayne
hath nowe the chiefe Estate,
For syr Iohn Straw, & syr John Cur,
wyll not degenerate.
And yet, they dare account thē selues
to be of Noble bludde.
But Fisshe bred vp, in durtye Pooles,
wyll euer stynke of mudde.
I promysse the Menalcas here,
I wolde not them enuye.
Yf any spot of Gentlenes,
in them I myght espye.
For yf theyr Natures gentell be,
thoughe byrth be neuer so base,
Of Gentelmen (for mete it is)
they ought haue name and place:
But whē by byrth, they base are bred,
and churlisshe harte retaine,
Though place of gentleman thei haue
yet churles they do remayne.
A prouerbe olde, hash ofte ben harde
and nowe full true is tryed:
An Ape, wyll euer be an Ape,
thoughe purple garments hyde.
For seldom, wyll the mastye course,
the Hare or els the Deare:
But styll, accordynge to his kynde.
wyll holde, the hogge by theare.
Unfitte are danghill knights to serue
the towne, with Speare in fielde:
Nor strange it semes, (a sudain Chop)
to leape from whyp, to shielde.
The chiefest man, in all our towne,
that beares the greatest swaye,
Is Coridon no kynne to me,
a Neteherd thother daye
This Coridon come from the Carte,
In honour chiefe doth sytte,
And gouernes vs: because he hath,
a Crabbed, Clownish wytte.
Nowe se the Churlysh Crueltye,
that in hys harte remayns.
The selye Sheape ye Shephards good,
haue fosterd vp wyth Paynes,
And browght awaye, from Stynkyng dales
on pleasant Hylles to feade:
O Cruell Clownish Coridon,
O cursed Carlish Seade:
The simple Shepe, constrayned he,
theyr Pasture swete to leaue,
And to theyr old corrupted Grasse.
enforceth them to cleaue.
Such Shepe, as wold not them obaye
but in theyr Pasture byde.
with (cruell flames,) they did cōsume
and vex on euery syde.
And wt the shepe, ye Shephardes good,
(O hatefull Hounds of Hell,)
They did torment. and dryue thē out,
in Places farre to dwell.
There dyed Daphnes for his Shepe,
the chiefest of them all.
And fayre Alexis flamde in Fyre,
who neuer perysshe shall.
O Shephards wayle, for Daphnes deth,
Alexis hap lament,
And curs the force of cruell hartes,
that them to death haue sent.
I, synce I sawe suche synfull syghts,
dyd neuer lyke the Towne,
But thought it best to take my sheepe,
and dwell vpon the downe.
Wheras I lyue, a pleasaunt lyfe,
and free from cruell handes,
I wolde not leaue, the plesaunt fyelde
for all the Townysh Landes.
For syth that Pryde, is placed thus,
and Uice set vp so hye:
And Crueltie doth rage so sore,
and men lyue all awrye:
Thynkste yu? ye God, wil long forbere,
his scourge, and plague to sende?
To suche as hym do styll despyse
and neuer seke to mende?
Let them be sure he wyll reuenge.
when they thynke leaste vpon.
But looke a stormy showre doth ryse,
whiche wyll fall heare anone.
Menalcas best we nowe departe,
my Cottage vs shall keepe,
For there is rowme for the, and me,
and eke for all our sheepe:
Som Chestnuts haue I there in store
with Cheese and pleasaunt whaye,
God sends me Uittayles for my nede,
and I synge Care awaye.

Egloga quarta.

Milibeus Palemon.
O God , that guyds ye golden Globe,
wher shinyng shapes do dwel
O thou yt throwest the thūder thumps
from Heauen a hye, to Hell,
what wonders workes thy worthynes
what meruayles doste thou frame?
What secrete syghts be Subiect sene
vnto thy holy name?
A symple Shepharde slayne of late,
by foolysshe force of Loue,
That had not Grace such fancies fond
and Flames for to remoue,
Appeared late, before myne eies,
(Alas I feare to speake,)
Not as he here was wont to lyue,
whyle Gryefe hym none did breake.
But all in Blacke, he clothed came
an vgly syght to se:
As they that for theyr due Desartes,
with Paynes tormented be,
My shepe for feare amased ran,
and fled from Hyll to Dale,
And I alone remayned there,
with countenaunce wan and pale.
O Lorde (quoth I,) what meanes this thyng
is this Alexis spryght?
Or is it Daphnes soule that showes?
to me this dredfull syght.
Or comes some Feend of Hell abrode?
with feare men to torment?
Megera this? or Tisiphon?
Or is Alecto sent?
what soeuer thou art, yt thus dost com
Ghoost, Hagge, or Fende of Hell:
I the cōmaunde by hym that lyues,
thy name and case to tell.
With this, a stynkyng smoke I sawe,
from out his mouth to flye,
And wt that same, his voyce did sound.
None of them all am I.
But one thy frende (O oldiber)
Dametas was my name,
Dametas I, that slewe my selfe,
by force of foolysshe flame.
Dametas I, that dotynge dyed,
In fyre of vnkynde Loue:
Dametas I, whom Deiopey,
dyd cause suche ende to proue,
The same Dametas here I com,
by lycens vnto the:
For to declare the wofull state,
that happens now to me.
(O Melibes) take hede of Loue,
of me Example take,
That slewe my selfe, and liue in Hell,
for Deiopeias sake.
I thought that Deth shuld me release
from paynes and dolefull woe,
But nowe (alas) the trothe is tryed,
I fynde it nothynge soe,
For looke what Payne & gryefe I felt
when I lyued heare afore:
With those I nowe tormented ant,
and with ten thousand more.
I meane not that I burne in loue,
suche foolysh toyes begon,
But Gryefes in nombre haue I lyke
and many more vpon.
O cursed Loue, (what shulde I saye,)
that brought me fyrste to Payne,
Well, myght I ones despyse thy lore,
but nowe (alas) in vayne.
With fond Affection, I dyd stame,
whiche nowe I moste repent,
But all to late (alas) I wayle,
syth hope of Grace is spent.
The fickle fadynge forme, and face,
that ones so muche I sowght,
Hath made me lose the Skyes aboue,
and me to Hell hath browght.
Why had I Reason delt to me?
and coulde not Reason vse.
Why gaue I, Brydle to my wyll?
when I myght well refuse.
A wycked Wyll, in dede it was,
that blynded so my syght,
That made me on such fadyng Duste,
to set my whole Delyght.
A fonde Affection lead me then,
When I for God dyd place,
A Creature, cause of all my Care,
a flesshye fletynge face,
A woman Waue of Wretchednes,
a Paterne pylde of Pryde,
A Mate of Myschiefe and Distresse,
for whom (a Foole) I dyed,
Thus whyle be spake, I sawe me thought
of Hell an vglye Fende,
With lothsome Clawes, hym for to close
and forced him there to ende.
And with this same, (O Melibey,)
farewell, farewell (quoth he.)
Eschewe the Blase of feruent flames,
Example take of me.
My Harte with this began to rent,
and all amasde I stoode.
O lord (quoth I) what flames be these
what Rage, what Furyes woode?
Doth Loue procure, to wretched men
what Bondage doth it brynge?
Paine here: & Paine in lyfe to come.
(O dolefull, dredefull thynge.)
I quake to heare, this Storye tolde,
and Melibei I fainte,
For sure I thought Dametas had,
ben placed lyke a Saynte.
I thought that cruel Charons Boate,
had myste of hym her frayght,
And through his deth, he mounted had
to starres and Heauens strayght.
Howe valiantly dyd he despyse,
his lyfe in Bondage ledde?
And sekyng Deth with courage hye,
from Loue and Ladye fledde.
And is he thus rewarded nowe?
The ground be cursed than,
That fosterde vp, so fayre a face
that loste so good a Man.

Egloga quinta.

Mopsus. Egon.
Egon.
As pytedous thinge to be bewaylde
a desperate Acte of Loue,
(O Destenies) suche cruell broyles,
Howe haue you power to moue?
Here lyued a Ladye fayre of late,
that Claudia men dyd call:
Of goodly forme, yea suche a one,
as farre surmounted all.
The stately Dames, yt in this Courte,
to showe them selues do lye,
There was not one in all the Crewe:
that coulde come Claudia nye.
A worthy Knyght dyd loue her longe,
and for her sake dyd feale,
The panges of Loue. that happen styl
by frownyng Fortunes wheale,
He had a Page, Valerius named,
whom so muche he dyd truste,
That all the secrets of his Hart,
to hym declare he muste.
And made hym all the onely meanes,
to sue for his redresse,
And so entreate for grace to her,
that caused his distresse.
She whan as fyrst she saw his page
was strayght with hym in Loue,
That no thynge coulde Valerius face,
from Claudias mynde remoue
By hym was Faustus often harde,
by hym his sutes toke place,
By hym he often dyd aspyre,
to se his Ladyes face.
This passed well, tyll at the length,
Valerius sore dyd sewe;
With many teres besechynge her,
his Maysters gryefe to rewe,
And tolde her that yf she wolde not
release, his Maysters payne,
He neuer wolde attempte her more,
nor se her ones agayne.
She then with mased countnaunce there
and teares yt gushing fell,
Astonyed answerde thus, loe nowe,
alas I se to well,
Howe longe I haue deceyued ben,
by the Valerius heare,
I neuer yet beleued before,
nor tyll this tyme dyd feare,
That thou dydste for thy Mayster sue
but onely for my sake.
And for my syght, I euer thought,
thou dydste thy trauayle take.
But nowe I se the contrarye,
thou nothynge carste for me,
Synce fyrst thou knewste, the fyerye flames
that I haue felte by the.
O Lorde howe yll, thou doste requyte
that I for the haue done,
I curse the time, that frendshyp fyrst,
to showe, I haue begon.
O lorde I the beseche let me,
in tyme reuenged be:
And let hym knowe that he hath synd,
in this misusynge me.
I can not thynke, but Fortune once,
shall the rewarde for all,
And vengeaunce due for thy deserts,
in tyme shall on the fall.
And tell thy maister Faustus nowe,
yf he wolde haue me lyue:
That neuer more he sewe to me,
this aunswere laste I gyue:
And thou o Traytour vyle,
and enmye to my lyfe,
Absent thy selfe from out my syght,
procure no greater stryfe,
Synce yt these teares, had neuer force
to moue thy stoneye harte,
Let neuer these my werysdeyes,
se the no more. Departe.
This sayde, in haste she hieth in,
and there doth vengeaunce call,
And strake her self, with cruel knyfe,
and bluddye downe doth fall.
This dolfull chaūce, whā Faustus heard
lamentynge lowde he cryes,
And teares his heare and doth accuse,
the vniust and cruell Skies.
And in this ragynge moode awaye,
he stealeth oute alone,
And gone he is: no mā knowes where
eche man doth for hym mone.
Valerius whan he doth perceyue,
his Mayster to be gone:
He weepes & wailes, in piteous plight
and forth he ronnes anone.
No Man knowes where, he is becom,
some saye the wooddes he tooke,
Intendynge there to ende his lyfe,
on no Man more to looke:
The Courte lamentes, the Princesse eke
her selfe doth weepe for woe,
Loe, Faustus fled, and Claudia deade.
Valerius vanysshed soe.

Egloga sexta.

Felix. Faustus.
Felix.
O Faustus , whom aboue the rest,
of Shephardes here that kepe,
Upon these holts, yt nōbre great
of waight ye fleesed shepe:
I euer haue estemde: and coūted eke,
the chiefest Frende of all,
What great mishap, what scourge of minde
or griefe hath the befall?
That hath the brought ī such a plight
farre from thy wonted guyse?
What meanes this coūtenaūce all bespret
wt teres? these wretched eies
This mournynge looke, this Uesture sad
this wrethe of Wyllow tree,
(Unhappy man) why doste thou wepe
what chaunce hath altered the?
Tell tell, me soone, I am thy frende,
Disclose to me thy gryefe,
Be not afrayde, for frendes do serue,
to gyue thyr Frendes relyefe.

Faustus.
The wofull cause of all my hurte,
good Felix longe agoe,
Thou knewst full well: I nede not now
by wordes to double woe,
Synce that (alas) all hope is past
synce gryefe, and I am one,
And synce the Ladye of my lyfe,
(my faute) I haue forgone,
What woldst yu haue me do (oh frend?)
to Ioye? in suche dystres?
Naye pleasures quyte I banish here,
and yelde to Heuynes,
Let gryefes torment me euermore,
let neuer Cares awaye.
Let neuer Fortune turne her wheale
to gyue me blysfull daye.
Loue hath me scourged: I am content
lament not thou my state.
Let spyght on me take vengeaunce nowe
let me be torne with hate.
Let her enioye, her happye lyfe,
a Flowre of golden hewe,
That closeth when the Son doth set,

A Marygolde.

and spreads with Phebus newe.
Syth frō my Garlande now is falne,
this famouse Flowre swete:
Let Wyllows wynde aboute my hed,
(a Wrethe for Wretches mete)

Felix.
Fye Faustus, let not Fancie fonde,
in the beare suche a swaye,
Expell Affections from thy mynde,
and dryue them quyght awaye.
Embrace thine Auncient Lybertie,
let Bondage vyle be fled:
Let Reason rule, thy crased Brayne,
place Wyt, in Folies steade.
Synce she is gone, what remedye?
why shuldest thou so lament?
Wilt thou destroy thy self with tears
and she to pleasures bent?
Gyue eare to me, and I wyll showe
the remedies for Loue
That I haue learned longe agoe:
and in my youth dyd proue.
Such remedies as soone shall quenche
the flames of Cupids Fyre,
Suche remedies as shall delaye,
the Rage of fonde Desyre.
For Faustus yf thou folow styll,
the blynded God to please,
And wylt not seke, by Reasons Rule,
to purchase thyne owne ease,
Long ranst thou not thy frends enioy
but byd them all farewell.
And leaue thy lyfe, and giue thy soule
to depest fluds of Hell.
Leaue of therfore, betymes and let
Affection beare no swaye,
And now at fyrst the Fyre quench
before it further straye,
Eche thyng is easely made to obaye,
whyle it is yong and grene,
The tender twyg, that now doth bend
at length refuseth cleane.
The feruent Fyre, that flamyng fyrst,
may lytell water drenche,
When as it hath obtayned tyme,
whole Ryuers can not quenche:
Forsake the Town, (my Faustus deare)
and dwell, vpon this playne,
And tyme shall heale, thy festryng woūd
& Absence banysh Payne.
Aboue all thynges fly Idlenes,
For this doth dowble strength,
To Louers flams, & makes thē rage,
tyl all be lost at length,
Here in thes felds, are pleasaūt things
to occupye thy brayn,
Behold: how spryng reuyues agayn,
that winter late had slayne,
Behold: the plesaunt Hylles adournd,
with dyuers colours fayre,
Geue eare to Scillas lusty songes,
reioysynge in the ayr,
What pleasure cāst thou more desyre,
then here is for to se:
Thy lusty yewes, with many a lam,
Lo: whear they wayt on the,
Thynke not vpon that cursed face,
that makes the thus her slaue
But well regard the pleasaunt lyfe,
that here thou seest me haue,
Whan I long tyme a go, did feale,
the flames of Cupids fyre,
These meanes Lo than I practised,
to cure my fond desyre.
I fyrst wayed with my selfe,
How fond a thyng it seamd,
To let my heart lye there in chaynes,
where I was nought esteamd.
And how with flames I burnt for her,
that passed nought for me,
And how, these eyes encreast my harmes
that fyrst her face did se,
With pensyfe heart full fraight with thoughts,
I fled frō thence away,
And though that Loue bad tourne my steppes,
yet wold I neuer stay,
But from that foule infectyue ayer,
wher first I tooke my sore,
I hyed in hast, and shund the place,
to se for euer more.
Eache letter that I had receyued
from her, I cast away,
And tokens all, I threw them down,
to my no small dysmay.
Then busyed I my selfe in thyngs
that myght me moste delyght,
And sought the chiefst means I could,
to helpe my weryed spryght.
Somtyme I wold behold the fyelds,
and Hylles that thou doste se,
Somtime I wold betraye the Byrds,
that lyght on lymed tree,
Especially in Shepstare tyme,
when thicke in flocks they flye,
One wold I take, and to her Leg,
a lymed Lyne wold tye,
And where ye flock flew thickest, there
I wold her cast awaye,
She strayght vnto the rest wold hye,
amongst her Mates to playe.
And preasyng in the mydste of them,
with Lyne and Lyme, and all,
With cleuyng wyngs, entangled fast
they downe togyther fall.
Somtyme I wold the lytel Fysh:
with bayted Hooke beguyle:
Somtyme the craftye Foxe I wold,
deceyue for all his wyle:
Somtyme the Wolfe, I wold pursue,
somtyme the fomyng Boore:
And whan with labour all the daye,
my weryed Lyms were soore.
Thā rest & slepe I straightway sought
no Dreames dyd me afraye:
Tormented nought with care, I past
the lyngryng nyght awaye.
And thus I cleane forgot: in tyme,
the dotyng Dayes I sawe,
And freed my self, to my great Ioye,
from Yoke of Louers Lawe.
More of this same, I wyll the tell,
the next tyme here we mete,
And strōger Medycines wyll I gyue,
to purge that Uenym swete.
Beholde the Daye is slypt awaye,
and Starres do fast appeare,
Loe where Calisto Uirgin ones,
doth shyne in Skies so cleare.
Loe where olde Cepheus walks about,
with twynyng Serpent bye,
We wyll no lenger heare abyde,
But hence wyll homwarde hye.

Egloga septima.

Siluan. Sirenus. Seluagla.
Siren.
Thou eyther art siluan borne,
Example for to gyue,
To vs that know not how,
whan Fortune frownes to lyue,
Or els hath Nature placed in the
so strong and stoute a mynde.
Suffysynge not, thyne yls alone
to beare, but meanes to fynde,
That may the Griefes of others help,
I se thou art so bent,
That Fortune can the not amase,
for all her mysciefes ment,
I promys the siluan heare,
tyme playne in the doth show,
How dayly she discouers things,
that erst dyd men not know.
I can not beare the Gryefes I feale,
my force is all to faynt,
I neuer could as thou canst stynt,
the teares of my complaynt.
Diana hath procured the paynes,
that I shall neuer ende,
When fyrst she falst her troth to me,
she kyld a faythfull frende.

Siluan.
I meruayle how she could so soone,
put the out of her mind,
A well remembre synce thou wentste
alone I dyd her fynd.
In place that sorow semde to shape,
where no man stood her nye,
But onely (I vnhappy wretche,)
that herd her wofull crye,
And this with teares alowde she sayd,
O wretche in yll tyme borne.
What chaūce hast thou? that thus thou hast
Sirenus swete forlorne.
Gyue ouer pleasures now,
Let neuer Ioye the please,
Seke all the cruell meanes thou canst
that may thy hart dysease.
Whan thou doste hym forget I wysh,
all mischifes on the lyght,
And after death, the Fendes of Hell,
torment thy lyuyng spryght.

Siren.
What man wold here beleue?
that she that thus could speake,
In so shorte tyme as I haue bene
awaye. wolde promys breake.
O stedfastnes and Constancy,
how seldome are you founde:
In womens harts to haue your seats,
Or long abydyng ground?
Who looke how much more earnest they,
at fyrst theyr hearts do set,
So much more sooner euer more,
where late they loued, forget:
Full well could euer I beleue,
all women gylty of this:
Saue her alone, in whom I iudge,
neuer nature wrought amis:
But sins her maryage how she speeds
Siluan I pray the tell?

Siluan.
Some say she lykes it very ill,
and I beleue it well:
For Delius he that bath her now,
although he welthy be,
Is but a lout and hath in hym,
no hansome qualytie:
For as for all, suche thynges wherin,
we Shepeheardes haue delyght,
As in Quaiting, Leaping, Singing or
to sound a Bagpype ryght:
In all these thinges he is but an Asse,
and nothynge do he can,
They saye tys quallities but tush,
Its ryches makes a man:

Siren.
What woman is that yt cōmeth here,
Siluan canst thou tell?

Siluan.
Its one hath sped as well in Loue,
as we, I knowe her well:
She is one of fayre Dianas frendes,
who keeps her beasts below,
Not far from hence bi her thou maist,
Dianas State wel know.
She loued hear a Shephearde cald,
Alanius longe a go:
Who fauers one ysmenia now,
the cause of al her wo:

Siluag.
No place so fyt for the as this,
Lo heare Siluan stands,
Who hath receaued lyke luck to thine
at cruel Fortunes hands,
This company besemes the well,
Fayr Shepheards both good deane,

Silua.
To the Seluagia eke of Hope,
whom Loue hath spoyled cleane:
A thousande better dayes I wysh,
than thou hast had before,

Seluag.
At length may better Fortune fall,
For worse can not be more.
To truste the fayned words of men,
Loe, thus poore womens speeds,

Siluan.
And men do smarte not through your words
but your vnconstant deeds.
For you whan earnestlyest you loue,
no thyng can chaunce so lyght.
But yf a toye com in your Brayne,
your mynde is altered quyght.
If we but ones, absent our selues,
the shortest tyme we maye,
So muche vnconstant is your minds
Loue soreth strayght awaye,
Example take Sirenus here,
whom once Diana lovd,
As all we know, and looke how soone
her mynd is now removd:
No, no, there is not one of you,
that constant can remayne:

Siluag.
You iudge but of malicious hart,
and of a Ialouse brayne.
All thyngs you do your selues esteme,
and men must beare no blame.
Of your dissemblyng noughty deeds,
we women beare the shame.

Siren.
Fayre Damesell yf you can perceyue
Siluan true doth saye
There is not one amongst you all,
but doth from reason straye.
What is the cause that women thus?
in theyr vnconstancye,
Do cast a man from hyest hap,
to deepest myserye?
Its nothyng els, I you assure,
but that you know not well,
What thing is loue, & what you haue,
in hand you can not tell.
Your symple wyts are all to weake,
Unfayned loue to know,
And therof doth forgetfulnes,
in you so shortly grow.

Seluag.
Sirenus iudge not so of vs,
our wyts be not so base,
But that we know as well as you,
whats what in euery case.
And women eke, there are ynow
that could yf they were brought
Teache men to lyue, & more to loue,
yf loue myght well be tought,
And for all this, yet do I thynke,
no thyng can worser be.
Than womens state. it is the worst,
I thynke of eche degree.
For yf they show but gentle words
you thynke for loue they dye.
And yf they speake not whan you list,
than strayght you say, they are hye.
And that they ar, disdainfull Dames,
and yf they chaunce to talke.
Thā cownt you thē for chatring Pies
whose tongs must alwayes walke.
And yf perhaps they do forbeare,
and Sylence chaunce to keepe,
Than tush, she is not for company,
she is but a symple sheepe.
And yf they beare good wyll to one,
thē strayght they are iudged nought
And yf yll name to shun they leaue,
Unconstant they are thought.
Who nowe can please these Ialouse heads,
the faute is all in you,
For women neuer wold chaūge theyr minds
yf men wold styll be true,

Siren.
To this, I well could answere you,
but tyme doth byd me staye,
And women must the last worde haue
no man may say them naye.
Passe ouer this, and let vs here,
what lucke you haue had in loue,
And showe yf euer loue of man,
your constaunt hart could moue.
No fytter place can be than this,
here maye you safely rest,
Thus syttyng here, declare at large,
the secretes of your brest.

Siluag.
Naye: lenger here we maye not byde,
but home we must awaye,
Loe how the Son denies his Beames
depriuyng vs of daye.

Egloga octaua.

Coridon. Cornix.
Cornix:
Both place and tyme my Coridon
exhorteth me to synge,
Not of the wretched Louers lyues,
but of the immortall kynge.
Who gyues vs pasture for our beasts
and blesseth our encrease:
By whom, while other cark and toyle
we lyue at home with ease.
Who keepes vs down, from climyng hye
wher honour breeds debate,
And here hath graunted vs to lyue
in symple Shephards state,
A lyfe that sure doth fare exceade,
eche other kynd of lyfe:
O happy state, that doth content,
How farre be we from stryfe?
Of hym therfore, me lyst to synge,
and of no wanton toyes,
For hym to loue, and hym to prayse,
surmounts all other Ioyes.
O Shephards leaue Cupidoes Camp,
the ende wherof is vyle,
Remoue Dame Venus from your eies
and harken here a whyle.
A God there is, that guyds the Globe,
and framde the fyckle Spheare,
And placed hath, the Starres aboue,
that we do gase on here,
By whō we lyue, (vnthākful beasts)
by whom we haue our health,
By whom we gayne our happy states
by whom we get our wealth.
A God: that sends vs that we nede,
a God: that vs defends.
A God: from whom the Angels hye,
on mortall men attends.
A God: of suche a Clemencie,
that who so hym doth loue
Shall here be sure to rest a whyle,
and alwayes rest aboue.
But we, for hym do lytell care,
His Heasts we nought esteme,
But hunt for thyngs that he doth hate
most pleasaunt those do seme,
(Unthankfull mysers) what do we?
what meane we thus to straye?
From suche a God, so mercyfull,
to walke a worser waye?
Maye nought his benefyts procure?
maye nought his mercyes moue?
Maye nothynge bynde, but nedes we must?
gyue hate to hym for loue?
O happy (ten tymes) is the man,
(a Byrde full rare to fynde)
That loueth God with all his hart,
and kepes his lawes in mynde.
He shalbe blest in all his works,
and safe in euery tyme,
He shall swete quietnes enioye,
whyle other smarte for Cryme.
The threatnyng thaūces of the world
shall neuer hym annoye,
Whē Fortune frowns on foolish men
he shalbe sure to ioye.
For why? the Aungels of the Lorde,
shall hym defende alwayes,
And set hym free, at euery harmes,
and hurts at all assayes.
Euen he that kept the Prophet safe,

Dauid.

from mouthes of Lyons wylde,
And he that once preserued in Flags,

Moses.

the sely suckyng Chylde,

Elias.

The God that fed, by Rauens Byll,
the Teacher of his worde,
Shall hym (no doubt) in safetie kepe,
from Famyn, Fyre, and Sworde.
Not he, whom Poets old haue faynd,
to lyue in Heauen hye,

Iupiter.

Embracyng Boyes: (O fylthy thyng)
in beastly Lecherye.
Nor Iuno she: (that wrinkled Iade,)
that Quene of Skyes is calde,
Nor soleyn Saturn Churlysh Chuffe,
with Scalpe of Cancre bald.

Mars.

Nor fumyng Foole, with fyery face,
that moues the fyghters mynd.

Cupido.

Nor Uenus she: (that wanton wench)
that guyds the Shoter blynd,
Can the defende: as God wyll do,
for they were synfull fooles,

Nomeius.

Whō fyrst ye blynd hye wytted Greks
brought in to wyse mens Scooles.
No none of these, but God alone,
ought worshyp for to haue,
For they for all theyr Honour ones,
rest yet in stynkyng Graue.
eare hast thou heard, the happy state
of them that lyue in feare,
Of God: & loue hym best: now lyst,
his foes reward to heare,
And fyrst know thou that euery man,
that from this God doth goe,
And folows lust, hym he acountes,
to be his deadly foe,
This myghty Kyng of whom we talk,
as he is mercyfull,
And suffers long, reuengyng slow,
So when we be thus dull,
That we wyl not perceaue in tyme,
the goodnes of his grace,
His fauour straight, he doth withdraw
and tournes a way his face.
And to him selfe then doth he say,
How long shall I permit
These stubburne beastes, for to rebell?
and shall I loue them yet,
That hate me thus? or haue I nede
theyr louynge mynds to craue?
I aske nomore but onely loue,
and that I can not haue.
Well, wel, I wil not care for them,
that thus do me dyspyse,
Let them go lyue, euen as they lyst,
I turne awaye myne eyes.
When God hath thus sayd to him self,
Then doth the braynlesse foole,
Cast Brydle of, and out he runnes,
neglectynge vertues Scoole,
Then doth the Deuyl geue him lyne,
and let him rune at large,
And Pleasure makes his Mariner,
to row in vyces Barge,
Then vp the Sayles of wilfulnes,
he hoyses hie in hast,
And fond Affection blowes hym forth,
a wynd that Pluto plast,
Then cuttes he swyft, the seas of sin,
and through the Chanell deape,
With Ioyful mynd, he fleets a pace,
whom Pleasure bryngs a sleape,
Then who so happy thinks hym selfe?
who dreames of ioy but he?
Tush, tush, sayth he: to thynk of God,
In age suffiseth me,
Now wil I passe my pleasaunt youth,
Such toyes becomes this age,
And God shall followe me sayth he,
I wyll not be his page,
I wyll be prowd, and looke a loft,
I wyll my body decke,
With costly clothes, aboue my state
who then dare gyue me checke?

Coridon.
Garments som time, so gard a knaue,
that he dare mate a Knyght,
Yet haue I sene a Nec in hemp,
For Cheeking often lyght.

Cornix.
The Peacocks plume shal not me pas
that nature finely framde
For coulord sylkes shal set me fourth,
that nature shalbe shamde,
My Sworde shal get me valiant fame,
I wyll be Mars out ryght,
And Mars you know, must Venus haue,
to recreate his spryght.
I wyll oppresse the symple knaue,
shall Saues be sawsy now?
Nay: I wyll teache the nedy Dogges,
with Cappe to crowche, & bow.
Thus fareth he, and thus he lyues,
no whyt estemyng God,
In health, in ioy, and lustynes,
free from the smartyng Rod,
But in the midst of all his myrth,
whyle he suspecteth least,
His happy chaunce, begyns to chaūge
and eke his fleetynge feast,
For death (that old deuouryng Wolf)
whom goodmen nothyng feare,
Coms saylyng fast, in Galley blacke,
and whan he spyes hym neare.
Doth boorde hym strayght, & grapels fast
and than begyns the fyght.
In ryot leaps, as Captayne chiefe,
and from the Maynmast ryght,
He down ward comes, and surfet than,
assayleth by and by,
Then vyle diseases forward shoues,
with paynes and gryefe therby,
Lyfe stands aloft, and fyghteth hard,
but pleasure all agaste.
Doth leaue his ore, and out he flyes
then death approcheth fast.
And giues the charge so sore, yt needs
must lyfe begyn to flye,
Thē farewell all. The wretched man
with Caryen Corse doth lye,
Whō Deth hymself flyngs ouer bord,
amyd the Seas of syn,
The place wher late, he swetly swam
now lyes he drowned in.
Contynuall torment hym awaytes,
(a Monster vyle to tell)
That was begot of Due Desert,
and raygneth now in Hell,
With gredy mouth he alwayes feeds
vpon the Syndrownd soule,
Whose gredy Pawes, do neuer ceas,
in synfull fluds to prowle.
Loe. This the ende, of euery suche
as here lyues lustylye
Neglectyng God thou seest. in vyce,
to lyue. in syn do dye.
What shuld I speke of al theyr harms
that happens them in lyfe?
Theyr Cōscience prickt, theyr barren blud
theyr toyle, theyr grief, theyr stryfe,
With mischiefes heaped many a one,
which they do neuer trye,
That Loue & Feare the myghty God,
that rules and raynes on hye,
To long it weare, to make discourse;
and Phebus downe descends,
And in the Clowdes his beames doth hyde
which tempest sure portends,
Looke how the beastes begin to fling,
and cast theyr heades on hye,
The Hearon shew mountes aboue the Clouds
ye Crowes ech wher do cry
All this showes rayn, tyme byds vs go
com Coridon awaye,
Take vp thy Staffe, fetch ī thy beasts
let vs go whyle we maye.

Coridon:
Cornix agreed, go thou before,
yon cursed Bull of myne
I must go dryue: he neuer bydes,
among my Fathers Kyne.