University of Virginia Library

THE FIRST EGLOGUE Corydons tale

The Argument.

Here Corydon proues,
That nothing can be sent,
To crosse loue more,
Thē friends vnkind restraint.

The second Argument.

Corydon coy Celia woes,
And his loue by tokens showes.
Tokens are those lures, that find
Best accesse to woman kind.
Long he woes ere he can win;
Yet at last she fancieth him:
And so firme, as you shall heare,
Each to other troth-plight were;
But alas, where loue is most,
There it oft-times most is crost.
For these two are closly pent,
Each from other by restraint;
He, vnto the plaine must go,
Loue-sicke, heart-sicke, full of wo,
Where he sings such chearefull layes,
In his chast choise, Celias praise,
That steepe mountaines, rocks and plaines,
Seeme entranced with his straines:
But alas, while he does keepe,
Helplesse shepheard, haplesse sheepe,
Celia for to seeke her make,
From her keeper makes escape,
And vnto the mountaine goes,
Where her selfe, her selfe doth lose;
While one of Lauerna'es crew,
Seizeth on her as his dew,
Where by force, by awe, by feare,
She was long detained there,
And in the end affianc'd so,
As she ends her life in wo.

The Shepheards.

• Technis.
• Dymnus.
• Dorycles.
• Corydon.
• Sapphus.
• Linus.

Nay shepheards stay, there is no hast but good,
We three are shepheards, and haue vnderstood
Both of your follies and your fancies too;
Dor.
Why tell vs Corydon, what thou wouldst do!

Cor.
Shew my misfortune Swaines, as you haue done,

Tech.
Deferre it till to morrow Corydon.

Cor.
No, Technis no, I cannot if I would,
You'ue told your griefes, and now mine must be told:
What though the Sunne be drawing to the West,
Where he intends to take his wonted rest,
Tis Moone-light (lads) and if it were not light,
Welcome you are to lodge with me all night.

Dor.
Thankes Corydon.

Cor.
Why thanke you Corydon?
Simple and meane's the cottage where I won,
Yet well I wot, for chestnuts, cakes, and creame,
If you'le accept my welcome as I meane,
You shall not want, but haue sufficient store,
With hearty welcome swaines, what would ye more?

Dym.
More Corydon! t'is all that we can wish,
But to thy tale, let's heare now what it is.

Dor.
Yes, do good Corydon; and we will stay;

Cor.
Attend then shepheards, heare what I shall say,

Sap.
And when you'ue done, I will begin with mine;

Lin.
Which I'le continue in the euening time.

Cor.
Well said, good shepheards, we are iustly three,
To answer their three tales, and here for me.
There was a Maid, and well might she be said,
So chast, so choice she was, to be a Maid,
Where lillie white mixt with a cherrie red,
Such admiration in the shepheards bred,
As well was he that might but haue a sight
Of her rare beauty mirror of delight.
Oft would she come vnto a siluer spring,
Which neare her fathers house was neighboring,
Where she would eye her selfe as she did passe,
For shepheards vse no other looking-glasse.

Tech.
True Corydon.

Cor.
But which may seeme more rare,
This Maid she was as wise as she was faire;
So as discretion did so moderate
The safe condition of her low estate,
As enuie neuer wrong'd her spotlesse name,
Or soild her matchlesse honour with defame.

Dor.
Under a happie Planet she was borne,

Cor.
She was indeed; nor did she euer scorne,
The company of any country maid,
How meane soere or sluttishly araid:
But she would be their play-fare, to make chuse,
Of such poore simple sports as wenches vse.
Yea in their wakes, shroues, wassel-cups, or tides,
Or Whitson-ales, or where the country brides
Chuse out-their bride-maids, as the custome is,
She seld or neare was seene to do amisse:
But so respectiue of her name and fame,
That though she blusht, she neuer blusht for shame
Of any act immodest, but retain'd
That good opinion which her vertues gain'd.

Dym.
Sure Corydon this was a Saintly woman;

Cor.
Indeed such Saints 'mongst women are not cōmon:
But to my story; her did many swaine,
By fruitlesse suite endeuour to obtaine,
As young Spudippus, rich Archymorus,
Actiue Amintas, youthfull Hirsius.

Dor.
It seemes sh'ad choice.

Cor.
Yes, Dorycles, she had:
And some of these were good, and some as bad,
But neither good nor bad, nor rich nor poore,
Could her content, though she had daily store.
Yet from Pandoras box did nere proceed,
More hatefull poyson vpon humane seed,
Then from these forlorne louers, whose report,
(But iust is heauen, for they were plagued for't,)
Aspers'd this scandall on faire Celia,
That she had made her choice some other way.

Tech.
Unworthy louers.

Cor.
True indeed, they be
Unworthy th' loue of such an one as she;
For Linus you do know them;

Lin.
Yes, I do,
But specially Spudippus, whom I know,
To be the notedst cot-queane that's about him.

Tec.
Sure Linus thē she could not chuse but flout him.

Cor.
Perhaps she did, yet with that modestie,
As she did shadow it so couertly,
That he could scarce discouer what she ment.

Lin.
How ere Spudippus would be patient.

Dor.
Then he's some gull.

Lin.
No he's a wealthy man,
And such an one as rightly, sure I am,
Knows how much milke crummock his cow will giue,
And can discerne a riddle from a siue.

Cor.
Linus, it seemes thou knowes him passing well.

Lin.
Las if I would, some stories I could tell,
Would make you laugh: for as it chanc'd one day,
Some with my selfe did take his house by th' way,
Where we an houre or two meant to remaine,
To trie how he his friends would entertaine.

Dor.
And pray thee how?

Lin.
I'le tell thee Dorycles:
Hauing an houre or two taken our ease,
And readie to depart (I pray thee heare)
He sent one of his Sculletie for some beare,
Which though long first, came in an earthen cup,
Which being giuen to me, I drunke it vp;
Which drunke.

Cor.
How then good Linus, pray thee say?

Lin.
The rest were forc'd to go a thirst away.

Dor.
Had he no more?

Cor.
Thou vs'd him in his kind.

Lin.
May all be vsed so that haue his mind.
But much I feare me, I'ue disturbed thee,
Now Corydon shew what th' euent may be!

Cor.
Long did these woe, but Celia could approue
Of nothing lesse then of these swainlings loue,
Yet would she faine to fancie one of these,
Whereby she might her bedrid father please.

Tech.
Had she a father?

Cor.
Yes, a surly Lout,
Who long had laine decrepit with the gout,
And liu'd for all the world, and so did die
Like to a hog, that's pent vp in a stie.

Dor.
Some cancred erwig.

Cor.
True, a very elfe,
Who car'd not who staru'd, so he fed himselfe.
He, as the want of one sense is exprest,
By giuing more perfection to the rest,
For euen his sense of feeling did decline,
Though he had bene a nigglar in his time,
Yea all those mouing, actiue faculties,
Which in the heate of youth are wont to rise,
Gaue way vnto suspition, lest his daughter
Through those loue-luring gifts which many brought her,
Should set her Maiden honor at whole sale.

Tech.
Age h'as an eare indeed for euery tale.

Cor.
True, Technis true, for no affection can
Haue more predominance ore any man,
Then iealousie a selfe-consuming rage,
Is said to haue ore men of doting age.

Dor.
Thy reason Corydon?

Cor.
That disesteeme
Of being now more weake then they haue bene,
Makes them repine at others now that may,
And are as able to beget as they.

Tech.
Tis rightly noted Corydon.

Lin.
Yes, he
Knowes by obseruance whence these humors be.

Cor.
Linus I do, and better had I bene,
If I had neuer knowne what these things meane;
But shepheards you shall heare the reason, why
I should this Dotards humour thus descrie.

Sap.
Yes, do good Swaine.

Cor.
It chanc'd vpon a night,
A Moone-light night, when Moone and starres shine bright,
That I with other shepheards did repaire
To th' old-mans house, and found faire Celia there,
Whom I in curisie with a kind salute,
Kist, & with speaking heart though tongue was mute,
Wish'd; ô what wishes do possesse a mind,
That dare not vtter how his heart's inclind!
She might be mine, thrice blest in being mine.

Dor.
Why didst not woe her Swaine, for to be thine?

Cor.
Yes, Dorycles I woed ber, though not then,
For Maidens they are bashfull amongst men,
And dare we not well in modestie impart,
What they could give consent to with their heart;
So as to tell thee, truly Dorycles,
We past that night in making purposes,
Singing of catches, with such knowne delights,
As young folke vse to passe ore winter nights.
And at that time, I may be bold to tell thee,
For such conceits I thought none could excell me.
For well you know, I was in Hyble bred,
And by the sacred sisters nourished,
So as being stor'd by Nature, help'd by art,
There was no straine I bore not in some part:
Which gaue faire Celia such entire content,
As she discouerd after, what she ment.
Though I may sweare, for fiue months I came to her,
And with some termes of art assaid to woe her:
During which time, all th' answer I could get,
Was this; she did not meane to marrie yet.

Tech.
That's all the answer these young women haue,
While they reiect what after they receiue.

Cor.
Technis, indeed I did perceiue as much,
Though all young wenches humours be not such:
But th' greatest cause of Celias distaste,
Which made me many times the lesser grac't,
Proceeded from that chrone her dogged father,
As after by coniectures I did gather:
Perswading her, that she should plant her loue
On such whose hopefull meanes might best approue
Her discreet choice: and that was not to be
Affianced to such an one as me.

Dor.
Alas poore Swaine; 'tis true what th' Prouerbe saith,
We aske not what he is, but what he hath.

Cor.
And yet perswasions which her father vs'd,
Could not preuaile with her, for she had chus'd,
In heart I meane.

Tech.
Whom did she dote vpon?

Cor.
Will ye beleeue me!

Tech.
Yes.

Cor.
Twas Corydon.

Lin.
Thrice happie swaine.

Cor.
Thrice happie had I bene,
If I had slept still in this golden dreame;
But afterwards occurrences there were,
Which thus abridg'd my hopes, as you shall heare.
Such deepe impression had affection made,
As there remained nothing vnassaid,
To consummate our wishes, but the rite.

Tech.
Yes something else.

Cor.
What Technis!

Tech.
Marriage night.

Sap.
They had enioyed that, you may suppose.

Cor.
No, Sapphus no, she was not one of those:
So modest, chast, respectiue of her name,
Pure and demure, as th' sweetnesse of her fame,
Aboue the choisest odors that are sent
From spicie Tmolus flowrie continent,
Sent forth that fragrant and delightfull sauour,
As none ere heard, and did not seeke to haue her.
For sundrie choise discourses haue we had,
And I nere knew that ought could make her glad,
Which had least taste of lightnesse.

Tech.
Sure thou art,
So much thy praises relish true desert,
Worthy such vertuous beautie.

Cor.
Technis no,
Albeit Celia esteem'd me so,
As long and tedious seem'd that day to be,
Which did deuide her from my companie.
So as in silent groues and shady launes,
Where Siluans, water-nimphs, fairies, and faunes,
Use to frequent, there would we sit and sing,
Eying our beauties in a neighbour spring,
Whose siluer streamlings with soft murmring noise,
To make our consort perfect, gaue their voice.
And long did we obserue this custome too,
Though her consent did bid me ceasse to woe:
For now I was no woer, but her loue,
And that so firmely linkt, as nought could moue,
Alter or sunder our vnited hearts,
But meagre death, which all true louers parts.

Tech.
Then Corydon, to me it doth appeare,
That you were troth-plight.

Cor.
Technis so we were.
But see (good shepheards) what succeeded hence:
This loue she bore me did her sire incense,
So as discurteously he pent his daughter
In such a vault, I could not see her after.
Which when my friends perceiu'd, they grieued were,
That th' loue which I his Celia did beare,
Should be rewarded with contempt and scorne,
Being for parentage equally borne,
With best of his, as most of you can tell.

Lin.
Proceed good Corydon, we know it well.

Cor.
For was I not of Polyarchus line,
A noble shepheard!

Sap.
True, who in his time
Solemniz'd many wakes on this our downe,
And ere he dide was to that honour growne,
As all our plaines resounded with his laies,
Sung by our Swaines in Polyarchus praise.

Cor.
It seemes thou knew him Sapphus: but attend
For now my storie draweth neare an end.
My friends distasting this repulse of mine,
Forc'd me from th' course whereto I did incline:
So as my hopes confin'd, I'me driuen to go
From Adons vale vnto a mount of wo.

Lin.
Vnhappie shepheard.

Cor.
And vnhappie sheepe,
For ill could I my heards from worrying keepe,
Though to that charge my friends enioyned me,
When I could scarcely keepe my owne hands free,
From doing violence vpon my selfe:
So as one day vpon a ragged shelfe,
Wreath'd round with Iuie, as I sate alone,
Descanting Odes of sorrow and of mone,
I chanc'd on my mishap to meditate,
Celias restraint, and my forlorne estate;
Which done, I vow'd if speedy remedy
Gaue no reliefe vnto my maladie,
That very cliff where I repos'd that day,
Should be the meanes to take my life away.

Tech.
O Corydon this soundeth of despaire.

Cor.
It does indeed: but such a watchfull care,
Had gracious Pan of me, that in short time,
These motiues to despaire 'gan to decline,
And lose their force: so as when griefes grew ripe,
I vs'd to take me to my oaten pipe.

Dor.
But ere thou proceed further, tell vs Swaine,
Where all this time thou vsed to remaine.

Cor.
Abroad-spread oake with aged armes & old,
Directs the passenger the way he would,
Neare Cadmus rising hillocks, where the spring
Of golden Tagus vseth oft to bring
Such precious trafficke to the neighbour shore,
As former times through blindnesse did adore
Those curled streames, wherein they did descry
Their loue to gold, by their Idolatrie:
That shady oake I say, and that blest spring,
In my distresse, gaue me such harboring;
As night and day I did not thence remoue,
But waking mus'd, and sleeping dream'd of loue.

Tech.
Who euer heard the like!

Dor.
How didst thou liue?

Cor.
On hope.

Tech.
Weake food.

Cor.
Yet did it comfort giue,
To my afflicted mind, which did desire,
Euer to singe her wings in fancies fire.
For many weekes in this distrest estate,
Wretched, forlorne, helplesse and desolate,
Sate I deiected, musing on despaire,
And when those drerie clouds would once grow faire:
But las the more I did expect reliefe,
The lesse hope had I to allay my griefe,
So as in th' end, as you shall after heare,
All meanes for my redresse abridged were.
But that you may perceiue what loue can do,
And how effectually her passions show,
I who before I louely Celia kent,
Knew not what th' Heliconian Muses ment,
Addrest my selfe;

Lin.
To what good Corydon?

Cor.
To write of loue, and thus my Muse begun.

Tech.
Pray thee kind Swaine let's heare what thou didst write.

Dor.
Yes do: for well I know it will delight
Sepheards to heare, of shepheards amorous toyes;

Sap.
On then good Corydon.

Cor.

Tech.
Beshrow me Corydon, if I had thought,
That loue such strange effects could ere haue wrought.

Cor.
Yes Technis, yes, loue's such a wondrous thing,
That it will make one plungd in sorrow sing,
And singing weepe, for griefe is wont to borrow
Some strains of ioy, that ioy might end in sorrow.
For what is woe (as we must needs confesse it)
Hauing both tongue and teares for to expresse it,
But a beguiling griefe, whose nature's such,
It can forget, lest it should grieue too much.

Dor.
Indeed such sorrow seldome lasteth long,
But say good Swaine, heard Celia of thy song?

Cor.
I know not, Dorycles: but twas her lot,
That from her keeper afterwards she got.

Tech.
Happie escape.

Cor.
Ah Technis, say not so,
For this escape gaue new increase to wo;

Lin.
How could that be?

Cor.
Heare but what did ensue,
She was preuented by a ruffin-crue,
As she vpon the mountaines rom'd about,
Through desart caues to find her shepheard out.

Tech.
Alas poore wench; what were they Corydon?

Cor.
Such as did haunt there, and did liue vpon
Rapine and violence, triumphing in
Impunitie, sole motiue vnto sin.
In briefe, they were, for so they did professe,
Of braue Lauerna'es crue, that patronesse
Of all disorder, and each euening time
Offer'd stolne booties to her godlesse shrine.

Tech.
Mishap aboue mishaps.

Cor.
True, so it was;
My lasse she lost her lad, the lad his lasse.
And sundry daies, this rout did her detaine,
While haplesse, helplesse she did sore complaine
Of their inhumane vsage, but her griefe,
Sighs, sobs, teares, throbs, could yeeld her small reliefe:
For in the end one of this forlorne crew,
Seiz'd on my long-lou'd Celia as his dew,
To whom espousd whether she would or no,
She ends her life, her tedious life, in wo.

Lin.
A sad euent: but can she not be freed?

Cor.
To what end Linus, she's dishonoured!

Tech.
Unhappie fate.

Cor.
Besides, she now is tide,
And by enforcement, made anothers Bride.
Come shepheards come, and say if euer time,
Made heardmens woes so ripe, as't hath done mine.

Sap.
Yes Corydon, though thou thy griefes hast showne,
Which makes thee thinke none equall to thine owne,
I haue a Tale will moue compassion too,
If Swaines haue any pittie.

Dym.
Pray thee how?

Sap.
Nay I will not be daintie; but attend,
And then compare our stories to the end,
And you'le conclude that neuer any Swaine
Did loue so well, and reape so small a gaine.