ENGLANDS
HELICON.
¶The Shepheard to his choſen Nimph.
ONely ioy, now heere you are,
Fit to heare and eaſe my care:
Let my whiſpring voyce obtaine
Sweet reward for ſharpeſt paine.
Take mee to thee, and thee to me,
No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.
Night hath clos'd all in her cloke,
Twinkling ſtarres Loue-thoughts prouoke,
Daunger hence good care doth keepe
Iealouſie it ſelfe doth ſleepe.
Take me to thee, and thee to me:
No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.
Better place no wit can finde,
Cupids yoake to looſe or binde,
Theſe ſweet flowers on fine bed too,
Vs in their beſt language woo,
Take me to thee, and thee to me,
No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.
This ſmall light the Moone beſtowes,
Serues thy beames but to encloſe,
So to raiſe my hap more hie,
Feare not elſe, none can vs ſpie.
Take me to thee, and thee to me:
No, no, no, no, my Deare, let be.
That you heard was but a Mouſe,
Dumbe ſleepe holdeth all the houſe,
Yet a-ſleepe me thinks they ſay,
Young folkes, take time while you may.
Take me to thee, and thee to me:
No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.
Niggard Time threats, if we miſſe
This large offer of our bliſſe
Long ſtay, ere he grant the ſame,
(Sweet then) while each thing doth frame,
Take me to thee, and thee to me:
No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.
Your faire Mother is a bed,
Candles out, and Curtaines ſpred,
She thinks you doe Letters write,
Write, but let me firſt indite.
Take me to thee, and thee to me,
No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.
Sweet (alas) why ſaine you thus?
Concord better fitteth vs.
Leaue to Mars the force of hands,
Your power in your beauty ſtands.
Take me to thee, and thee to me:
No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.
Woe to me, and you doe ſweare
Me to hate, but I forbeare,
Curſed be my deſtinies all,
That brought me to ſo high a fall.
Soone with my death I will pleaſe thee:
No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.
FINIS.
Sir Phil. Sidney.
THEORELLO. ¶A Shepheards Edillion.
YOu Shepheards which on hillocks lit,
like Princes in their Thrones:
And guide your Flocks, which elſe would flit
your Flocks of little ones:
Good Kings haue not diſdained it,
but Shepheards haue beene named:
A ſheepe-hooke is a Scepter fit
for people well reclaimed.
The Shepheards life ſo honour'd is and praiſed:
That Kings leſſe happy ſeeme, though higher raiſed.
The Summer Sunne hath guilded faire,
with morning rayes the Mountaines:
The birds doe caroll in the ayre,
and naked Nimphs in Fountaines.
The Siluanes in their ſhagged haire,
with Hamadriades trace:
The ſhadie Satires make a Quiere,
which rockes with Ecchoes grace.
All breathe delight, all ſolace in the ſeaſon:
Not now to ſing, were enemie to Reaſon.
Coſma my Loue, and more then ſo,
the life of mine affections:
Nor life alone, but Lady too,
and Queene of their directions.
Coſma my Loue, is fayre you know,
and which you Shepheards know not:
Is (Sophi ſaid) thence called ſo,
but names her beautie ſhow not.
Yet hath the world no better-name then ſhe:
And then the world, no fairer thing can be.
The Sunne vpon her fore-head ſtands,
or (iewell Sunne-like glorious,)
Her fore-head wrought with Ioues owne hands,
for heauenly white notorious.
Her golden lockes like Hermus ſands,
(or then bright Hermus brighter:)
A ſpangled Cauill binds in with bands,
then ſiluer morning lighter.
And if the Planets are the chiefe in skies:
No other ſtarres then Planets are her eyes.
Her cheeke, her lip, freſh cheeke, more freſh
then ſelfe-blowne buds of Roſes:
Rare lip, more red then thoſe of fleſh,
which thouſand ſweetes encloſes:
Sweet breath, which all things doth refreſh.
and words then breath farre ſweeter:
Cheeke firme, lip firme, not fraile nor neſh,
as ſubſtance which is fleeter.
In praiſe doe not ſurmount, although in placing:
Her chriſtall necke, round breaſts, and armes embracing.
The thorough-ſhining ayre I weene,
is not ſo perfect cleare:
As is the skie of her faire skinne,
whereon no ſpots appeare.
The parts which ought not to be ſeene,
for ſoueraigne worth excell:
Her thighs with Azure braunched beene,
and all in her are well.
Long Iuorie hands, legs ſtraighter then the Pine:
Well ſhapen feet, but vertue moſt diuine.
Nor cloathed like a Shepheardeſſe,
but rather like a Queene:
Her mantle doth the formes expreſſe,
of all which may be ſeene.
Roabe fitter for an Empreſſe
then for a Shepheards loue.
Roabe fit alone for ſuch a Laſſe
as Emperours doth moue.
Roabe which heauens Queene, the bride of her owne brother,
Would grace herſelfe with, or with ſuch another.
Who euer (and who elſe but Ioue?)
embroidered the ſame,
He knew the world, and what did moue,
in all the mightie frame.
So well (belike his skill to proue)
the counterfeits he wrought:
Of Wood-Gods, and of euery Groue,
and all which elſe was ought.
Is there a beaſt, a bird, a fiſh worth note?
Then that he drew, and pictur'd in her coate.
Availe of Lawne like vapour thin
vnto her anckle trailes:
Through which the ſhapes diſcerned bin,
as too and fro it ſailes.
Shapes both of men, who neuer lin
to ſearch her wonders out:
Of Monſters and of Gods a kin,
which her empale about.
A little world her flowing garment ſeemes:
And who but as a wonder thereof deemes?
For here and there appeare forth towers,
among the chalkie downes:
Cities among the Country bowers,
which ſmiling Sun-ſhine crownes.
Her mettall buskins deckt with flowers,
as th' earth when froſts are gone:
Beſprinkled are with Orient ſhowers
of hayle and pebble ſtone.
Her feature peereleſſe, peereleſſe her attire,
I can but loue her loue, with zeale entire.
O who can ſing her beauties beſt,
or that remaines vnſung?
Doe thou Apollo tune the reſt,
vnworthy is my tongue.
To gaze on her, is to be bleſt,
ſo wondrous faire her face is;
Her faireneſſe cannot be expreſt,
in Goddeſſes nor Graces.
I loue my Loue, the goodly worke of Nature:
Admire her face, but more admire her ſtature.
On thee (O Coſma) will I gaze,
and reade thy beauties euer:
Delighting in the bleſſed maze,
which can be ended neuer.
For in the luſter of thy rayes,
appeares thy Parents brightneſſe:
Who himſelfe infinite diſplayes
in thee his proper greatneſſe.
My Song muſt end, but neuer my deſire:
For Coſma's face is Theorellos fire.
FINIS.
E. B.
Aſtrophels Loue is dead.
RIng out your Belles, let mourning ſhewes be ſpread,
For Loue is dead.
All loue is dead infected
With plague of deepe diſdaine:
Worth, as nought worth reiected,
And faith faire ſcorne doth gaine.
From ſo vngratefull fancie,
From ſuch a female frenzie,
From them that vſe men thus:
Good Lord deliuer vs.
Weepe neighbours weepe, doe you not heare it ſaid
That Loue is dead?
His death-bed Peacocks folly,
His winding ſheet is ſhame:
His will falſe, ſeeming holy,
His ſole exectour blame.
From ſo vngratefull fancie.
From ſuch a female frenzie,
From them that vſe men thus:
Good Lord deliuer vs.
Let Dirge be ſung, and Trentals richly read,
For Loue is dead.
And wrong his Tombe ordaineth,
My Miſtreſſe marble hart:
Which Epitaph containeth,
Her eyes were once his Dart.
From ſo vngratefull fancie,
From ſuch a female frenzie,
From them that vſe men thus:
Good Lord deliuer vs.
Alas, I lie, rage hath this errour bred,
Loue is not dead.
Loue is not dead, but ſleepeth
In her vnmatched minde:
Where ſhe his counſell keepeth,
Till due deſert ſhee finde.
Therefore from ſo vile fancie,
To call ſuch wit a frenzie,
Who loue can temper thus:
Good Lord deliuer vs.
FINIS.
Sir Phil. Sidney.
¶A Palinode.
AS withereth the Primroſe by the riuer,
As fadeth Summers-Sunne from gliding fountaines;
As vaniſheth the light blowne bubble euer,
As melteth Snow vpon the moſſie Mountaines.
So melts, ſo vaniſheth, ſo fades, ſo withers,
The Roſe, the ſhine, the bubble and the ſnow
Of praiſe, pompe, glory, ioy (which ſhort life gathers,)
Faire praiſe, vaine pompe, ſweet glory, brittle ioy.
The withered Primroſe by the mourning riuer,
The faded Summers-ſunne from weeping fountaines:
The light-blowne bubble, vaniſhed for euer,
The molten ſnow vpon the naked mountaines.
Are Emblems that the treaſures we vp-lay,
Soone wither, vaniſh, fade, and melt away.
For as the ſnow, whoſe lawne did ouer-ſpread
Th'ambitious hils, which Giant-like did threat
To pierce the heauen with their aſpiring head,
Naked and bare doth leaue their craggie ſeat.
When as the bubble, which did empty flie
The daliance of the vndiſcerned winde:
On whoſe calme rowling waues it did relie,
Hath ſhipwrack mad
•
, where it did daliance finde:
And when the Sun-ſhine which diſſolu'd the ſnow,
Colourd the bubble with a pleaſant varie,
And made the rathe and timely Primroſe grow,
Swarth clouds with-drawne (which longer time do tarie)
Oh what is praiſe, pompe, glory, ioy, but ſo
As ſhine by fountaines, bubbles, flowers or ſnow?
FINIS.
E. B.
¶
Aſtrophell the Shepheard, his complaint to his Flocke.
GOe my Flocke, goe get yee hence,
Seeke a better place of feeding:
Where yee may haue ſome defence
From the ſtormes in my breaſt breeding,
And ſhowers from mine eyes proceeding.
Leaue a wretch in whom all woe,
can abide to keepe no meaſure:
Merry Flocke, ſuch one forgoe
vnto whom mirth is diſpleaſure,
onely rich in miſchiefes treaſure.
Yet (alas) before you goe,
heare your wofull Maiſters Storie?
Which to ſtones I elſe would ſhowe,
ſorrow onely then hath glorie:
when 'tis excellently ſorrie.
Stella, fierceſt Shepheardeſſe,
fierceſt, but yet faireſt euer:
Stella, whom the heauens ſtill bleſſe,
though againſt me ſhe perſeuer,
though I bliſſe, inherite neuer.
Stella, hath refuſed me,
Stella, who more loue hath proued
In this Caitiffe heart to be,
Then can in good by vs be moued:
Towards Lambkins beſt beloued:
Stella, hath refuſed me,
Aſtrophell that ſo well ſerued
In this pleaſant Spring muſt ſee
while in pride flowers be preſerued:
himſelfe onely Winter-ſterued.
Why (alas) then doth ſhe ſweare,
that ſhe loueth me ſo dearely:
Seeing me ſo long to beare
coales of loue that burne ſo clearely:
and yet leaue me helpleſſe meerely?
Is that loue? Forſooth I trow,
if I ſaw my good dogge greeued:
And a helpe for him did know,
my Loue ſhould not be beleeued:
but he were by me releeued.
No, ſhe hates me, well away,
faigning loue, ſomewhat to pleaſe me:
Knowing, if ſhe ſhould diſplay
all her hate, Death ſoone would ſeaze me:
and of hideous torments eaſe me.
Then my deare Flocke now adiew,
but (alas) if in your ſtraying,
Heauenly Stella meete with you,
tell her in your pittious blaying:
her poore ſlaues vniuſt decaying.
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
¶
Hobbinolls Dittie in praiſe of
Eliza, Queene of the Shepheards.
YE dainty Nimphes that in this bleſſed Brooke
Doe bath your breſt;
Forſake your watry Bowers, and hether looke
At my requeſt.
And you faire Virgins that on Parnaſſe dwell,
Whence floweth Helicon the learned well:
Helpe me to blaze
Her worthy praiſe,
Who in her ſexe doth all excell.
Of faire Eliza be your ſiluer ſong,
That bleſſed wight:
The flower of Virgins, may ſhe flouriſh long
In Princely plight:
For ſhe is Sirinx daughter, without ſpot,
Which Pan the Shepheards God on her begot:
So ſprung her Grace,
Of heauenly race:
No mortall blemiſh may her blot.
See where ſhe ſits vpon the graſſie greene,
O ſeemely ſight:
Yclad in ſcarlet, like a mayden Queene,
And Ermines white.
Vpon her head a crimſon Coronet,
With Daffadils and Damaske Roſes ſet,
Bay leaues betweene,
And Primeroſes greene:
Embelliſh the ſweet Violet.
Tell me, haue ye beheld her Angels face,
Like Phoebe faire?
Her heauenly hauiour, her Princely Grace,
Can well compare
The red-Roſe medled and the white yfere,
In either cheeke depeincten liuely cheere.
Her modeſt eye,
Her Maieſtie.
Where haue you ſeene the like but there?
I ſaw Phoebus thruſt out his golden head,
On her to gaze:
But when he ſaw how broad her beames did ſpread:
It did him maze.
He bluſht to ſee another Sunne below,
Ne durſt againe his fierie face out-ſhow:
Let him if he dare
His brightneſſe compare
With hers, to haue the ouerthrow.
Shew thy ſelfe Cynthia with thy ſiluer rayes,
And be not abaſht,
When ſhe the beames of her beauty diſplayes,
Oh how art thou daſht?
But I will not match her with Latonaes ſeed,
Such folly great ſorrow to Niobe did breed,
Now is ſhe a ſtone,
And makes deadly mone,
Warning all other to take heed.
Pan may be proud, that euer he begot
Such a Bellibone:
And Sirinx reioyce, that euer was her lot
To beare ſuch a one.
Soone as my Younglings cryen for the dam,
To her will I offer a milke-white Lamb.
She is my Goddeſſe plaine,
And I her Shepheards Swaine,
Albe for-ſwonck and for-ſwat I am.
I ſee Caliope ſpeede her to the place,
Where my Goddeſſe ſhines:
And after her the other Muſes trace
With their Violines.
Bin they not Bay-branches which they doe beare:
All for Eliza in her hand to weare?
So ſweetly they play,
And ſing all the way,
That it a heauen is to heare.
Loe how finely the Graces can it foote,
to the Inſtrument:
They dauncen deffely, and ſingen foote
In their merriment.
Wants not a fourth Grace to make the daunce euen?
Let that roome to my Lady be giuen.
She ſhall be a Grace,
To fill the fourth place,
And raigne with the reſt in heauen.
And whether runnes this beuie of Ladies bright,
Ranged in a roe?
They beene all Ladies of the Lake behight
That vnto her goe:
Chloris, that is the chiefe Nimph of all,
Of Oliue-branches beares a Coronall:
Oliues beene for peace
When warres doe ſurceaſe,
Such for a Princeſſe beene principall.
Bring hether the Pinke and purple Cullumbine.
With Gillyflowers:
Bring ſweet Carnaſions, and Sops in Wine,
Worne of Paramours.
Strew me the ground with Daffa-down-Dillies,
And Cowſlips, and Kings-cups, and loued Lillies,
The pretty Paunce,
And the Cheuiſaunce,
Shall match with the faire flower-Delice.
Ye Shepheards daughters that dwell on the greene,
Hye you there a pace,
Let none come there but ſuch as Virgins beene,
To adorne her Grace.
And when you come where as ſhe is in place:
See that your rudeneſſe doe not you diſgrace.
Binde your Fillets faſt,
And gird on your waſt,
For more fineneſſe, with a Tawdrie lace.
Now riſe vp Eliza, decked as thou art,
In royall ray:
And now ye dainty Damſels may depart
Each one her way.
I feare I haue troubled your troupes too long:
Let dame Eliza thanke you for her Song.
And if you come hether,
When Damzins I gather
I will part them all, you among.
FINIS.
Edm. Spencer.
¶The Shepheards
Daffadill.
GOrbo, as thou cam'ſt this way
By yonder little hill,
Or as thou through the fields didſt ſtray,
Saw'ſt thou my Daffadill?
She's in a frock of Lincolne-greene,
The colour Maydes delight,
And neuer hath her Beauty ſeene
But through a vayle of white.
Then Roſes richer to behold,
That dreſſe vp Louers Bowers,
The Panſie and the Marigold
Are Phoebus Paramours.
Thou well deſcrib'ſt the Daffadill,
It is not full an hower
Since by the Spring neere yonder hill
I ſaw that louely flower.
Yet with my flower thou did'ſt not meete,
Nor newes of her doeſt bring,
Yet is my Daffadill more ſweete
Then that by yonder Spring.
I ſaw a Shepheard that doth keepe
In yonder field of Lillies,
Was making (as he fed his ſheepe)
A wreath of Daffadillies.
Yet Gorbo: thou delud'ſt me ſtill,
My hower thou did'ſt not ſee.
For know; my pretty Daffadill
Is worne of none but mee.
To ſhew itſelfe but neere her ſeate
No Lilly is ſo bold,
Except to ſhade her from the heate,
Or keepe her from the cold.
Through yonder vale as I did paſſe
Deſcending from the hill,
I met a ſmerking Bonny-laſſe,
They call her Daffadill.
Whoſe preſence as a-long ſhe went
The pretty flower did greete
As though their heads they downe-ward bent,
With homage to her feete.
And all the Shepheards that were nie,
From top of euery hill;
Vnto the Vallies loud did crie,
There goes ſweet Daffadill.
I gentle Shepheard now with ioy
Thou all my Flock doeſt fill:
Come goe with me thou Shepheards Boy,
Let vs to Daffadill.
FINIS.
Michaell Drayton.
¶A Canzon Pastorall in honour of her Maieſtie.
ALas what pleaſure now the pleaſant Spring
Hath giuen place,
To harſh black froſts the ſad ground couering,
Can we, poore we embrace,
When euery bird on euery branch can ſing
Naught but this note of woe alas?
Alas this note of woe why ſhould we found?
With vs as May, September hath a prime,
Then birds and branches your alas is fond,
Which call vpon the abſent Summer time:
For did flowres make our May
Or the Sun-beames your day.
When Night and Winter did the World embrace,
Well might you waile your ill, and ſing alas.
Loe Matron-like the Earth her ſelfe attires
In habite graue,
Naked the fields are, bloomeleſſe are the brires,
Yet we a Summer haue,
Who in our clime kindleth theſe liuing fires,
Which bloomes can on the briers ſaue.
No Ice doth chriſtallize the running Brooke,
No blaſt deflowres the flowre-adorned field,
Chriſtall is cleare, but clearer is the looke
Which to our climes theſe liuing fires doth yeeld:
Winter though euery where,
Hath no abiding here:
On Brooks and Briers ſhe doth rule alone,
The Sunne which lights our world is alwayes one.
FINIS.
Edmund Bolton.
¶Milicertus
Madrigale.
VVHat are my Sheepe, without their wonted food?
What is my life, except I gaine my Loue?
My Sheepe conſume, and faint for want of blood,
My life is loſt vnleſſe I Grace approue.
No flower that ſapleſſe thriues,
No Turtle without pheare.
The day without the Sunne doth lower for woe,
Then woe mine eyes, vnleſſe they beauty ſee:
My Sonne Samelaes eyes, by whom I know,
Wherein delight conſiſts, where pleaſures be.
Nought more the heart reuiues,
Then to embrace his Deere.
The ſtarres from earthly humours gaine their light,
Our humours by their light poſſeſſe their power:
Samelaes eyes fed by my weeping ſight,
Infuſe my paines or ioyes, by ſmile or lower.
So wends the ſource of loue,
It feedes, it failes, it ends.
Kinde lookes, cleare to your Ioy, behold her eyes,
Admire her heart, deſire to taſt her kiſſes:
In them the heauen of ioy and ſolace lyes,
Without them, euery hope his ſuccour miſſes.
Oh how I liue to proue,
Whereto this ſolace tends?
FINIS.
Ro. Greene.
¶Old
Damons Pastorall.
FRom Fortunes frownes and change remou'd,
wend ſilly Flocks in bleſſed feeding:
None of Damon more belou'd,
feede gentle Lambs while I ſit reading.
Careleſſe Worldlings, outrage quelleth
all the pride and pompe of Citie:
But true peace with Shepheards dwelleth,
(Shepheards who delight in pittie.)
Whether grace of heauen betideth,
on our humble mindes ſuch pleaſure:
Perfect peace with Swaines abideth,
loue and faith is Shepheards treaſure.
On the lower Plaines the thunder
little thriues, and nought preuaileth:
Yet in Cities breedeth wonder,
and the higheſt hills aſſaileth.
Enuie of a forraigne Tyrant
threatneth Kings, not Shepheards humble:
Age makes ſilly Swaines delirant,
thirſt of rules garres greatmen ſtumble.
What to other ſeemeth ſorrie,
abiect ſtate and humble biding:
Is our ioy and Country glorie,
higheſt ſtates haue worſe betiding.
Golden Cups doe harbour poyſon,
and the greateſt pompe, diſſembling:
Court of ſeaſoned words hath foyſon,
treaſon haunts in moſt aſſembling.
Homely breaſts doe harbour quiet,
little feare, and mickle ſolace:
States ſuſpect their bed and diet,
feare and craft doe haunt the Pallace.
Little would I, little want I,
where the minde and ſtore agreeth,
Smalleſt comfort is not ſcantie,
leaſt he longs that little ſeeth.
Time hath beene that I haue longed,
fooliſh I, to like of folly:
To conuerſe where honour thronged,
to my pleaſures linked wholy.
Now I ſee, and ſeeing ſorrow
that the day conſum'd, returnes not:
Who dare truſt vpon to morrow,
when nor time, nor life ſoiournes not?
FINIS.
Thom. Lodge.
¶Perigot
and Cuddies
Roundelay.
IT fell vpon a holy-Eue,
hey hoe holy-day:
When holy-Fathers wont to ſhriue,
now ginneth this Roundelay.
Sitting vpon a hill ſo hie,
hey hoe the high hill:
The while my Flock did feede thereby,
the while the Shepheards ſelfe did ſpill.
I ſaw the bouncing Belly-bone,
hey hoe Bonny-bell:
Tripping ouer the Dale alone,
ſhe can trip it very well.
Well decked in a Frock of gray,
hey hoe gray is greete:
And in a Kirtle of greene Say,
the greene is for Maydens meete.
A Chaplet on her head ſhe wore,
hey hoe the Chaplet:
Of ſweet Violets therein was ſtore,
ſhe's ſweeter then the Violet.
My Sheepe did leaue their wonted food,
hey hoe ſilly Sheepe:
And gaz'd on her as they were wood,
wood as he that did them keepe.
As the Bonny-laſſe paſſed by,
hey hoe Bonny-laſſe:
She rol'd at me with glauncing eye,
as cleare as the Chriſtall-glaſſe.
All as the Sunnie-beame ſo bright,
hey hoe the Sun-beame:
Glaunceth from Phoebus face forth-right,
ſo loue into my heart did ſtreame.
Or as the thunder cleaues the clouds,
hey hoe the thunder:
Wherein the lightſome leuin ſhrouds,
ſo cleaues my ſoule aſunder.
Or as Dame Cynthias ſiluer ray,
hey hoe the Moone-light:
Vpon the gliſtering waue doth play,
ſuch play is a pitteous plight.
The glaunce into my heart did glide,
hey hoe the glider:
There-with my ſoule was ſharply gride,
ſuch wounds ſoone wexen wider.
Haſting to raunch the arrow out,
hey hoe Perigot:
I left the head in my heart roote,
it was a deſperate ſhot.
There it rankleth aye more and more,
hey hoe the arrow:
Ne can I finde ſalue for my ſore,
loue is a cureleſſe ſorrow.
And though my bale with death I bought,
hey hoe heauie cheere:
Yet ſhould thilke Laſſe not from my thought,
ſo you may buy gold too deere.
But whether in painefull loue I pine,
hey hoe pinching paine:
Or thriue in wealth, ſhe ſhall be mine,
but if thou can her obtaine.
And if for graceleſſe griefe I dye,
hey hoe graceleſſe griefe:
Witneſſe, ſhe ſlew me with her eye,
let thy folly be the preefe.
And you that ſaw it, ſimple ſheepe,
hey hoe the faire Flocke:
For priefe thereof my death ſhall weepe,
and moane with many a mocke.
So learn'd I loue on a holy-Eue,
hey hoe holy-day:
That euer ſince my heart did grieue;
now endeth our Roundelay.
FINIS.
Edm. Spencer.
¶Phillida
and Coridon.
IN the merry month of May,
In a morne by breake of day,
Forth I walked by the Wood-ſide,
When as May was in his pride:
There I ſpied all alone,
Phillida and Coridon.
Much a-doo there was God wot,
He would loue, and ſhe would not.
She ſaid neuer man was true,
He ſaid, none was falſe to you.
He ſaid, he had lou'd her long,
She ſaid, Loue ſhould haue no wrong.
Coridon would kiſſe her then,
She ſaid, Maides muſt kiſſe no men,
Till they did for good and all.
Then ſhe made the Shepheard call
All the heauens to witneſſe truth:
Neuer lou'd a truer Youth.
Thus with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, and faith and troath,
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Such as ſilly Shepheards vſe,
When they will not Loue abuſe;
Loue, which had beene long deluded,
Was with kiſſes ſweet concluded.
And Phillida with garlands gay:
Was made the Lady of the May.
FINIS.
N. Breton.
¶To Colin Cloute.
BEautie ſate bathing by a Spring,
where faireſt ſhades did hide her.
The windes blew calme, the birds did ſing,
the coole ſtreames ranne beſide her.
My wanton thoughts entic'd mine eye,
to ſee what was forbidden:
But better Memory ſaid, fie,
ſo, vaine Deſire was chidden.
Hey nonnie, nonnie, &c.
Into a ſlumber then I fell,
when fond imagination:
Seemed to ſee, but could not tell
her feature or her faſhion.
But euen as Babes in dreames doe ſmile,
and ſometime fall a weeping:
So I awakt, as wiſe this while,
as when I fell a ſleeping.
Hey nonnie, nonnie, &c.
FINIS
Shepheard Tonie.
¶
Rowlands Song in praiſe of the faireſt
Beta.
O Thou ſiluer Thames, ô cleareſt chriſtall flood,
Beta alone the Phaenix is of all thy watry brood.
The Queene of Virgins onely ſhe,
And thou the Queene of flouds ſhalt be.
Let all the Nimphs be ioyfull then, to ſee this happy day,
Thy Beta now alone ſhall be the ſubiect of my Lay.
With daintie and delightſome ſtraines of ſweeteſt Virelayes,
Come louely Shepheards ſit we downe, and chaunt our Betas praiſe.
And let vs ſing ſo rare a verſe,
Our Betas praiſes to rehearſe,
That litle Birds ſhall ſilent be, to heare poore Shepheards ſing:
And Riuers backward bend their courſe, & flow vnto the ſpring.
Range all thy Swannes faire Thames together on a ranke:
And place them duly one by one vpon thy ſtately banke.
Then ſet together all a-good,
Recording to the ſiluer flood:
And craue the tunefull Nightingale to helpe ye with her Lay;
The Oſell and the Thruſtlecocke, chiefe muſicke of our May.
O ſee what troupes of Nimphs beene ſporting on the ſtrands;
And they beene bleſſed Nimphs of peace, with Oliues in their hands.
How merrily the Muſes ſing,
That all the flowrie Meddowes ring
And Beta ſits vpon the banke in purple▪ and in pall.
And ſhee the Queene of Muſes is, and weares the Coronall.
Trim vp her golden treſſes with Apollos ſacred tree,
O happy ſight vnto all thoſe that loue and honour thee,
The bleſſed Angels haue prepar'd
A glorious Crowne for thy reward.
Not ſuch a golden Crowne as haughty Caeſar weares:
But ſuch a glittering ſtarrie Crowne as Ariadne beares.
Make her a goodly Chaplet of azurd Cullumbine,
And wreath about her Coronet with ſweeteſt Eglantine.
Bedeck our Beta all with Lillies.
And the dainty Daffadillies,
With Roſes Damaske, white and red, and faireſt flowre-Delice:
With Cowſlips of Ieruſalem, and Cloaues of Paradice.
O thou faire Torch of heauen, the dayes moſt deareſt light,
And thou bright-ſhining Cynthia, the glory of the night.
You ſtarres the eyes of heauen,
And thou the gliding leuen,
And thou O gorgeous Iris, with all ſtrange colours dyed:
When ſhe ſtreames forth her rayes, then daſht is all your pride.
See how the Day ſtands ſtill, admiring of her face,
And Time loe ſtretcheth forth his armes thy Beta to embrace.
The Syrens ſing ſweet Layes,
The Trytons ſound her praiſe,
Goe paſſe on Thames, and hie thee faſt vnto the Ocean Sea:
And let thy billowes there proclaime thy Betas holy-day.
And water thou the bleſſed roote of that greene Oliue tree,
With whoſe ſweet ſhadow all thy bankes with peace preſerued be.
Laurell for Poets and Conquerours:
And Mirtle for Loues Paramours.
That fame may be thy fruit, the boughs preſeru'd by peace,
And let the mournfull Cypres die, now ſtormes and tempeſt ceaſe
Weele ſtrew the ſhoare with pearle, where Beta walkes alone,
And we will paue her Princely Bower with richeſt Indian ſtone.
Perfume the ayre, and make it ſweete,
For ſuch a Goddeſſe it is meete.
For if her eyes for purity contend with Titans light:
No meruaile then, although they ſo doe dazell humane ſight.
Sound out your Trumpets then from Londons ſtately Towers,
To beat the ſtormie winds a-backe, and calme the raging ſhowers.
Set to the Cornet and the Flute,
The Orpharion and the Lute:
And tune the Taber and the Pipe to the ſweet Violons:
And moue the thunder in the ayre with lowdeſt Clarions.
Beta, long may thine Altars ſmoake with yeerely ſacrifice,
And long thy ſacred Temples may their Sabbaths ſolemniſe,
Thy Shepheards watch by day and night,
Thy Maides attend the holy light,
And thy large Empire ſtretch her armes from Eaſt vnto the Weſt:
And Albion on the Appenines aduance her conquering creſt.
FINIS.
Mich. Drayton.
¶The Barginet of
Antimachus.
IN pride of youth, in midſt of May,
When birds with many a merry Lay,
ſalute the Sunnes vp-riſing:
I ſate me downe faſt by a Spring,
And while theſe merry Chaunters ſing,
I fell vpon ſurmizing.
Amidſt my doubt and minds debate,
Of change of time, of worlds eſtate,
I ſpyed a boy attired
In ſiluer plumes, yet naked quite,
Saue pretty feathers fit for flight,
wherewith he ſtill aſpired.
A bowe he bare to worke mens wrack,
A little Quiuer at his back,
with many arrowes filled:
And in his ſoft and pretty hand,
He held a liuely burning brand,
where-with he Louers killed.
Faſt by his ſide, in rich aray,
There ſate a louely Lady gay,
his mother as I gueſſed:
That ſet the Lad vpon her knee,
And trimd his bow and taught him flee,
and mickle Loue profeſſed.
Oft from her lap at ſundry ſtowres,
He leapt, and gathered Sommer flowres,
both Violets and Roſes:
But ſee the chaunce that followed faſt,
As he the pompe of prime doth waſt,
before that he ſuppoſes:
A Bee that harbour'd hard thereby,
Did ſting his hand, and made him cry
Oh Mother, I am wounded:
Faire Venus that beheld her Sonne,
Cryed out alas, I am vndone,
and there-vpon ſhe ſwounded,
My little Lad the Goddeſſe ſayd,
Who hath my Cupid ſo diſmayd?
he anſwered: Gentle Mother
The hony-worker in the Hiue,
My griefe and miſchiefe doth contriue,
alas it is none other.
Shee kiſt the Lad: Now marke the chaunce,
And ſtrait ſhe fell into a traunce,
and crying, thus concluded:
Ah wanton boy, like to the Bee,
Thou with a kiſſe haſt wounded mee,
and hapleſſe Loue included.
A little Bee doth thee affright,
But ah, my wounds are full of ſpright,
and cannot be recured:
The boy that kiſt his Mothers paine,
Gan ſmile, and kiſt her whole againe,
and made her hope aſſured.
She ſuckt the wound, and ſwag'd the ſting,
And little Loue ycurde did ſing,
then let no Louers ſorrow:
To day though griefe attaint his hart,
Let him with courage bide the ſmart,
amends will come to morrow.
FINIS.
Thom. Lodge.
¶Menaphons
Roundelay.
VVHen tender Ewes brought home with euening Sunne,
Wend to their Folds,
And to their holds
The Shepheards trudge when light of day is done:
Vpon a tree,
The Eagle, Ioues faire bird did pearch,
There reſteth hee.
A little Fly his harbour then did ſearch,
And did preſume, (though others laugh'd thereat.)
To pearch whereas the Princely Eagle ſat.
The Eagle Frown'd, and ſhooke his royall wings,
And charg'd the Flie
From thence to hie.
Afraide, in haſt the little creature flings,
Yet ſeekes againe,
Fearefull to pearke him by the Eagles ſide.
With moodie vaine
The ſpeedie poaſt of Ganimede replide:
Vaſſaile auaunt, or with my wings you die.
Is't fit an Eagle ſeate him with a Flie?
The Flie crau'd pittie, ſtill the Eagle frownd.
The ſilly Flie
Ready to die:
Diſgrac'd, diſplac'd, fell groueling to the ground.
The Eagle ſawe:
And with a royall minde ſaid to the Flie,
Be not in awe,
I ſcorne by me the meaneſt creature die.
Then ſeate thee here: The ioyfull Flie vp-flings,
And ſate ſafe ſhadowed with the Eagles wings.
FINIS.
Ro. Greene.
¶A Paſtorall of
Phillis and
Coridon.
ON a Hill there growes a flower,
faire befall the daintie ſweet:
By that flower there is a Bower,
Where the heauenly Muſes meet.
In that Bower there is a chaire,
fringed all about with gold:
Where doth ſit the faireſt faire,
that euer eye did yet behold.
It is Phillis faire and bright,
ſhee that is the Shepheards ioy:
Shee that Venus did deſpight,
and did blinde her little boy.
This is ſhee, the wiſe, the rich,
that the world deſires to ſee:
This is ipſa quae the which,
there is none but onely ſhee.
Who would not this face admire?
who would not this Saint adore?
Who would not this ſight deſire,
though he thought to ſee no more?
Oh faire eyes, yet let mee ſee,
one good looke, and I am gone:
Looke on me for I am hee,
thy poore ſilly Coridon.
Thou that art the Shepheards Queene,
looke vpon thy ſilly Swaine:
By thy comfort haue beene ſeene
dead men brought to life againe.
FINIS.
N. Breton.
¶Coridon and Melampus Song.
Cor.
MElampus, when will Loue be void of feares?
Mel.
When Ielouſie hath neither eyes nor eares.
Cor.
Melampus, when will Loue be throughly ſhrieued?
Mel.
When it is hard to ſpeake, and not belieued.
Cor.
Melampus, when is Loue moſt male content?
Mel.
When Louers range, and beare their bowes vnbent.
Cor.
Melampus, tell me, when takes Loue leaſt harme?
Mel.
When Swaines ſweet pipes are puft, and Truls are warme.
Cor.
Melampus, tell me, when is Loue beſt fed?
Mel.
When it hath ſuck'd the ſweet that eaſe hath bred.
Cor.
Melampus, when is time in Loue ill ſpent?
Mel.
When it earnes meed, and yet receaues no rent.
Cor.
Melampus, when is time well ſpent in Loue?
Mel.
When deeds win meeds, and words Loue workes doe proue.
FINIS.
Geor. Peele.
¶
Tityrus to his faire
Phillis.
THE ſilly Swaine whoſe loue breeds diſcontent,
Thinkes death a trifle, life a loathſome thing,
Sad he lookes, ſad he lyes:
But when his fortunes mallice doth relent,
Then of loues ſweetnes he will ſweetly ſing,
thus he liues, thus he dies.
Then Tityrus whom Loue hath happy made,
Will reſt thrice happy in this Mirtle ſhade.
For though Loue at firſt did greeue him:
yet did Loue at laſt releeue him.
FINIS.
I. D.
¶Shepheard.
SWeet thrall, firſt ſtep to Loues felicitie,
Shepheardeſſe.
Sweet thrall, no ſtop to perfect libertie.
Hee.
O life.
Shee.
what life?
Hee.
Sweet life.
Shee.
No life more ſweet:
Hee.
O Loue.
Shee.
What loue?
Hee.
Sweet loue.
Shee.
No loue more meet.
FINIS.
I. M.
Another of the ſame Authour.
FIelds were ouer-ſpread with flowers,
Faireſt choiſe of Floraes treaſure:
Shepheards there had ſhady Bowers,
Where they oft repos'd with pleaſure.
Meadowes flouriſh'd freſh and gay,
where the wanton Heards did play.
Springs more cleare then Chriſtall ſtreames.
Seated were the Groues among:
Thus nor Titans ſcorching beames,
Nor earths drouth could Shepheards wrong.
Faire Pomonaes fruitfull pride:
did the budding branches hide.
Flockes of ſheepe fed on the Plaines,
Harmeleſſe ſheepe that roamd at large:
Heere and there ſate penſiue Swaines,
Wayting on their wandring charge.
Penſiue while their Laſſes ſmil'd:
Laſſes which had them beguil'd.
Hills with trees were richly dight,
Vallies ſtor'd with Veſtaes wealth:
Both did harbour ſweet delight,
Nought was there to hinder health.
Thus did Heauen grace the ſoyle:
Not deform'd with work-mens toile.
Pureſt plot of earthly mold,
Might that Land be iuſtly named:
Art by Nature was controld,
Art, which no ſuch pleaſures framed.
Fayrer place was neuer ſeene:
Fitteſt place for Beauties Queene.
FINIS.
I. M.
¶Menaphon
to Peſana.
FAire fields proud Floraes vaunt, why i'ſt you ſmile,
when as I languiſh?
You golden Meades, why ſtriue you to beguile
my weeping anguiſh?
I liue to ſorrow, you to pleaſure ſpring,
why doe ye ſpring thus?
What, will not Boreas tempeſts wrathfull King,
take ſome pitty on vs?
And ſend forth Winter in her ruſtie weede,
to waile my bemoanings:
While I diſtreſt doe tune my Country Reede
vnto my groanings.
But Heauen and Earth, time, place, and euery power,
haue with her conſpired:
To turne my blisfull ſweet to balefull ſower,
ſince I this deſired.
The Heauen whereto my thoughts may not aſpire,
aye me vnhappy:
It was my fault t'imbrace my bane the fire
that forceth me die.
Mine be the paine, but hers the cruell cauſe,
of this ſtrange torment:
Wherefore no time my banning prayers ſhall pauſe,
till proud ſhe repent.
FINIS.
Ro. Greene.
¶A ſweet Paſtorall.
GOod Muſe rocke me a ſleepe
with ſome ſweet Harmonie:
This weary eye is not to keepe
thy wary companie.
Sweet Loue be gone a while,
thou knoweſt my heauines:
Beautie is borne but to beguile
my hart of happines.
See how my little flocke
that lou'd to feede on hie:
Doe headlong tumble downe the Rocke,
and in the Vallie die.
The buſhes and the trees
that were ſo freſh and greene:
Doe all their daintie colour leeſe,
and not a leafe is ſeene.
The Blacke-bird and the Thruſh,
that made the woods to ring:
With all the reſt, are now at huſh,
and not a note they ſing.
Sweet Philomele the bird,
that hath the heauenly throat,
Doth now alas not once affoord
recording of a noate.
The flowers haue had a froſt
each hearbe hath loſt her fauour:
And Phillida the faire hath loſt
the comfort of her fauour.
Now all theſe carefull ſights,
ſo kill me in conceit:
That how to hope vpon delights
it is but meere deceite.
And therefore my ſweet Muſe
that knoweſt what helpe is beſt:
Doe now thy heauenly cunning vſe,
to ſet my heart at reſt.
And in a dreame bewray
what fate ſhall be my friend:
Whether my life ſhall ſtill decay,
or when my ſorrow end.
FINIS
N. Breton.
¶
Harpalus complaint on
Phillidaes loue beſtowed or
Corin, who loued her not, and denyed him that loued her.
PHillida was a faire maide,
as freſh as any flower:
Whom Harpalus the Heardſ-man praide
to be his Paramour,
Harpalus and eke Corin,
were Heardſ-men both yfere:
And Phillida could twiſt and ſpinne,
and thereto ſing full cleere.
But Phillida was all too coy,
for Harpalus to winne:
For Corin was her onely ioy,
who forc'd her not a pinne.
How often would ſhe flowers twine?
how often Garlands make:
Of Cowſlips and of Cullumbine,
and all for Corins ſake?
But Corin he had Hawkes to lure,
and forced more the field:
Of Louers law hee tooke no cure,
for once hee was beguild.
Harpalus preuailed naught,
his labour all was loſt:
For he was furtheſt from her thought,
and yet he lou'd her moſt.
Therefore woxe he both pale and leane,
and dry as clod of clay:
His fleſh it was conſumed cleane,
his colour gone away.
His beard it had not long beene ſhaue,
his haire hung all vnkempt:
A man moſt fit euen for the graue,
whom ſpitefull Loue had ſpent.
His eyes were red and all fore-watcht,
his face beſprent with teares:
It ſeem'd vnhap had him long hatcht,
in midſt of his diſpaires.
His cloathes were blacke and alſo bare,
as one forlorne was hee:
Vpon his head he alwayes ware
a wreath of Willow-tree.
His beaſts he kept vpon the hill,
and he ſate in the Dale:
And thus with ſighs and ſorrowes ſhrill,
he gan to tell his tale.
Oh Harpalus, thus would he ſay,
vnhappieſt vnder Sunne:
The cauſe of thine vnhappy day,
by loue was firſt begun.
For thou went'ſt firſt by ſute to ſeeke,
a Tyger to make tame:
That ſets not by thy loue a Leeke,
but makes thy griefe a game.
As eaſie were it to conuert
the froſt into a flame:
As for to turne a froward hart
whom thou ſo faine wouldſt frame.
Corin, he liueth careleſſe,
he leapes among the leaues:
He eates the fruites of thy redreſſe,
thou reap'ſt, he takes the ſheaues.
My beaſts a-while your foode refraine,
and harke your Heard-mans ſound:
Whom ſpightfull Loue alas hath ſlaine,
through-girt with many a wound.
Oh happy be ye beaſts wild,
that here your Paſture takes:
I ſee that ye be not beguild,
of theſe your faithfull makes.
The Hart he feedeth by the Hinde,
the Bucke hard by the Doe:
The Turtle-Doue is not vnkinde
to him that loues her ſo.
The Eweſhe hath by her the Ram,
the young Cowe hath the Bull:
The Calfe with many a luſty Lamb,
doe feede their hunger full.
But well-away that Nature wrought,
thee Phillida ſo faire:
For I may ſay that I haue bought
thy beauty all too deere.
What reaſon is't that cruelty
with beauty ſhould haue part?
Or elſe that ſuch great tirannie,
ſhould dwell in womans hart?
I ſee therefore to ſhape my death,
ſhe cruelly is preſt:
To th'end that I may want my breath,
my dayes beene at the beſt.
Oh Cupid grant this my requeſt,
and doe not ſtop thine eares:
That ſhe may feele within her breſt,
the paine of my deſpaires.
Of Corin that is careleſſe,
that ſhe may craue her fee:
As I haue done in great diſtreſſe,
that lou'd her faithfully.
But ſince that I ſhall die her ſlaue,
her ſlaue and eke her thrall:
Write you my friends vpon my graue,
this chance that is befall.
Here lyeth vnhappy Harpalus,
by cruell Loue now ſlaine:
Whom Phillida vniuſtly thus,
hath murdred with diſdaine.
FINIS.
L.T. Haward, Earle of Surrie.
¶Another of the ſame ſubiect, but made as it were in anſwere.
ON a goodly Summers day,
Harpalus and Phillida,
He a true harted Swaine,
She full of coy diſdaine,
droue their Flocks to field:
He to ſee his Shepheardeſſe,
She did dreame on nothing leſſe,
Then his continuall care,
Which to grim-fac'd Diſpaire,
wholely did him yeeld.
Corin ſhe affected ſtill,
All the more thy heart to kill.
Thy caſe doth make me rue,
That thou ſhould'ſt loue ſo true,
and be thus diſdain'd:
While their Flocks a feeding were,
They did meete together there.
Then with a curtſie lowe,
And ſighs that told his woe,
thus to her he plain'd.
Bide a while faire Phillida,
Liſt what Harpalus will ſay
Onely in loue to thee,
Though thou reſpect not mee,
yet vouchſafe an eare:
To preuent enſuing ill,
Which no doubt betide thee will,
If thou doe not fore-ſee,
To ſhunne it preſently,
then thy harme I feare.
Firme thy loue is, well I wot,
To the man that loues thee not.
Louely and gentle Mayde,
Thy hope is quite betrayde,
which my heart doth greeue:
Corin is vnkinde to thee,
Though thou thinke contrarie.
His loue is growne as light,
As is his Faulcons flight,
this ſweet Nimph beleeue.
Mopſus daughter, that young mayde,
Her bright eyes his heart hath ſtrayde
From his affecting thee,
Now there is none but ſhee
that is Corins bliſſe:
Phillis, men the Virgin call,
She is Buxome, faire and tall,
Yet not like Phillida:
If I my minde might ſay,
eyes oft deeme amiſſe.
He commends her beauty rare,
Which with thine may not compare.
He doth extoll her eye,
Silly thing, if thine were by,
thus conceit can erre:
He is rauiſh'd with her breath,
Thine can quicken life in death.
He praiſeth all her parts;
Thine, winnes a world of harts,
more, if more there were.
Looke ſweet Nimph vpon thy Flock,
They ſtand ſtill, and now feede not,
As if they ſhar'd with thee:
Griefe for this iniurie,
offred to true loue.
Pretty Lambkins, how they moane,
And in bleating ſeeme to groane,
That any Shepheards Swaine,
Should cauſe their Miſtreſſe paine:
by affects remoue.
If you looke but on the graſſe,
It's not halfe ſo greene as 'twas:
When I began my tale,
But is as witherd pale,
all in meere remorce.
Marke the Trees that bragd euen now,
Of each goodly greene-leau'd bow,
They ſeeme as blaſted all,
Ready for Winters fall,
ſuch is true loues force.
The gentle murmur of the Springs,
Are become contrary things,
They haue forgot their pride,
And quite forſake their glide,
as if charm'd they ſtand.
And the flowers growing by,
Late ſo freſh in euery eye,
See how they hang the head,
As on a ſuddaine dead,
dropping on the ſand.
The birds that chaunted it yer-while,
Ere they heard of Corins guile,
Sit as they were afraide,
Or by ſome hap diſmaide,
for this wrong to thee:
Harke ſweet Phil, how Philomell,
That was wont to ſing ſo well,
Iargles now in yonder buſh,
Worſer then the rudeſt Thruſh,
as it were not ſhee.
Phillida, who all this while
Neither gaue a ſigh or ſmile:
Round about the field did gaze,
As her wits were in a maze,
poore deſpiſed Mayd.
And reuiued at the laſt,
After ſtreames of teares were paſt,
Leaning on her Shepheards hooke,
With a ſad and heauie looke,
thus poore ſoule ſhe ſayd.
Harpalus, I thanke not thee,
For this ſorry tale to mee.
Meete me here againe to morrow,
Then I will conclude my ſorrow
mildly, if may be:
With their Flocks they home doe fare,
Eithers heart too full of care,
If they doe meete againe,
Then what they furder ſayne,
you ſhall here from me.
FINIS.
Shep. Tonic.
¶The Nimphes meeting their May Queene, entertaine her with this Dittie,
VVIth fragrant flowers we ſtrew the way,
And make this our chiefe holy-day.
For though this clime were bleſt of yore:
Yet was it neuer proud before.
O beauteous Queene of ſecond Troy:
Accept of our vnfained ioy.
Now th'Ayre is ſweeter then ſweet Balme,
And Satyres dance about the Palme,
Now earth with verdure newly dight,
Giues perfect ſignes of her delight.
O beauteous Queene, &c.
Now birds record new harmonie,
And trees doe whiſtle melodie,
Now euery thing that Nature breedes,
Doth clad it ſelfe in pleaſant weedes.
O beauteous Queene, &c.
FINIS.
Tho. Watſon.
¶
Colin Clouts mournfull Dittie for the death of
Aſtrophell.
SHepheards that wont on pipes of Oaten Reede
Oft-times to plaine your Loues concealed ſmart;
And with your pitteous Layes haue learn'd to breede
Compaſſion in a Country-Laſſes hart:
Harken ye gentle Shepheards to my Song,
And place my dolefull plaint your plaints among.
To you alone I ſing this mournfull verſe,
The mournfulſt verſe that euer man heard tell:
To you whoſe ſoftned hearts it may impierce
With dolours dart for death of Aſtrophell.
To you I ſing, and to none other wight:
For well I wot, my rimes beene rudely dight.
Yet as they beene, if any nicer wit
Shall hap to heare, or couet them to reade:
Thinke he, that ſuch are for ſuch ones moſt fit,
Made not to pleaſe the liuing, but the dead.
And if in him found pitty euer place:
Let him be mou'd to pitty ſuch a caſe.
FINIS.
Edm. Spencer.
¶
Damaetas Iigge in praiſe of his Loue.
IOlly Shepheard, Shepheard on a hill
on a hill ſo merrily,
on a hill ſo cherily,
Feare not Shepheard there to pipe thy fill,
Fill euery Dale, fill euery Plaine:
both ſing and ſay; Loue feeles no paine.
Iolly Shepheard, Shepheard on a greene,
on a greene ſo merrily,
on a greene ſo cherily,
Be thy voyce ſhrill, be thy mirth ſeene,
Heard to each Swaine, ſeene to each Trull:
Both ſing and ſay; Loues ioy is full.
Iolly Shepheard, Shepheard in the Sunne,
in the Sunne ſo merrily,
in the Sunne ſo cherily,
Sing forth thy Songs, and let thy rimes runne
Downe to the Dales, to the hills aboue:
both ſing and ſay; No life to loue.
Iolly Shepheard, Shepheard in the ſhade,
in the ſhade ſo merrily,
in the ſhade ſo cherily,
Ioy in thy life, life of Shepheards trade,
Ioy in thy loue, loue full of glee:
both ſing and ſay; Sweet Loue forme.
Iolly Shepheard, Shepheard here or there,
here or there ſo merrily,
here or there ſo cherily,
Or in thy chat, either at thy cheere,
In euery ligge, in euery Lay:
both ſing and ſay; Loue laſts for aye.
Iolly Shepheard, Shepheard Daphnis Loue,
Daphnis loue ſo merrily,
Daphnis loue ſo cherily,
Let thy fancie neuer more remoue,
Fancie be fixt, fixt not to fleete,
ſtill ſing and ſay; Loues yoake is ſweet.
FINIS.
Iohn Wootton.
¶
Montanus praiſe of his faire
Phaebe.
PHaebe ſate,
Sweet ſhe ſate,
ſweet ſate Phaebe when I ſaw her,
White her brow
Coy her eye,
brow and eye, how much you pleaſe me?
Words I ſpent,
Sighs I ſent,
ſighs and words could neuer draw her,
Oh my Loue,
Thou art loſt,
ſince no ſight could euer eaſe thee.
Phaebe ſate
By a Fount,
ſitting by a Fount I ſpide her,
Sweet her touch,
Rare her voyce,
touch and voyce, what may diſtaine you?
As ſhe ſung,
I did ſigh,
And by ſighs whilſt that I tride her,
Oh mine eyes
You did looſe,
her firſt ſight whoſe want did paine you.
Phaebes Flocks
White as wooll,
yet were Phoebes lookes more whiter,
Phaebes eyes
Doue-like mild,
Doue-like eyes both mild and cruell,
Montane ſweares
In your Lamps,
he will die for to delight her,
Phaebe yeeld
Or I die,
ſhall true hearts be fancies fuell?
FINIS.
Thom. Lodge.
¶The complaint of
Theſtilis the forſaken Shepheard.
THeſtilis a ſilly Swaine, when Loue did him forſake,
In mournfull wiſe amid the Woods, thus gan his plaint to make,
Ah wofull man (quoth he) falne is thy lot to mone,
And pine away with carefull thoughts, vnto thy Loue vnknowne.
Thy Nimph forſakes thee quite, whom thou didſt honour ſo:
That aye to her thou wert a friend, but to thy ſelfe a foe.
Ye Louers that haue loſt your hearts-deſired choyce:
Lament with me my cruell hap, and helpe my trembling voyce
Was neuer man that ſtood ſo great in Fortunes grace,
Nor with his ſweat (alas too deere) poſſeſt ſo high a place:
As I whoſe ſimple heart, aye thought himſelfe ſtill ſure,
But now I ſee high ſpringing tides, they may not aye endure.
She knowes my guiltleſſe heart, and yet ſhe lets it pine:
Of her vntrue profeſſed loue, ſo feeble is the twine.
What wonder is it then, if I berent my haires:
And crauing death continually, doe bathe my ſelfe in teares?
When Craeſus King of Lide, was caſt in cruell hands,
And yeelded goods and life into his enemies hands:
What tongue could tell his woe? yet was his griefe much leſſe
Then mine for I haue loſt my Loue, which might my woe redreſſe.
Ye Woods that ſhroud my limbs, giue now your hollow ſound:
That ye may helpe me to bewaile, the cares that me confound.
Ye Riuers reſt a while, and ſtay your ſtreames that runne:
Rue Theſtilis, the wofulst man that reſts vnder the Sunne.
Tranſport my ſighs ye winds, vnto my pleaſant ſoe:
My trickling teares ſhall witnes beare, of this my cruell woe:
Oh happy man were I, if all the Gods agreed:
That now the Sisters three ſhould cut in twaine my fatall threed
Till life with loue ſhall end, I here reſigne allioy,
Thy pleaſant ſweet I now lament, whoſe lacke breeds mine annoy.
Farewell my deere therefore, farewell to me well knowne,
If that I die, it ſhall be ſaid: that thou haſt ſlaine thine owne.
FINIS.
L.T. Howard, E. of Surrie.
¶To Phillis the faire Shepheardeſſe.
MY Phillis hath the morning Sunne,
at firſt to looke vpon her:
And Phillis hath morne-waking birds,
her riſings ſtill to honour.
My Phillis hath prime-featherd flowres,
that ſmile when ſhe treads on them:
And Phillis hath a gallant Flocke,
that leapes ſince ſhe doth owne them.
But Phillis hath too hard a hart,
alas that ſhe ſhould haue it:
It yeelds no mercie to deſert,
nor grace to thoſe that craue it.
Sweet Sunne, when thou look'ſt on,
pray her regard my moane.
Sweet birds, when you ſing to her,
to yeeld ſome pitty, woo her,
Sweet flowers that ſhe treads on,
tell her, her beauty deads one.
And if in life her loue ſhe nill agree me:
Pray her before I die, ſhe will come ſee me.
FINIS.
S. E. D.
¶The Shepheard
Dorons Iigge.
THrough the ſhrubs as I can crack,
for my Lambs pretty ones,
mongſt many little ones,
Nimphs I meane, whoſe haire was black
As the Crow.
Like as the Snow
Her face and browes ſhin'd I weene,
I ſaw a little one,
a bonny pretty one,
As bright, buxome, and as ſheene:
As was ſhee
On her knee
That lull'd the God, whoſe arrowes warmes
ſuch merry little ones,
ſuch faire-fac'd pretty ones,
As dally in Loues chiefeſt harmes.
Such was mine,
Whoſe gray eyne
Made me loue: I gan to wooe
this ſweet little one,
this bonny pretty one.
I wooed hard a day or two,
Till ſhe bad,
Be not ſad,
Wooe no more, I am thine owne,
thy deareſt little one,
thy trueſt pretty one.
Thus was faith and firme loue ſhowne,
As behooues
Shepheards Loues.
FINIS.
Ro. Greene.
¶
Aſtrophell his Song of
Phillida and
Coridon.
FAire in a morne, (O faireſt morne)
was neuer morne ſo faire:
There ſhone a Sunne, though not the Sunne,
that ſhineth in the ayre.
For the earth, and from the earth,
(was neuer ſuch a creature:)
Did come this face, (was neuer face,)
that carried ſuch a feature.
Vpon a hill, (O bleſſed hill,
was neuer hill ſo bleſſed)
There ſtoode a man, (was neuer man
for woman ſo diſtreſſed.)
This man beheld a heauenly view,
which did ſuch vertue giue:
As cleares the blinde, and helps the lame,
and makes the dead man liue.
This man had hap, (O happy man
more happy none then hee;)
For he had hap to ſee the hap,
that none had hap to ſee.
This ſilly Swaine, (and ſilly Swaines
are men of meaneſt grace:)
Had yet the grace, (O gracious gueſt)
to hap on ſuch a face.
He pitty cried, and pitty came,
and pittied ſo his paine:
As dying, would not let him die,
but gaue him life againe.
For ioy whereof he made ſuch mirth,
as all the Woods did ring:
And Pan with all his Swaines came forth,
to heare the Shepheards ſing.
But ſuch a Song ſung neuer was,
nor ſhall be ſung againe:
Of Phillida the Shepheards Queene,
and Coridon the Swaine.
Faire Phillis is the Shepheards Queene,
(was neuer ſuch a Queene as ſhee,)
And Coridon her onely Swaine,
(was neuer ſuch a Swaine as he.)
Faire Phillis hath the faireſt face,
that euer eye did yet behold:
And Coridon the conſtant'ſt faith,
that euer yet kept Flock in fold.
Sweet Phillis is the ſweeteſt ſweet,
that euer yet the earth did yeeld:
And Coridon the kindeſt Swaine,
that euer yet kept Lambs in field.
Sweet Philomell is Phillis bird,
though Coridon be he that caught her:
And Coridon doth heare her ſing,
though Phillida be ſhe that taught her.
Poore Coridon doth keepe the fields,
though Phillida be ſhe that owes them:
And Phillida doth walke the Meades,
though Coridon be he that mowes them.
The little Lambs are Phillis Loue,
though Coridon is he that feedes them:
The Gardens faire are Phillis ground,
though Coridon be he that weedes them.
Since then that Phillis onely is,
the onely Shepheards onely Queene:
And Coridon the onely Swaine,
that onely hath her Shepheard beene.
Though Phillis keepe her bower of ſtate,
ſhall Coridon conſume away?
No Shepheard no, worke out the weeke,
and Sunday ſhall be holy-day
FINIS.
N. Breton.
¶The paſſionate Shepheards Song.
ON a day, (alack the day,)
Loue whoſe moneth was euer May:
Spied a bloſſome paſſing faire,
Playing in the wanton ayre.
Through the veluet leaues the winde,
All vnſeene gan paſſage finde:
That the Shepheard (ſicke to death,)
Wiſh'd himſelfe the Heauens breath.
Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blow:
Ayre, would I might triumph ſo.
But alas, my hand hath ſworne,
Nere to plucke thee from thy thorne.
Vow (alack) for youth vnmeet,
Youth ſo apt to pluck a ſweet.
Thou for whom Ioue would ſweare,
Iuno but an Aethiope were,
And deny himſelfe for Ioue,
Turning mortall for my Loue.
FINIS.
W. Shakeſpeare.
¶The vnknowne Shepheards complaint.
MY Flocks feed not, my Ewes breed not,
My Ramines ſpeed not, all is amiſſe:
Loue is denying, Faith is defying,
Harts renying, cauſer of this.
All my merry ligges are quite forgot,
All my Ladies loue is loſt God wot,
Where her faith was firmely fixt in loue,
There a nay is plac'd without remoue.
One ſilly croſſe, wrought all my loſſe;
O frowning Fortune, curſed fickle Dame.
For now I ſee, inconſtancie
More in women then in men remaine.
In blacke mourne I, all feares ſcorne I,
Loue hath forlorne me, liuing in thrall:
Hart is bleeding, all helpe needing,
O cruell ſpeeding, fraughted with gall.
My Shepheards pipe can ſound no deale,
My Weathers bell rings dolefull knell.
My curtaile dogge that wont to haue plaide,
Playes not at all, but ſeemes afraide.
With ſighs ſo deepe, procures to weepe,
In howling-wiſe, to ſee my dolefull plight:
How ſighs reſound, through hartleſſe ground.
Like a thouſand vanquiſh'd men in bloody fight.
Cleare Wels ſpring not, ſweet birds ſing not,
Greene plants bring not forth their die:
Heards ſtand weeping, Flocks all ſleeping,
Nimphs backe peeping fearefully.
All our pleaſure knowne to vs, poore Swaines,
All our merry meeting on the Plaines.
All our euening ſports from vs are fled,
All our loue is loſt, for Loue is dead.
Farewell ſweet Loue, thy like nere was,
For ſweet content, the cauſe of all my moane:
Poore Coridon muſt liue alone,
Other helpe for him, I ſee that there is none.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶Another of the ſame Shepheards.
AS it fell vpon a day,
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleaſant ſhade,
Which a groue of Mirtles made.
Beaſts did leape, and Birds did ſing,
Trees did grow, and plants did ſpring.
Euery thing did baniſh moane,
Saue the Nightingale alone.
She poore Bird, as all forlorne,
Lean'd her breaſt againſt a thorne,
And there ſung the dolefull'ſt Ditty,
That to heare it was great pitty.
Fie, fie, fie, now would ſhe crie
Teru, Teru, by and by.
That to heare her ſo complaine,
Scarſe I could from teares refraine.
For her griefes ſo liuely ſhowne,
Made me thinke vpon mine owne.
Ah (thought I) thou mourn'ſt in vaine,
None takes pitty on thy paine.
Senceleſſe trees, they cannot heare thee,
Ruthleſſe beaſts, they will not cheare thee.
King Pandion he is dead,
All thy friends are lapt in Lead.
All thy fellow birds doe ſing,
Careleſſe of thy ſorrowing.
Euen ſo poore bird like thee,
None a-liue will pitty mee.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶The Shepheards alluſion of his owne amorous infelicitie, to the offence of
Actaeon.
ACtaeon loſt in middle of his ſport
Both ſhape and life, for looking but awry:
Diana was afraid he would report
What ſecrets he had ſeene in paſſing by.
To tell but truth, the ſelfe ſame hurt haue I:
By viewing her for whom I daily die.
I leeſe my wonted ſhape, in that my minde
Doth ſuffer wracke vpon the ſtonie rock
Of her diſdaine, who contrary to kinde
Doth beare a breaſt more hard then any ſtock;
And former forme of limbes is changed quite:
By cares in loue, and want of due delight.
I leeſe my life, in that each ſecret thought,
Which I conceaue through wanton fond regard,
Doth make me ſay, that life auaileth nought,
Where ſeruice cannot haue a due reward.
I dare not name the Nimph that workes my ſmart,
Though Loue hath grau'n her name within my hart.
FINIS.
T. Watſon.
¶Montanus
Sonnet to his
faire Phaebe.
A Turtle ſate vpon a leaueleſſe tree,
Mourning her abſent pheare,
With ſad and ſorrie cheare.
About her wondring ſtood,
The Citizens of wood.
And whileſt her plumes ſhe rents,
And for her Loue laments:
The ſtately trees complaine them,
The birds with ſorrow paine them.
Each one that doth her view,
Her paines and ſorrowes rue.
But were the ſorrowes knowne,
That me hath ouer-throwne:
Oh how would Phaebe ſigh, if ſhe did looke on mee?
The loue-ſicke Polipheme that could not ſee,
Who on the barren ſhoare,
His fortunes did deplore:
And melteth all in mone,
For Galatea gone,
And with his cries
Afflicts both earth and skies,
And to his woe betooke,
Doth breake both pipe and hooke.
For whom complaines the morne.
For whom the Sea-Nimphs mourne.
Alas his paine is nought,
For were my woe but thought:
Oh how would Phaebe ſigh, if ſhe did looke on me?
Beyond compare my paine,
yet glad am I:
If gentle Phaebe daine,
to ſee her Montane die.
FINIS.
Thom. Lodge.
¶
Phaebes Sonnet, a reply to
Montanus paſſion.
DOwne a downe,
Thus Phillis ſung,
By fancy once diſtreſſed:
Who ſo by fooliſh Loue are ſtung
are worthily oppreſſed.
And ſo ſing I, with downe a downe, &c.
When Loue was firſt begot,
And by the mothers will:
Did fall to humane lot,
His ſolace to fulfill,
Deuoid of all deceit,
A chaſte and holy fire:
Did quicken mans conceit,
And womens breſts inſpire.
The Gods that ſaw the good,
That mortals did approue:
With kinde and holy moode,
Began to talke of Loue.
Downe a downe,
Thus Phillis ſung
By fancie once diſtreſſed, &c.
But during this accord,
A wonder ſtrange to heare:
Whileſt Loue in deed and word,
Moſt faithfull did appeare;
Falſe ſemblance came in place,
By Iealouſie attended:
And with a double face,
Both loue and fancie blended.
Which made the Gods forſake,
And men from fancie flie:
And Maydens ſcorne a make,
Forſooth and ſo will I.
Downe a downe,
Thus Phillis ſung,
By fancie once diſtreſſed:
Who ſo by fooliſh Loue are ſtung,
Are worthily oppreſſed.
And ſo ſing I, with downe a downe, &c.
FINIS.
Thom. Lodge.
¶Coridons
ſupplication to Phillis.
SWeet Phillis, if a ſilly Swaine,
may ſue to thee for grace:
See not thy louing Shepheard ſlaine,
with looking on thy face.
But thinke what power thou haſt got,
vpon my Flocke and mee:
Thou ſeeſt they now regard me not,
but all doe follow thee.
And if I haue ſo farre preſum'd,
with prying in thine eyes:
Yet let not comfort be conſum'd,
that in thy pitty lyes.
But as thou art that Phillis faire,
that Fortune fauour giues:
So let not Loue dye in deſpaire,
that in thy fauour liues.
The Deere doe brouſe vpon the bryer,
the Birds doe picke the Cherries:
And will not Beautie graunt Deſire,
one handfull of her berries?
If it be ſo that thou haſt ſworne,
that none ſhall looke on thee:
Yet let me know thou doſt not ſcorne,
to caſt a looke on mee.
But if thy beautie make thee proud,
thinke then what is ordain'd.
The heauens haue neuer yet alow'd,
that Loue ſhould be diſdain'd.
Then leſt the Fates that fauour Loue,
ſhould curſe thee for vnkinde:
Let me report for thy behooue,
the honour of thy minde,
Let Coridon with full conſent,
ſet downe what he hath ſeene:
That Phillida with Loues content,
is ſworne the Shepheards Queene.
FINIS.
N. Breton.
¶
Damaetas Madrigall in praiſe of his
Daphnis.
TVne on my pipe the praiſes of my Loue,
Loue faire and bright:
Fill earth with ſound, and ayrie heauens aboue,
heauen's Ioues delight,
with Daphnis prayſe.
To pleaſant Tempe Groues and Plaines about,
Plaines, Shepheards pride:
Reſounding Ecchoes of her praiſe ring out,
ring farre and wide
my Daphnis praiſe,
When I begin to ſing, begin to ſound,
ſounds loud and ſhrill:
Doe make each note vnto the skies rebound,
skies calme and ſtill,
with Daphnis praiſe.
Her treſſes are like wiers of beaten gold,
Gold bright and ſheene:
Like Niſus golden haire that Scilla pold,
Scill, ore-ſeene
through Minos loue.
Her eyes like ſhining Lamps in midſt of night,
Night darke and dead:
Or as the Starres that giue the Sea-men light,
Light for to lead
their wandring Ships.
Amidſt her cheeks the Roſe and Lilly ſtriue,
Lilly, ſnow white:
When their contend doth make their colour thriue.
Colour too bright
for Shepheards eyes.
Her lips like Scarlet of the fineſt die,
Scarlet blood-red:
Teeth white as Snow, which on the hils doth lie.
Hils ouer-ſpread
by Winters force.
Her skinne as ſoft as is the fineſt ſilke,
Silke ſoft and fine:
Of colour like vnto the whiteſt milke,
Milke of the Kine
of Daphnis Heard.
As ſwift of foote as is the pretty Roe,
Roe ſwift of pace:
When yelping Hounds purſue her to and fro,
Hounds fierce in chaſe,
to reaue her life.
Ceaſe tongue to tell of any more compares,
Compares too rude:
Daphnis deſerts and beautie are too rare,
Then heere conclude
faire Daphnis praiſe.
FINIS.
I. Wootton.
¶
Dorons deſcription of his faire Shepheardeſſe
Samela.
LIke to Diana in her Sommer weede,
Girt with a Crimſon roabe of brighteſt die:
goes faire Samela.
Whiter then be the flocks that ſtragling feed,
When waſh'd by Arethuſa, faint they lie.
is faire Samela.
As faire Aurora in her morning gray,
Deckt with the ruddy gliſter of her loue:
is faire Samela.
Like louely Thetis on a calmed day,
When as her brightnes Neptunes fancies moue.
ſhines faire Samela.
Her treſſes gold, her eyes like glaſſie ſtreames,
Her teeth are pearle, the breſts are Iuorie:
of faire Samela.
Her cheekes like Roſe and Lilly yeeld forth gleames,
Her browes bright arches fram'd of Ebonie,
thus faire Samela
Paſſeth faire Venus in her brighteſt hew,
And Iuno in the ſhew of Maieſtie:
for ſhe's Samela.
Pallas in wit, all three if you well view,
For beauty, wit, and matchleſſe dignitie,
yeeld to Samela.
FINIS.
Ro. Greene.
¶
Wodenfrides Song in praiſe of
Amargana.
THe Sunne the ſeaſon in each thing
Reuiues new pleaſures, the ſweet Spring
Hath put to flight the Winter keene:
To glad our louely Sommer Queene.
The pathes where Amargana treads,
With flowrie tap'ſtries Flora ſpreads.
And nature cloathes the ground in greene:
To glad our louely Sommer Queene.
The Groaues put on their rich aray,
With Hawthorne bloomes imbroydered gay,
And ſweet perfum'd with Eglantine:
To glad our louely Sommer Queene.
The ſilent Riuer ſtayes his courſe,
Whilſt playing on the chriſtall ſourſe,
The ſiluer ſcaled fiſh are ſeene,
To glad our louely Sommer Queene.
The Woods at her faire ſight reioyces,
The little Birds with their loud voyces,
In conſort on the bryers beene,
To glad our louely Sommer Queene.
The fleecie Flockes doe ſcud and skip,
The wood-Nimphs, Fawnes, and Satires trip,
And daunce the Mirtle trees betweene:
To glad our louely Sommer Queene.
Great Pan (our God) for her deere ſake,
This feaſt and meeting bids vs make,
Of Shepheards, Lads, and Laſſes ſheene:
To glad our louely Sommer Queene.
And euery Swaine his chaunce doth proue,
To winne faire Amarganaes loue,
In ſporring ſtrifes quite voide of ſpleene:
To glad our louely Sommer Queene.
All happines let Heauen her lend,
And all the Graces her attend.
Thus bid me pray the Muſes nine,
Long liue our louely Sommer Queene.
FINIS.
W. H.
Another of the ſame.
HAppy Shepheards ſit and ſee,
with ioy,
The peereleſſe wight:
For whoſe ſake Pan keepes from ye
annoy,
And giues delight,
Bleſſing this pleaſant Spring,
Her praiſes muſt I ſing.
Liſt you Swaines, liſt to me:
The whiles your Flocks feeding be.
Firſt her brow a beauteous Globe
I deeme,
And golden haire;
And her cheeke Auroraes roabe
doth ſeeme.
But farre more faire.
Her eyes like ſtarres are bright.
And dazle with their light,
Rubies her lips to ſee,
But to taſte, Nectar they be.
Orient pearles her teeth, her ſmile
doth linke
The Graces three:
Her white necke doth eyes beguile
to thinke
it Iuorie.
Alas her Lilly hand,
How it doth me commaund?
Softer ſilke none can be:
And whiter milke none can ſee.
Circes wand is not ſo ſtraite,
as is
Her body ſmall:
But two pillers beare the waight
of this
maieſticke Hall.
Thoſe be I you aſſure,
Of Alabaſter pure,
Poliſh'd fine in each part:
Ne're Nature yet ſhewed like Art.
How ſhall I her pretty tread
expreſſe
when ſhe doth walke?
Scarſe ſhe doth the Primeroſe head
depreſſe,
or tender ſtalke
Of blew-veind Violets,
Whereon her foote ſhe ſets.
Vertuous ſhe is, for we finde,
In body faire, a beaut'ous minde.
Liue faire Amargana ſtill
extold
In all my rime:
Hand want Art, when I want will
t'vnſold
her worth diuine.
But now my Muſe doth reſt,
Deſpaire clos'd in my breſt,
Of the valour I ſing:
Weake faith that no hope doth bring.
FINIS.
W. H.
¶An excellent Paſtorall Dittie.
A Carefull Nimph, with careleſſe greefe oppreſt,
Vnder the ſhaddow of an Aſhen tree:
With Lute in hand did paint out her vnreſt,
vnto a Nimph that bare her company.
No ſooner had ſhe tuned euery ſtring:
But ſob'd and ſigh'd, and thus began to ſing.
Ladies and Nimphs, come liſten to my plaint,
on whom the cheerefull Sunne did neuer riſe:
If pitties ſtroakes your tender breaſts may taint,
come learne of me to wet your wanton eyes.
For Loue in vaine the name of pleaſure beares:
His ſweet delights are turned into feares.
The truſtleſſe ſhewes, the frights, the feeble ioyes,
the freezing doubts, the guilefull promiſes:
The feigned lookes, the ſhifts, the ſubtill toyes,
the brittle hope, the ſtedfaſt heauines.
The wiſhed warre in ſuch vncertaine peace:
Theſe with my woe, my woes with theſe increaſe.
Thou dreadfull God, that in thy Mothers lap
do'ſt lye, and heare the crie of my complaint,
And ſeeſt, and ſmileſt at my ſore miſhap,
that lacke but skill my ſorrowes here to paint:
Thy fire from heauen before the hurt I ſpide,
Quite through mine eyes into my breſt did glide.
My life was light, my blood did ſpirt and ſpring,
my body quicke, my heart began to leape:
And euery thornie thought did prick and ſting,
the fruit of my deſired ioyes to reape.
But he on whom to thinke, my ſoule ſtill tyers:
In bale forſooke, and leſt me in the bryers.
Thus Fancie ſtrung my Lute to layes of Loue,
and Loue hath rock'd my wearie Muſe a-ſleepe:
And ſleepe is broken by the paines I proue,
and euery paine I feele doth force me weepe.
Then farewell fancie, loue, ſleepe, paine, and ſore.
And farewell weeping, I can waile no more.
FINIS.
Shep. Tonie.
¶
Phillidaes Loue-call to her
Coridon, and his replying.
Phil.
COridon, ariſe my Coridon,
Titan ſhineth cleare:
Cor.
Who is it that calleth Coridon,
who is it that I heare?
Phil.
Phillida thy true-Loue calleth thee,
ariſe then, ariſe then;
ariſe and keepe thy Flock with me:
Cor.
Phillida my true-Loue, is it ſhe?
I come then, I come then,
I come and keepe my flocke with thee.
Phil.
Here are cherries ripe my Coridon,
eate them for my ſake:
Cor.
Here's my Oaten pipe my louely one,
ſport for thee to make.
Phil.
Here are threeds my true-Loue, fine as ſilke,
to knit thee, to knit thee
a paire of ſtockings white as milke.
Cor.
Here are Reedes my true-Loue, fine and neate,
to make thee, to make thee
a Bonnet to with-ſtand the heate.
Phil.
I will gather flowers my Coridon,
to ſet in thy Cap:
Cor.
I will gather Peares my louely one,
to put in thy lap.
Phil.
I will buy my true-Loue Garters gay,
for Sundayes, for Sundayes,
to weare about his legges ſo tall.
Cor.
I will buy my true-Loue yellow Say,
for Sundayes, for Sundayes,
to weare about her middle ſmall.
Phil.
When my Coridon ſits on a hill,
making melodie:
Cor.
When my louely one goes to her wheele
ſinging cherily.
Phil.
Sure me thinks my true-Loue doth excell
for ſweetneſſe, for ſweetneſſe,
our Pan that old Arcadian Knight:
Cor.
And me thinks my true-Loue beares the bell
for cleareneſſe, for cleareneſſe,
beyond the Nimphs that be ſo bright.
Phil.
Had my Coridon, my Coridon,
beene (alack) my Swaine:
Cor.
Had my louely one, my louely one,
beene in Ida plaine.
Phil.
Cinthia Endimion had refus'd,
preferring, preferring
my Coridon to play with-all:
Cor.
The Queene of Loue had beene excus'd,
bequeathing, bequeathing,
my Phillida the golden ball.
Phil.
Yonder comes my Mother, Coridon,
whether ſhall I flie?
Cor.
Vnder yonder Beech my louely one,
while ſhe paſſeth by.
Phil.
Say to her thy true-Loue was not here,
remember, remember,
to morrow is another day:
Cor.
Doubt me not, my true-Loue, doe not feare,
farewell then, farewell then,
heauen keepe our loues alway.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶The Shepheards ſolace.
PHoebus delights to view his Laurell tree,
The Poplar pleaſeth Hercules alone:
Meliſſa mother is and ſautrixe to the Bee,
Pallas will weare the Oliue branch alone.
Of Shepheards and their Flocks Pales is Queene:
And Ceres ripes the Corne was lately greene.
To Chloris euery flower belongs of right,
The Dryade Nimphs of Woods make chiefe account:
Orcades in hills haue their delight,
Diana doth protect each bubling Fount.
To Hebe louely kiſſing is aſſign'd:
To Zephire euery gentle-breathing wind.
But what is Loues delight? To hurt each where
He cares not whom, with Darts of deepe deſire:
With watchfull iealouſie, with hope, with feare,
With nipping cold, and ſecret flames of fire.
O happy houre, wherein I did forgoe:
This little God, ſo great a cauſe of woe.
FINIS.
Tho. Watſon.
¶Syrenus
Song to Eugerius.
LEt now the goodly Spring-tide make vs merrie,
And fields, which pleaſant flowers doe adorne:
And Vales, Meads, Woods, with liuely colours flouriſh,
Let plenteous flocks the Shepheards riches nouriſh,
Let hungry Wolues by dogges to death be torne,
And Lambes reioyce, with paſſed Winter wearie.
Let euery Riuers Ferrie
In waters flow, and ſiluer ſtreames abounding,
And fortune, ceaſeleſſe wounding.
Turne now thy face, ſo cruell and vnſtable,
Be firme and fauourable.
And thou that kill'ſt our ſoules with thy pretences:
Moleſt not (wicked Loue) my inward ſences.
Let Country plaineneſſe liue in ioyes not ended,
In quiet of the deſert Meades and mountaines,
And in the pleaſure of a Country dwelling
Let Shepheards reſt, that haue diſtilled fountaines
Of teares: proue not thy wrath, all paines excelling,
Vpon poore ſoules, that neuer haue offended.
Let thy flames be incended
In haughty Courts, in thoſe that ſwim in treaſure,
And liue in caſe and pleaſure.
And that a ſweeteſt ſcorne (my wonted ſadnes)
A perfect reſt and gladnes
And hills and Dales, may giue me: with offences
Moleſt not (wicked Loue) my inward ſences.
In what law find'ſt thou, that the freeſt reaſon
And wit, vnto thy chaines ſhould be ſubiected,
And harmeleſſe ſoules vnto thy cruell murder?
O wicked Loue, the wretch that flieth furder
From thy extreames, thou plagu'ſt. O falſe, ſuſpected,
And careleſſe boy, that thus thy ſweets dooſt ſeaſon,
O vile and wicked treaſon.
Might not thy might ſuffice thee, but thy fuell
Of force muſt be ſo cruell?
To be a Lord, yet like a Tyrant minded,
Vaine Boy with errour blinded.
Why do'ſt thou hurt his life with thy offences:
That yeelds to thee his ſoule and inward ſences?
He erres (alas) and ſoulely is deceiued
That calls thee God, being a burning fire:
A furious flame, a playning griefe and clamorous,
And Venus ſonne (that in the earth was amorous,
Gentle, and mild, and full of ſweet deſire)
Who calleth him, is of his wits bereaued.
And yet that ſhe conceaued
By proofe, ſo vile a ſonne and ſo vnruly:
I ſay (and yet ſay truly)
That in the cauſe of harmes, that they haue framed,
Both iuſtly may be blamed:
She that did breed him with ſuch vile pretences,
He that doth hurt ſo much our inward ſences.
The gentle Sheepe and Lambs are euer flying
The rauenous Wolues & beaſts, that are pretending
To glut their mawes with fleſh they teare aſunder.
The milke-white Doues at noyſe of fearefull thunder
Fly home a-maine, themſelues frō harme defending.
The little Chick, when Puttocks are a crying.
The Woods and Meadowes dying
Forraine of heauen (if that they cannot haue it)
Doe neuer ceaſe to craue it.
So euery thing his contrary reſiſteth,
Onely thy thrall perſiſteth
In ſuffering of thy wrongs without offences:
And lets thee ſpoile his heart and inward ſences.
A publique paſſion, Natures lawes reſtrayning,
And which with words can neuer be declared,
A ſoule twixt loue, and feare, and deſperation,
And endleſſe plaint, that ſhunnes all conſolation.
A ſpendleſſe flame, that neuer is impaired,
A friendleſſe death, yet life in death maintaining,
A paſſion, that is gaining
On him that loueth well, and is abſented,
Whereby it is augmented.
A iealouſie, a burning griefe and ſorrow,
Theſe fauours Louers borrow
Of thee fell Loue, theſe be thy recompences:
Conſuming ſtill their ſoule and inward ſences.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶The Shepheards
Arſileus reply to
Syrenus Song.
O Let that time a thouſand moneths endure,
Which brings from heauen the ſweet & ſiluer ſhowers,
And ioyes the earth (of comfort late depriued,)
With graſſe and leaues, fine buds, and painted flowers,
Ecchoe, returne vnto the woods obſcure,
Ring forth the Shepheards Songs in loue contriued.
Let old Loues be reuiued,
Which angry Winter buried but of late,
And that in ſuch a ſtate
My ſoule may haue the full accompliſhment
Of ioy and ſweet content.
And ſince fierce paines and griefes thou do'ſt controule:
Good Loue, doe not forſake my inward ſoule.
Preſume not (Shepheards) once to make you merrie,
With ſprings, and flowers, or any pleaſant Song,
(Vnleſſe mild Loue poſſeſſe your amorous breaſts)
If you ſing not to him, your Songs doe wearie,
Crown him with flowers, or elſe ye do him wrong,
And conſecrate your Springs to his beheſts.
I to my Shepheardeſſe
My happy Loues with great content doe ſing,
And flowers to her doe bring.
And ſitting neere her by the Riuer ſide,
Enioy the braue Spring-tide.
Since then thy ioyes ſuch ſweetneſſe doth enroule:
Good Loue, doe not forſake my inward ſoule.
The wiſe (in ancient time) a God thee nam'd,
Seeing that with thy power and ſupreame might,
Thou didſt ſuch rare and mighty wonders make:
For thee a heart is frozen and enflam'd,
A foole thou mak'ſt a wiſe man with thy light,
The coward turnes couragious for thy ſake.
The mighty Gods did quake
At thy command: To birds & beaſts transformed,
Great Monarchs haue not ſcorned
To yeeld vnto the force of beauties lure:
Such ſpoiles thou do'ſt procure
With thy braue force, which neuer may be tould:
With which (ſweet loue) thou cōquer'ſt euery ſoule
In other times obſcurely I did liue
But with a drowſie, baſe, and ſimple kinde
Of life, and onely to my profit bend me:
To thinke of Loue my ſelfe I did not giue,
Or for good grace, good parts, and gentle minde,
Neuer did any Shepheardeſſe commend me.
But crowned now they ſend me
A thouſand Garlands, that I wone with praiſe,
In wraſtling dayes by dayes,
In pitching of the Barre with arme moſt ſtrong,
And ſinging many a Song.
After that thou didſt honour, and take hould
Of my (ſweet Loue) and of my happy ſoule.
What greater ioy can any man deſire,
Then to remaine a Captiue vnto Loue:
And haue his heart ſubiected to his power?
And though ſometimes he taſt a little ſower
By ſuffering it, as mild as gentle Doue
Yet muſt he be, in hew of that great hire
Whereto be doth aſpire:
If Louers liue afflicted and in paine,
Let them with cauſe complaine
Of cruell fortune, and of times a
••…
And let not them accuſe
Thee (gentle-Loue) that doth with
〈…〉
Within thy ſweeteſt ioyes each la
•…
〈◊〉
Behold a faire ſweet face, and ſhining eye
•
Reſembling two moſt bright and twinkling
Sending vnto the ſoule a perfect light:
Behold the rare perfections of thoſe w
••••
And Iuorie hands, from griefes moſt ſureſt barres
That minde wherein all life and glory lyes,
That ioy that neuer dyes,
That he doth feele, that loues and is beloued,
And my delights approued,
To ſee her pleas'd, whoſe loue maintaines me here,
All thoſe I count ſo deere,
That though ſometimes Loue doth my ioyes controule:
Yet am I glad he dwels within my ſoule.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶A Shepheards dreame.
A Silly Shepheard lately ſate
among a Flock of Sheepe:
Where muſing long on this and that,
at laſt he fell a ſleepe.
And in the ſlumber as he lay,
he gaue a pitteous groane:
He thought his ſheepe were runne away,
and he was left alone.
He whoopt, he whiſtled, and he call'd,
but not a ſheepe came neere him:
Which made the Shepheard ſore appall'd,
to ſee that none would heare him.
But as the Swaine amazed ſtood,
in this moſt ſolemne vaine:
Came Phillida forth of the Wood,
and ſtood before the Swaine.
Whom when the Shepheard did behold,
he ſtraight began to weepe:
And at the heart he grew a cold,
to thinke vpon his ſheepe.
For well he knew, where came the Queene,
the Shepheard durſt not ſtay:
And where that he durſt not be ſeene,
the ſheepe muſt needes away.
To aske her if ſhe ſaw his Flock,
might happen patience moue:
And haue an anſwere with a mock,
that ſuch demanders proue.
Yet for becauſe he ſaw her come
alone out of the Wood:
He thought he would not ſtand as dombe,
when ſpeech might doe him good,
And therefore falling on his knees,
to aske but for his ſheepe:
He did awake, and ſo did leeſe
the honour of his ſleepe.
FINIS.
N. Breton.
¶The Shepheards Ode.
NIghts were ſhort, and dayes were long,
Bloſſomes on the Hawthorne hong,
Philomell (Night-Muſiques King,)
Told the comming of the Spring:
Whoſe ſweet-ſiluer-ſounding-voyce,
Made the little birds reioyce,
Skipping light from ſpray to ſpray,
Till Aurora ſhew'd the day.
Scarſe might one ſee, when I might ſee
(For ſuch chances ſudden be.)
By a Well of Marble-ſtone,
A Shepheard lying all alone.
Weepe he did, and his weeping
Made the fading flowers ſpring.
Daphnis was his name I weene,
Youngeſt Swaine of Summers Queene.
When Aurora ſaw t'was he
Weepe ſhe did for companie:
Weepe ſhe did for her ſweet Sonne,
That (when antique Troy was wonne)
Suffer'd death by luckleſſe Fate,
Whom ſhe now laments too late:
And each morning (by Cocks crewe)
Showers downe her ſiluer dewe,
Whoſe teares falling from their ſpring,
Giue moiſture to each liuing thing
That on earth encreaſe and grow,
Through power of their friendly foe.
Whoſe effect when Flora felt,
Teares, that did her boſome melt,
(For who can reſiſt teares often,
But ſhe whom no teares can ſoften?)
Peering ſtraite aboue the banks,
Shew'd her ſelfe to giue her thanks.
Wondring thus at Natures worke
(Wherein many meruailes lurke)
Me thought I heard a dolefull noyſe,
Conſorted with a mournfull voyce,
Drawing neere, to heare more plaine,
Heare I did, vnto my paine,
(For who is not pain'd to heare
Him in griefe whom heart holds deere?
Silly Swaine with griefe ore-gone
Thus to make his pitteous mone.
Loue I did, alas the while,
Loue I did, but did beguile
My deere Loue with louing ſo,
Whom as then I did not know.
Loue I did the faireſt Boy
That theſe fields did ere enioy.
Loue I did faire Ganimede,
Ʋenus darling, beauties bed:
Him I thought the faireſt creature,
Him the quinteſſence of Nature.
But yet (alas) I was deceau'd,
(Loue of reaſon is bereau'd.)
For ſince then I ſaw a Laſſe,
Laſſe that did in beauty paſſe,
Paſſe faire Ganimede as farre
As Phaebus doth the ſmalleſt ſtarre.
Loue commanded me to loue,
Fancie bad me not remoue
My affection from the Swaine
Whom I neuer could obtaine:
(For who can obtaine that fauour
Which he cannot grant the crauer?)
Loue at laſt (though loth) preuail'd,
Loue that ſo my heart aſſail'd,
Wounding me with her faire eyes,
Ah how Loue can ſubtillize?
And deuiſe a thouſand ſhifts
How to worke men to his drifts,
Her it is, for whom I mourne,
Her, for whom my life I ſcorne.
Her, for whom I weepe all day,
Her, for whom I ſigh, and ſay
Either ſhe, or elſe no creature
Shall enioy my loue: whoſe feature
Though I neuer can obtaine,
Yet ſhall my true-loue remaine:
Till (my body turn'd to clay)
My poore ſoule muſt paſſe away,
To the heauens; where I hope
It ſhall finde a reſting ſcope:
Then ſince I loued thee alone,
Remember me when I am gone.
Scarſe had he theſe laſt words ſpoken,
But me thought his heart was broken,
With great griefe that did abound,
(Cares and griefe the heart confound,)
In whoſe heart thus riu'd in three,
Eliza written I might ſee
In Caracters of crimſon blood,
Whoſe meaning well I vnderſtood.
Which, for my heart might not behold:
I hied me home my Sheepe to fold.
FINIS.
Rich. Barnefielde.
¶The Shepheards commendation of his Nimph.
VVHat Shepheard can expreſſe
The fauour of her face?
To whom in this diſtreſſe
I doe appeale for grace.
A thouſand Cupids flye
About her gentle eye.
From which each throwes a Dart
That kindleth ſoft ſweet fire
Within my ſighing hart,
Poſſeſſed by deſire.
No ſweeter life I trie
Then in her loue to die.
The Lilly in the field,
That glories in his white:
For pureneſſe now muſt yeeld
And render vp his right.
Heauen pictur'd in her face,
Doth promiſe ioy and grace.
Faire Cynthiaes ſiluer light,
That beates on running ſtreames:
Compares not with her white,
Whoſe haires are all Sun-beames.
So bright my Nimph doth ſhine
As day vnto my eyne.
With this there is a red,
Exceedes the Damaske-Roſe:
Which in her cheekes is ſpred,
Whence euery fauour growes.
In Skie there is no ſtarre,
But ſhe ſurmounts it farre.
When Phaebus from the bed
Of Thetis doth ariſe:
The morning bluſhing red,
In faire Carnation wiſe:
He ſhewes in my Nimphs face,
As Queene of euery grace.
This pleaſant Lilly white,
This taint of Roſeate red:
This Cynthiaes ſiluer light,
This ſweet faire Dea ſpred,
Theſe Sun-beames in mine eye,
Theſe beauties make me die.
FINIS.
Earle of Oxenford.
¶Coridon
to his Phillis.
ALas my heart, mine eye hath wronged thee,
Preſumptuous eye, to gaze on Phillis face:
Whoſe heauenly eye no mortall man may ſee,
But he muſt die, or purchaſe Phillis grace.
Poore Coridon, the Nimph whoſe eye doth moue thee:
Doth loue to draw, but is not drawne to loue thee.
Her beautie, Natures pride, and Shepheards praiſe,
Her eye, the heauenly Planet of my life:
Her matchleſſe wit and grace, her fame diſplaies,
As if that Ioue had made her for his wiſe.
Onely her eyes ſhoot fierie darts to kill:
Yet is her hart as cold as Caucaſe hill.
My wings too weake to flye againſt the Sunne,
Mine eyes vnable to ſuſtaine her light:
My hart doth yeeld that I am quite vndone,
Thus hath faire Phillis ſlaine me with her ſight.
My bud is blaſted, withred is my leafe:
And all my Corne is rotted in the ſheafe.
Phillis, the golden fetter of my minde,
My fancies Idoll, and my vitall power:
Goddeſſe of Nimphs, and honour of thy kinde,
This ages Phoenix, beauties richeſt bower.
Poore Coridon for loue of thee muſt die:
Thy beauties thrall, and conqueſt of thine eye.
Leaue Coridon to plough the barren field,
Thy buds of hope are blaſted with diſgrace:
For Phillis lookes no harty loue doe yeeld,
Nor can ſhe loue, for all her louely face.
Die Coridon, the ſpoile of Phillis eye:
She cannot loue, and therefore thou muſt die.
FINIS.
S. E. Dyer.
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¶The Shepheards deſcription of Loue.
Melibeus.
SHepheard, what's Loue, I pray thee tell?
Fauſtus.
It is that Fountaine, and that Well,
Where pleaſure and repentance dwell,
It is perhaps that ſauncing bell,
That toules all into heauen or hell,
And this is loue as I heard tell,
Meli.
Yet what is Loue, I pre-thee ſay?
Fauſt.
It is a worke on holy-day,
It is December match'd with May,
When luſtie-bloods in freſh aray,
Heare ten months after of the play,
And this Loue, as I heare ſay.
Meli.
Yet what is Loue, good Shepheard ſaine?
Fauſt.
It is a Sun-ſhine mixt with raine,
It is a tooth-ach, or like paine,
It is a game, where none doth gaine,
The Laſſe ſaith no, and would full faine:
And is Loue, as I heare ſaine.
Meli.
Yet Shepheard, what is Loue, I pray?
Fauſt.
It is a yea, it is a nay,
A pretty kind of ſporting fray,
It is a thing will ſoone away,
Then Nimphs take vantage while ye may:
And this is Loue as I heare ſay.
Meli.
Yet what is Loue, good Shepheard ſhow?
Fauſt.
A thing that creepes, it cannot goe,
A prize that paſſeth to and fro,
A thing for one, a thing for moe,
And he that prooues ſhall finde it ſo;
And Shepheard this is loue I trow.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶To his Flockes.
FEede on my Flockes ſecurely,
Your Shepheard watched ſurely,
Runne about my little Lambs,
Skip and wanton with your Dammes,
Your louing Heard with care will tend ye:
Sport on faire flocks at pleaſure,
Nip
Ʋaestaes flowring treaſure,
I my ſelfe will duely harke,
When my watchfull dogge doth barke,
From Woolfe and Foxe I will defend ye.
FINIS.
H.C.
¶A Roundelay betweene two Shepheards.
1. Shep.
TEll me thou gentle Shepheards Swaine,
Who is younder in the Vale is ſet?
2. Shep.
Oh it is ſhe, whoſe ſweetes doe ſtaine
The Lilly, Roſe, the Violet.
1. Shep.
Why doth the Sunne againſt his kind,
Fixe his bright Chariot in the skies?
2. Shep.
Becauſe the Sunne is ſtrooken blinde,
With looking on her heauenly eyes.
1. Shep.
Why doe thy flockes forbeare their food,
Which ſometime were thy chiefe delight?
2. Shep.
Becauſe they need no other good,
That liue in preſence of her light.
1. Shep.
Why looke theſe flowers ſo pale and ill,
That once attir'd this goodly Heath?
2. Shep.
She hath rob'd Nature of her skill,
And ſweetens all things with her breath.
1. Shep.
Why ſlide theſe brookes ſo ſlow away,
Whoſe bubling murmur pleas'd thine eare?
2. Shep.
Oh meruaile not although they ſtay,
When they her heauenly voyce doe heare.
1. Shep.
From whence come al theſe Shepheards Swains,
And louely Nimphs attir'd in greene?
2. Shep.
From gathering Garlands on the Plaines,
To crowne our faire the Shepheards Queene.
Both.
The Sunne that lights this world below,
Flocks, flowers, and brookes will witneſſe beare:
Theſe Nimphs and Shepheards all doe know,
That it is ſhe is onely faire.
FINIS.
Michaell Drayton.
¶The ſolitarie Shepheards Song.
O Shadie Vale, O faire enriched Meades,
O ſacred woods, ſweet fields, & riſing mountaines
O painted flowers, greene hearbs where Flora treads,
Refreſht by wanton winds and watry fountaines.
O all you winged Queriſters of wood,
that pearcht aloft, your former paines report:
And ſtraite againe recount with pleaſant moode,
your preſent ioyes in ſweet and ſeemely ſort.
O all you creatures whoſoeuer thriue
on mother Earth, in Seas, by Ayre, by Fire:
More bleſt are you then I heere vnder Sunne,
loue dies in me, when as hee doth reuiue
In you, I periſh vnder beauties ire,
where after ſtormes, winds, froſts, your life is wun.
FINIS.
Thom. Lodge.
¶The Shepheards reſolution in loue.
IF Ioue him-ſelfe be ſubiect vnto Loue.
And range the woods to finde a mortall pray.
If Neptune from the Seas him-ſelfe remoue,
And ſeeke on ſands with earthly wights to play:
Then may I loue my Shepheardeſſe by right,
Who farre excels each other mortall wight?
If Pluto could by Loue be drawne from hell.
To yeeld him-ſelfe a ſilly virgins thrall.
If Phaebus could vouchſafe on earth to dwell,
To winne a ruſticke Mayde vnto his call:
Then how much more ſhould I adore the ſight,
Of her in whom the heauens them-ſelues delight?
If Countrie Pan might follow Nimphs in chaſe,
And yet through loue remaine deuoide of blame,
If Satires were excus'd for ſeeking grace,
To ioy the fruits of any mortall Dame:
My Shepheardeſſe, why ſhould not I loue ſtill.
On whom nor Gods nor men can gaze their fill?
FINIS.
Thom. Watſon.
¶
Coridons Hymne in praiſe of
Amarillis.
VVOuld mine eyes were chriſtall Fountaines,
Where you might the ſhadow view
Of my greefes, like to theſe mountaines
Swelling for the loſſe of you.
Cares which cureleſſe are alas,
Helpeleſſe, hapleſſe for they grow:
Cares like tares in number paſſe,
All the ſeedes that loue doth ſow.
Who but could remember all
Twinckling eyes ſtill repreſenting
Starres which pierce me to the gall?
Cauſe they lend no more contenting.
And you Nectar-lips, alluring
Humane ſence to taſte of heauen:
For no Art of mans manuring,
Finer ſilke hath euer weauen.
Who but could remember this,
The ſweet odours of your fauour?
When I ſmeld I was in bliſſe.
Neuer felt I ſweeter ſauour.
And your harmeleſſe hart annointed,
As the cuſtome was of Kings:
Shewes your ſacred ſoule appointed,
To be prime of earthly things.
Ending thus remember all,
Cloathed in a mantle greene:
'Tis enough I am your thrall,
Leaue to thinke what eye hath ſeene.
Yet the eye may not ſo leaue,
Though the thought doe ſtill repine:
But muſt gaze till death bequeath,
Eyes and thoughts vnto her ſhrine,
Which if Amarillis chaunce,
Hearing to make haſte to ſee:
To life death ſhe may aduance.
Therefore eyes and thoughts goe free.
FINIS.
T. B.
¶The Shepheard
Carillo his Song.
Guarda mi las Vaccas
Carillo, por tu fe,
Beſa mi Primero,
Yo te las guardare.
I Pre-thee keepe my Kine for me
Carillo, wilt thou? Tell.
Firſt let me haue a kiſſe of thee.
And I will keepe them well.
If to my charge or them to keepe,
Thou doeſt commend thy Kine or Sheepe,
for thee I doe ſuffiſe:
Becauſe in this I haue beene bred,
But for ſo much as I haue fed
By viewing thee, mine eyes;
Command not me to keepe thy beaſt:
Becauſe my ſelfe I can keepe leaſt.
How can I keepe, I pre-thee tell,
Thy Kie, my ſelfe that cannot well
defend, nor pleaſe thy kinde
As long as I haue ſerued thee?
But if thou wilt giue vnto me
a kiſſe to pleaſe my minde:
I aske no more for all my paine,
and I will keepe them very faine.
For thee, the gift is not ſo great
That I doe aske, to keepe thy Neate,
but vnto me it is
A guerdon, that ſhall make me liue.
Diſdaine not then to lend, or giue
ſo ſmall a gift as this,
But if to it thou canſt not frame:
Then giue me leaue to take the ſame.
But if thou doſt (my ſweet) denie
To recompence me by and by,
thy promiſe ſhall relent me:
Here-after ſome reward to finde,
Behold how I doe pleaſe my minde,
and fauours doe content me,
That though thou ſpeak'ſt it but in ieſt,
I meane to take it at the beſt.
Behold how much loue workes in me,
And how ill recompenc'd of thee
that with the ſhadow of
Thy happy fauours (though delay'd)
I thinke my ſelfe right well appay'd,
although they proue a ſcoffe.
Then pitty me, that haue forgot,
My ſelfe for thee that careſt not.
O in extreame thou art moſt faire,
And in extreame vniuſt deſpaire
thy crueltie maintaines:
Oh that thou wert ſo pittifull
Vnto theſe torments that doe pull
my ſoule with ſenceleſſe paines,
As thou ſhew'ſt in that face of thine:
Where pitty and mild grace ſhould ſhine.
If that thy faire and ſweeteſt face
Aſſureth me both peace and grace,
thy hard and cruell hart:
Which in that white breaſt thou do'ſt beare,
Doth make me tremble yet for feare
thou wilt not end my ſmart.
In contraries of ſuch a kinde:
Tell me what ſuccour ſhall I finde?
If then yong Shepheardeſſe thou craue
A Heardſ-man for thy beaſt to haue,
with grace thou maiſt reſtore
Thy Shepheard from his barren loue,
For neuer other ſhalt thou proue,
that ſeekes to pleaſe thee more:
And who to ſerue thy turne, will neuer ſhun,
The nipping froſt, and beames of parching Sun.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶
Corins dreame of his faire
Chloris.
VVHat time bright Titan in the Zenith ſat,
And equally the fixed poales did heate:
When to my flocke my daily woes I chat,
And vnderneath a broad Beech tooke my ſeate.
The dreaming God which Morpheus Poets call
Augmenting fuell to my Aetnaes fire,
With ſleepe poſſeſſing my weake ſences all,
In apparitions makes my hopes aſpire.
Me thought I ſaw the Nimph I would embrace,
With armes abroad comming to me for helpe:
A luſt-led Satire hauing her in chaſe,
Which after her about the fields did yelpe,
I ſeeing my Loue in ſuch perplexed plight,
A ſturdie bat from off an Oake I reft:
And with the Rauiſher continued fight,
Till breathleſſe I vpon the earth him left.
Then when my coy Nimph ſaw her breathleſſe foe,
With kiſſes kinde ſhe gratifies my paine:
Proteſting rigour neuer more to ſhow,
Happy was I this good hap to obtaine.
But drowſie ſlumbers flying to their Cell,
My ſudden ioy conuerted was to bale:
My wonted ſorrowes ſtill with me doe dwell,
I looked round about on H
•…
and Dale:
But I could neither my faire Chloris view,
Nor yet the Satire which yer-while I ſlew.
FINIS.
W.S.
¶The Shepheard
Damons paſſion.
AH trees, why fall your leaues ſo faſt?
Ah Rockes, where are your roabes of moſſe?
Ah Flocks, why ſtand you all agaſt?
Trees, Rocks, and Flocks, what, are ye penſiue for my loſſe?
The birds me thinkes tune naught but moane,
The windes breath naught but bitter plaint:
The beaſts forſake their dennes to groane,
Birds, Windes, and Beaſtes, what, doth my loſſe your powers attaint?
Floods weepe their ſprings aboue their bounds,
And Eccho wailes to ſee my woe:
The roabe of ruthe doth cloath the grounds,
Floods, Eccho, grounds, why doe ye all theſe teares beſtow?
The Trees, the Rocks and Flocks replie,
The Birds, the Windes, the Beaſts report:
Floods, Eccho, grounds for ſorrow crie,
Wee greeue ſince Phillis nill kinde Damons loue conſort.
FINIS.
Thom. Lodge.
¶The Shepheard Muſidorus his complaint.
COme Shepheards weeds, become your Maſters mind,
Yeeld outward ſhew, what inward change hee tries:
Nor be abaſh'd, ſince ſuch a gueſt you finde,
Whoſe ſtrongeſt hope in your weake comfort lies.
Come Shepheards weedes, attend my wofull cries,
Diſuſe your ſelues from ſweet Menalcas voyce:
For other be thoſe tunes which ſorrow ties,
From thoſe cleare notes which freely may reioice.
Then poure out plaint, and in one word ſay this:
Helpleſſe his plaints, who ſpoiles him ſelfe of bliſſe.
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
¶The Shepheards braule, one halfe anſwering the other.
1.
VVE loue, and haue our loues rewarded?
2.
We loue, and are no whit regarded.
1.
We finde moſt ſweet affections ſnare:
2.
That ſweet but ſower diſpairefull care.
1.
Who can diſpaire, whom hope doth beare?
2.
And who can hope, that feeles deſpaire?
All.
As without breath no pipe doth moue,
No Muſique kindly without loue.
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
¶Dorus his compariſons.
MY Sheepe are thoughts, which I both guide & ſerue,
Their paſture is faire hils of fruitleſſe loue:
On barren ſweetes they feede, and feeding ſterue,
I waile their lot, but will not other proue.
My Sheepe-hooke is wanne hope, which all vpholds:
My weedes, deſires, cut out in endleſſe folds,
What wooll my Sheepe ſhall beare, while thus they liue:
In you it is, you muſt the iudgement giue.
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
¶The Shepheard
Fauſtus his Song.
A fayre Maid wed to prying Jelouſie.
One of the faireſt as euer J did ſee:
If that thou wilt a ſecret Louer take,
(Sweet life) do not my ſecret loue forſak.
ECclipſed was our Sunne,
And faire Aurora darkened to vs quite,
Our morning ſtarre was done,
And Shepheards ſtar loſt cleane out of our ſight,
When that thou didſt thy faith in wedlock plight.
Dame Nature made thee faire,
And ill did careleſſe Fortune marry thee,
And pitty with deſpaire
It was, that this thy hapleſſe hap ſhould be,
A fayre Maid wed to prying Iealouſie.
Our eyes are not ſo bold
To view the Sun, that flies with radiant wing:
Vnleſſe that we doe hold
A glaſſe before them, or ſome other thing.
Then wiſely this to paſſe did Fortune bring
To couer thee with ſuch a vaile:
For heretofore, when any viewed thee,
Thy ſight made his to faile,
For (ſooth) thou art: thy beautie telleth me,
One of the faireſt as euer I did ſee.
Thy graces to obſcure,
With ſuch a froward husband, and ſo baſe
She meant thereby moſt ſure
That Cupids force, & loue thou ſhould'ſt embrace,
For 'tis a force to loue, no wondrous caſe.
Then care no more for kin,
And doubt no more, for feare thou muſt forſake,
To loue thou muſt begin,
And from hence-forth this queſtion neuer make,
If that thou ſhould'st a ſecret Louer take.
Of force it doth behooue
That thou ſhould'ſt be belou'd, and that againe
(Faire Miſtreſſe) thou ſhould'ſt loue,
For to what end, what purpoſe, and what gaine,
Should ſuch perfections ſerue? as now in vaine
My loue is of ſuch art,
That (of it ſelfe) it well deſerues to take
In thy ſweet loue a part:
Then for no Shepheard, that his loue doth make,
(Sweet life) doe not my ſecret loue forſake.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
Another of the ſame, by
Firmius the Shepheard.
IF that the gentle winde
doth moue the leaues with pleaſant ſound,
If that the Kid behinde
Is left, that cannot finde
her Dam, runnes bleating vp and downe:
The Bagpipe, Reede, or Flute,
onely with ayre if that they touched be,
With pitty all ſalute,
And full of loue do
•
brute
thy name, and ſound Diana, ſeeing thee:
A faire Mayd wed to prying Ielouſie.
The fierce and ſauage beaſts
(beyond their kinde and nature yet)
With pitteous voyce and breſt,
In mountaines without reſt
the ſelfe ſame Song doe not forget.
If that they ſtay'd at (Faire)
and had not paſſed to prying Iealouſie,
With plaints of ſuch deſpaire
As moou'd the gentle ayre
to teares: The Song that they did ſing, ſhould bee
One of the faireſt as euer I did ſee.
Miſhap, and fortunes play,
ill did they place in Beauties breſt:
For ſince ſo much to ſay,
There was of beautie ſway,
they had done well to leaue the reſt.
They had enough to doe,
if in her praiſe their wits they did awake:
But yet ſo muſt they too,
And all thy loue that woe,
thee not too coy, nor too too proud to make,
If that thou wilt a ſecret Louer take.
For if thou hadſt but knowne
the beautie, that they heere doe touch,
Thou would'ſt then loue alone
Thy ſelfe, nor any one,
onely thy ſelfe accounting much.
But if thou do'ſt conceaue
this beauty, that I will not publique make,
And mean'ſt not to bereaue
The world of it, but leaue
the ſame to ſome (which neuer peere did take,)
(Sweet life) doe not my ſecret loue forſake.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶
Damelus Song to his
Diaphenia.
DIaphenia like the Daffa-down-dilly,
White as the Sunne, faire as the Lilly,
heigh hoe, how I doe loue thee?
I doe loue thee as my Lambs
Are beloued of their Dams,
how bleſt were I if thou would'ſt proue me?
Diaphenia like the ſpreading Roſes,
That in thy ſweetes all ſweetes incloſes,
faire ſweet how I doe loue thee?
I doe loue thee as each flower,
Loues the Sunnes life-giuing power,
for dead, thy breath to life might moue me.
Diaphenia like to all things bleſſed,
When all thy praiſes are expreſſed,
deare Ioy, how I doe loue thee?
As the birds doe loue the Spring:
Or the Bees their carefull King,
then in requite, ſweet Virgin loue me.
FINIS.
H. C.
¶The Shepheard
Eurymachus to his faire Shep
heardeſſe
Mirimida.
VVHen Flora proud in pompe of all her flowers
ſate bright and gay:
And gloried in the dewe of Iris ſhowers,
and did diſplay
Her mantle checquer'd all with gaudie greene,
Then I
alone
A mournfull man in Ericine was ſeene.
With folded armes I trampled through the graſſe,
Tracing as he
That held the Throne of Fortune brittle glaſſe,
And loue to be
Like Fortune fleeting, as the reſtleſſe winde
Mixed
with miſts
Whoſe dampe doth make the cleareſt eyes grow blinde.
Thus in a maze, I ſpied a hideous flame,
I caſt my ſight,
And ſawe where blithely bathing in the ſame
With great delight
A worme did lie, wrapt in a ſmoakie ſweate:
And yet
twas ſtrange,
It careleſſe lay, and ſhrunk not at the heate.
I ſtood amaz'd, and wondring at the ſight,
while that a dame,
That ſhone like to the heauens rich ſparkling light,
Diſcourſt the ſame,
And ſaid, My friend, this worme within the fire:
Which lyes
content,
Is
Ʋenus worme, and repreſents deſire.
A Salamander is this princely beaſt,
Deck'd with a Crowne,
Giuen him by Cupid as a gorgeous creaſt,
Gainſt Fortunes frowne.
Content he lyes, and bathes him in the flame,
And goes
not forth,
For why, he cannot liue without the ſame.
As he, ſo Louers liue within the fire
Of feruent loue:
And ſhrinke not from the flame of hote deſire,
Nor will not moue
From any heate that
Ʋenus force imparts:
But lie
content,
Within a fire, and waſte away their harts.
Vp flew the Dame, and vaniſh'd in a cloud,
But there ſtood I,
And many thoughts within my minde did ſhroud
My loue: for why
I felt within my heart a ſcorching fire,
And yet
as did
The Salamander, twas my whole deſire.
FINIS.
Ro. Greene.
¶The Shepheard
Firmius his Song.
SHepheards giue eare, and now be ſtill,
Vnto my paſſions, and their cauſe,
and what they be:
Since that with ſuch an earneſt will,
And ſuch great ſignes of friendſhips lawes,
you aske it me.
It is not long ſince I was whole,
Nor ſince I did in euery part
free-will reſigne:
It is not long ſince in my ſole
Poſſeſſion, I did know my hart,
and to be mine.
It is not long, ſince euen and morrow,
All pleaſure that my heart could finde,
was in my power:
It is not long, ſince griefe and ſorrow,
My louing heart began to binde,
and to deuoure.
It is not long, ſince companie
I did eſteeme a ioy indeede
ſtill to frequent:
Nor long, ſince ſolitarilie
I liu'd, and that this life did breede
my ſole content.
Deſirous I (wretched) to ſee,
But thinking not to ſee ſo much
as then I ſaw:
Loue made me know in what degree,
His valour and braue force did touch
me with his law.
Firſt he did put no more nor leſſe
Into my heart, then he did view
that there did want:
But when my breaſt in ſuch exceſſe
Of liuely flames to burne I knew,
then were ſo ſcant.
My ioyes, that now did ſo abate,
(My ſelfe eſtranged euery way
from former reſt:)
That I did know, that my eſtate,
And that my life was euery day,
in Deaths arreſt.
I put my hand into my ſide,
To ſee what was the cauſe of this
vnwonted vaine:
Where I did finde, that torments hied
By endleſſe death to preiudice
my life with paine.
Becauſe I ſaw that there did want
My heart, wherein I did delight,
my deareſt hart:
And he that did the ſame ſupplant,
No iuriſdiction had of right
to play that part.
The Iudge and Robber, that remaine
Within my ſoule, their cauſe to trie,
are there all one:
And ſo the giuer of the paine,
And he that is condemn'd to die
or I, or none.
To die I care not any way,
Though without why, to die I greeue,
as I doe ſee:
But for becauſe I heard her ſay,
None die for loue, for I beleeue
none ſuch there be.
Then this thou ſhalt beleeue by me
Too late, and without remedie
as did in briefe:
Anaxerete, and thou ſhalt ſee,
The little ſhe did ſatisfie
with after griefe.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶The Shepheards praiſe of his ſacred Diana.
PRaiſed be Dianaes faire and harmeleſſe light,
Praiſed be the dewes, wherwith ſhe moiſts the ground:
Praiſed be her beames, the glory of the night,
Prais'd be her power, by which all powers abound.
Prais'd be her Nimphs, with whom ſhe decks the Woods,
Prais'd be her Knights, in whom true honour liues:
Prais'd be that force, by which ſhe moues the floods,
Let that Diana ſhine which all theſe giues.
In heauen Queene ſhe is among the Spheares,
She Miſtreſſe-like makes all things to be pure.
Eternity in her oft change ſhe beares,
She beauty is, by her the faire endure.
Time weares her not, ſhe doth his Chariot guide,
Mortality below her Orbe is plaſt:
By her the vertue of the ſtarres downe ſlide.
In her is Vertues perfect Image caſt.
A knowledge pure it is her woorth to know:
With Circes let them dwell, that thinke not ſo.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶The Shepheards dumpe.
LIke deſart Woods, with darkſome ſhades obſcured,
Where dreadful beaſts, where hatefull horror raigneth,
Such is my wounded heart, whom ſorrow paineth.
The Trees are fatall ſhafts, to death inured,
That cruell loue within my heart maintaineth,
To whet my griefe, when as my ſorrow waineth.
The ghaſtly beaſts, my thoughts in cares aſſured,
Which wadge me warre, whilſt heart no ſuccour gaineth,
With falſe ſuſpect, and feare that ſtill remaineth.
The horrors, burning ſighs, by cares procured,
Which forth I ſend, whilſt weeping eye complaineth,
To coole the heate the helpleſſe heart containeth.
But ſhafts, but cares, ſighs, horrors vnrecured,
Were nought eſteem'd, if for their paines awarded,
Your Shepheards loue might be by you regarded.
FINIS.
S. E. D.
¶The Nimph
Dianaes Song.
VVHen that I poore ſoule was borne,
I was borne vnfortunate:
Preſently the Fates had ſworne,
To fore-tell my hapleſſe ſtate.
Titan his faire beames did hide,
Phaebe' clips'd her ſiluer light:
In my birth my Mother died,
Young and faire in heauie plight.
And the Nurſe that gaue me ſuck,
Hapleſſe was in all her life:
And I neuer had good luck,
Being mayde or married wife.
I lou'd well, and was belou'd,
And forgetting, was forgot:
This a hapleſſe marriage mou'd,
Greeuing that it kills me not.
With the earth would I were wed,
Then in ſuch a graue of woes
Daily to be buried,
Which no end nor number knowes.
Young my Father married me,
Forc'd by my obedience:
Syrenus, thy faith, and thee
I forgot without offence.
Which contempt I pay ſo farre,
Neuer like was paid ſo much:
Iealouſies doe make me warre,
But without a cauſe of ſuch.
I doe goe with iealous eyes,
To my Folds, and to my Sheepe:
And with iealouſie I riſe,
When the day begins to peepe.
At his Table I doe eate,
In his bed with him I lie:
But I take no reſt, nor meate,
Without cruell iealouſie.
If I aske him what he ayles,
And whereof he iealous is?
In his anſwere then he failes,
Nothing can he ſay to this.
In his face there is no cheere,
But he euer hangs the head:
In each corner he doth peere,
And his ſpeech is ſad and dead.
Ill the poore ſoule liues ywis:
That ſo hardly married is.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶Rowlands
Madrigall.
FAire Loue reſt thee heere,
Neuer yet was morne ſo cloere,
Sweet be not vnkinde,
Let me thy fauour finde,
Or elſe for loue I die.
Harke this pretty bubling ſpring,
How it makes the Meadowes ring,
Loue now ſtand my friend,
Here let all ſorrow end,
And I will honour thee.
See where little Cupid lyes,
Looking babies in her eyes.
Cupid help me now,
Lend to me thy bowe,
to wound her that wounded me.
Here is none to ſee or tell,
All our Flocks are feeding by,
This banke with Roſes ſpred,
Oh it is a dainty bed,
fit for my Loue and me.
Harke the birds in yonder Groaue,
How they chaunt vnto my Loue,
Loue be kinde to me,
As I haue beene to thee,
for thou haſt wonne my hart.
Calme windes blow you faire,
Rock her thou ſweet gentle ayre,
O the morne is noone,
The euening comes too ſoone,
to part my Loue and me.
The Roſes and thy lips doe meete,
Oh that life were halfe ſo ſweet,
Who would reſpect his breath,
That might die ſuch a death,
oh that life thus might die.
All the buſhes that be neere,
With ſweet Nightingales beſet,
Huſh ſweet and be ſtill,
Let them ſing their fill,
there's none our ioyes to let.
Sunne why do'ſt thou goe ſo faſt?
Oh why do'ſt thou make ſuch haſt?
It is too earely yet,
So ſoone from ioyes to flit,
why art thou ſo vnkinde?
See my little Lambkins runne,
Looke on them till I haue done,
Haſt not on the night,
To rob me of her ſight,
that liue but by her eyes.
Alas, ſweet Loue, we muſt depart,
Harke, my dogge begins to barke,
Some bodie's comming neere,
They ſhall not finde vs heere,
for feare of being chid.
Take my Garland and my Gloue,
Weare it for my ſake my Loue,
Tomorrow on the greene,
Thou ſhalt be our Shepheards Queene,
crowned with Roſes gay.
FINIS.
Michaell Drayton.
¶
Alanius the Shepheard, his dolefull Song, complaining of
Iſmeniaes crueltie.
NO more (O cruell Nimph,) now haſt thou prayed
Enough in thy reuenge, proue not thine ire
On him that yeelds, the fault is now appayed
Vnto my coſt: Now mollifie thy dire
Hardnes, and breſt of thine ſo much obdured:
And now raiſe vp (though lately it hath erred,)
A poore repenting ſoule, that in the obſcured
Darknes of thy obliuion lyes enterred.
For it falls not in that, that ſhould commend thee:
That ſuch a Swaine as I may once offend thee.
If that the little Sheepe with ſpeed is flying
From angry Shepheard (with his words afrayed)
And runneth here and there with fearefull crying,
And with great griefe is from the Flock eſtrayed:
But when it now perceiues that none doth follow,
And all alone, ſo farre eſtraying mourneth,
Knowing what danger it is in, with hollow
And fainting bleates, then fearefull it returneth
Vnto the Flock, meaning no more to leaue it:
Should it not be a iuſt thing to receaue it?
Lift vp thoſe eyes (Iſmenia) which ſo ſtately
To view me, thou haſt lifted vp before me,
That liberty, which was mine owne but lately,
Giue me againe, and to the ſame reſtore me:
And that mild heart, ſo full of loue and pittie,
Which thou didſt yeeld to me, and euer owe me;
Behold (my Nimph) I was not then ſo wittie
To know that ſincere loue that thou didſt ſhew me:
Now wofull man, full well I know and rue it,
Although it was too late before I knew it.
How could it be (my enemie?) ſay, tell me,
How thou (in greater fault and errour being
Then euer I was thought) ſhould'ſt thus repell me?
And with new league and cruell title ſeeing
Thy faith ſo pure and worthy to be changed?
And what is that Iſmenia, that doth bind it
To loue, whereas the ſame is moſt eſtranged,
And where it is impoſſible to finde it?
But pardon me, if herein I abuſe thee:
Since that the cauſe thou gau'ſt me doth excuſe me.
But tell me now, what honour haſt thou gayned,
Auenging ſuch a fault by thee committed,
And there-vnto by thy occaſion trayned?
What haue I done, that I haue not acquitted?
Or what exceſſe that is not amply payed,
Or ſuffer more, that I haue not endured?
What cruell minde, what angry breaſt diſplayed,
With ſauage heart, to fierceneſſe ſo adiured?
Would not ſuch mortall griefe make milde & tender:
But that, which my fell Shepheardeſſe doth render?
Now as I haue perceiued well thy reaſons,
Which thou haſt had, or haſt yet to forget me,
The paines, the griefes, the guilts of forced treaſons,
That I haue done, wherein thou firſt didſt ſet me:
The paſſions, and thine eares and eyes refuſing
To peare and ſee me, meaning to vndoe me:
Cam'ſt thou to know, or be but once peruſing
Th'vn ſought occaſions, which thou gau'ſt vnto me:
Thou ſhould'ſt not haue where-with to more torment me:
Nor I to pay the fault my raſhneſſe lent me.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶Montana the Shepheard, his loue to Aminta.
I Serue Aminta, whiter then the ſnowe,
Straighter then Cedar, brighter then the glaſſe:
More fine in trip, then foote of running Roe,
More pleaſant then the field of flowring graſſe.
More gladſome to my withering ioyes that fade:
Then Winters Sunne, or Summers cooling ſhade,
Sweeter then ſwelling Grape of ripeſt wine,
Softer then feathers of the faireſt Swan:
Smoother then let, more ſtately then the Pine,
Freſher then Poplat, ſmaller then my ſpan.
Clearer then Phaebus fierie pointed beame:
Or Icie cruſt of Chriſtals frozen ſtreame.
Yet is ſhe curſter then the Beare by kinde,
And harder harted then the aged Oake:
More glib then Oyle, more fickle then the winde,
More ſtiffe then ſteele, no ſooner bent but broake.
Loe thus my ſeruice is a laſting ſore:
Yet will I ſerue, although I die therefore.
FINIS.
Shep. Tonie.
¶The Shepheards ſorrow for his
Phaebes diſdaine.
OH Woods vnto your walkes my body hies,
To looſe the trayterous bonds of tyring Loue,
Where trees, where hearbs, where flowers,
Their natiue moiſture poures
From forth their tender ſtalkes, to helpe mine eyes,
Yet their vnited teares may nothing moue.
When I behold the faire adorned tree,
Which lightnings force and Winters froſt reſiſts,
Then Daphnes ill betide,
And Phaebus lawleſſe pride
Enforce me ſay, euen ſuch my ſorrowes be:
For ſelfe-diſdaine in Phaebes heart conſiſts.
If I behold the flowers by morning teares
Looke louely ſweet: Ah then forlorne I crie
Sweet ſhowers for Memnon ſhed,
All flowers by you are fed.
Whereas my pitteous plaint that ſtill appeares,
Yeelds vigour to her ſcornes, and makes me die.
When I regard the pretty glee-full bird,
With teare-full (yet delightfull) notes complaine:
I yeeld a terror with my teares,
And while her muſicke wounds mine eares,
Alas ſay I, when will my notes afford
Such like remorce, who ſtill be-weepe my paine?
When I behold vpon the leafeleſſe bough
The hapleſſe bird lament her Loues depart:
I draw her biding nigh,
And ſitting downe I ſigh,
And ſighing ſay: Alas, that birds auow
A ſetled faith, yet Phaebe ſcornes my ſmart.
Thus wearie in my walke, and wofull too,
I ſpend the day, fore-ſpent with daily griefe:
Each obiect of diſtreſſe
My ſorrow doth expreſſe.
I doate on that which doth my hart vndoe:
And honour her that ſcornes-to yeeld reliefe.
FINIS.
I. F.
¶
Eſpilus and
Therion, their contention in Song for the May-Lady.
Eſpilus.
TVne vp my voyce, a higher note I yeeld,
To high conceit, the Song muſt needs be hie:
More high then ſtars, more firme then flintie field
Are all my thoughts, in which I liue and die.
Sweet ſoule to whom I vowed am a ſlaue:
Let not wild woods ſo great a treaſure haue.
Therion.
The higheſt note comes oft from baſeſt minde,
As ſhallow Brookes doe yeeld the greateſt ſound:
Seeke other thoughts thy life or death to finde,
Thy ſtarres be falne, plowed is thy flinty ground.
Sweet ſoule, let not a wretch that ſerueth ſheep
Among his Flock ſo ſweet a treaſure keep.
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Eſpilus.
Two thouſand Sheepe I haue as white as milke,
Though not ſo white as is thy louely face:
The paſture rich, the wooll as ſoft as ſilke,
All this I giue, let me poſſeſſe thy grace.
But ſtill take heed, leſt thou thy ſelfe ſubmit:
To one that hath no wealth, & wants his wit.
Therion.
Two thouſand Deere in wildeſt woods I haue,
Them can I take, but you I cannot hold:
He is not poore who can his freedome ſaue,
Bound but to you, no wealth but you I would.
But take this beaſt, if beaſts you feare to miſſe:
For of his beaſts the greateſt beaſt he is.
Both kneeling to her Maieſtie.
Eſpilus.
Iudge you, to whom all beauties force is lent:
Therion.
Iudge you of loue, to whom all loue is bent.
This Song was ſung before the Queenes moſt excellent Maieſtie, in Wanſted Garden: as a contention betweene a Forreſter and a Shepheard for the May-Ladie.
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
¶Olde
Melibeus Song, courting his Nimph.
LOues Queene long waiting for her true-Loue,
Slaine by a Boare which he had chaſed,
Left off her teares, and me embraced,
She kiſt me ſweet, and call'd me new-Loue,
With my ſiluer haire ſhe toyed,
In my ſtayed lookes ſhe ioyed.
Boyes (ſhee ſayd) breede beauties ſorrow:
Olde men cheere it euen and morrow.
My face ſhe nam'd the ſeate of fauour,
All my defects her tongue defended,
My ſhape ſhe prais'd, but moſt commended
My breath, more ſweete then Balme in ſauour.
Be old man with me delighted,
Loue for loue ſhall be requited.
With her toyes at laſt ſhe wone me:
Now ſhe coyes that hath vndone me.
¶The Shepheard
Syluanus his Song.
MY life (young Shepheardeſſe) for thee
Of needes to death muſt poſt:
But yet my griefe muſt ſtay with me,
After my life is loſt.
The grieuous ill, by death that cured is,
Continually hath remedy at hand:
But not that torment that is like to this,
That in ſlow time, and Fortunes meanes doth ſtand.
And if this ſorrow cannot be
Ended with life (at moſt:)
What then doth this thing profit me)
A ſorrow wonne or loſt?
Yet all is one to me, as now I trie
a flattering hope, or that that had not beene yet:
For if to day for want of it I die,
Next day I doe no leſſe for hauing ſeene it.
Faine would I die, to end and free
This grieefe, that kills me moſt:
If that it might be loſt with me,
Or die when life is loſt.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶Coridons
Song.
A Blithe and bonny Country-Laſſe,
heigh hoe bonny-Laſſe,
Sate ſighing on the tender graſſe,
and weeping ſaid: will none come wooe me?
A ſmicker Boy, a lither Swaine:
heigh hoe a ſmicker Swaine:
That in his loue was wanton faine,
with ſmiling lookes ſtraight came vnto her.
When as the wanton Wench eſpied,
heigh hoe when ſhe eſpied,
The meanes to make her ſelfe a Bride,
ſhe ſimpred ſmooth like bonnie-bell:
The Swaine that ſaw her ſquint-eyed kinde,
heigh hoe ſquint-eyed kinde,
His armes about her body twin'd
and ſaid, Faire Laſſe, how fare ye, well?
The Countrie-Kit ſaid, well forſooth,
heigh hoe well forſooth,
But that I haue a longing tooth,
a longing tooth that makes me crie:
Alas (ſaid he) what garres thy griefe,
heigh hoe what garres thy griefe?
A wound (quoth ſhe) without reliefe,
I feare a mayd that I ſhall die.
If that be all, the Shepheard ſayd,
heigh hoe the Shepheard ſayd,
He make thee wiue it gentle Mayde,
and ſo recure thy maladie:
Hereon they kiſt with many an oath,
heigh hoe many an oath,
And fore God Pan did plight their troath,
ſo to the Church apace they hie.
And God ſend euery pretty peate,
heigh hoe the pretty peate,
That feares to die of this conceit,
ſo kinde a friend to helpe at laſt:
Then Maydes ſhall neuer long againe,
heigh hoe to long againe.
When they finde eaſe for ſuch a paine.
thus my Roundelay is paſt.
FINIS.
Thom. Lodge.
¶The Shepheards Sonnet.
MY faireſt Ganimede diſdaine me not,
Though ſilly Shepheard I, preſume to loue thee,
Though my harſh Songs and Sonnets cannot moue thee:
Yet to thy beauty is my loue no blot:
Apollo, Ioue, and many Gods beſide
S'dain'd not the name of Country Shepheard Swaines,
Nor want we pleaſures, though we take ſome paines.
We liue contentedly: A thing call'd pride
Which ſo corrupts the Court and euery place,
(Each place I meane where learning is neglected,
And yet of late, euen learnings ſelfe's infected,)
I know not what it meanes in any caſe.
We onely (when Molorchus gins to peepe,)
Learne for to fold, and to vnfold our Sheepe.
FINIS.
Rich. Barnefield.
¶
Seluagia and
Siluanus, their Songs to
Diana.
Sel.
I See thee iolly Shepheard merrie,
And firme thy faith, and ſound as a berry.
Sil.
Loue gaue me ioy, and Fortune gaue it,
As my deſire could wiſh to haue it.
Sel.
What didſt thou wiſh, tell me (ſweet Louer,)
Whereby thou might'ſt ſuch ioy recouer?
Sil.
To loue where loue ſhould be inſpired:
Since there's no more to be deſired.
Sel.
In this great glory, and great gladnes,
T'hinkſt thou to haue no touch of ſadnes?
Sil.
Good Fortune gaue me not ſuch glory:
To mock my Loue, or make me ſorrie.
Sel.
If my firme loue I were denying,
Tell me, with ſighs would'ſt thou be dying?
Sil.
Thoſe words (in ieaſt) to heare thee ſpeaking:
For very griefe this hart is breaking.
Sel.
Yet would'ſt thou change, I pre-thee tell me,
In ſeeing one that did excell me?
Sil.
O no, for how can I aſpire,
To more, then to mine owne deſire?
Sel.
Such great affection do'ſt thou beare me:
As by thy words thou ſeem'ſt to ſweare me?
Sil.
Of thy deſerts, to which a debter
I am, thou maiſt demaund this better.
Sel.
Sometimes me thinks, that I ſhould ſweare it,
Sometimes me thinks, thou ſhould'ſt not beare it.
Sil.
Onely in this my hap doth grieue me,
And my deſire, not to beleeue me.
Sel.
Imagine that thou do'ſt not loue mine,
But ſome braue beautie that's aboue mine.
Sil.
To ſuch a thing (ſweet) doe not will me,
Where fayning of the ſame doth kill me.
Sel.
I ſee thy firmeneſſe gentle Louer,
More then my beautie can diſcouer.
Sil.
And my good fortune to be higher
Then my deſert, but not deſire.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶
Montanus his Madrigall.
IT was a Vallie gawdie greene,
Where Dian at the Fount was ſeene,
Greene it was,
And did paſſe
All other of Dianaes bowers,
In the pride of Floraes flowers.
A Fount it was that no Sunne ſees,
Cirkled in with Cipres trees,
Set ſo nie,
As Phaebus eye
Could not doe the Virgins ſcathe,
To ſee them naked when they bathe.
She ſate there all in white,
Colour fitting her delight,
Virgins ſo
Ought to goe:
For white in Armorie is plaſte.
To be the colour that is chaſte.
Her taffata Caſſock you might ſee,
Tucked vp aboue her knee,
Which did ſhow
There below
Legges as white as Whales bone,
So white and chaſte was neuer none.
Hard by her vpon the ground,
Sate her Virgins in a round,
Bathing their
Golden haire,
And ſinging all in notes hie:
Fie on
Ʋenus flattering eye.
Fie on Loue, it is a toy,
Cupid witleſſe, and a boy,
All his fires,
And deſires,
Are plagues that God ſent from on hie:
To peſter men with miſerie.
As thus the Virgins did diſdaine
Louers ioy and Louers paine,
Cupid nie
Did eſpie
Greeuing at Dianaes Song,
Slily ſtole theſe Maides among.
His bow of ſteele, darts of fire,
He ſhot amongſt them ſweet deſire,
Which ſtraite flies
In their eyes,
And at the entrance made them ſtart,
For it ranne from eye to hart.
Caliſto ſtraite ſuppoſed Ioue,
Was faire and frolique for to loue,
Dian ſhe,
Scap'd not free,
For well I wote heere vpon,
She lou'd the Swaine Endimion.
Clitia, Phaebus, and Chloris eye
Thought none ſo faire as Mercurie.
Ʋenus thus
Did diſcuſſe
By her Sonne in darts of fire:
None ſo chaſte to check deſire.
Dian roſe with all her Maydes,
Bluſhing thus at Loues braides,
With ſighs all
Shew their thrall,
And flinging thence, pronounc'd this ſaw:
What ſo ſtrong as Loues ſweet law?
FINIS.
Ro. Greene.
¶
Aſtrophell to
Stella, his third Song.
IF Orpheus voyce had force to breathe ſuch muſiques loue
Through pores of ſenceleſſe trees, as it could make them moue:
If ſtones good meaſure daunc'd, the Thebane walls to build
To cadence of the times, which Amphyons Lyre did yeeld:
More cauſe a like effect at leaſt-wiſe bringeth,
O ſtones, O trees, learne hearing, Stella ſingeth.
If Loue might ſweet'n ſo a boy of Shepheards broode,
To make a Lyzard dull to taſte Loues daintie food:
If Eagle fierce could ſo in Grecian Mayde delight,
As his light was her eyes, her death his endleſſe night:
Earth gaue that Loue, heau'n I trow Loue defineth,
O Beaſts, O Birds, looke, Loue, loe, Stella ſhineth.
The birds, ſtones, and trees, feele this, and feeling Loue,
And if the trees, nor ſtones ſtirre not the ſame to proue:
Nor beaſts, nor birds doe come vnto this bleſſed gaze,
Know, that ſmall Loue is quicke, and great Loue doth amaze,
They are amaz'd, but you with reaſon armed,
O eyes, O eares of men, how are you charmed?
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
¶A Song betweene
Syrenus and
Syluanus.
Syrenus.
VVHo hath of Cupids cates & dainties praied,
May feed his ſtomach with them at his pleaſure:
If in his drinke ſome eaſe he hath aſſayed,
Then let him quench his thirſting without meaſure:
And if his weapons pleaſant in their manner,
Let him embrace his ſtandard and his banner.
For being free from him, and quite exempted:
Ioyfull I am, and proud, and well contented.
Syluanus.
Of Cupids daintie cates who hath not prayed,
May be depriued of them at his pleaſure:
If wormewood in his drinke he hath aſſayed,
Let him not quench his thirſting without meaſure:
And if his weapons in their cruell manner,
Let him abiure his ſtandard and his banner:
For I not free from him, and not exempted,
Ioyfull I am, and proud, and well contented.
Syrenus.
Loue's ſo expert in giuing many a trouble,
That now I know not why he ſhould be praiſed:
He is ſo falſe, ſo changing, and ſo double,
That with great reaſon he muſt be diſpraiſed.
Loue in the end is ſuch aiarring paſſion,
That none ſhould truſt vnto his peeuiſh faſhion,
For of all miſchiefe he's the onely Maſter:
And to my good a torment and diſaſter.
Syluanus.
Loue's ſo expert in giuing ioy, not trouble,
That now I know not but he ſhould be praiſed:
He is ſo true, ſo conſtant, neuer double,
That in my minde he ſhould not be diſpraiſed.
Loue in the end is ſuch a pleaſing paſſion,
That euery one may truſt vnto his faſhion.
For of all good he is the onely Maſter:
And foe vnto my harmes, and my diſaſter.
Syrenus.
Not in theſe ſayings to be proou'd a lyer,
He knowes that doth not loue, nor is beloued:
Now nights and dayes I reſt, as I deſire,
After I had ſuch griefe from me remoued.
And cannot I be glad, ſince thus eſtranged,
My ſelfe from falſe Diana I haue changed?
Hence, hence, falſe Loue, I wil not entertaine their
Since to thy torments thou do'ſt ſeeke to traine me.
Syluanus.
Not in theſe ſayings to be prou'd a lyer,
He knowes that loues, and is againe beloued:
Now nights and dayes I reſt in ſweet deſire,
After I had ſuch happy fortune proued
And cannot I be glad, ſince not eſtranged,
My ſelfe into Seluagia I haue changed?
Come, come, good Loue, and I will entertaine thee.
Since to thy ſweet content thou ſeek'ſt to traine me.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶
Ceres Song in emulation of
Cinthia.
SWell Ceres now, for other Gods are ſhrinking,
Pomona pineth,
Fruitleſſe her tree:
Faire Phaebus ſhineth
Onely on me.
Conceit doth make me ſmile whilſt I am thinking,
How euery one doth read my ſtorie,
How euery bough on Ceres lowreth,
Cauſe heauen plenty on me powreth,
And they in leaues doe onely glory,
All other Gods of power bereauen,
Ceres onely Queene of heauen.
With roabes and flowers let me be dreſſed,
Cinthia that ſhineth
Is not ſo cleare:
Cinthia declineth
When I appeare.
Yet in this Iſle ſhe raignes as bleſſed,
And euery one at her doth wonder,
And in my eares ſtill fond fame whiſpers
Cinthia ſhall be Ceres Miſtres,
But firſt my Carre ſhall riue in ſunder.
Helpe Phaebus helpe, my fall is ſuddaine:
Cinthia, Cinthia muſt be Soueraigne.
This Song was ſung before her Maieſtie, at Biſſam, the Lady Ruſſels, in prograce, The Authors name vnknowne to me.
¶A Paſtorall Ode to an honourable friend.
AS to the blooming prime,
Bleake Winter being fled:
From compaſſe of the clime,
Where Nature lay as dead,
The Riuers dull'd with time,
The greene leaues withered.
Freſh Zephyri (the Weſterne brethren) be:
So th'honour of your fauour is to me.
For as the Plaines reuiue,
And put on youthfull greene:
As plants begin to thriue,
That diſattir'd had beene:
And Arbours now aliue,
In former pompe are ſeene,
So if my Spring had any flowers before:
Your breath Fauonius hath encreaſt the ſtore.
FINIS.
E. B.
¶A Nimphs diſdaine of Loue.
HEy downe a downe did Dian ſing,
amongſt her Virgins ſitting:
Then loue there is no vainer thing,
for Maydens moſt vnfitting,
And ſo thinke I, with a downe downe derrie.
When women knew no woe,
but liu'd them-ſelues to pleaſe:
Mens fayning guiles they did not know,
the ground of their diſeaſe.
Vnborne was falſe ſuſpect,
no thought of iealouſie:
From wanton toyes and fond affect,
the Virgins life was free.
Hey down a down did Dian ſing, &c
At length men vſed charmes,
to which what Maides gaue eare:
Embracing gladly endleſſe harmes:
anone enthralled were.
Thus women welcom'd woe,
diſguis'd in name of loue:
A iealous hell, a painted ſhow,
ſo ſhall they finde that proue
Hey downe a downe did Dian ſing,
amongſt her Virgins ſitting:
Then loue there is no vainer thing,
for Maidens moſt vnfitting.
And ſo thinke I, with a downe downe derrie.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶Apollos Loue-Song for faire Daphne.
MY heart and tongue were twins, at once conceaued,
The eldeſt was my heart, borne dumbe by deſtinie:
The laſt my tongue, of all ſweet thoughts bereaued,
Yet ſtrung and tun'd, to play harts harmonie.
Both knit in one, and yet a-ſunder placed.
What hart would ſpeake, the tongue doth ſtill diſcouer:
What tongue doth ſpeake, is of the heart embraced,
And both are one, to make a new-found Louer.
New-found, and onely found in Gods and Kings,
Whoſe words are deeds, but deeds not words regarded:
Chaſte thoughts doe mount, and flie with ſwifteſt wings,
My loue with paine, my paine with loſſe rewarded.
Engraue vpon this tree Daphnes perfection:
That neither men nor Gods can force affection.
This Dittie was ſung before her Maieſtie, at the right honourable the Lord Chandos, at Sudley Caſtell, at her laſt being there in prograce. The Author thereof vnknowne.
¶The Shepheard
Delicius his Dittie.
NEuer a greater foe did Loue diſdaine,
Or trode on graſſe ſo gay,
Nor Nimph greene leaues with whiter hand hath rent,
More golden haire the wind did neuer blow,
Nor fairer Dame hath bound in white attire,
Or hath in Lawne more gracious features tied,
Then my ſweet Enemie.
Beautie and chaſtitie one place refraine,
In her beare equall ſway:
Filling the world with wonder and content.
But they doe giue me paine and double woe,
Since loue and beautie kindled my deſire,
And cruell chaſtitie from me denied
All ſence of iollitie.
There is no Roſe, nor Lilly after raine,
Nor flower in moneth of May,
Nor pleaſant meade, nor greene in Sommer ſent,
That ſeeing them, my minde delighteth ſo,
As that faire flower which all the heauens admire,
Spending my thoughts on her, in whom abide
All grace and gifts on hie.
Me thinks my heauenly Nimph I ſee againe
Her neck and breaſt diſplay:
Seeing the whiteſt Ermine to frequent
Some plaine, or flowers that make the faireſt ſhow.
O Gods, I neuer yet beheld her nier,
Or farre, in ſhade, or Sunne, that ſatisfied
I was in paſſing by.
The Meade, the Mount, the Riuer, Wood, and Plaine,
With all their braue array,
Yeeld not ſuch ſweet, as that faire face that's bent
Sorrowes and ioy in each ſoule to beſtow
In equall parts, procur'd by amorous fire
Beauty and Loue in her their force haue tried,
to blind each humane eye.
Each wicked mind & will, which wicked vice doth ſtaine,
her vertues breake and ſtay:
All ayres infect by ayre are purg'd and ſpent,
Though of a great foundation they did grow.
O body, that ſo braue a ſoule do'ſt hire,
And bleſſed ſoule, whoſe vertues euer pried
aboue the ſtarrie skie.
Onely for her my life in ioyes I traine
my ſoule ſings many a Lay:
Muſing on her, new Seas I doe inuent
Of ſoueraigne ioy, wherein with pride I rowe.
The deſerts for her ſake I doe require,
For without her, the Springs of ioy are dried
and that I doe defie.
Sweet Fate, that to a noble deede do'ſt ſtraine,
and lift my heart to day:
Sealing her there with glorious ornament,
Sweet ſeale, ſweet griefe, and ſweeteſt ouerthrow.
Sweet miracle, whoſe fame cannot expire,
Sweet wound, and golden ſhaft, that ſo eſpied
ſuch heauenly companie
Of beauties graces in ſweet vertues died,
As like were neuer in ſuch yeares deſcried.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶Amintas
for his Phillis.
AVrora now began to riſe againe,
From watry couch, and from old Tithons ſide:
In hope to kiſſe vpon Acteian plaine
Young Cephalus, and through the golden glide
On Easterne coaſt he caſt ſo great a light,
That Phaebus thought it time to make retire
From Thetis bower, wherein he ſpent the night,
To light the world againe with heauenly fire.
No ſooner gan his winged Steedes to chaſe
The Stigian night, mantled with duskie vale:
But poore Amintas haſteth him a pace,
In deſerts thus, to weepe a wofull tale.
You ſilent ſhades, and all that dwell therein,
As birds, or beaſts, or wormes that creepe on ground:
Diſpoſe your ſelues to teares, while I begin
To rue the griefe of mine eternall wound.
And dolefull ghosts, whoſe nature flies the light,
Come ſeate your ſelues with me on eu'ry ſide:
And while I die for want of my delight,
Lament the woes through fancie me betide.
Phillis is dead, the marke of my deſire,
My cauſe of loue, and ſhipwrack of my ioyes,
Phillis is gone that ſet my heart on fire,
That clad my thoughts with ruinous annoyes.
Phillis is fled, and bides I wote not where,
Phillis (alas) the praiſe of woman-kinde:
Phillis the Sunne of this our Hemiſphere,
Whoſe beames made me, and many others blinde.
But blinded me (poore Swaine) aboue the reſt,
That like olde Oedipus I liue in thrall:
Still feele the woorſt, and neuer hope the beſt,
My mirth in moane, and honey drown'd in gall.
Her faire, but cruell eyes, bewitcht my ſight,
Her ſweet, but fading ſpeech enthrall'd my thought:
And in her deedes I reaped ſuch delight,
As brought both will and libertie to nought.
Therefore all hope of happineſſe adiew,
Adiew deſire, the ſource of all my care:
Deſpaire tells me, my weale will nere renue,
Till thus my ſoule doth paſſe in Charons Crare.
Meane time my minde muſt ſuffer Fortunes ſcorne,
My thoughts ſtill wound, like wounds that ſtill are greene:
My weakened limbs be layd on beds of thorne,
My life decayes, although my death's fore-ſeene.
Mine eyes, now eyes no more, but Seas of teares,
Weepe on your fill, to coole my burning breſt:
Where loue did place deſire, twixt hope and feares,
(I ſay) deſire, the Authour of vnreſt.
And would to God, Phillis where ere thou be,
Thy ſoule did ſee the ſower of mine eſtate:
My ioyes ecclips'd, for onely want of thee
My being with my ſelfe at foule debate.
My humble vowes, my ſufferance of woe,
My ſobs and ſighs, and euer-watching eyes:
My plaintiue teares, my wandring to and fro,
My will to die, my neuer-ceaſing cries.
No doubt but then theſe ſorrowes would perſwade,
The doome of death, to cut my vitall twiſt:
That I with thee amidst th'infernall ſhade,
And thou with me might ſport vs as we liſt.
Oh if thou waite on faire Proſerpines traine,
And heareſt Orpheus neere th'Elizian ſprings:
Entreate thy Queene to free thee thence againe,
And let the Thracian guide thee with his ſtrings.
FINIS.
Tho. Watſon.
¶
Fauſtus and
Firmius ſing to their Nimph by turnes.
Firmius.
OF mine owne ſelfe I doe complaine,
And not for louing thee ſo much,
But that in deede thy power is ſuch
That my true loue it doth reſtraine,
And onely this doth giue me paine,
For faine I would
Loue her more, if that I could.
〈2 pages missing〉
Tell me O haire of gold,
If I then faultie be:
That truſt thoſe killing eyes I would,
Since they did warrant me?
Haue you not ſeene her moode,
What ſtreames of teares ſhe ſpent:
Till that I ſware my faith ſo ſtood,
As her words had it bent?
Who hath ſuch beautie ſeene,
In one that changeth ſo?
Or where one loues, ſo conſtant beene,
Who euer ſaw ſuch woe?
Ah haires, you are not grieu'd,
To come from whence you be:
Seeing how once you ſaw I liu'd,
To ſee me as you ſee.
On ſandie banke of late,
I ſaw this woman ſit:
Where, Sooner die then change my ſtate,
She with her finger writ.
Thus my beliefe was ſtay'd,
Behold Loues mighty hand
On things, were by a woman ſay'd,
And written in the ſand.
Tranſlated by S. Phil. Sidney, out of Diana of Montmaior.
¶A Song betweene
Tauriſius and
Diana, anſwering verſe for verſe.
Tauriſius.
THe cauſe why that thou do'ſt denie
To looke on me, ſweet foe impart?
Diana.
Becauſe that doth not pleaſe the eye.
Which doth offend and grieue the hart.
Tauriſius.
What woman is, or euer was,
That when ſhe looketh, could be mou'd?
Diana.
She that reſolues her life to paſſe,
Neither to loue, nor to be lou'd.
Tauriſius.
There is no heart ſo fierce and hard
That can ſo much torment a ſoule:
Diana.
Nor Shepheard of ſo ſmall regard,
That reaſon will ſo much controule.
Tauriſius.
How falls it out Loue doth not kill
Thy crueltie with ſome remorce?
Diana.
Becauſe that Loue is but a will,
And free-will doth admit no force.
Tauriſius.
Behold what reaſon now thou haſt,
To remedie my louing ſmart:
Diana.
The very ſame bindes me as faſt,
To keepe ſuch danger from my hart.
Tauriſius.
Why do'ſt thou thus torment my minde,
And to what end thy beautie keepe?
Diana.
Becauſe thou call'ſt me ſtill vnkinde,
And pittileſſe when thou do'ſt weepe.
Tauriſius.
Is it becauſe thy crueltie
In killing me doth neuer end?
Diana.
Nay, for becauſe I meane thereby,
My heart from ſorrow to defend.
Tauriſius.
Be bold ſo foule I am no way
As thou do'ſt thinke, faire Shepheardeſſe:
Diana.
With this content thee, that I ſay,
That I beleeue the ſame no leſſe.
Tauriſius.
What, after giuing me ſuch ſtore
Of paſſions, do'ſt thou mock me too?
Diana.
If anſweres thou wilt any more,
Goe ſeeke them without more adoo.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶Another Song before her Maiestie at Oxford, ſung by a comely Shepheard, attended on by ſundry other Shepheards and Nimphs.
HEarbs, words, and ſtones, all maladies haue cured,
Hearbs, words, and ſtones, I vſed when I loued:
Hearbs ſmells, words winde, ſtones hardnes haue procured,
By ſtones, nor words, nor hearbs her minde was moued.
I ask'd the cauſe: this was a womans reaſon,
Mongst hearbs are weedes, and thereby are refuſed:
Deceite as well as truth ſpeakes words in ſeaſon,
Falſe ſtones by foiles haue many one abuſed.
I ſigh'd, and then ſhe ſaid, my fancie ſmoaked,
I gaz'd, ſhe ſaid, my lookes were follies glancing:
I ſounded dead, ſhe ſaid, my loue was choaked,
I ſtarted vp, ſhe ſaid, my thoughts were dancing.
Oh ſacred Loue, if thou haue any Godhead:
Teach other rules to winne a maydenhead:
FINIS.
Anonimus.
¶The Shepheards Song: a Caroll or Himne for Chriſtmas.
SWeet Muſicke, ſweeter ſarre
Then any Song is ſweet:
Sweet Muſicke heauenly rare,
Mine eares (O peeres) doth greete.
You gentle Flocks, whoſe fleeces pearl'd with dewe,
Reſemble heauen, whom golden drops make bright:
Liſten, O liſten, now, O not to you
Our pipes make ſport to ſhorten wearie night.
But voyces moſt diuine,
Make blisfull Harmonie:
Voyces that ſeeme to ſhine,
For what elſe cleares the skie?
Tunes can we heare, but not the Singers ſee:
The tunes diuine, and ſo the Singers be.
Loe how the firmament,
Within an azure fold:
The flock of ſtarres hath pent,
That we might them behold.
Yet from their beames proceedeth not this light,
Nor can their Chriſtals ſuch reflection giue:
What then doth make the Element ſo bright?
The heauens are come downe vpon earth to liue.
But harken to the Song,
Glory to glories King:
And peace all men among,
Theſe Queriſters doe ſing.
Angels they are, as alſo (Shepheards) hee,
Whom in our feare we doe admire to ſee.
Let not amazement blinde
Your ſoules (ſaid he) annoy:
To you and all mankinde,
My meſſage bringeth ioy.
For loe the worlds great Shepheard now is borne
A bleſſed Babe, an Infant full of power:
After long night, vp-riſen is the morne,
Renowning Bethlem in the Sauiour.
Sprung is the perfect day,
By Prophets ſeene a farre:
Sprung is the mirthfull May,
Which Winter cannot marre.
In Dauids Citie doth this Sunne appeare:
Clouded in fleſh, yet Shepheards ſit we here.
FINIS.
E. B.
¶
Arſileus his Caroll, for ioy of the new mariage, betweene
Syrenus and
Diana.
LEt now each Meade with flowers be depainted,
Of ſundry colours ſweeteſt odours glowing:
Roſes yeeld forth your ſmels ſo finely tainted,
Calme windes the greene leaues moue with gentle blowing,
The Chriſtall Riuers flowing
With waters be encreaſed:
And ſince each one from ſorrow now hath ceaſed gladnes
From mournfull plaints and ſadnes.
Ring forth faire Nimphs your ioyfull Songs for
Let Springs and Meades all kinde of ſorrow baniſh,
And mournfull harts the teares that they are bleeding:
Let gloomie cloudes with ſhining morning vaniſh,
Let euery bird reioyce that now is breeding.
And ſince by new proceeding,
With mariage now obtained,
A great content by great contempt is gained, gladnes.
And you deuoyd of ſadnes,
Ring forth faire Nimphs your ioyfull Songs for
Who can make vs to change our firme deſires,
And ſoule to leaue her ſtrong determination,
And make vs freeze in Ice, and melt in fires,
And niceſt hearts to loue with emulation,
Who rids vs from vexation,
And all our minds commandeth?
But great Felicia, that his might withſtandeth gladnes.
That fill'd our hearts with ſadnes,
Ring forth faire Nimphs your ioyfull Songs for
Your fields with their diſtilling fauours cumber
(Bridegroome and happy Bride) each heauenly power
Your Flocks, with double Lambs encreas'd in number,
May neuer taſt vnſauorie graſſe and ſower.
The Winters froſt and ſhower
Your Kids (your pretie pleaſure)
May neuer hurt, and bleſt with ſo much treaſure,
To driue away all ſadnes:
Ring forth faire Nimphs your ioyfull Songs for gladnes.
Of that ſweet ioy delight you with ſuch meaſure,
Betweene you both fai
•
e iſſue to ingender:
Longer then Nestor may you liue in pleaſure,
The Gods to you ſuch ſweet content ſurrender,
That may make mild and tender
The beaſts in euery mountaine,
And glad the fields, and Woods, and euery Fountaine,
Abiuring former ſadnes,
Ring forth faire Nimphs, your ioyfull Songs for gladnes.
Let amorous birds with ſweeteſt notes delight you,
Let gentle windes refreſh you with their blowing:
Let fields and Forreſts with their good requite you,
And Flora decke the ground where you are going.
Roſes and Violets ſtrowing,
The Iaſmine and the Gilliflower,
With many more, and neuer in your bower,
To taſt of houſhold ſadnes:
Ring forth faire Nimphs your ioyfull Songs for gladnes.
Concord and peace hold you for aye contented,
And in your ioyfull ſtate liue you ſo quiet:
That with the plague of iealouſie tormented
You may not be, nor fed with Fortunes diet.
And that your names may flie yet,
To hills vnknowne with glorie.
But now becauſe my breaſt ſo hoarce, and ſorrie.
It faints, may reſt from ſinging:
End Nimphs your Songs, that in the clouds are ringing.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶
Philiſtus farewell to falſe
Clorinda.
CLorinda falſe adiew, thy loue torments me:
Let Thirſis haue thy heart, ſince he contents thee.
Oh griefe and bitter anguiſh,
For thee I languiſh,
Faine I (alas) would hide it,
Oh, but who can abide it?
I can, I cannot I abide it.
Adiew, adiew then,
Farewell,
Leaue my death now deſiring:
For thou haſt thy requiring.
Thus ſpake Philistus, on his hooke relying:
And ſweetly fell a dying.
FINIS.
Out of M. Morleys Madrigalls.
¶Roſalindes
Madrigall.
LOue in my boſome like a Bee,
doth ſucke his ſweet:
Now with his wings, he playes with me,
now with his feete.
Within mine eyes he makes his neſt,
His bed amidſt my tender breſt,
My kiſſes are his daily feaſt,
And yet he robs me of my reſt.
Ah wanton will ye?
And if I ſleepe, then pierceth he,
with prettie ſlight:
And makes his pillow of my knee,
the liue-long night.
Strike I my Lute, he tunes the ſtring,
He muſicke playes if I but ſing,
He lends me euery lonely thing,
Yet cruell he my heart doth ſting.
Whilſt wanton, ſtill ye.
Elſe I with Roſes euery day
will whip ye hence:
And binde ye when ye long to play,
for your offence.
Ile ſhut mine eyes to keepe ye in,
Ile make you faſt it for your ſinne,
He count your power not woorth a pin.
Alas, what hereby ſhall I winne
If he gaine-ſay me?
What if I beate the wanton Boy
with many a rod?
He will repay me with annoy
becauſe a God.
Then ſit thou ſafely on my knee,
And let thy bower my boſome be:
Lurke in mine eyes, I like of thee.
O Cupid, ſo thou pitty me,
Spare not, but play thee.
FINIS.
Thom. Lodge.
¶A Dialogue Song betweene
Syluanus and
Arſilius.
Syl.
SHepheard, why do'ſt thou holde thy peace?
Sing, and thy ioy to vs report:
Arſil.
My ioy (good Shepheard) ſhould be leſſe,
If it were tolde in any ſort.
Syl.
Though ſuch great fauours thou do'ſt winne,
Yet daigne thereof to tell ſome part:
Arſil.
The hardeſt thing is to begin,
In enterprizes of ſuch Art.
Syl.
Come make an end, no cauſe omit,
Of all the ioyes that thou art in:
Arſil.
How ſhould I make an end of it,
That am not able to begin?
Syl.
It is not iuſt, we ſhould conſent,
That thou ſhoul'dſt not thy ioyes recite:
Arſil.
The ſoule that felt the puniſhment,
Doth onely feele this great delight.
Syl.
That ioy is ſmall, and nothing fine,
That is not tolde abroad to many:
Arſil.
If it be ſuch a ioy as mine,
It neuer can be tolde to any.
Syl.
How can this hart of thine containe
A ioy, that is of ſuch great force?
Arſil.
I haue it, where I did retaine
My paſſions of ſo great remorſe.
Syl.
So great and rare a ioy is this,
No man is able to with-hold:
Arſil.
But greater that a pleaſure is,
The leſſe it may with words be told.
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Syl.
Yet haue I heard thee heretofore,
Thy ioyes in open Songs report:
Arſil.
I ſaid, I had of ioy ſome ſtore,
But not how much, nor in what ſort.
Syl.
Yet when a ioy is in exceſſe,
It ſelfe it will oft-times vnfolde:
Arſil.
Nay ſuch a ioy would be the leſſe,
If but a word thereof were tolde.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶Montanus
Sonnet.
VVHen the dogge
Full of rage
With his irefull eyes
Frownes amidſt the skies:
The Shepheard to aſſwage
The furie of the heate,
Himſelfe doth ſafely ſeate
By a Fount
Full of faire,
Where a gentle breath
Mounting from beneath,
tempereth the ayre.
There his flocks
Drinke their fill,
And with eaſe repoſe,
While ſweet ſleepe doth cloſe
Eyes from toyling ill,
But I burne,
Without reſt,
No defenſiue power
Shields from Phoebus lower,
ſorrow is my beſt.
Gentle Loue
Lower no more,
If thou wilt inuade
In the ſecret ſhade,
Labour not ſo ſore,
I my ſelfe
And my flocks,
They their Loue to pleaſe,
I my ſelfe to eaſe,
Both leaue the ſhadie Oakes,
Content to burne in fire,
Sith Loue doth ſo deſire.
FINIS.
S. E. D.
¶The Nimph
Seluagia her Song.
SHepheard, who can paſſe ſuch wrong,
And a life in woes ſo deepe,
Which to liue is too long,
As it is too ſhort to weepe,
Grieuous ſighs in vaine I waſte,
Leeſing my affiance, and
I perceaue my hope at laſt,
with a candle in the hand.
What time then to hope among
bitter hopes that neuer ſleepe?
When this life is too too long,
as it is too ſhort to weepe.
This griefe which I feele ſo rife,
(wretch) I doe deſerue as hire:
Since I came to put my life
in the hands of my deſire.
Then ceaſe not my complaints ſo ſtrong,
for (though life her courſe doth keepe:)
It is not to liue ſo long,
as it is too ſhort to weepe.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶The Heard-mans happie life.
VVHat pleaſure haue great Princes,
more daintie to their choice,
Then Heardmen wilde, who careleſſe,
in quiet life reioyce?
And Fortunes Fate not fearing,
Sing ſweet in Sommer morning.
Their dealings plaine and rightfull
are voyd of all deceit:
They neuer know how ſpightfull,
it is to kneele and waite;
On fauourite preſumptuous,
Whoſe pride is vaine and ſumptuous.
All day their flocks each tendeth,
at night they take their reſt:
More quiet then who ſendeth
his ſhip into the Eaſt;
Where Gold and Pearle are plentie,
But getting very daintie.
For Lawyers and their pleading,
they 'ſteeme it not a ſtraw:
They thinke that honeſt meaning,
is of it ſelfe a law;
Where conſcience iudgeth plainely,
They ſpend no money vainely.
Oh happy who thus liueth,
not caring much for gold:
With cloathing which ſufficeth,
to keepe him from the cold.
Though poore and plaine his diet:
Yet merry it is and quiet.
FINIS.
Out of M. Birds ſet Songs.
¶
Cinthia the Nimph, her Song to faire
Polydora.
NEere to the Riuer bankes, with greene
And pleaſant trees on euery ſide,
Where freeſt minds would moſt haue beene,
That neuer felt braue Cupids pride,
To paſſe the day and tedious howers:
Amongſt thoſe painted meades and flowers.
A certaine Shepheard full of woe,
Syrenus call'd, his flocks did feede:
Not ſorrowfull in outward ſhow,
But troubled with ſuch griefe indeed
As cruell Loue is wont t'impart.
Vnto a painefull louing hart.
This Shepheard euery day did die,
For loue he to Diana bare:
A Shepheardeſſe ſo fine perdie,
So liuely, young, and paſſing faire,
Excelling more in beauties feature:
Then any other humane creature.
Who had not any thing, of all
She had, but was extreame in her,
For meanely wiſe none might her call,
Nor meanely faire, for he did erre
If ſo he did: but ſhould deuiſe
Her name of paſſing faire and wiſe.
Fauours on him ſhe did beſtow,
Which if ſhe had not, then be ſure
He might haue ſuffered all that woe
Which afterward he did endure
When he was gone, with leſſer paine,
And at his comming home againe.
For when indeed the hart is free
From ſuffering paine or torment ſmart:
If wiſedome doth not ouer-ſee
And beareth not the greateſt part;
The ſmalleſt griefe and care of minde:
Doth make it captiue to their kinde.
Neere to a Riuer ſwift and great,
That famous Ezla had to name:
The carefull Shepheard did repeate
The feares he had by abſence blame,
Which he ſuſpect where he did keepe:
And feede his gentle Lambs and Sheepe.
And now ſometimes he did behold
His Shepheardeſſe, that there about
Was on the mountaines of that old
And auncient Leon, ſeeking out.
From place to place the paſtures beſt.
Her Lambes to feede, her ſelfe to reſt.
And ſometime muſing, as he lay
When on thoſe hils ſhee was not ſeene:
Was thinking of that happy day,
When Cupid gaue him ſuch a Queene
Of beautie, and ſuch cauſe of ioy:
Wherein his minde he did imploy.
Yet ſaid (poore man) when he did ſee
Himſelfe ſo ſunke in ſorrowes pit:
The good that Loue hath giuen me,
I onely doe imagine it,
Becauſe this neereſt harme and trouble:
Hereafter I ſhould ſuffer double.
The Sunne for that it did decline,
The careleſſe man did not offend
With fierie beames, which ſcarce did ſhine
But that which did of loue depend,
And in his hart did kindle fire:
Of greater flames and hote deſire.
Him did his paſſions all inuite,
The greene leaues blowne with gentle winde:
Chriſtaline ſtreames with their delight,
And Nightingales were not behinde,
To helpe him in his louing verſe:
Which to himſelfe he did rehearſe.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶The Shepheard to the Flowers.
SWeet Ʋiolets (Loues Paradiſe) that ſpread
Your gracious odours, which you couched beare
Within your palie faces:
Ʋpon the gentle wing of ſome calme-breathing-winde
That playes amidſt the Plaine,
If by the fauour of propitious ſtarres you gaine
Such grace as in my Ladies boſome place to finde:
Be proud to touch thoſe places.
And when her warmth your moyſture forth doth weare,
Whereby her daintie parts are ſweetly fed:
Your honours of the flowrie Meades I pray.
You pretty daughters of the Earth and Sunne:
With milde and ſeemely breathing ſtraite diſplay
My bitter ſighs, that haue my hart vndone.
Ʋermillion Roſes, that with new dayes riſe
Diſplay your crimſon ſolds freſh locking faire,
Whoſe radiant bright, diſgraces
The rich adorned rayes of roſeate riſing morne,
Ah if her Virgins hand
Doe pluck your pure, ere Phoebus view the land,
And vaile your gracious pompe in louely Natures ſcorne.
If chaunce my Miſtreſſe traces
Faſt by your flowers to take the Sommers ayre:
Then wofull bluſhing tempt her glorious eyes,
To ſpread their teares, Adonis death reporting,
And tell Loues torment, ſorrowing for her friend:
Whoſe drops of bloud within your leaues conſorting,
Report faire Venus moanes to haue no end.
Then may remorſe, in pittying of my ſmart:
Drie vp my teares, and dwell within her hart.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶The Shepheard
Arſilius his Song to his
Rebeck.
NOw Loue and Fortune turne to me againe,
And now each one enforceth and aſſures
A hope, that was diſmayed, dead, and vaine:
And from the harbour of miſhaps aſſures
A hart that is conſum'd in burning fire,
With vnexpected gladneſſe, that admires
My ſoule to lay a-ſide her mourning tire,
And ſenſes to prepare a place for ioy,
Care in obliuion endleſſe ſhall expire.
For euery griefe of that extreame annoy
Which when my torment raign'd, my ſoule (alas)
Did feele, the which long abſence did deſtroy,
Fortune ſo well appayes, that neuer was
So great the torment of my paſſed ill,
As is the ioy of this ſame good I paſſe.
Returne my hart, ſurſaulted with the fill
Of thouſand great vnreſts, & thouſand feares:
Enioy thy good eſtate, if that thou will.
And wearied eyes, leaue off your burning teares,
For ſoone you ſhall behold her with delight,
For whom my ſpoiles with glory Cupid beares.
Senſes which ſeeke my ſtarre ſo cleare and bright,
By making here & there your thoughts eſtray:
Tell me, what will you feele before her ſight?
Hence ſolitarineſſe, torments away,
Felt for her ſake, and wearied members caſt
Off all your paine, redeem'd this happy day.
O ſtay not time, but paſſe with ſpeedy haſt,
And Fortune hinder not her comming now.
O God, betides me yet this griefe at laſt?
Come my ſweet Shepheardeſſe, the life which thou
(Perhaps) didſt thinke was ended long agoe,
At thy commaund is readie ſtill to bow.
Comes not my Shepheardeſſe deſired ſo?
O God, what if ſhe's loſt, or if ſhe ſtray
Within this wood, where trees ſo thicke doe grow?
Or if this Nimph that lately went away,
Perhaps forgot to goe and ſeeke her out:
No, no, in (her) obliuion neuer lay.
Thou onely art my Shepheardeſſe, about
Whoſe thoughts my ſoule ſhall finde her ioy and reſt:
Why comm'ſt not then to aſſure it frō doubt?
O ſeeſt thou not the Sunne paſſe to the Weſt?
And if it paſſe, and I behold thee not:
Then I my wonted torments will requeſt,
And thou ſhalt waile my hard and heauie lot.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶Another of
Aſtrophell to his
Stella.
IN a Groue moſt rich of ſhade,
Where Birds wanton muſique made;
May, then young, his pyed weedes ſhowing,
New perfum'd, with flowers freſh growing.
Aſtrophell with Stella ſweet,
Did for mutuall comfort meet
Both within them-ſelues oppreſſed,
But each in the other bleſſed.
Him great harmes had taught much care,
Her faire necke a foule yoake bare:
But her ſight his cares did baniſh,
In his ſight her yoake did vaniſh.
Wept they had, alas the while,
But now teares them-ſelues did ſmile.
While their eyes by Loue directed,
Enterchangeably reflected.
Sigh they did, but now betwixt
Sighs of woes, were glad ſighs mixt,
With armes croſt, yet teſtifying
Reſtleſſe reſt, and liuing dying.
Their eares hungry of each word,
Which the deare tongue would afford,
But their tongues reſtrain'd from walking,
Till their hearts had ended talking.
But when their tongues could not ſpeake,
Loue it ſelfe did ſilence breake,
Loue did ſet his lips a-ſunder,
Thus to ſpeake in loue and wonder.
Stella Soueraigne of my ioy,
Faire triumpher of annoy,
Stella, ſtarre of heauenly fire,
Stella, Loadſtarre of deſire.
Stella, in whoſe ſhining eyes,
Are the lights of Cupids skies,
Whoſe beames where they once are darted,
Loue there-with is ſtrait imparted.
Stella, whoſe voyce when it ſpeakes,
Sences all aſunder breakes,
Stella, whoſe voyce when it ſingeth,
Angels to acquaintance bringeth.
Stella, in whoſe body is
Writ each Character of bliſſe,
Whoſe face all, all beautie paſſeth,
Saue thy minde, which it ſurpaſſeth.
Graunt, O graunt: but ſpeech alas
Failes me, fearing on to paſſe.
Graunt, O me, what am I ſaying?
But no fault there is in praying.
Graunt (O deere) on knees I pray,
(Knees on ground he then did ſtay)
That not I, but ſince I loue you,
Time and place for me may moue you.
Neuer ſeaſon was more fit,
Neuer roome more apt for it.
Smiling ayre alowes my reaſon,
The birds ſing, now vſe the ſeaſon.
This ſmall winde, which ſo ſweet is,
See how it the leaues doth kiſſe,
Each tree in his beſt attyring
Sence of loue to loue inſpiring.
Loue makes earth the water drinke,
Loue to earth makes water ſinke:
And if dumbe things be ſo wittie,
Shall a heauenly grace want pittie?
There his hands in their ſpeech, faine
Would haue made tongues language plaine.
But her hands, his hands repelling:
Gaue repulſe, all grace excelling.
Then ſhe ſpake; her ſpeech was ſuch,
As not eares, but hart did touch:
While ſuch wiſe ſhe loue denied,
As yet loue ſhe ſignified.
Aſtrophell, ſaid ſhe, my Loue,
Ceaſe in theſe effects to proue.
Now be ſtill, yet ſtill beleeue me,
Thy griefe more then death doth grieue mee.
If that any thought in me,
Can taſte comfort but of thee,
Let me feede with helliſh anguiſh,
Ioyleſſe, helpleſſe, endleſſe languiſh.
If thoſe eyes you praiſed, be
Halfe ſo deere as you to me:
Let me home returne ſtarke blinded
Of thoſe eyes, and blinder minded.
If to ſecret of my hart
I doe any wiſh impart:
Where thou art not formoſt placed;
Be both wiſh and I defaced.
If more may be ſaid, I ſay
All my bliſſe on thee I lay.
If thou loue, my loue content thee,
For all loue, all faith is meant thee.
Truſt me, while I thee denie,
In my ſelfe the ſmart I trie.
Tirant, honour doth thus vſe thee,
Stellaes ſelfe might not refuſe thee.
Therefore (deere) this no more moue,
Leaſt, though I leaue not thy loue,
Which too deepe in me is framed:
I ſhould bluſh when thou art named.
There-with-all, away ſhe went,
Leauing him to paſſion rent:
With what ſhe had done and ſpoken,
That there-with my Song is broken.
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
¶
Syrenus his Song to
Dianaes Flockes.
PAſſed contents,
Oh what meane ye?
Forſake me now, and doe not wearie me.
Wilt thou heare mee O memorie?
My pleaſant dayes, and nights againe,
I haue appai'd with ſeauen-fold paine.
Thou haſt no more to aske me why,
For when I went, they all did die,
As thou do'ſt ſee:
O leaue me then, and doe not wearie me.
Greene field, and ſhadowed valley, where
Sometime my chiefeſt pleaſure was,
Behold what I did after paſſe.
Then let me reſt, and if I beare
Not with good cauſe continuall feare:
Now doe you ſee,
O leaue me then, and doe not trouble mee.
I ſaw a hart changed of late,
And wearied to aſſure mine:
Then I was forced to recure mine
By good occaſion, time and fate,
My thoughts that now ſuch paſſion hate,
O what meane ye?
Forſake me now, and doe not wearie mee.
You Lambes and Sheepe that in theſe Layes,
Did ſometime follow me ſo glad:
The merry houres, and the ſad
Are paſſed now, with all thoſe dayes.
Make not ſuch mirth and wonted playes
As once did ye.
For now no more, you haue deceaued me.
If that to trouble me you come,
Or come to comfort me indeed:
I haue no ill for comforts need.
But if to kill me: Then (in ſome)
Now my ioyes are dead and dombe,
Full well may ye
Kill me, and you ſhall make an end of me.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶
To Amarillis.
THough Amarillis dance in greene,
Like Fairie Queene,
And ſing full cleere,
With ſmiling cheere.
Yet ſince her eyes make heart ſo ſore,
hey hoe, chill loue no more.
My Sheepe are loſt for want of foode
And I ſo wood
That all the day:
I ſit and watch a Heard-mayde gay,
Who laughs to ſee me ſigh ſo ſore:
hey hoe, chill loue no more.
Her louing lookes, her beautie bright,
Is ſuch delight,
That all in vaine:
I loue to like, and looſe my gaine,
For her that thanks me not therefore,
hey hoe, chill loue no more,
Ah wanton eyes, my friendly foes,
And cauſe of woes,
Your ſweet deſire
Breedes flames of Ice, and freeze in fire.
You ſcorne to ſee me weepe ſo ſore:
hey hoe, chill loue no more.
Loue ye who liſt, I force him not,
Sith God it wot
The more I waile:
The leſſe my ſighs and teares preuaile.
What ſhall I doe, but ſay therefore,
hey hoe, chill loue no more?
FINIS.
Out of M. Birds ſet Songs.
¶
Cardenia the Nimph, to her falſe Shep
heard
Fauſtus.
FAustus, if thou wilt reade from me
Theſe few and ſimple lines,
By them moſt clearely thou ſhalt ſee,
How little ſhould accounted be
Thy faigned words and ſignes.
For noting well thy deedes vnkinde,
Shepheard, thou muſt not ſcan:
That euer it came to my minde,
To praiſe thy faith like to the winde,
Or for a conſtant man.
For this in thee ſhall ſo be ſound,
As ſmoake blowne in the aire:
Or like Quick-ſiluer turning round,
Or as a houſe built on the ground
Of ſands that doe impaire.
To firmeneſſe thou art contrarie,
More ſlipp'rie then the Eele:
Changing as Weather-cocke on hie,
Or the Camelion on the die,
Or Fortunes turning wheele.
Who would beleeue thou wert ſo free,
To blaze me thus each houre?
My Shepheardeſſe, thou liu'ſt in me,
My ſoule doth onely dwell in thee,
And euery vitall power.
Pale Atropos my vitall ſtring
Shall cut, and life offend:
The ſtreames ſhall firſt turne to their ſpring.
The world ſhall end, and euery thing,
Before my loue ſhall end.
This loue that thou didſt promiſe me,
Shepheard, where is it found?
The word and faith I had of thee,
O tell me now, where may they be,
Or where may they reſound?
Too ſoone thou did'ſt the title gaine
Of giuer of vaine words:
Too ſoone my loue thou did'ſt obtaine,
Too ſoone thou lou'dſt Diana in vaine,
That nought but ſcornes affords.
But one thing now I will thee tell,
That much thy patience moues:
That though Diana doth excell
In beautie, yet ſhe keepes not well
Her faith, not loyall proues,
Thou then haſt choſen, each one ſaith,
Thine equall, and a ſhrow:
For if thou haſt vndone thy faith,
Her Loue and Louer ſhe betrayeth,
So like to like may goe.
If now this Sonnet which I ſend
Will anger thee: Before
Remember Faustus (yet my friend,)
That if theſe ſpeeches doe offend,
Thy deedes doe hurt me more.
Thus let each one of vs amend,
Thou deedes, I words ſo ſpent:
For I confeſſe I blame my pen,
Doe thou as much, ſo in the end,
Thy deedes thou doe repent.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶
Of Phillida.
AS I beheld, I ſaw a Heardman wilde,
with his ſheepe-hooke a picture fine deface:
Which he ſometime his fancie to beguile,
had caru'd on bark of Beech in ſecret place.
And with deſpight of moſt afflicted minde,
through deepe diſpaire of heart, for loue diſmaid:
He pull'd euen from the tree the carued rinde,
and weeping ſore, theſe wofull words he ſaid.
Ah Phillida would God thy picture faire,
I could as lightly blot out of my breſt:
Then ſhould I not thus rage in deepe diſpaire,
and teare the thing ſometime I liked beſt.
But all in vaine, it booteth not God wot:
What printed is in heart, on tree to blot.
FINIS.
Out of M. Birds ſet Songs.
Meliſea her Song, in ſcorne of her Shep
heard
Narciſſus.
YOung Shepheard turne a-ſide, and moue
Me not to follow thee:
For I will neither kill with loue,
Nor loue ſhall not kill me
Since I will liue, and neuer ſhow,
Then die not, for my loue I will not giue
For I will neuer haue thee loue me ſo,
As I doe meane to hate thee while I liue.
That ſince the Louer ſo doth proue
His death, as thou do'ſt ſee:
Be bold I will not kill with loue,
Nor loue ſhall not kill me.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶His anſwere to the Nimphs Song.
IF to be lou'd it thee offend,
I cannot chooſe but loue thee ſtill:
And ſo thy griefe ſhall haue no end,
Whiles that my life maintaines my will.
O let me yet with griefe complaine,
ſince ſuch a torment I endure:
Or elſe fulfill thy great diſdaine,
to end my life with death moſt ſure.
For as no credite thou wilt lend,
and as my loue offends thee ſtill:
So ſhall thy ſorrowes haue no end,
whiles that my life maintaines my will.
If that by knowing thee, I could
leaue off to loue thee as I doe:
Not to offend thee, then I would
leaue off to like and loue thee too.
But ſince all loue to thee doth tend,
and I of force muſt loue thee ſtill:
Thy griefe ſhall neuer haue an end,
whiles that my life maintaines my will.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶Her preſent anſwere againe to him.
ME thinkes thou tak'ſt the worſer way,
(Enamour'd Shepheard) and in vaine
That thou wilt ſeeke thine owne decay,
To loue her, that doth thee diſdaine.
For thine owne ſelfe, thy wofull hart
Keepe ſtill, elſe art thou much to blame:
For ſhe to whom thou gau'ſt each part
Of it, diſdaines to take the ſame.
Follow not her that makes a play,
And leſt of all thy griefe and paines:
And ſeeke not (Shepheard) thy decay.
To loue her that thy loue diſdaines.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶His laſt replie.
SInce thou to me wert ſo vnkinde,
My ſelfe I neuer loued, for
I could not loue him in my minde,
Whom thou (faire Miſtreſſe) do'ſt abhorre.
If viewing thee, I ſaw thee not,
And ſeeing thee, I could not loue thee:
Dying, I ſhould not liue (God wot)
Nor liuing, ſhould to anger moue thee.
But it is well that I doe finde
My life ſo full of torments, for
All kinde of ills doe fit his minde
Whom thou (faire Miſtreſſe) do'ſt abhorre.
In thy obliuion buried now
My death I haue before mine eyes:
And here to hate my ſelfe I vow,
As (cruell) thou do'ſt me deſpiſe.
Contented euer thou didſt finde
Me with thy ſcornes, though neuer (for
To ſay the truth) I ioyed in minde,
After thou didſt my loue abhorre.
FINIS.
Bar. Yong.
¶
Philon the Shepheard, his Song.
VVHile that the Sunne with his beames hot,
Scorched the fruites in vale and mountaine:
Philon the Shepheard late forgot,
Sitting beſides a Chriſtall Fountaine:
In ſhaddow of a greene Oake-tree,
Vpon his Pipe this Song plaid hee.
Adiew Loue, adiew Loue, vntrue Loue,
Vntrue Loue, vntrue Loue, adiew Loue:
Your minde is light, ſoone loſt for new loue.
So long as I was in your ſight,
I was your heart, your ſoule, and treaſure:
And euermore you ſob'd and ſigh'd,
Burning in flames beyond all meaſure.
Three dayes endur'd your loue to me:
And it was loſt in other three.
Adiew Loue, adiew Loue, vntrue Loue, &c.
Another Shepheard you did ſee,
To whom your heart was ſoone enchained:
Full ſoone your loue was leapt from me,
Full ſoone my place he had obtained.
Soone came a third, your loue to win:
And we were out, and he was in.
Adiew Loue, &c.
Sure you haue made me paſſing glad,
That you your minde ſo ſoone remoued:
Before that I the leaſure had,
To chooſe you for my beſt beloued.
For all your loue was paſt and done:
Two dayes before it was begun.
Adiew Loue, &c.
FINIS.
Out of M. Birds ſet Songs.
¶Lycoris the Nimph, her ſad Song.
IN dewe of Roſes, ſteeping her louely cheekes,
Lycoris thus ſate weeping.
Ah Dorus falſe, that haſt my heart bereft me,
And now vnkinde haſt left me.
Heare alas, oh heare me,
Aye me, aye me,
Cannot my beautie moue thee?
Pitty, yet pitty me,
Becauſe I loue thee.
Aye me, thou ſcorn'ſt, the more I pray thee:
And this thou do'ſt, and all to ſlay me.
Why doe then,
Kill me, and vaunt thee:
Yet my Ghoſt
Still ſhall haunt thee.
FINIS.
Out of M. Morleyes Madrigalis.
¶To his Flockes.
BƲrst forth my teares, aſſist my forward griefe,
And ſhew what paine imperious Loue prouokes
Kinde tender Lambs lament Loues ſcant reliefe,
And pine, ſince penſiue care my freedome yoakes,
Oh pine, to ſee me pine, my tender Flockes.
Sad pining care, that neuer may haue peace,
At Beauties gate, in hope of pittie knocks:
But mercie ſleepes, while deepe diſdaines encreaſe,
And Beautie hope is her faire boſome yoakes:
Oh grieue to heare my griefe, my tender Flockes.
Like to the windes my ſighs haue winged beene.
Yet are my ſighs and ſutes repaide with mockes:
I pleade, yet ſhe repineth at my teene,
O ruthleſſe rigour, harder then the Rockes,
That both the Shepheard kills, and his poore Flockes.
FINIS.
¶To his Loue.
COme away, come ſweet Loue,
The golden morning breakes:
All the earth, all the ayre,
Of loue and pleaſure ſpeakes.
Teach thine armes then to embrace,
And ſweet Roſie lips to kiſſe:
And mixe our ſoules in mutuall bliſſe.
Eyes were made for beauties grace,
Viewing, ruing Loues long paine:
Procur'd by beauties rude diſdaine.
Come away, come ſweet Loue,
The golden morning waſts:
While the Sunne from his Sphere
His fierie arrowes caſts,
Making all the ſhadowes flie,
Playing, ſtaying in the Groaue:
To entertaine the ſtealth of loue.
Thither ſweet Loue let vs hie
Flying, dying in deſire:
Wing'd with ſweet hopes and heauenly fire.
Come away, come ſweet Loue,
Doe not in vaine adiorne
Beauties grace that ſhould riſe
Like to the naked morne.
Lillies on the Riuers ſide,
And faire Cyprian flowers new blowne,
Deſire no beauties but their owne.
Ornament is Nurſe of pride,
Pleaſure, meaſure, Loues delight:
Haſt then ſweet Loue our wiſhed flight.
FINIS.
¶Another of his
Cynthia.
AWay with theſe ſelfe-louing-Lads,
Whom Cupids arrowe neuer glads.
Away poore ſoules that ſigh and weepe,
In loue of them that lie and ſleepe,
For Cupid is a Meadow God:
And forceth none to kiſſe the rod.
God Cupids ſhaft like deſtinie,
Doth either good or ill decree.
Deſert is borne out of his bowe,
Reward vpon his feete doth goe.
What fooles are they that haue not knowne,
That Loue likes no lawes but his owne?
My Songs they be of Cynthias praiſe,
I weare her Rings on Holy-dayes,
On euery Tree I write her name,
And euery day I reade the ſame.
Where Honour, Cupids riuall is:
There miracles are ſeene of his.
If Cynthia craue her Ring of mee,
I blot her name out of the tree.
If doubt doe darken things held deere:
Then wel-fare nothing once a yeere.
For many runne, but one muſt win:
Fooles onely hedge the Cuckoe in.
The worth that worthineſſe ſhould moue,
Is loue, which is the due of loue.
And loue as well the Shepheard can,
As can the mightie Noble man.
Sweet Nimph tis true, you worthy be,
Yet without loue, nought worth to me.
FINIS.
¶Another to his
Cynthia.
MY thoughts are wing'd with hopes, my hopes with loue,
Mount loue vnto the Moon in cleareſt night:
And ſay, as ſhe doth in the heauens moue,
On earth ſo waines and wexeth my delight.
And whiſper this but ſoftly in her eares:
Hope oft doth hang the head, and truſt ſhed teares
And you my thoughts that ſome miſtruſt doe carrie,
If for miſtruſt my Miſtreſſe doe you blame:
Say, though you alter, yet you doe not varie.
As ſhe doth change, and yet remaine the ſame.
Diſtruſt doth enter hearts, but not infect,
And loue is ſweeteſt, ſeaſoned with ſuſpect.
If ſhe for this, with cloudes doe maske her eyes,
And make the heauens darke with her diſdaine:
With windie ſighs diſpierce them in the skies,
Or with thy teares diſſolue them into raine.
Thoughts, hopes, and loue, returne to me no more,
Till Cynthia ſhine, as ſhe hath done before,
FINIS.
¶Theſe three Ditties were taken out of Maister Iohn Dowlands Booke of Tableture for the Lute, the Authours names not there ſet downe, and therefore left to their owners.
Montanus Sonnet in the Woods.
ALas, how wander I amidſt theſe Woods,
Whereas no day bright ſhine doth finde acceſſe?
But where the melancholy fleeting floods,
(Darke as the night) my night of woes expreſſe,
Diſarm'd of reaſon, ſpoyl'd of Natures goods,
Without redreſſe to ſalue my heauineſſe
I walke, whilſt thought (too cruell to my harmes,)
with endleſſe griefe my heedleſſe iudgement charmes.
My ſilent tongue aſſail'd by ſecret feare,
My trayterous eyes impriſon'd in their ioy:
My fatall peace deuour'd in fained cheere,
My heart enforc'd to harbour in annoy.
My reaſon rob'd of power by yeelding care,
My fond opinions, ſlaue to euery ioy.
Oh Loue, thou guide in my vncertaine way:
Woe to thy bowe, thy fire, the cauſe of my decay.
FINIS.
S. E. D.
¶The Shepheards ſorrow, being diſdai
ned in loue.
MVſes help me, ſorrow ſwarmeth,
Eyes are fraught with Seas of languiſh:
Hapleſſe hope my ſolace harmeth,
Mindes repaſt is bitter anguiſh.
Eye of day regarded neuer,
Certaine truſt in world vntruſtie:
Flattering hope beguileth euer,
Wearie old, and wanton luſtie.
Dawne of day beholds enthroned,
Fortunes darling proud and dreadleſſe:
Darkſome night doth heare him moaned,
Who before was rich and needleſſe.
Rob the Spheare of lines vnited,
Make a ſuddaine voide in nature:
Force the day to be benighted,
Reaue the cauſe of time and creature.
Ere the world will ceaſe to varie,
This I weepe for, this I ſorrow:
Muſes, if you pleaſe to tarie,
Further help I meane to borrow.
Courted once by Fortunes fauour,
Compaſt now with Enuies curſes:
All my thoughts of ſorrowes ſauour,
Hopes runne fleeting like the Sourſes.
Aye me, wanton ſcorne hath maimed
All the ioyes my heart enioyed:
Thoughts their thinking haue diſclaimed,
Hate my hopes haue quite annoyed.
Scant regard my weale hath ſcanted,
Looking coy, hath forc'd my lowring;
Nothing lik'd, where nothing wanted,
Weds mine eyes to ceaſeleſſe ſhowring.
Former loue was once admired,
Preſent fauour is eſtraunged:
Loath'd the pleaſure long deſired,
Thus both men and thoughts are changed.
Louely Swaine with luckie ſpeeding,
Once, but now no more ſo friended:
You my Flocks haue had in feeding,
From the morne, till day was ended.
Drinke and fodder, foode and folding
Had my Lambs and Ewes together:
I with them was ſtill beholding,
Both in warmth and Winter weather.
Now they languiſh, ſince refuſed,
Ewes and Lambes are pain'd with pining:
I with Ewes and Lambs confuſed,
All vnto our deaths declining.
Silence, leaue thy Caue obſcured,
Daigne a dolefull Swaine to tender:
Though diſdaines I haue endured.
Yet I am no deepe offender.
Phillips Sonne can with his finger
Hide his ſcarre, it is ſo little:
Little ſinne a day to linger,
Wiſe men wander in a tittle.
Trifles yet my Swaine haue turned,
Though my Sunne he neuer ſhoweth:
Though I weepe, I am not mourned,
Though I want, no pittie groweth.
Yet for pittie, loue my Muſes,
Gentle ſilence be their couer:
They muſt leaue their wonted vſes,
Since I leaue to be a Louer.
They ſhall liue with thee encloſed,
I will loath my Pen and Paper:
Art ſhall neuer be ſuppoſed,
Sloth ſhall quench the watching Taper.
Kiſſe them ſilence, kiſſe them kindly,
Though I leaue them, yet I loue them:
Though my wit haue led them blindly,
Yet a Swaine did once approue them.
I will trauaile ſoiles remoued,
Night and morning neuer merrie:
Thou ſhalt harbour that I loued,
I will loue that makes me wearie.
If perchaunce the Shepheard ſtrayeth,
In thy walkes and ſhades vnhaunted:
Tell the teene my hart betrayeth,
How neglect my ioyes haue daunted.
FINIS.
Thom. Lodge.
¶A Paſtorall Song betweene
Phillis and
Amarillis, two Nimphs, each anſwering other line for line.
FIe on the ſleights that men deuiſe,
heigh hoe ſilly ſleights:
When ſimple Maides they would entice,
Maides are yong mens chiefe delights.
Nay, women they witch with their eyes,
eyes like beames of burning Sunne:
And men once caught, they ſoone deſpiſe,
ſo are Shepheards oft vndone.
If any young man win a maide,
happy man is hec:
By truſting him ſhe is betraide,
fie vpon ſuch treacherie.
If Maides win young men with their guiles,
heigh hoe guilefull greefe:
They deale like weeping Crocodiles,
that murder men without releefe.
I know a ſimple Countrie Hinde,
heigh hoe ſillie Swaine:
To whom faire Daphne proued kinde,
was he not kinde to her againe?
He vowed by Pan with many an oath,
heigh hoe Shepheards God is he:
Yet ſince hath chang'd, and broke his troath,
troth-plight broke, will plagued be.
She had deceiued many a Swaine,
fie on falſe deceit:
And plighted troth to them in vaine,
there can bee no griefe more great.
Her meaſure was with meaſure paide,
heigh hoe, heigh hoe equall meede:
She was begui'ld that had betraide,
ſo ſhall all deceiuers ſpeede.
If euery Maide were like to mee,
heigh hoe hard of hart:
Both loue and louers ſcorn'd ſhould be,
ſcorners ſhall be ſure of ſmart.
If euery Maide were of my minde,
heigh hoe, heigh hoe louely ſweet:
They to their Louers ſhould proue kinde,
kindnes is for Maiden's meet.
Me thinkes loue is an idle toy,
heigh hoe buſie paine:
Both wit and ſenſe it doth annoy,
both ſenſe and wit thereby we gaine.
Tuſh Phillis ceaſe, be not ſo coy,
heigh hoe, heigh hoe coy diſdaine:
I know you loue a Shepheards boy,
fie that Maydens ſo ſhould fame.
Well Amarillis, now I yeeld,
Shepheards pipe aloude:
Loue conquers both in towne and field,
like a Tirant, fierce and proude.
The euening ſtarre is vp yee ſee,
Ʋeſper ſhines, we muſt away:
Would euery Louer might agree,
ſo we end our Roundelay.
FINIS.
H. C.
¶The Shepheards Antheme.
NEere to a banke with Roſes ſet about,
Where prettie Turtles ioyning bill to bill:
And gentle ſprings ſteale ſoftly murmuring out,
Waſhing the foote of pleaſures ſacred hill.
There little Loue ſore wounded lyes,
his bow and arrowes broken:
Bedewde with teares from Venus eyes.
Oh that it ſhould be ſpoken.
Beare him my hart, ſlaine with her ſcornefull eye,
Where ſticks the arrow that poore hart did kill:
With whoſe ſharpe pyle, yet will him ere hee die,
About my hart to write his lateſt will.
And bid him ſend it backe to mee,
at inſtant of his dying:
That cruell, cruell ſhe may ſee,
my faith and her denying.
His Hearſe ſhall be a mournefull Cypres ſhade,
And for a Chauntrie, Philomels ſweet lay:
Where prayer ſhall continually be made,
By Pilgrime louers, paſſing, by that way.
With Nimphs and Shepheards yeerely mone,
his timeleſſe death beweeping:
And telling that my hart alone,
hath his laſt will in keeping.
FINIS.
Mich. Drayton.
¶The Counteſſe of Pembrokes Paſtorall.
A Shepheard and a Shepheardeſſe,
ſate keeping ſheepe vpon the downes:
His lookes did gentle blood expreſſe,
her beautie was no foode for clownes.
Sweet louely twaine, what might you be?
Two fronting hills bedeckt with flowers,
they choſe to be each other ſeate:
And there they ſtole their amorous houres,
with ſighs and teares, poore louers meate.
Fond Loue that feed'ſt thy ſeruants ſo.
Faire friend, quoth he, when ſhall I liue,
That am halfe dead, yet cannot die?
Can beautie ſuch ſharpe guerdon giue,
to him whoſe life hangs in your eye?
Beautie is milde, and will not kill.
Sweet Swaine, quoth ſhee, accuſe not mee,
that long haue beene thy humble thrall:
But blame the angry deſtinie,
whoſe kinde conſent might finiſh all.
Vngentle Fate, to croſſe true Loue.
Quoth hee, let not our Parents hate,
diſioyne what heauen hath linckt in one:
They may repent, and all too late
if childleſſe they be left alone,
Father nor friend, ſhould wrong true loue.
The Parents frowne, ſaid ſhee, is death,
to children that are held in awe:
From them we drew our vitall breath.
they challenge dutie then by law,
Such dutie as kills not true Loue,
They haue, quoth hee, a kinde of ſway,
on theſe our earthly bodies here:
But with our ſoules deale not they may,
the God of loue doth hold them deere.
He is moſt meet to rule true loue.
I know, ſaid ſhe, tis worſe then hell,
when Parents choiſe muſt pleaſe our eyes:
Great hurt comes thereby, I can tell,
forc'd loue in deſperate danger dies.
Faire Maid, then fancie thy true loue.
If wee, quoth he, might ſee the houre,
of that ſweet ſtate which neuer ends.
Our heauenly gree might haue the power,
to make our Parents as deere friends.
All ranck our yeelds to ſoueraigne loue.
Then God of loue, ſaid ſhe, conſent,
and ſhew ſome wonder of thy power:
Our Parents, and our owne content,
may be confirmde by ſuch an houre,
Graunt greateſt God to further loue.
The Fathers, who did alwaies tend,
when thus they got their priuate walke,
As happy fortune chaunc'd to ſend.
vnknowne to each, heard all this talke.
Poore ſoules to be ſo croſt in loue.
Behinde the hills whereon they ſate,
they lay this while and liſtned all:
And were ſo mooued both thereat,
that hate in each began to fall.
Such is the power of ſacred loue.
They ſhewed themſelues in open ſight,
poore Louers, Lord how they were mazde?
And hand in hand the Fathers plight,
whereat (poore harts) they gladly gazde.
Hope now begins to further loue.
And to confirme a mutuall band,
of loue, that at no time ſhould ceaſe:
They likewiſe ioyned hand in hand,
the Shepheard and the Shepheardeſſe.
Like fortune ſtill befall true loue.
FINIS.
Shep. Ionie.
Another of
Aſtrophell.
THE Nightingale ſo ſoone as Aprill bringeth
Vnto her reſted ſenſe a perfect waking:
While late bare earth, proud of new clothing ſpringeth,
Sings out her woes, a thorne her Song-booke making.
And mournefully bewailing
Her throate in tunes expreſſeth,
What griefe her breaſt oppreſſeth,
For Tereus force, on her chaſt will preuailing.
Oh Philomela faire, oh take ſome gladnes,
That here is iuſter cauſe of plaintfull ſadnes.
Thine earth now ſprings, mine fadeth:
Thy throne without, my thorne my hart inuadeth.
Alas, ſhe hath no other cauſe of languiſh
But Tereus loue, on her by ſtrong hand wroken:
Wherein ſhe ſuffering all her ſpirits languiſh,
Full woman-like complaines, her will was broken.
But I, who daily crauing,
Cannot haue to content me:
Haue more cauſe to lament me,
Sith wanting is more woe, then too much hauing.
Oh Philomela faire, oh take ſome gladnes,
That heere is iuſter cauſe of plaintfull ſadnes,
Thine earth now ſprings, mine fadeth:
Thy thorne without, my thorne my hart inuadeth.
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
An Inuectiue againſt Loue.
ALL is not golde that ſhineth bright in ſhow,
Not euery flowre ſo good, as faire, to ſight,
The deepeſt ſtreames, aboue doe calmeſt flow,
And ſtrongeſt poiſons oft the taſte delight,
The pleaſant baite doth hide the harmfull hooke,
And falſe deceit can lend a friendly looke.
Loue is the gold whoſe outward hew doth paſſe,
Whoſe firſt beginnings goodly promiſe make
Of pleaſures faire, and freſh as Sommers graſſe,
Which neither Sunne can parch, nor winde can ſhake:
But when the mould ſhould in the fire be tride,
The gold is gone, the droſſe doth ſtill abide.
Beautie the flowre, ſo freſh, ſo faire, ſo gay,
So ſweet to ſmell, ſo ſoft to touch and taſt:
As ſeemes it ſhould endure, by right, for aye,
And neuer be with any ſtorme defaſt,
But when the baleful Southerne wind doth blow,
Gone is the glory which it erſt did ſhew.
Loue is the ſtreame, whoſe waues ſo calmely flow
As might intice mens minds to wade therein:
Loue is the poiſon mixt with ſugar ſo,
As might by outward ſweetneſſe liking win,
But as the deepe ore'flowing ſtops thy breath,
So poyſon once receiu'd brings certaine death.
Loue is the baite, whoſe taſte the fiſh deceiues,
And makes them ſwallow downe the choking hooke,
Loue is the face whoſe faireneſſe iudgement reaues,
And makes thee truſt a falſe and fained looke.
But as the hooke the fooliſh fiſh doth kill,
So flatt'ring lookes, the louers life doth ſpill.
FINIS.
¶Faire
Phillis and her Shepheard.
SHepheard, ſaw you not
my faire louely Phillis,
Walking on this Mountaine,
or on yonder plaine?
She is gone this way to Dianaes Fountaine,
and hath left me wounded,
with her high diſdaine.
Aye me, ſhe is faire,
And without compare.
Sorrow come and ſit with me:
Loue is full of feares,
Loue is full of teares,
Loue without theſe cannot be.
Thus my paſſions paine me,
For my loue hath ſlaine me,
Gentle Shepheard beare a part:
Pray to Cupids mother,
For I know no other
that can helpe to eaſe my ſmart.
Shepheard, I haue ſeene
thy faire louely Phillis
Where her flocks are feeding,
by the Riuers ſide:
Oh, I much admire
ſhe ſo farre exceeding
In ſurpaſſing beautie,
ſhould ſurpaſſe in pride.
But alas I finde,
They are all vnkinde
Beautie knowes her power too well:
When they liſt they loue,
When they pleaſe they moue,
thus they turne our heauen to hell.
For their faire eyes glauncing,
Like to Cupids dauncing,
roule about ſtill to deceaue vs:
With vaine hopes deluding,
Still diſpraiſe concluding,
Now they loue, and now they leaue vs.
Thus I doe deſpaire,
haue her I ſhall neuer,
If ſhee be ſo coy,
loſt is all my loue:
But ſhe is ſo faire
I muſt loue her euer,
All my paine is ioy,
which for her I proue.
If I ſhould her trie,
And ſhe ſhould denie
heauie hart with woe will breake:
Though againſt my will,
Tongue thou muſt be ſtill,
for ſhe will not heare thee ſpeake.
Then with ſighs goe proue her,
Let them ſhew I loue her,
gracious
Ʋenus be my guide:
But though I complaine me,
She will ſtill diſdaine mee,
beautie is ſo full of pride.
What though ſhe be faire?
ſpeake, and feare not ſpeeding,
Be ſhee nere ſo coy,
yet ſhe may be wunne:
Vnto her repaire,
where her Flocks are feeding,
Sit and tick and toy
till ſet be the Sunne.
Sunne then being ſet,
Feare not Vulcanes net,
though that Mars therein was caught:
If ſhe doe denie
Thus to her replie
Venus lawes ſhe muſt be taught.
Then with kiſſes mooue her,
That's the way to proue her,
thus thy Phillis muſt be wone:
She will not forſake thee,
But her Loue will make thee,
When Loues dutie once is done.
Happie ſhall I be,
If ſhe graunt me fauour,
Elſe for loue I die
Phillis is ſo faire:
Boldly then goe ſee,
thou maiſt quickly haue her,
Though ſhe could denie,
yet doe not deſpaire.
She is full of pride,
Venus be my guide,
helpe a ſilly Shepheards ſpeed,
Vſe no ſuch delay,
Shepheard, goe thy way,
venture man and doe the deed.
I will ſore complaine me,
Say that loue hath ſlaine thee,
if her fauours doe not feede:
But take no deniall,
Stand vpon thy triall,
ſpare to ſpeake, and want of ſpeede.
FINIS.
I. G.
¶The Shepheards Song of
Venus and
Adonis.
VEnus faire did ride,
ſiluer Doues they drew her,
By the pleaſant lawnds
ere the Sunne did riſe:
Ʋeſtaes beautie rich
opened wide to view her,
Philomel records
pleaſing Harmonies.
Euery bird of ſpring
cheerefully did ſing,
Paphos Goddeſſe they ſalute:
〈2 pages missing〉
Birds and beaſts my lawes effect:
Mirrha thy faire mother,
moſt of any other,
did my louely heſts reſpect.
Be with me delighted,
Thou ſhalt be requited,
euery Nimph on thee ſhall tend:
All the Gods ſhall loue thee,
Man ſhall not reproue thee,
Loue himſelfe ſhall be thy friend.
Wend thee from me Venus,
I am not diſpoſed,
Thou wring'ſt me too hard,
pre-thee let me goe:
Fie, what a paine it is
thus to be encloſed.
If loue begin with labour,
it will end in woe.
kiſſe me, I will leaue,
here a kiſſe receiue,
a ſhort kiſſe I doe it finde:
Wilt thou leaue me ſo?
yet thou ſhalt not goe,
breathe once more thy balmie wind.
It ſmelleth of the Mirth-tree,
That to the world did bring thee,
neuer was perfume ſo ſweet:
When ſhe had thus ſpoken,
She gaue him a token,
and their naked boſomes meet.
Now he ſaid, let's goe,
harke, the Hounds are crying,
Griſly Boare is vp,
Huntſ-men follow faſt:
At the name of Boare,
Venus ſeemed dying,
Deadly coloured pale,
Roſes ouer-caſt.
Speake ſaid ſhe, no more,
of following the Boare,
thou vnfit for ſuch a chaſe:
Courſe the fearefull Hare,
Venſon doe not ſpare,
if thou wilt yeeld
Ʋenus grace.
Shun the Boare I pray thee,
Elſe I ſtill will ſtay thee,
herein he vow'd to pleaſe her mind,
Then her armes enlarged,
Loth ſhe him diſcharged,
forth he went as ſwift as wind.
Thetis Phoebus Steedes
in the Weſt retained,
Hunting ſport was paſt,
Loue her loue did ſeeke:
Sight of him too ſoone
gentle Queene ſhe gained,
On the ground he lay
blood had left his cheeke.
For an orped Swine,
ſmit him in the groyne,
deadly wound his death did bring:
Which when
Ʋenus found,
ſhe fell in a ſwound,
and awak'd, her hands did wring.
Nimphs and Satyres skipping,
Came together tripping,
Eccho euery crie expreſt:
Venus by her power,
Turn'd him to a flower,
which ſhe weareth in her creaſt.
FINIS.
H. C.
¶
Thirſis the Shepheard his deaths Song.
THirſis to die deſired,
marking her eyes that to his heart was neereſt:
And ſhe that with his flame no leſſe was fired,
ſaid to him: Oh heart's loue deereſt:
Alas, forbeare to die now,
By thee I liue, by thee I wiſh to die to.
Thirſis that heate refrained,
wherewith to die poore Louer then he haſted,
Thinking it death while he his lookes maintained,
full fixed on her eyes, full of pleaſure,
and louely Nectar ſweet from them he taſted.
His daintie Nimph, that now at hand eſpied
the harueſt of Loues treaſure,
Said thus, with eyes all trembling, faint and waſted:
I die now,
The Shepheard then replied,
and I ſweet life doe die to.
Thus theſe two Louers fortunately died,
Of death ſo ſweet, ſo happy, and ſo deſired:
That to die ſo againe their life retired.
FINIS.
Out of Maister N. Young his Muſica Tranſalpina.
¶Another Stanza added after.
THirſis enioyed the graces,
Of Chloris ſweet embraces,
Yet both their ioyes were ſcanted:
For darke it was, and candle-light they wanted.
Wherewith kinde Cynthia in the heauen that ſhined,
her nightly vaile reſigned,
and her faire face diſcloſed.
Then each from others lookes ſuch ioy deriued:
That both with meere delight died, and reuiued.
FINIS.
Out of the ſame.
¶Another Sonnet thence taken.
ZEphirus brings the time that ſweetly ſenteth
with flowers and hearbs, which Winters froſt exileth:
Progne now chirpeth, Philomel lamenteth,
Flora the Garlands white and red compileth:
Fields doe reioyce, the frowning skie relenteth,
Ioue to behold his deareſt daughter ſmileth:
The ayre, the water, the earth to ioy conſenteth,
each creature now to loue him reconcileth,
But with me wretch, the ſtormes of woe perſeuer,
and heauie ſighs which from my heart ſhe ſtraineth
That tooke the key thereof to heauen for euer,
ſo that ſinging of birds, and ſpring-times flowring:
And Ladies loue that mens affection gaineth,
are like a Deſert, and cruell beaſts deuouring.
FINIS.
¶The Shepheards ſlumber.
IN Peſcod time, when Hound to horne
giues eare till Buck be kild:
And little Lads with Pipes of corne,
ſate keeping beaſts a field.
I went to gather Strawberies tho,
by Woods and Groaues full faire:
And parcht my face with Phoebus ſo,
in walking in the ayre
That downe I layde me by a ſtreame,
with boughs all ouer-clad:
And there I met the ſtrangeſt dreame,
that euer Shepheard had.
Me thought I ſaw each Chriſtmas game,
each reuell all and ſome:
And euery thing that I can name,
or may in fancie come.
The ſubſtance of the ſights I ſaw,
in ſilence paſſe they ſhall:
Becauſe I lacke the skill to draw,
the order of them all.
But Venus ſhall not paſſe my pen,
whoſe maydens in diſdaine:
Did feed vpon the hearts of men,
that Cupids bowe had ſlaine.
And that blinde Boy was all in blood,
be-bath'd vp to the eares:
And like a Conquerour he ſtood,
and ſcorned Louers teares.
I haue (quoth he) more hearts at call,
then Caeſar could command:
And like the Deare I make them fall,
that runneth o're the lawnd.
One drops downe here, another there,
in buſhes as they groane;
I bend a ſcornfull careleſſe eare,
to heare them make their moane.
Ah Sir (quoth Honeſt Meaning) then,
thy boy-like brags I heare:
When thou haſt wounded many a man,
as Huntſ-man doth the Deare.
Becomes it thee to triumph ſo?
thy Mother wills it not:
For ſhe had rather breake thy bowe,
then thou ſhould'ſt play the ſot.
What ſaucie merchant ſpeaketh now,
ſaid
Ʋenus in her rage:
Art thou ſo blinde thou knoweſt not how
I gouerne euery age?
My Sonne doth ſhoote no ſhaft in waſt,
to me the Boy is bound:
He neuer found a heart ſo chaſt,
but he had power to wound,
Not ſo faire Goddeſſe (quoth Free-will,)
in me there is a choiſe:
And cauſe I am of mine owne ill,
if I in thee reioyce.
And when I yeeld my ſelfe a ſlaue,
to thee, or to thy Sonne:
Such recompence I ought not haue,
if things be rightly done.
Why foole, ſtept forth Delight, and ſaid,
when thou art conquer'd thus:
Then loe dame Lust, that wanton Maid,
thy Miſtreſſe is iwus.
And Lust is Cupids darling deere,
behold her where ſhe goes:
She creepes the milk-warme fleſh ſo neere,
ſhe hides her vnder cloſe.
Where many priuie thoughts doe dwell,
a heauen here on earth:
For they haue neuer minde of hell,
they thinke ſo much on mirth.
Be ſtill Good Meaning, quoth Good Sport,
let Cupid triumph make:
For ſure his Kingdome ſhall be ſhort
if we no pleaſure take.
Faire Beautie, and her play-feares gay,
the virgins
Ʋestalles to:
Shall ſit and with their fingers play,
as idle people doe.
If Honest Meaning fall to frowne,
and I Good Sport decay:
Then Venus glory will come downe,
and they will pine away.
Indeede (quoth Wit) this your deuice,
with ſtrangeneſſe muſt be wrought,
And where you ſee theſe women nice,
and looking to be ſought:
With ſcowling browes their follies check,
and ſo giue them the Fig:
Let Fancie be no more at beck,
when Beautie lookes ſo big.
When Venus heard how they conſpir'd,
to murther women ſo:
Me thought indeede the houſe was fier'd,
with ſtormes and lightning tho.
The thunder-bolt through windowes burſt.
and in their ſteps a wight:
Which ſeem'd ſome ſoule or ſprite accurſt,
ſo vgly was the ſight.
I charge you Ladies all (quoth he)
looke to your ſelues in haſt:
For if that men ſo wilfull be,
and haue their thoughts ſo chaſt;
That they can tread on Cupids breſt,
and martch on
Ʋenus face:
Then they ſhall ſleepe in quiet reſt,
when you ſhall waile your caſe.
With that had Venus all in ſpight
ſtir'd vp the Dames to ire:
And Lust fell cold, and Beautie white
ſate babling with Deſire.
Whoſe mutt'ring words I might not marke,
much whiſpering there aroſe:
The day did lower, the Sunne wext darke,
away each Lady goes.
But whether went this angry flock?
our Lord himſelfe doth know:
Wherewith full lowdly crew the Cock,
and I awaked ſo.
A dreame (quoth I?) a dogge it is,
I take thereon no keepe:
I gage my head, ſuch toyes as this,
doth ſpring from lacke of ſleepe.
FINIS.
¶Diſpraiſe of Loue, and Louers follies.
IF Loue be life, I long to die,
Liue they that lift forme:
And he that gaines the moſt thereby,
A foole at leaſt ſhall be.
But he that feeles the ſoreſt fits,
Scapes with no leſſe then loſſe of wits,
Vnhappy life they gaine,
Which Loue doe entertaine.
In day by fained lookes they liue,
By lying dreames in night,
Each frowne a deadly wound doth giue,
Each ſmile a falſe delight.
If't hap their Lady pleaſant ſeeme,
It is for others loue they deeme:
If voide ſhe ſeeme of ioy,
Diſdaine doth make her coy.
Such is the peace that Louers finde,
Such is the life they leade.
Blowne here and there with euery winde
Like flowers in the Mead.
Now warre, now peace, now warre againe,
Deſire, deſpaire, delight, diſdaine,
Though dead in midſt of life,
In peace, and yet at ſtrife.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶Another Sonet.
IN wonted walkes, ſince wonted fancies change,
Some cauſe there is, which of ſtrange cauſe doth riſe:
For in each thing whereto my minde doth range,
Part of my paine me ſeemes engraued lies.
The Rockes which were of conſtant minde, the marke
In climbing ſteepe, now hard refuſall ſhow:
The ſhading Woods ſeeme now my ſunne to darke,
And ſtately hills diſdaine to looke ſo low.
The reſtfull Caues, now reſtleſſe viſions giue,
In dales I ſee each way a hard aſſent:
Like late mowne Meades, late cut from ioy I liue,
Alas, ſweet Brookes, doe in my teares augment.
Rocks, woods, hills, caues, dales, meades, brooks anſwer mee.
Infected mindes infect each thing they ſee.
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
¶Of diſdainefull
Daphne.
SHall I ſay that I loue you,
Daphne diſdainfull?
Sore it coſts as I proue you,
louing is painefull.
Shall I ſay what doth grieue me?
Louers lament it:
Daphne will not relieue me,
late I repent it.
Shall I die, ſhall I periſh,
through her vnkindneſſe?
Loue vntaught loue to cheriſh,
ſheweth his blindneſſe.
Shall the hills, ſhall the valleyes,
the fields, the Citie,
With the ſound of my out-cries,
moue her to pittie?
The deepe falls of faire Riuers,
and the windes turning:
Are the true Muſicke giuers
vnto my mourning.
Where my Flockes daily feeding,
pining for ſorrow:
At their Maiſters heart bleeding,
ſhot with Loues arrow.
From her eyes to my heart-ſtring,
was the ſhaft launced:
It made all the Woods to ring
by which it glaunced.
When this Nimph had vs'd me ſo,
then ſhe did hide her:
Hapleſſe I did Daphne know,
hapleſſe I ſpied her.
Thus Turtle-like I wail'd me,
for my Loues looſing:
Daphnes truſt thus did faile me,
woe worth ſuch chooſing.
FINIS.
M. N. Howell.
¶The paſſionate Shepheard to his Loue.
COme liue with me, and be my Loue,
And we will all the pleaſures proue,
That Vallies, Groues, hills and fields,
Woods, or ſteepie mountaines yeelds.
And we will ſit vpon the Rockes,
Seeing the Shepheards feede their Flockes,
By ſhallow Riuers, to whoſe falls,
Melodious birds ſings Madrigalls.
And I will make thee beds of Roſes,
And a thouſand fragrant poeſies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Imbroydered all with leaues of Mirtle.
A gowne made of the fineſt wooll,
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull,
Faire lined ſlippers for the cold:
With buckles of the pureſt gold.
A belt of ſtraw, and Iuie buds,
With Corall claſps and Amber ſtuds,
And if theſe pleaſures may thee moue,
Come liue with me and be my Loue.
The Shepheard Swaines ſhall dance and ſing,
For thy delight each May-morning,
If theſe delights thy minde may moue;
Then liue with me, and be my Loue.
FINIS.
Chr. Marlow.
¶The Nimphs reply to the Shepheard.
IF all the world and loue were young,
And truth in euery Shepheards tongue,
Theſe pretty pleaſures might me moue,
To liue with thee, and be thy Loue.
Time driues the Flockes from field to fold,
When Riuers rage, and Rockes grow cold,
And Philomell becommeth dombe,
The reſt complaines of cares to come.
The flowers doe fade, and wanton fields,
To wayward Winter reckoning yeelds,
A hony tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancies ſpring, but ſorrowes fall.
Thy gownes, thy ſhooes, thy beds of Roſes,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy poſies,
Soone breake, ſoone wither, ſoone forgotten:
In folly ripe, in reaſon rotten.
Thy belt of ſtraw and Iuie buds,
Thy Corall claſpes and Amber ſtuds,
All theſe in me no meanes can moue,
To come to thee, and be thy Loue.
But could youth laſt, and loue ſtill breede,
Had ioyes no date, nor age no neede,
Then theſe delights my minde might moue,
To liue with thee, and be thy Loue.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶Another of the ſame nature, made ſince.
COme liue with me, and be my deere,
And we will reuell all the yeere,
In plaines and groues, on hills and dales:
Where fragrant ayre breedes ſweeteſt gales.
There ſhall you haue the beauteous Pine,
The Cedar, and the ſpreading Vine,
And all the woods to be a Skreene:
Leaſt Phoebus kiſſe my Sommers Queene.
The ſeate for your diſport ſhall be
Ouer ſome Riuer in a tree,
Where ſiluer ſands, and pebbles ſing,
Eternall ditties with the ſpring.
There ſhall you ſee the Nimphs at play,
And how the Satires ſpend the day,
The fiſhes gliding on the ſands:
Offering their bellies to your hands.
The birds with heauenly tuned throtes,
Poſſeſſe woods Ecchoes with ſweet notes,
Which to your ſenſes will impart
A muſique to enflame the hart.
Vpon the bare and leafe-leſſe Oake,
The Ring-Doues woings will prouoke
A colder blood then you poſſeſſe,
To play with me and doe no leſſe.
In bowers of Laurell trimly dight,
We will out-weare the ſilent night,
While Flora buſie is to ſpread:
Her richeſt treaſure on our bed.
Ten thouſand Glow-wormes ſhall attend,
And all their ſparkling lights ſhall ſpend,
All to adorne and beautifie:
Your lodging with moſt maieſtie.
Then in mine armes will I encloſe
Lillies faire mixture with the Roſe.
Whoſe nice perfections in loues play:
Shall tune me to the higheſt key.
Thus as we paſſe the welcome night,
In ſportfull pleaſures and delight,
The nimble Fairies on the grounds,
Shall daunce and ſing mellodious ſounds.
If theſe may ſerue for to entice,
Your preſence to Loues Paradice,
Then come with me, and be my deare:
And we will ſtrait begin the yeare.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶Two Paſtorals, vpon three friends meeting.
IOyne mates in mirth to me,
Grant pleaſure to our meeting:
Let Pan our good God ſee,
How gratefull is our greeting.
Ioyne hearts and hands, ſo let it be.
Make but one minde in bodies three.
Ye Hymnes and ſinging skill
Of God Apolloes giuing,
Be preſt our reeds to fill,
With ſound of muſicke liuing.
Ioyne hearts and hands, &c.
Sweet Orpheus Harpe, whoſe ſound
The ſtedfaſt mountaines moued,
Let here thy skill abound,
To ioyne ſweet friends beloued.
Ioyne hearts and hands, &c.
My two and I be met,
A happy bleſſed Trinitie,
As three moſt ioyntly ſet,
In firmeſt hand of vnitie.
Ioyne hearts and hands, &c.
Welcome my two to me, E.D. F.G. P.S.
The number beſt beloued,
Within my heart you be
In friendſhip vnremoued.
Ioyne hands, &c.
Giue leaue your flocks to range,
Let vs the while be playing,
Within the Elmy grange,
Your flocks will not be ſtraying.
Ioyne hands, &c.
Cauſe all the mirth you can,
Since I am now come hither,
Who neuer ioy but when
I am with you together.
Ioyne hands, &c.
Like louers doe their loue,
So ioy I in your ſeeing:
Let nothing me remoue
From alwaies with you being.
Ioyne hands, &c.
And as the turtle Doue
To mate with whom he liueth,
Such comfort, feruent loue
Of you to my heart giueth.
Ioyne hands, &c.
Now ioyned be our hands,
Let them be ne're aſunder,
But linkt in binding bands
By metamorphoz'd wonder.
So ſhould our ſeuered bodies three
As one for euer ioyned be.
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
The wood-mans walke.
THrough a faire Forreſt as I went
vpon a Sommers day,
I met a Wood-man quaint and gent,
yet in a ſtrange aray.
I maruail'd much at his diſguiſe,
whom I did know ſo well:
But thus in tearmes both graue and wiſe,
his minde he gan to tell.
Friend, muſe not at this fond aray,
but liſt a while to me:
For it hath holpe me to ſuruay
what I ſhall ſhew to thee.
Long liu'd I in this Forreſt faire,
till wearie of my weale
Abroad in walkes I would repaire,
as now I will reueale.
My firſt dayes walke was to the Court,
where beautie fed mine eyes:
Yet found I that the Courtly ſport,
did maske in ſlie diſguiſe.
For falſehood ſate in faireſt lookes,
and friend to friend was coy:
Court-fauour fill'd but emptie bookes,
and there I found no ioy.
Deſert went naked in the colde,
when crouching craft was fed:
Sweet words were cheaply bought and ſolde,
but none that ſtood in ſted.
Wit was imployed for each mans owne,
plaine meaning came too ſhort:
All theſe deuiſes ſeene and knowne,
made me forſake the Court.
Vnto the Cittie next I went,
in hope of better hap:
Where liberally I lanch'd and ſpent,
as ſet on Fortunes lap.
The little ſtock I had in ſtore,
me thought would nere be done:
Friends flockt about me more and more,
as quickely loſt as wone.
For when I ſpent, then they were kinde,
but when my purſe did faile:
The foremoſt man came laſt behinde,
thus loue with wealth doth quaile.
Once more for footing yet I ſtroue,
although the world did frowne:
But they before that held me vp,
together troad me downe.
And leaſt once more I ſhould ariſe,
they ſought my quite decay:
Then got I into this diſguiſe,
and thence I ſtole away.
And in my minde (me thought) I ſaid,
Lord bleſſe mee from the Cittie:
Where ſimplenes is thus betraide,
and no remorce or pittie.
Yet would I not giue ouer ſo,
but once more trie my fate:
And to the Country then I goe,
to liue in quiet ſtate.
There did appeare no ſubtile ſhowes,
but yea and nay went ſmoothly:
But Lord how Country-folkes can gloſe,
when they ſpeake moſt vntruely?
More craft was in a buttond cap,
and in old wiues raile:
Then in my life it was my hap,
to ſee on Downe or Dale.
There was no open forgerie,
but vnder-handed gleaning:
Whch they call Countrie pollicie,
but hath a worſer meaning,
Some good bold-face beares out the wrong,
becauſe he gaines thereby:
The poore mans backe is crackt ere long,
yet there he lets him lie.
And no degree among them all,
but had ſuch cloſe intending,
That I vpon my knees did fall,
and prayed for their amending.
Back to the woods I got againe,
in minde perplexed ſore:
Where I found eaſe of all this paine,
and meane to ſtray no more.
There, Citty, Court, nor Country to,
can any way annoy me:
But as a wood-man ought to doe,
I freely may imploy me.
There liue I quietly alone,
and none to trip my talke:
Wherefore when I am dead and gone,
thinke on the Wood-mans walke.
FINIS.
Shep. Tonie.
¶
Thirſis the Shepheard, to his Pipe.
LIke Deſert woods, with darkeſome ſhades obſcured,
Where dreadfull beaſts, where hatefull horror raigneth:
Such is my wounded hart, whom ſorrow paineth.
The trees are fatall ſhafts, to death inured,
That cruell loue within my breaſt maintaineth.
To whet my griefe, when as my ſorrow waineth.
The ghaſtly beaſts, my thoughts in cares aſſures,
Which wage me warre, while hart no ſuccour gaineth:
With falſe ſuſpect, and feare that ſtill remaineth.
The horrors, burning ſighs by cares procured,
Which forth I ſend, whileſt weeping eye complaineth:
To coole the heate, the helpeleſſe hart containeth.
But ſhafts, but cares, but ſighs, horrors vnrecured,
Were nought eſteem'd, if for theſe paines awarded:
My faithfull loue by her might be regarded.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
An Heroicall Poeme.
MY wanton Muſe that whilome wont to ſing,
Faire beauties praiſe and Venus ſweet delight,
Of late had chang'd the tenor of her ſtring
To higher tunes then ſerue for Cupids fight.
Shrill Trumpets ſound, ſharpe ſwords and Lances ſtrong,
Warre, bloud and death, were matter of her ſong.
The God of Loue by chance had heard thereof,
That I was prou'd a rebell to his crowne,
Fit words for warre, quoth he, with angry ſcoffe,
A likely man to write of Mars his frowne.
Well are they ſped whoſe praiſes he ſhall write,
Whoſe wanton Pen can nought but loue indite.
This ſaid, he whiskt his party-colour'd wings,
And downe to earth he comes more ſwift then thought,
Then to my heart in angry haſte he flings,
To ſee what change theſe newes of warres had wrought.
He pries, and lookes, he ranſacks eu'ry vaine,
Yet finds he nought, ſaue loue, and louers paine.
Then I that now perceiu'd his needleſſe feare,
With heauie ſmile began to plead my cauſe:
In vaine (quoth I) this endleſſe griefe I beare,
In vaine I ſtriue to keepe thy grieuous Lawes,
If after proofe, ſo often truſty found,
Vniuſt ſuſpect condemne me as vnſound.
Is this the guerdon of my faithfull heart?
Is this the hope on which my life is ſtaide?
Is this the eaſe of neuer-ceaſing ſmart?
Is this the price that for my paines is paide?
Yet better ſerue fierce Mars in bloudie field,
Where death, or conqueſt, end or ioy doth yeeld.
Long haue I ſeru'd, what is my pay but paine?
Oft haue I ſude, what gaine I but delay?
My faithfull loue is quited with diſdaine,
My griefe a game, my pen is made a play.
Yea loue that doth in other fauour finde,
In me is counted madneſſe out of kinde.
And laſt of all, but grieuous moſt of all,
Thy ſelfe, ſweet loue, hath kild me with ſuſpect:
Could loue beleeue, that I from loue would fall?
Is warre of force to make me loue neglect.
No, Cupid knowes, my minde is faſter ſet,
Then that by warre I ſhould my loue forget.
My Muſe indeed to warre enclines her minde,
The famous acts of worthy Brute to write:
To whom the Gods this Ilands rule aſſignde,
Which long he ſought by Seas through Neptunes ſpight,
With ſuch conceits my buſie head doth ſwell.
But in my heart nought elſe but loue doth dwell.
And in this warre thy part is not the leaſt,
Here ſhall my muſe Brutes noble Loue declare:
Here ſhalt thou ſee thy double loue increaſt,
Of faireſt twins that euer Lady bare:
Let Mars triumph in armour ſhining bright,
His conquerd armes ſhall be thy triumphs light.
As he the world, ſo thou ſhalt him ſubdue,
And I thy glory through the world will ring,
So by my paines, thou wilt vouchſafe to rue,
And kill deſpaire. With that he whis'kt his wing.
And bid me write, and promiſt wiſhed reſt,
But ſore I feare falſe hope will be the beſt.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶An excellent Sonnet of a Nimph.
VErtue, beautie, and ſpeech, did ſtrike, wound, charme,
My heart, eyes, eares, with wonder, loue, delight:
Firſt, ſecond, laſt, did binde, enforce, and arme,
His works, ſhowes, ſutes, with wit, grace, and vowes-might:
Thus honour, liking, truſt, much, farre, and deepe,
Held, pearſt, poſſeſt, my iudgement, ſence, and will;
Till wrongs, contempt, deceite, did grow, ſteale, creepe,
Bands, fauour, faith, to breake, defile, and kill.
Then griefe, vnkindnes, proofe, tooke, kindled, taught,
Well grounded, noble, due, ſpite, rage, diſdaine:
But ah, alas, (in vaine) my minde, ſight, thought,
Doth him, his face, his words, leaue, ſhunne, refraine.
For nothing, time, nor place, can looſe, quench, eaſe:
Mine owne, embraced, ſought, knot, fire, diſeaſe.
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
¶A Report Song in a dreame, betweene a Shepheard and his Nimph.
SHall we goe daunce the hay? The hay?
Neuer pipe could euer play
better Shepheards Roundelay.
Shall we goe ſing the Song? The Song?
Neuer Loue did euer wrong:
faire Maides holde hands all a-long.
Shall we goe learne to woo? To woo?
Neuer thought came euer to,
better deed could better doe.
Shall we goe learne to kiſſe? To kiſſe?
Neuer hart could euer miſſe
comfort, where true meaning is.
Thus at baſe thy run, They run,
When the ſport was ſcarſe begun:
but I awak't, and all was done.
FINIS.
N. Breton.
¶Another of the ſame.
SAy that I ſhould ſay, I loue ye?
would you ſay, tis but a ſaying?
But if Loue in prayers moue ye?
will you not be mou'd with praying?
Thinke I thinke that Loue ſhould know ye?
will you thinke, tis but a thinking?
But if Loue the thought doe ſhow ye,
will ye looſe your eyes with winking?
Write that I doe write you bleſſed,
will you write, tis but a writing?
But if truth and Loue confeſſe it:
will ye doubt the true enditing?
No, I ſay, and thinke, and write it,
write, and thinke, and ſay your pleaſure:
Loue, and truth, and I endite it,
you are bleſſed out of meaſure.
FINIS.
N. Breton.
¶The Louers abſence kils me, her preſence kils me.
THE frozen Snake oppreſt with heaped ſnow
By ſtrugling hard gets out her tender head,
And ſpies farre off from where ſhe lies below
The winter Sunne that from the North is fled.
But all in vaine ſhe lookes vpon the light,
Where heate is wanting to reſtore her might.
What doth it helpe a wretch in priſon pent,
Long time with biting hunger ouer-preſt,
To ſee without, or ſmell within, the ſent,
Of daintie fare for others tables dreſt?
Yet Snake and pris'ner both behold the thing,
The which (but not with ſight) might comfort bring.
Such is my ſtate, or worſe if worſe may be,
My heart oppreſt with heauie froſt of care,
Debar'd of that which is moſt deere to me,
Kild vp with cold, and pinde with euill fare,
And yet I ſee the thing might yeeld reliefe,
And yet the ſight doth breed my greater griefe.
So Thiſoe ſaw her Louer through the wall,
And ſaw thereby ſhe wanted that ſhe ſaw:
And ſo I ſee, and ſeeing want withall,
And wanting ſo, vnto my death I draw.
And ſo my death were twenty times my friend,
If with this verſe my hated life might end.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
¶The Shepheards conceit of
Prometheus.
PRometheus, when firſt from heauen hie,
He brought downe fire, ere then on earth vnſeene:
Fond of delight, a Satyre ſtanding by,
Gaue it a kiſſe, as it like ſweet had beene.
Feeling forth-with the other burning power,
Wood with the ſmart, with ſhoutes and ſhrikings ſhrill:
He ſought his caſe in Riuer, Field, and bower,
But for the time his griefe went with him ſtill.
So ſilly I, with that vnwonted ſight.
In humane ſhape, an Angell from aboue:
Feeding mine eyes, th'impreſſion there did light,
That ſince I runne, and reſt as pleaſeth Loue,
The difference is, the Satires lips, my heart,
He for a while, I euermore haue ſmart.
FINIS.
S. E. D.
Another of the ſame.
A Satyre once did runne away for dread,
with ſound of Horne, which he him-ſelfe did blow:
Fearing, and feared thus, from him-ſelfe hee fled,
deeming ſtrange euill in that he did not know.
Such cauſeleſſe feares, when coward mindes doe take,
it makes them flie that which they faine would haue:
As this poore beaſt, who did his reſt forſake,
thinking not why, but how him-ſelfe to ſaue.
Euen thus mought I, for doubts which I conceaue
of mine owne words, mine owne good hap betray:
And thus might I, for feare of may be, leaue
the ſweet purſute of my deſired pray.
Better like I thy Satire, deareſt Dyer:
Who burnt his lips, to kiſſe faire ſhining fier.
FINIS.
S. Phil. Sidney.
¶The Shepheards Sunne.
FAire Nimphs, ſit ye here by me,
on this flowrie greene:
While we this merrie day doe ſee,
ſome things but ſildome ſeene.
Shepheards all, now come ſit a round,
on yond checkquer'd plaine:
While from the Woods we here reſound,
ſome comfort for Loues paine.
Euery bird ſits on his bough,
As brag as he that is the beſt:
Then ſweet Loue, reueale how
our mindes may be at reſt.
Eccho thus replied to mee,
Sit vnder yonder Beechen tree,
And there Loue ſhall ſhew thee
how all may be redreſt.
Harke, harke, harke the Nightingale,
in her mourning lay:
She tells her ſtories wofull tale,
to warne yee if ſhe may.
Faire Maides, take yee heede of loue,
it is a perilous thing:
As Philomell her ſelfe did proue,
abuſed by a King.
If Kings play falſe, beleeue no men.
That make a ſeemely outward ſhow:
But caught once, beware then,
for then begins your woe.
They will looke babies in your eyes,
And ſpeake ſo faire as faire may be:
But truſt them in no wiſe,
example take by me.
Fie, fie, ſaid the Threſtle-cocke,
you are much too blame:
For one mans fault, all men to blot,
impairing their good name.
Admit you were vs'd amiſſe,
by that vngentle King,
It followes not that you for this,
ſhould all mens honours wring.
There be good, and there be bad,
And ſome are falſe, and ſome are true:
As good choyſe is ſtill had
amongſt vs men, as you.
Women haue faults as well as wee,
Some ſay for our one, they haue three.
Then ſmite not, nor bite not,
when you as faultie be.
Peace, peace, quoth Madge-Howlet then,
ſitting out of ſight:
For women are as good as men,
and both are good alike.
Not ſo, ſaid the little Wrenne,
difference there may be:
The Cocke alway commands the Henne,
the men ſhall goe for me.
Then Robbin-Redbreſt ſtepping in,
Would needes take vp this tedious ſtrife,
Proteſting, true louing,
In either lengthened life.
If I loue you, and you loue me,
Can there be better harmonie?
Thus ending, contending,
Loue muſt the vmpiere be.
Faire Nimphs, Loue muſt be your guide,
chaſt, vnſpotted loue:
To ſuch as doe your thralls betide,
reſolu'd without remoue.
Likewiſe iolly Shepheard Swaines
if you doe reſpect,
The happy iſſue of your paines,
true loue muſt you direct.
You heare the birds contend for loue.
The bubling ſprings doe ſing ſweet loue,
The Mountaines and Fountaines
doe Eccho nought but loue.
Take hands then Nimphes and Shepheards all
And to this Riuers muſickes fall
Sing true loue, and chaſt loue
begins our Feſtiuall.
FINIS.
Shep. Tonie.
¶Loue the onely price of loue.
THe faireſt Pearles that Northerne Seas doe breed,
For precious ſtones from Eaſterne coaſts are ſold.
Nought yeelds the earth that from exchange is freed,
Gold values all, and all things value Gold.
Where goodnes wants an equall change to make,
There greatneſſe ſerues, or number place doth take.
No mortall thing can beare ſo high a price,
But that with mortall thing it may be bought,
The corne of Sicill buies the Weſterne ſpice,
French wine of vs, of them our cloath is ſought.
No pearles, no gold, no ſtones, no corne, no ſpice.
No cloath, no wine, of loue can pay the price.
What thing is loue, which nought can counteruaile?
Nought ſaue it ſelfe, eu'n ſuch a thing is loue.
All worldly wealth in worth as farre doth faile,
As loweſt earth doth yeeld to heau'n aboue.
Diuine is loue, and ſcorneth worldly pelfe,
And can be bought with nothing, but with ſelfe.
Such is the price my louing heart would pay,
Such is the pay thy loue doth claime as due.
Thy due is loue, which I (poore I) aſſay,
In vaine aſſay to quite with friendſhip true:
True is my loue, and true ſhall euer be,
And trueſt loue is farre too baſe for thee.
Loue but thy ſelfe, and loue thy ſelfe alone,
For ſaue thy ſelfe, none can thy loue require:
All mine thou haſt, but all as good as none,
My ſmall deſart muſt take a lower flight.
Yet if thou wilt vouchſafe my heart ſuch bliſſe,
Accept it for thy priſoner as it is.
FINIS
Ignoto.
¶
Colin the enamoured Shepheard, ſingeth this paſſion of loue.
O Gentle Loue, vngentle for thy deede,
thou makeſt my heart,
a bloodie marke,
With piercing ſhot to bleede.
Shoote ſoft ſweet Loue, for feare thou ſhoote amiſſe,
for feare too keene,
thy arrowes beene:
And hit the heart, where my beloued is.
Too faire that fortune were, nor neuer I
ſhall be ſo bleſt,
among the reſt:
That loue ſhall ceaze on her by ſimpathie.
Then ſince with Loue my prayers beare no boote,
this doth remaine,
to eaſe my paine,
I take the wound, and die at
Ʋenus foote.
FINIS.
Geo. Peele.
¶Oenones complaint in blanke verſe.
MElpomene the Muſe of tragicke Songs,
With mournfull tunes in ſtole of diſmall hue,
Aſſiſt a ſilly Nimph to waile her woe,
And leaue thy luſtie company behind.
This luckleſſe wreathe becomes not me to weare,
The Poplar tree for triumph of my loue,
Then as my ioy, my pride of loue is left;
Be thou vncloathed of thy louely greene.
And in thy leaues my fortunes written be,
And then ſome gentle winde let blow abroad,
That all the world may ſee, how falſe of loue,
Falſe Paris hath to his Oenone beene.
FINIS.
Geo. Peele.
¶The Shepheards Conſort.
HArke iolly Shepheards,
harke yond luſtie ringing:
How cheerefully the Bells daunce,
the whilſt the Lads are ſpringing?
Goe we then, why ſit we here delaying:
And all yond merrie wanton Laſſes playing?
How gaily Flora leades it,
and ſweetly treads it?
The Woods and Groues they ring,
louely reſounding:
With Ecchoes ſweet rebounding.
FINIS.
Out of M. Morleys Madrigals.
¶
Thirſis praiſe of his Mistreſſe.
ON a hill that grac'd the plaine
Thirſis ſate, a comely Swaine,
Comelier Swaine nere grac'd a hill:
Whilſt his Flocke that wandred nie
Cropt the greene graſſe buſilie,
Thus he tun'd his Oaten quill.
Ʋer hath made the pleaſant field
Many ſeu'rall odours yeeld,
Odors aromaticall:
From faire Astra's cherrie lip,
Sweeter ſmells for euer skip,
They in pleaſing paſſen all.
Leauie Groues now mainely ring,
With each ſweet birds ſonnetting,
Notes that make the Eccho's long:
But when Astra tunes her voyce,
All the mirthfull birds reioyce,
And are liſt'ning to her Song.
Fairely ſpreads the Damaske Roſe,
Whoſe rare mixture doth diſcloſe
Beauties, penſils cannot faine:
Yet if Astra paſſe the buſh,
Roſes haue beene ſeene to bluſh,
She doth all their beauties ſtaine.
Phoebus ſhining bright in skie
Gilds the floods, heates mountaines hie,
With his beames all-quickning fire:
Astra's eyes, (moſt ſparkling ones)
Strikes a heate in hearts of ſtones,
And enflames them with deſire.
Fields are bleſt with flowrie wreath,
Ayre is bleſt when ſhe doth breath,
Birds make happy eu'ry Groue,
She each Bird when ſhe doth ſing,
Phoebus heate to earth doth bring,
She makes Marble fall in loue.
Thoſe, bleſſings of the earth, we Swaines doe call:
Astra can bleſſe thoſe bleſſings earth and all.
FINIS.
W. Browne.
A defiance to diſdainefull Loue.
NOw haue I learn'd with much adoe at laſt,
By true diſdaine to kill deſire,
This was the marke at which I ſhot ſo faſt,
Vnto this height I did aſpire.
Proud Loue, now doe thy worſt, and ſpare not,
For thee and all thy ſhafts I care not.
What haſt thou left wherewith to moue my minde?
What life to quicken dead deſire?
I count thy words and oathes as light as winde,
I feele no heate in all thy fire.
Goe change thy bow, and get a ſtronger,
Goe breake thy ſhafts, and buy thee longer.
In vaine thou bait'ſt thy hooke with beauties blaze,
In vaine thy wanton eyes allure.
Theſe are but toyes, for them that loue to gaze,
I know what harme thy lookes procure:
Some ſtrange conceit muſt be deuiſed,
Or thou and all thy skill deſpiſed.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
An Epithalamium; or a Nuptiall Song, applied to the Ceremonies of Marriage.
Sunne riſing.
AVrora's Bluſh (the Enſigne of the Day)
Hath wak't the God of Light, from Tythons bowre,
Who on our Bride, and Bride-groome doth diſplay
His golden Beames, auſpitious to this Howre.
Strewing of Flowers.Now buſie Maydens ſtrew ſweet Flowres,
Much like our Bride in Virgin ſtate;
Now freſh, then preſt, ſoone dying,
The death is ſweet, and muſt be yours,
Time goes on Croutches till that date,
Birds ſledg'd, muſt needes be flying.
Leade on whiles Phoebus Lights, and Hymens Fires,
Enflame each Heart with Zeale to Loues Deſires.
Chorus. Io to Hymen, Paeans ſing
To Hymen, and my Muſes King.
Going to Church. Bride Boyes.Forth honour'd Groome; behold not farre behind
Your willing Bride; led by two ſtrengthleſſe Boyes;
For Venus Doues, or Thred but ſingle twin'd
May draw a Virgin, light in Marriage Ioyes:
Veſta growes pale, her Flame expires
As yee come vnder Iunos Phane,
To offer at Ioues Shrine
The ſimpathie of Hearts deſires
Knitting the Knot, that doth containe
Two ſoules, in Gordian Twine.
The Rites are done; and now (as 'tis the guiſe)
Loues Faſt by Day, a Feaſt muſt ſolemnize.
Chorus. Io to Hymen; Paeans ſing,
To Hymen, and my Muſes King.
The Board being ſpread, furniſh't with various Plenties;Dinner.
The Brides faire Obiect in the Middle plac'd;
While ſhe drinkes Nectar, eates Ambroſiall dainties,
And like a Goddeſſe is admir'd and grac'd:
Bacchus and Ceres fill their veines;
Each Heart begins to ope a vent;
And now the Healths goe round;
Their Bloods are warm'd; chear'd are their Braines
All doe applaud their Loues Conſent;
So Loue with Cheare is crown'd.
Let ſenſuall ſoules ioy in full Bowles ſweet Diſhes;
True Hearts, and Tongues, accordin ioyfull wiſhes.
Chorus. Io to Hymen, &c.
Now whiles ſlow Howres doe feede the Times delay,After-Noone Muſicke.
Confus'd diſcourſe, with Muſicke mixt among,
Fills vp the ſemy-circle of the Day;
Now drawes the date our Louers wiſh'd ſo long.
A bounteous Hand the Board hath ſpred;Supper.
Lyeus ſtirres their Bloods a-new;
All louiall full of cheare;
But Phoebus ſee, is gone to Bed;Sunne ſet.
Loe Heſperus appeares in view,
And twinckles in his ſphere.
Now ne plus vltra; end, as you begin;
Yee waſte good Howres; Time loſt in Loue, is ſin.
Chorus. Io to Hymen, &c.
Breake off your Complement; Muſick, be dombe,
And pull your Caſes o're your Fiddles cares;
Cry not, a Hall, a Hall; but Chamber-roome;
Dauncing is lame; Youth's, old at twentie yeares.
Going to Bed.Matrons; yee know what followes next;
Conduct the ſhame-fac'd Bride to Bed,
(Though to her little reſt)
Yee well can comment on the Text,
And in Loues learning deepely read,
Aduiſe, and teach the beſt.
Forward's the Word; y'are all ſo in this Arrant;
Wiues giue the Word; their Husbands giue the Warrant.
Chorus. Io to Hymen, &c.
Modeſtie in the Bride.Now droopes our Bride, and in her Ʋirgin ſtate,
Seemes like Electra 'mongst the Pleyades;
So ſhrinkes a Mayde when her Herculean Mate
Muſt plucke the fruit in her Heſperides.
As ſhe's a Bride, ſhe glorious ſhines,
Like Cynthia, from the Sunnes bright Sphaere,
Attracting all mens Eyes;
But as ſhe's Ʋirgin, waines, and pines,
As to the Man ſhe' approcheth neere;
So Mayden glory dies.
But Virgin Beames no reall brightneſſe render;
If they doe ſhine, in darke they ſhew their ſplendor.
Chorus. Io to Hymen, &c.
Then let the darke Foyle of the Geniall Bed
Extend her brightneſſe to his inward ſight,
And by his ſence he will be eaſly led
To know her vertue, by the abſent light.
Youth's; take his Poynts; your wonted right;Bride Poynts. Garters.
And Maydens; take your due, her Garters;
Take hence the Lights; be gone;
Loue calls to Armes, Duell his Fight;
Then all remoue out of his Quarters,
And leaue them both alone:
That with ſubstantiall heate, they may embrace,
And know Loues Eſſence, with his outward grace.
Chorus. Io to Hymen, &c.
Hence Iealouſie, Riuall to Loues delight;
Sowe not thy ſeede of ſtrife in theſe two Harts;
May neuer cold affect, or ſpleenefull ſpight,
Confound this Muſicke of agreeing parts:
But Time (that ſteales the virtuall heate
Where Nature keepes the vitall fire)
(My Heart ſpeakes in my Tongue)
Supply with Fewell Lifes chiefe ſeate,
Through the ſtrong feruour of Deſire;
Loue, liuing; and liue long.
And eu'n as Thunder riſeth gainſt the Winde;
So may yee fight with Age; and conquer Kinde
Chorus. Io to Hymen; Paeans ſing
To Hymen, and my Muſes King.
FINIS.
Chriſtopher Brooke.