Britannia's pastorals. The first booke Browne, William, 1590-ca. 1645. 1625 Approx. 531 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 177 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-11 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A17042 STC 3916 ESTC S105932 99841657 99841657 6255

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A17042) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 6255) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1441:01) Britannia's pastorals. The first booke Browne, William, 1590-ca. 1645. [16], 140 [i.e. 142], [14], 179, [1] p. : ill. Printed by Iohn Hauiland, London : 1625. Dedication signed: W. Brovvne. In verse. Book 2 has separate dated title page and pagination; register is continuous. P. 142 (first series) misnumbered 140. The title page to Book 2 is conjugate, with "Haviland" in the imprint. Variant 1: title page is a cancel, with "Haviland" in the imprint. Variant 2: title page is conjugate, with misprint "Havilad". Reproduction of the original in the University of Illinois (Urbana-Champaign Campus). Library.

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BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.

The first Booke.

HORAT.

Carmine Dij superi placantur, carmine Manes.

LONDON, Printed by IOHN HAVILAND. 1625.

TO THE NO LESSE ENOBLED BY VERTVE, THEN ANCIENT IN NOBILITIE, the Right Honorable EDVVARD Lord Zouch, Saint-Maure, and Cantelupe, and one of his MAIESTIES most Honourable Priuie COVNCELL. HOnors bright Ray, More highly crown'd with Vertue thē with yeares, Pardon a Rusticke Muse that thus appeares In Shepheards gray, Intreating your attention to a Lay Fitting a Siluan Bowre, not Courtly Traines; Such choiser eares, Should haue Apollo's Priests, not Pans rude But if the Musick of contented Plaines (Swaines: A thought vpreares For your approuement of that part she beares, When time (that Embrions to perfection brings) Hath taught her straines, May better boast their being from the Spring Where braue Heroes worths the Sisters sing: (In Lines whose raignes In spight of Enuy and her restlesse paines: Be vnconfin'd as blest eternitie:) The Vales shall ring Thy Honor'd Name; and euery Song shall be A Pyramis built to thy Memorie. Your Honors: W. BROVVNE.
To the Reader. THE times are swolne so big with nicer wits, That nought sounds good but what Opinion strikes Censure with Iudgement seld together sits; And now the Man more then the Matter likes. The great Rewardresse of a Poets Pen, Fame, is by those so clogg'd shee seldome flyes, The Muses sitting on the graues of men, Singing that Vertue liues and neuer dyes, Are chas'd away by the malignant Tongues Of such, by whom Detraction is ador'd: Hence growes the want of euer-liuing Songs, With which our Ile was whilome brauely stor'd. If such a Basiliske dart downe his Eye, (Impoyson'd with the dregs of vtmost hate) To kill the first Bloomes of my Poesie, It is his worst, and makes me fortunate. Kinde wits I vaile to, but to fooles precise I am as confident as they are nice. From the Inner Temple, Iune the 18. 1613. W. B.
IN Bucolica G. BROVN. Quod, per secessus Rustici otia, Licuit ad Amic. & Bon. Lit. amantiss. ANACREONTICVM. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 , 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 .
Ad Amoris Numina. QVin vostrum Paphie, Anteros, Erós que Vt Regnum capiat mali quid, absit! Venus, per Syrium nimis venustum! Amplexus teneros, pares, suaues Psyches, per, tibi, Basiationum Eros quantum erat! & per Anterotis Fo li •• s Animas! periclitanti Ob •• stor, dubiae que consulatis ei vostrae! Miserûm magis fauete anguori, Miserûm fauete Amantum, Dini, cordolio! Quod est amatum Ictu propitij ferite pectus! Ictus quin sit ab aurea sagitta! Ortas Spe placita fouete flammas! Ortis quin Similes parate flammas! Suas gnauitèr ambiant Am ca, Domina (nostr idiomate amatorio, Mistresse) & Neaera sunt vtisynonyma Prudentio, ante alios, Peri Steph. hymn. 12. & alic bi. v. siplacet & os. Scalig. ad 3. Tibul i. Neaeras! Et cautìm laciant suos Neaerae! Dextras sternuit adprobationes! Adsuctis detur Osculum labellis! Et iunctis detur Osculum saliuis! Tui Nectaris adde, Diua, Horat. Carm. 1. od. 3. quinctam Conturbet tremulae libido linguae, Ne quis Basia Ne scili et quis pernumer t. Finitus . & •• tus numerus ••• cino, apud Veteres, obnoxius. dq in Ba ij obseruat m habes ap. Catul arm. 5. & 7. fascinare possit! Morsus mutua temperet voluptas! Dormitis, nimium que defuistis Procis, at que Adamantinis Puellis. Isthaec prospiciens tibi, Cupido, Audax admonui. Tuas Apollo, Deus que Arcadiae, Minerua, & Hermes Supplantant Veneres. Murinus arcum Tendit, quin iaculis tuâ pharetrâ Surreptis petimur. Camena texit Cantu daedala, blandulum Aphrodites Cestum, & insidias plicat. Mineruae Buxus, Mercurij Chelys, Cicuta Fauni, dulce melos canunt. Erota En, olìm Amor à Pastore omne genus Musices olim doctus. B on Idyll. 3. docuit, plagas Eroti Iam tendit, Iuuenis, Poëta, Pastor, Isthac prospiciens tibi Cupido, Audax admonui. Faue Cupido.
BY THE SAME. SO much a Stranger my Soueror Muse Is not to Loue-straines, or a Shepwards Reed, But that She knowes some Rites of Phoebus dues, Of Pan, of Pallas, and hir Sisters meed. Reade and Commend She durst these tun'd essaies Or Him that loues her (She hath euer found Hir studies as one circle.) Next She prayes His Readers be with Rose and Myrtle crown'd! No Willow touch them! As His Bases ( aire Readers) being the materials of Poets Girlands. (as My tle and Roses are for en o ing ouers, and the 〈◊〉 Willow for them which your vnconstancy, oo of, makes most vnhappy) are supposed not sub ect to any hurt of Iupiters thunderb l s, as other Trees are. Baies are free From wrong of Bolts, so may their Chaplets bee. I. SELDEN Iuris C.
To his Friend the AVTHOR. DRiue forth thy Flock, young Pastor, to that Plaine, Where our old Shepheards wont their flocks to feed; To those cleare walkes, where many a skilfull Swaine To'ards the calme eu'ning, tun'd his pleasant Reed. Those, to the Muses once so sacred, Downes, As no rude foot might there presume to stand: (Now made the way of the vnworthiest Clownes, Dig'd and plow'd vp with each vnhallowed hand) If possible thou canst, redeeme those places, Where, by the brim of many a Siluer Spring, The learned Maidens, and delightfull Graces Often haue sate to heare our Shepheards sing: Where on those Pines the neighb'ring Groues among, (Now vtterly neglected in these daies) Our Garlands, Pipes, and Cornamutes were hung The monuments of our deserued praise. So may thy Sheepe like, so thy Lambs increase, And from the Wolfe feed euer safe and free! So maist thou thriue, among the learned prease, As thou young Shepheard art belou'd of mee! MICHAEL DRAITON.
To his Ingenious and worthy Friend the AVTHOR. HE that will tune his Oaten-pipe aright, To great Apollo's Harp: he that will write A liuing Poem; must haue many yeeres, And setled iudgement 'mongst his equall peeres, In well-rig'd Barke to steere his doubtfull course; Lest secret, rocky Enuy, or the source Of froathy, but sky-towring Arrogance; Or fleeting, sandy vulgar-censure chance To leaue him ship-wrackt, on the desert Maine Imploring aged Neptunes help in vaine. The younger Cygnet, euen at best doth teare, With his harsh squealings, the melodious eare: It is the old, and dying Swan that sings Notes worthy life, worthy the Thespian Springs. But thou art young; and yet thy voice as sweet, Thy Verse as smooth, Composure as discreet As any Swans, whose tunefull Notes are spent On Thames his bancks; which makes me confident, He knowes no Musick, hath nor eares, nor tongue, That not commends a voice so sweet, so young.
On him; a Pastorall ODE to his fairest Shepheardesse. SYren more then earthly faire, Sweetly breake the yeelding Ayre: Sing on Albions whitest Rocks: Sing; whilst Willy to his Flocks, Deftly tunes his various Rèed. Sing; and hee, whilst younglings feed, Answer shall thy best of singing, With his Rurall Musicke bringing Equall pleasure; and requite Musickes sweets with like delight. What though Willyes Songs be plaine? Sweet they be: for hee's a Swaine Made of purer mould then earth, Him did Nature from his birth, And the Muses single out, For a second Colin Clout. Tityri •• ide him a Singer: Pan hi 〈◊〉 his Pipe to finger: Numbers, curious eares to please, Learn'd he of Philisides. Kala loues him: and the Lasses Point at him, as by he passes, Wishing neuer tongue that's bad Censure may so blithe a Lad. Therefore well can he requite Musicks sweets with like delight: Sing then; breake the yeelding ayre, Syren more then earthly faire. EDVVARD HEYVVARD, è So. Int. Templ.
To his Friend the AVTHOR vpon his Poem. THis Plant is kno lesse that puts forth these leaues, Vpon whose Branches I his praise doe sing: Fruitfull the Ground, whose verdure it receiues From fertile Nature, and the learned Spring. In zeale to Good; knowne, but vnpractiz'd Ill, Chast in his thoughts, though in his youthfull Prime, He writes of Past'rall Loue, with Nectar'd Quill, And offers vp his first Fruits vnto Time. Receiue them (Time) and in thy Border place them Among thy various Flowers of Poesie; No Enuy blast, nor Ignorance deface them, But keepe them fresh in fairest Memorie! And, when from Daphne's tree he plucks more Bait , His Shepheards Pipe may chant more heau'nly laies. CHRISTOPHER BROOKE.
ANAGRAMMA. GVILIELMVS BROVVNE. Ne vulgo Librum eius. SI vulgus gustare tuo velis apta palato; I, pete vulgares, ac aliunde, dapes. Nil vulgare sapit Liber hic; hinc vulgus abesto: Non nisi delicias haec tibi mensa dabit. FR: DYNNE, è So. Int. Templ.
To his Friend the Author ON (Iolly Lad) and hye thee to the Field Among the best Swains that the Vallies yeeld Goe boldly, and in presence of them all, Proceed a Shepheard with this Pastorall. Let Pan, and all his rurall Traine attending, From stately Mountaines to the Plaines descending, Salute this Pastor with their kinde embrace And entertaine him to their holy places, Let all the Nymphes of Hills and Dales together Kisse him for earnest of his welcome thither: Crowne him with Garlands of the choisest flowres, And make him euer dwell within their Bowres: For well I wote in all the Plaines around, There are but few such Shepheards to be found, That can such learned Layes and Ditties frame, Or aptly fit their tunes vnto the same. And let them all (if this young Swaine should die) Tune all their Reeds to sing his Memorie. THO. GARDINER, è So. Int. Templ.
To the AVTHOR. HAd I beheld thy Muse vpon the Stage, A Poesie in fashion with this age; Or had I seene, when first I view'd thy taske, An actiue wit dance in a Satyres Maske I should in th se haue prais'd thy Wit and Art, But not thy ground, A Poems better part: Which being the perfect'st Image of the Braine, Not fram'd to any base end, but to gaine True approbation of the Artists worth, When to an open view he sets it forth, Iudiciously, he striues; no lesse t'adorne By a choise Subiect, then a curious Forme: Well hast thou then past o'er all other rhime, And in a Pastorall spent thy leasures time: Where fruit so faire, and field so fruitfull is, That hard it is to iudge whether in This The Substance or the fashion more excell, So precious is the Iem, and wrought so well. Thus rest thou prais'd of me, Fruit, Field, Iem, Art, Doe claime much praise to equall such Desart. W. FERRAR, è So. Med. Templ.
To the AVTHOR. FRiend, Ile not erre in blazing of thy Worth; This Worke in truest termes will set it forth: In these few lines the all I doe intend, Is but to shew that I haue such a Friend. FR. OVLDE, è S. In. Templ.
BRITANNIAS PASTORALS.
THE FIRST SONG. THE ARGVMENT. Marina's Loue ycleep'd the faire, Celand's disdaine, and her despaire, Are the first wings my Muse puts on To reach the sacred Helicon. I That whil care neere Tauies stragling spring, Taule is a riuer, hauing his head in Dertmore in Deu n som few miles from Mari Tauie, and falls Southward into Tamer: out of the same Moore riseth, running Northward, another called Tau: which by the way the rather I speake of, because in the printed Malmesbur e de gest. Pon ific. lib. 2. fol. 146. you eade, Est in Domn nia oenobium Monachoruni iuxta Tau fluuium, quod Tauistock vocatur: whereas vpon Tau stands (heere the North-side of the Shire) Taustoke eing no remnants of a Monasterie: so that you must there reade, Iuxtae Taui Fluu um, as in a manuscript Copie of Malmesbury (the forme of the hand assuring Malmesburie time) belonging to the Abbey of 〈◊〉 . Augustine in Canterburie I haue seene, in the hande of my very learned Friend M. Selde . Vnto my seely Sheepe did vs to sing, And plaid to please my selfe, on •• sticke Reed, No sought for Bay, (the learned Shepheards meed,) But as a Swaine vnkent fed on the plaines, And made the Eccho vmpire of my straines: Am drawne by ime (although the weak'st of many) To sing those Laies as yet vnsung of any. What need I tune the Swaines of Thessaly? Or, bootlesse, adde to them of Arcadie? No: faire Arcadia cannot be compleater, My praise may lessen, but not make thee greater. My Muse for lofty pitches shall not rome, But homely pipen of her natiue home: And to the Swaines, Loue rurall Minstralsie, Thus deare Britannia will I sing of thee. High on the plaines of that renowned Ile, Which all men Beauties Garden-plot enstile, A Shepherd dwelt, whom Fortune had made rich With all the gifts that silly men bewitch. 〈◊〉 him a Shepherdesse for beauties store Vnparalell'd of any Age before. Within those Brests her face a flame did moue, Which neuer knew before what twas to loue, D ••• ling each Shepherds sight that viewd her eies. And as the Persians did Idolatrise Vnto the Sunne: they thought that Cinthia's light Might well be spar'd, where she appear'd in night. And as when many to the goale doe runne, The prize is giuen neuer but to one: So first, and onely Celandine was led, Of Destinies and Heauen much fauoured, To gaine this Beauty, which I here doe offer To memory: his paines (who would not proffer Paines for such pleasures?) were not great nor much, But that his labours recompence was such As counteruailed all: for she whose passion, (And passion oft is loue) whose inclination Bent all her course to him-wards, let him know He was the Elme whereby her Vine did grow: Yea, told him, when his tongue began this taske, She knew not to deny when he would aske. Finding his suit as quickly got as mou'd, Celandine, in his thoughts not well approu'd What none could disallow, his loue grew fained, And what he once affected now disdained. But faire Marina (for so was she call'd) Hauing in Celandine her loue install'd, Affected so this faithlesse Shepherds Boy, That she was rapt beyond degree of ioy. Briefly, shee could not liue one houre without him, And thought no ioy like theirs that liu'd about him. This variable Shepherd for a while Did Natures Iewell by his craft beguile: And still the perfecter her loue did grow, His did appeare more counterfeit in show. Which she perceiuing that his flame did slake, And lou'd her onely for his Trophies sake: "For hee that's stuffed with a faithlesse tumour, "Loues only for his lust and for his humour: And that he often in his merry fit Would say, his good came, ere he hop'd for it: His thoughts for other subiects being prest, Esteeming that as nought which he possest: "For what is gotten but with little paine, "As little griefe we take to lose againe: Well-minded Marine grieuing, thought it strange That her ingratefull Swaine did seeke for change. Still by degrees her cares grew to the full, Ioyes to the wane, heart-rending griefe did pull Her from her selfe, and she abandon'd all To cries and teares, fruits of a funerall: Running, the mountaines, fields, by watry springs, Filling each caue with wofull ecchoings; Making in thousand places her complaint, And vttering to the trees what her teares meant. "For griefes conceal'd (proceeding from desire) "Consume the more, as doth a close pent fire. Whilst that the daies sole Eye doth guild the Seas, In his daies iourney to th'Antipodes: And all the time the Ietty-Chariotere Hurles her blacke mantle through our Hemisphere, Vnder the couert of a sprouting Pine She sits and grieues for faithlesse Celandine. Beginning thus: Alas! and must it be That Loue which thus torments and troubles me In setling it, so small aduice hath lent To make me captiue, where enfranchisement Cannot be gotten? nor where, like a slaue, The office due to faithfull Prisoners, haue? Oh cruell Celandine, why shouldst thou hate Her, who to loue thee, was ordain'd by Fate! Should I not follow thee, and sacrifice My wretched life to thy betraying eies? Aye me! of all my most vnhappy lot; What others would, thou maist, and yet wilt not. Haue I reiected those that me ador'd, To be of him, whom I adore, abhor'd? And pass'd by others teares, to make election Of one, that should so passe-by my affection? I haue: and see the heau'nly powers intend, "To punish sinners in what they offend. May be he takes delight to see in me The burning rage of hellish Iealousie; T ies if in fury any loue appeares; And bathes his ioy within my floud of teares. But if he lou'd to soile my spotlesse soule, And me amongst deceiued Maids enroule, To publish to the world my open shame: Then heart take freedome; hence accursed flame; And, as Queene regent, in my heart shall moue "Disdaine, that only ouer-ruleth Loue: By this infranchiz'd sure my thoughts shall be, And in the same sort loue, as thou lou'st me. But what? or can I cancell or vnbinde That which my heart hath seal'd & loue hath sign'd? No, no, griefe doth deceiue me more each houre; "For, who so truly loues, hath not that power. I wrong to say so, since of all 'tis knowne, "Who yeelds to loue doth leaue to be her owne. But what auailes my liuing thus apart? Can I forget him? or out of my heart Can teares expulse his Image? surely no. "We well may flie the place, but not the woe: "Loues fire is of a nature which by turnes "Consumes in presence, and in absence burnes. And knowing this: aye me! vnhappy wight! What meanes is left to helpe me in this plight? And from that peeuish shooting, hood-winckt elfe, To repossesse my Loue, my heart, my selfe? Onely this helpe I finde, which I elect: Since what my life nor can nor will effect, My ruine shall: and by it, I shall finde, "Death cures (when all helps faile) the grieued mind. And welcome here, (then Loue, a better guest) That of all labours art the onely rest: Whilst thus I liue, all things discomfort giue, The life is sure a death wherein I liue: Saue life and death doe differ in this one, That life hath euer cares, and death hath none. But if that he (disdainfull Swaine) should know That for his loue I wrought my ouerthrow; Will he not glory in't? and from my death Draw more delights, & giue new ioyes their breath? Admit he doe, yet better 'tis that I Render my selfe to Death then Misery. I cannot liue, thus barred from his sight, Nor yet endure, in presence, any wight Should loue him but my selfe, O reasons eye, How art thou blinded with vilde Iealousie And is it thus? Then which shall haue my blood, Or certaine ruine, or vncertaine good? Why do I doubt? Are we not still aduiz'd "That certaintie in all things best is priz'd? Then, if a certaine end can helpe my mone, "Know Death hath certaintie, but Life hath none. Here is a Mount, whose top seemes to despise The farre inferiour Vale that vnder lies: Who like a great man raisd aloft by Eate, Measures his height by others meane estate: Neere to whose foot there glides a siluer-flood, Falling from hence, Ile climbe vnto my good: And by it finish Loue and Reasons strife, And end my misery as well as life. But as a Cowards hartener in warre, The stirring Drum, keepes lesser noyse from farre: So seeme the murmuring waues, tell in mine eare, That guiltlesse bloud was neuer spilled there. Then stay a while; the Beasts that haunt those springs, Of whom I heare the fearefull bellowings, May doe that deed, (as moued by my cry) Whereby my soule, as spotlesse Iuory, May turn from whence it came, and, freed from hence, Be vnpolluted of that foule offence. But why protract I time? Death is no stranger: "And generous spirits neuer feare for danger: "Death is a thing most naturall to vs, "And Feare doth onely make it odious. As when to seeke her food abroad doth roue The Nuncius of peace, the seely Doue, Two sharpe-set hawkes doe her on each side hem, And she knowes not which way to flie from them: Or like a ship that tossed to and fro With wind and tide; the wind doth sternly blow, And driues her to the Maine, the tide comes sore And hurles her backe againe towards the shore. And since her balast, and her sailes doe lacke, One brings her out, the other beats her backe: Till one of them increasing more his shockes, Hurles her to shore, and rends her on the Rockes: So stood she long, twixt Loue and Reason tost, Vntill Despaire (who where it comes rules most) Wonne her to throw her selfe, to meet with Death, From off the Rocke into the floud beneath. The waues that were aboue when as she fell, For feare flew backe againe into their Well; Doubting ensuing times on them would frowne, That they so rare a beauty helpt to drowne. Her fall, in griefe, did make the streame so rore, That sullen murmurings fill'd all the shore. A Shepheard (neere this floud that fed his sheepe, Who at this chance left grazing and did weepe) Hauing so sad an obiect for his eyes, Left Pipe and Flocke, and in the water flyes, To saue a Iewell, which was neuer sent To be possest by one sole Element But such a worke Nature disposde and gaue, Where all the Elements concordance haue. He tooke her in his armes, for pittie cride, And brought her to the Riuers further side: Yea, and he sought by all his Art and paine, To bring her likewise to her selfe againe: While she that by her fall was senselesse left, And almost in the waues had life berest, Lay long, as if her sweet immortall spirit Was fled some other Palace to inherit. But as cleere Phoebus, when some foggy cloud His brightnesse from the world a while doth shrowd, Doth by degrees begin to shew his light Vnto the view: Or, as the Queene of night, In her increasing hornes, doth rounder grow, Till full and perfect she appeare in show: Such order in this Maid the Shepheard spies, When she began to shew the world her eyes. Who (thinking now that she had past Deaths dreame, Occasion'd by her fall into the streame, And that Hells Ferriman did then deliuer Her to the other side th'infernall Riuer) Said to the Swaine: O Charon, I am bound More to thy kindnesse, then all else, that round Come thronging to thy Boat: thou hast past ouer The wofulst Maid that ere these shades did couer: But prithee Ferriman direct my Spright Where that blacke Riuer runs that Lethe hight, That I of it (as other Ghosts) may drinke, And neuer of the world, or Loue, more thinke, The Swaine perceiuing by her words ill sorted, That she was wholly from her selfe transported: And fearing lest those often idle fits Might cleane expell her vncollected wits: Faire Nymph, (said he) the powers aboue deny So faire a Beauty should so quickly die. The Heauens vnto the World haue made a loane, And must for you haue interest, Three for One: Call backe your thoughts ore-cast with dolours night; Do you not see the day, the heauens, the light? Doe you not know in Plutoes darksome place The light of heauen did neuer shew his face? Do not your pulses beat, y'are warme, haue breath, Your sense is rapt with feare, but not with death? I am not Charon, nor of Plutoes host; Nor is there flesh and bloud found in a Ghost: But as you see, a seely Shepheards swaine, Who though my meere reuenues be the traine Of milk-white sheepe, yet am I ioyd as much, In sauing you, (O, who would not saue such?) As euer was the wandring youth of Greece, That brought, from Colchos, home, the golden Pleece. The neuer-too-much-praised faire Marine, Hearing those words, beleeu'd her eares and eyne: And knew how she escaped had the flood By meanes of this young Swaine that neere her stood. Whereat for griefe she gan againe to faint, Redoubling thus her cryes and sad complaint: Alas! and is that likewise barr'd from me, Which for all persons else lies euer free? Will life, nor death, nor ought abridge my paine? But liue still dying, dye to liue againe? Then most vnhappy I! which finde most sure, The wound of Loue neglected is past cure. Most cruell God of Loue (if such there be) That still to my desires art contrarie! Why should I not in reason this obtaine, That as I loue, I may be lou'd againe? Alas! with thee too, Nature playes her parts, That fram'd so great a discord tweene two harts: One flyes, and alwayes doth in hate perseuer; The other followes, and in loue growes euer. Why dost thou not extinguish cleane this flame, And plac't on him that best deserues the fame? Why had not I affected some kinde youth, Whose euery word had beene the word of Truth? Who might haue had to loue, and lou'd to haue, So true a Heart as I to Celand gaue. For Psyches loue if beautie gaue thee birth, Or if thou hast attractiue power on earth, Dame Venus sweetest Childe, requite this loue. Or Fate yeeld meanes my soule may hence remoue! Once seeing in a spring her drowned eyes, O cruell beautie, cause of this, (she cryes,) Mother of Loue, (my ioyes most fatall knife) That workst her death, by whom thy selfe hast life! The youthfull Swaine that heard this louing Saint So oftentimes to poure forth such complaint, Within his heart such true affection prais'd, And did perceiue kinde loue and pittie rais'd His minde to sighs; yea, beautie forced this, That all her griefe he thought was likewise his. And hauing brought her what his lodge affords, Sometime he wept with her, sometime with words Would seeke to comfort; when alas poore elfe He needed then a comforter himselfe. Daily whole troopes of griefe vnto him came, For her who languish'd of another flame. If that she sigh'd, he thought him lou'd of her, When 'twas another saile her wind did stirre: But had her sighs and teares beene for this Boy, Her sorrow had beene lesse, and more her ioy. Long time in griefe he hid his loue-made paines, And did attend her walkes in woods and plaines: Bearing a fuell, which her Sun-like eies Enflam'd, and made his heart the sacrifice. Yet he, sad Swaine, to shew it did not dare; And she, lest he should loue, nie dy'd for feare. She, euer-wailing, blam'd the powers aboue, That night nor day giue any rest to Loue. He prais'd the Heauens in silence, oft was mute, And thought with teares and sighs to winne his sute. Once in the shade, when she by sleepe repos'd, And her cleere eies twixt her faire lids enclos'd; The Shepheard Swaine began to hate and curse That day vnfortunate, which was the nurse Of all his sorrowes. He had giuen breath And life to her which was his cause of death. O Aesops Snake, that thirstest for his bloud, From whom thy selfe receiu'dst a certaine good. Thus oftentimes vnto himselfe alone Would he recount his griefe, vtter his mone; And after much debating, did resolue Rather his Grandame earth should cleane inuolue His pining bodie, ere he would make knowne To her, what Tares Loue in his breast had sowne. Yea, he would say when griefe for speech hath cride; "'Tis better neuer aske than be denide. But as the Queene of Riuers, fairest Thames, That for her buildings other flouds enflames With greatest enuie: Or the Nymph of Kent, That stateliest Ships to Sea hath euer sent; Some baser groome, for lucres hellish course, Her channell hauing stopt, kept backe her sour e, (Fill'd with disdaine) doth swell aboue her mounds, And ouerfloweth all the neighb'ring grounds, Angry she teares vp all that stops her way, And with more violence runnes to the Sea: So the kinde Shepheards griefe (which long vppent Grew more in power, and longer in extent) Forth of his heart more violently thrust, And all his vow'd intentions quickly burst. Marina hearing sighs, to him drew neere, And did intreat his cause of griefe to heare: But had' st knowne her beautie was the sting That caused all that instant sorrowing; Silence in bands her tongue had stronger kept, And sh'ad not ask'd for what the Shepheard wept. The Swaine first, of all times, this best did thinke, To shew his loue, whilst on the Riuers brinke They sate alone, then thought, hee next would moue her With sighs and teares, (true tokens of a Louer:) And since she knew what helpe from him she found When in the Riuer she had else beene drown'd, He thinketh sure she cannot but grant this, To giue reliefe to him, by whom she is: By this incited, said; Whom I adore, Sole Mistresse of my heart, I thee implore, Doe not in bondage hold my freedome long. And since I life or death hold from your tongue, Suffer my heart to loue; yea, dare to hope To get that good of loues intended scope. Grant I may praise that light in you I see, And dying to my selfe, may liue in thee. Faire Nymph, surcease this death-alluring languish, So rare a beautie was not borne for anguish. Why shouldst thou care for him that cares not for thee? Yea, most vnworthy wight, seemes to abhorre thee. And if he be as you doe here paine forth him He thinkes you best of beauties are not worth him; That all the ioies of Loue will not quite cost For all lou'd freedome which by it is lost. Within his heart such selfe-opinion dwels, That his conceit in this he thinkes excels; Accounting womens beauties sugred baits, That neuer catch, but fooles, with their deceits: "Who of himselfe harbours so vaine a thought, "Truly to loue could neuer yet be brought. Then loue that heart where lies no faithlesse eed, That neuer wore dissimulations weed: Who doth account all beauties of the Spring, That iocund Summer-daies are vshering, As foiles to yours. But if this cannot moue Your minde to pittie, nor your heart to loue; Yet sweetest grant me loue to quench that flame, Which burnes you now. Expell his worthlesse name, Cleane root him out by me, and in his place Let him inhabit, that will runne a race More true in loue. It may be for your rest. And when he sees her, who did loue him best, Possessed by another, he will rate The much of good he lost, when 'tis too late: "For what is in our powers, we little deeme, "And things possest by others, best esteeme. If all this gaine you not a Shepherds wife, Yet giue not death to him which gaue you life. Marine the faire, hearing his wooing tale, Perceiued well what wall his thoughts did scale. And answer'd thus: I pray sir Swaine, what boot Is it o me to plucke vp by the root My former loue, and in his place to sow As ill a seed, for any thing I know? Rather gainst thee I mortall hate retaine, That seek'st to plant in me new cares, new paine: Alas! th'hast kept my soule from deaths sweet bands, To giue me ouer to a Tyrants hands; Who on his racks will torture by his power, This weakned, harmelesse body, euery howre. Be you the Iudge, and see if reasons lawes Giue recompence of fauour for this cause: You from the streames of death, brought life on shore; Releas'd one paine, to giue me ten times more. For loues sake, let my thoughts in this be free; Obiect no more your haplesse sauing mee: That Obligation which you thinke should binde; Doth still increase more hatred in my minde; Yea, I doe thinke more thankes to him were due That would bereaue my life, than vnto you. The Thunder-stroken Swaine lean'd to a tree, As void of sense as weeping Niobe: Making his teares the instruments to wooe her, The Sea wherein his loue should swimme vnto her: And, could there flow from his two-headed font, As great a floud as is the Hellespont; Within that deepe he would as willing wander, To meet his Hero, as did ere Leander. Meane while the Nymph with-drew her selfe aside, And to a Groue at hand her steps applide. With that sad sigh (O I had he neuer seene, His heart in better case had euer beene) Against his heart, against the streame he went, With this resolue, and with a full intent, When of that streame he had discouered The fount, the well-spring, or the bubling head, He there would sit, and with the Well drop vie, That it before his eies would first runne drie: But then he thought the Diae s n , i. Nymphae, plerumque fontibus & fluuijs praesunt apud po ta , quae Ephydriades, & Na ades dictae: verum & nobis tadien deum praeficere (sic Alpheum Tyberinum, & Rhenum, & id genus alios diuos legimus) haud illicitum. god that haunts that Lake The spoiling of his Spring would not well take. And therefore leauing soone the Crystall flood, Did take his way vnto the neerest Wood: Seating himselfe within a darksome Caue, (Such places heauie Saturnists doe craue,) Where yet the gladsome day was neuer seene, Nor Phoebus piercing beames had euer beene. Fit for the Synode house of those fell Legions, That walke the Mountaines, and Siluanus regions. Where Tragedie might haue her full scope giuen, From men aspects, and from the view of heauen. Within the same some erannies did deliuer Into the midst thereof a pretty Riuer The Nymph whereof came by out of the veines Of our first mother, hauing late ane paines In scouring of her channell all the way, From where it first began to leaue the Sea And in her labour thus farre now had gone, When cōming through the Caue, she heard that one Spake thus: If I doe in my death perseuer, Pittie ay that effect, which Love could neuer. By this she can coniecture 'twas some Swaine, Who ouerladen by a Maids disdaine Had here (as fittest) chosen out a place, Where he might giue a period to the race Of his loath'd life: which she (for pitties sake) Minding to hinder, diu'd into her Lake, And hastned where the euer-reeming Earth Vnto her Current giues a wished birth And by her new-deliuered Riuers side, Vpon a Banke of flow'rs, had soone espide Remond, young Remond, that full well could sing, And tune his Pipe at Pans-birth carolling: Who for his nimble leaping, sweetest layes, A Lawrell garland wore on Holy-dayes; In raming of whose hand Dame Nature swore There neuer was his like, nor should be more: Whose locks (in snaring nets) were like the rayes, Wherewith the Sunne doth diaper the Seas: Which if they had beene cut, and hung vpon The snow-white Cliffes of fertile Albion, Would haue allured more, to be, their winner, Then all the Iulium Caesarem, pe Margeritarū, Britanniam petisse, seribit Sueton. in Iul. cap. 47. & ex isi Thoracem foctum Veneri genetrici dic sse. Plin Hist. Nat. 9. ca. 35. De Margaritis ve ò nostris consulas Camden in Co ub. & Somersit. Diamonds that are hidden in her. Him she accosted thus: Swaine of the Wreathe, Thou art not placed, onely here to breathe; But Nature in thy framing shewes to mee, Thou shouldst to others, as she did to thee, Doe good; and surely I my selfe perswade, Thou neuer wert for euill action made. In heauens Consistory 't was decreed, That choysest fruit should come from choysest seed; In baser vessels we doe euer put Basest materials, doe neuer shut Those Iewels most in estimation set, But in some curious costly Cabinet. If I may iudge by th'outward shape alone, Within, all vertues haue conuention: "For't giues most lustre vnto Vertues feature, "When she appeares cloth'd in a goodly creature. Halfe way the hill, neere to those aged trees, Whose insides are as Hiues for labring Bees, (As who should say (before their roots were dead) For good workes sake and almes, they harboured Those whom nought else did couer but the Skies:) A path (vntroden but of Beasts) there lies, D recting to a Caue in yonder glade, Where all this Forrests Citizens, for shade At noone-time come, and are the first, I thinke, That (running through that Caue) my waters drinke: Within this Rocke there sits a wofull wight, As void of comfort as that Caue of light; And as I wot, occasion'd by the frownes O some coy Shepheardesse that haunts these Downes. This I doe know (whos'euer wrought his care) He is a man nye treading to despaire. Then hie thee thither, since 'tis charitie To saue a man; leaue here thy flocke with me: For whilst thou sau'st him from the Stygian Bay, Ile keepe thy Lambkins from all beasts of prey. The neernesse of the danger (in his thought) As it doth euer, more compassion wrought: So that with reuerence to the Nymph, he went With winged speed, and hast'ned to preuent Th'vntimely seisure of the greedy graue: Breathlesse, at last, he came into the Caue; Where, by a sigh directed to the man, To comfort him he in this sort began: Shepheard all haile, what meane these plaints? this Caue (Th'image of death, true portrait of the graue) Why dost frequent? and waile thee vnder ground, From whence there neuer yet was pitty found? Come forth, and shew thy selfe vnto the light, Thy griefe to me. If there be ought that might Giue any ease vnto thy troubled minde, We ioy as much to giue, as thou to finde. The Loue-sicke Swaine replide: Remond, thou art The man alone to whom I would impart My woes, more willing then to any Swaine, That liues and feeds his sheepe vpon the plaine. But vaine it is, and 'twould increase my woes By their relation, or to thee or those That cannot remedy. Let it suffise, No fond distrust of thee makes me precise To shew my griefe, Leaue me then, and forgo This Caue more sad, since I haue made it so Here teares broke forth. And Remond gan anew With such intreaties, earnest to pursue His former suit, that he (though hardly) wan The Shepherd to disclose; and thus began: Know briefly Remond then, a heauenly face, Natures Idea, and perfections grace, Within my breast hath kindled such a fire, That doth consume all things, except desire; Which daily doth increase, though alwaies burning, And I want teares, but lacke no cause of mourning: "For he whom Loue vnder his colours drawes, "May often want th'effect, but ne're the cause. Quoth th'other, haue thy starres maligne been such, That their predominations sway so much Ouer the rest, that with a milde aspect The Liues and loues of Shepherds doe affect? Then doe I thinke there is some greater hand, Which thy endeuours still doth countermand: Wherfore I wish thee quench the flame, thus mou'd, "And neuer loue except thou be belou'd "For such an humour euery woman seiseth, "She loues not him that plaineth, but that pleaseth. "Whē much thou louest, most disdain coms on thee; "And whē thou thinkst to hold her, she flies frō thee: "She follow'd, flies, she fled from followes post, "And loueth best where she is hated most. "'Tis euer noted both in Maids and Wiues, "Their hearts and tongues are neuer Relatiues. "Hearts full of holes, (so elder Shepherds saine) "As apter to receiue then to retaine. Whose crafts and wiles did I intend to show, This day would not permit me time I know: The dayes swift horses would their course haue run, And diu'd themselues within the Ocean, Ere I should haue performed halfe my taske, Striuing their craftie subtilties t'vnmaske. And gentle Swaine some counsell take of me; Loue not still where thou maist; loue, who loues thee; Draw to the courteous, flie thy loues abhorrer, "And if she be not for thee, be not for her. If that she still be wauering, will away, Why shouldst thou striue to hold that will not stay? This Maxime, Reason neuer can confute, "Better to liue by losse then die by sute. If to some other Loue she is inclinde, Time will at length cleane root that from her minde. Time will extinct Loues flames, his hell-like flashes, And like a burning brand consum't to ashes. Yet maist thou still attend, but not importune: "Who seekes oft misseth, sleepers light on fortune, Yea and on women too. "Thus doltish sots "Haue Fate and fairest women for their lots. "Fauour and pittie wait on Patience: And hatred oft attendeth violence. If thou wilt get desire, whence Loue hath pawn'd it, Beleeue me, take thy time, but ne'er demand it. Women, as well as men, retaine de ire; But can dissemble, more then men, their fire, Be neuer caught with looks, nor selfe-wrought rumor; Nor by a quaint disguise, nor singing humor. Those out-side shewes are toies, which outwards snare: But vertue lodg'd within, is onely faire. If thou hast seene the beautie of our Nation, And find'st her haue no loue, haue thou no passion: But seeke thou further; other places sure May yeeld a face as faire, a Loue more pure: Leaue (ô then leaue) fond Swaine this idle course, For Loue's a God no mortall wight can force. Thus Remond said, and saw the faire Marine Plac'd neere a Spring, whose waters Crystalline Did in their murmurings beare a part, and plained That one so true, so faire, should be disdained: Whilst in her cries, that fild the vale along, Still Celand was the burthen of her song. The stranger Shepherd left the other Swaine, To giue attendance to his fleecy traine; Who in departing from him, let him know, That yonder was his freedomes ouerthrow, Who sate bewailing (as he late had done) That loue by true affection was not wonne. This fully knowne: Remond came to the Maid And after some few words (her teares allaid) Began to blame her rigour, call'd her cruell, To follow hate, and flie loues chiefest Iewell. Faire, doe not blame him that he thus is moued; For women sure were made to be beloued. If beautie wanting louers long should stay, It like an house vndwelt in would decay: When in the heart if it haue taken place Time cannot blot, nor crooked age deface. The Adamant and Beauty we discouer To be alike; for Beauty drawes a Louer, The Adamant his Iron. Doe not blame His louing then, but that which caus'd the same. Who so is lou'd, doth glory so to be: The more your Louers, more your victorie. Know, if you stand on faith, most womens lothing, Tis but a word, a character of nothing. Admit it somewhat, if what we call constance, Within a heart hath long time residence, And in a woman, she becomes alone Faire to her selfe, but foule to euery one. If in a man it once haue taken place, He is a foole, or dotes, or wants a face To win a woman, and I thinke it be No vertue, but a meere necessitie. Heauens powers deny it Swain (quoth she) haue done, Striue not to bring that in derision, Which whosoe'er detracts in setting forth, Doth truly derogate from his owne worth. It is a thing which heauen to all hath lent To be their vertues chiefest ornament: Which who so wants, is well compar'd to these False tables, wrought by Alcibiades; Which noted well of all, were found t'haue bin Most faire without, but most deform'd within. Then Shepherd know, that I intend to be As true to one, as he is false to me. To one? (quoth he) why so? Maids pleasure take To see a thousand languish for their sake: Women desire for Louers of each sort, And why not you? Th' amorous Swaine for sport; The Lad that driues the greatest flocke to field, Will Buskins, Gloues, and other fancies yeeld; The gallant Swaine will saue you from the iawes Of rauenous Beares, and from the Lions pawes. Beleeue what I propound; doe many chuse, "The least Herbe in the field serues for some vse. Nothing perswaded, nor asswag'd by this, Was fairest Marine, or her heauinesse: But prai'd the Shepherd as heere did hope His silly sheepe should fearelesse haue the scope Of all the shadowes that the trees doe lend, From Raynards stealth, when Titan doth ascend, And runne his mid-way course: to leaue her there, And to his bleating charge againe repaire. He condescended; left her by the brooke, And to the Swaine and's sheepe himselfe betooke. He gone: she with her selfe thus gan to faine; Alas poore Marine, think'st thou to attaine His loue by s •• ting here? or can the fire Be quencht with wood? can we allay desire By wanting what's desired? O that breath, The cause of life, should be the cause of death! That who is shipwrackt on loues hidden shelfe, Doth liu to others, dies vnto her selfe. Why might not I attempt by Death as yet To gaine that freedome, which I could not get, Being hind'red heretofore, a time as free: A place as fit offers it selfe to me, Whose seed of ill is growne to such a height, That makes the earth groane to support his weight. Who so is lull'd asleepe with Mida's treasures, And onely feares by death to lose lifes pleasures; Let them feare death: but since my fault is such, And onely fault, that I haue lou'd too much, On ioyes of life, why should I stand! for those Which I neere had, I surely cannot lose. Admit a while I to these thoughts consented, "Death can be but deferred, not preuented. Then raging with delay, her teares that fell Vsher'd her way, and she into a Well Straight-waies leapt after: "O! how desperation "Attends vpon the minde enthral'd to passion! The fall of her did make the God below, Starting, to wonder whence that noise should grow: Whether some ruder Clowne in spight did fling A Lambe, vntimely falne, into his Spring: And if it were, he solemnly then swore His Spring should flow some other way: no more Should it in wanton manner ere be seene To writhe in knots, or giue a gowne of greene Vnto their Meadowes, nor be seene to play, Nor driue the Rushy-mils, that in his way The Shepherds made: but rather for their lot, Send them red waters that their sheepe should rot. And with such Moorish Springs embrace their field, That it should nought but Mosse and Rushes yeeld. Vpon each hillocke, where the merry Boy Sits piping in the shades his Notes of ioy, Hee'd shew his anger, by some floud at hand, And turne the same into a running sand. Vpon the Oake, the Plumbe-tree, and the Holme, The Stock-doue and the Blackbird should not come, Whose muting on those trees doe make to grow Rots curing 〈…〉 scitur, 〈…〉 Plin. Hist. Nat. 16. cap. 44. Hinc 〈…〉 . Hyphear, and the Misselt •• . Nor shall this helpe their sheep, whose stomacks failes, By tying knots of wooll neere to their tailes: But as the place next to the knot doth die, So shall it all the body mortifie. Thus spake the God: but when as in the water The corps came sinking downe, he spide the matter, And catching softly in his armes the Maid, He brought her vp, and hauing gently laid Her on his banke, did presently command Those waters in her to come forth: at hand They straight came gushing out, and did contest Which chiefly should obey their Gods behest. This done, her then pale lips he straight held ope, And from his siluer haire let fall a drop Into her mouth, of such an excellence, That call'd backe life, which grieu'd to part from thence, Being for troth assur'd, that, then this one, She ne'er possest a fairer mansion. Then did the God her body forwards steepe, And cast her for a while into a sleepe; Sitting still by her did his full view take Of Natures Master-peece. Here for her sake, My Pipe in silence as of right shall mourne, Till from the watring we againe returne.
THE SECOND SONG. THE ARGVMENT. Obliuions Spring, and Dory's loue, With faire Marina's rape, first mo e Mine Oaten Pipe, which after sings The birth of two renowned Springs. NOw till the Sunne shall leaue vs to our rest, And Cynthia haue her Brothers place possest, I shall goe on: and first in diffring stripe, The floud-Gods speech thus tune on Oaten Pipe. Or mortall, or a power aboue, I •• rag'd by Fury, or by Loue, Or both, I know not; such a deed Thou would'st effected, that I bleed To thinke thereon: alas poore elfe, What growne a traitour to thy selfe? This face, this haire, this hand so pure Were not ordain'd for nothing sure. Nor was it meant so sweet a breath Should be expos'd by such a death; But rather in some louers brest Be giuen vp, the place that best Befits a louer yeeld his soule. Nor should those mortals ere controule The Gods, that in their wisdome sage Appointed haue what Pilgrimage Each one should runne: and why should men A bridge the iourney set by them? But much I wonder any wight If he did turne his outward sight Into his inward, dar'd to act H r death, whose body is compact Of all the beauties euer Nature Laid vp in store for earthly creature. No sauage beast can be so cruell To rob the earth of such a Iewell. Rather the stately Vnicorne Would in his breast enraged scorne, That Maids committed to his charge By any beast in Forrest large Should so be wronged Satyres rude Durst not attempt, or ere intrude With such a minde the flowry balkes Where harmlesse Virgins haue their walkes. Would she be won with me to stay, My waters should bring from the Sea The Corrall red, as tribute due, And roundest pearles of Orient hue: Or in the richer veines of ground Should seeke for her the Diamond. And whereas now vnto my Spring They nothing else but grauell bring, They should within a Mine of Gold n piercing manner long time hold, And hauing it to dust well wrought, By them it hither should be brought; With which Ile paue and ouer-spread My bottome, where her foot shall tread. The best of Fishes in my flood Shall giue themselues to be her food. The Trout, the Dace, the Pike, the Br am The Eele, that loues the troubled streame, The Millers thombe, the hiding Loach, The Perch, the euer-nibling Roach, The Shoats with whom is Tanie fraught, The foolish Gudg on quickly caught, And last the little Minnow-fish, Whose chiefe delight in grauell is. In right she cannot me despise Because so low mine Empire lies. For I could tell how Natures store Of Maiesty appeareth more In waters, then in all the rest Of Elements. It seem'd herbest To giue the waues most strength and power: For they doe swallow and deuoure The earth; the waters quench and kill The flames of fire: and mounting still Vp in the aire, are seene to be, As challenging a Seignorie Within the heauens, and to be one That should haue like dominion. They be a seeling and a floore Of clouds, caus'd by the vapours store Arising from them, vitall spirit By which all things their life inherit From them is stopped, kept asunder. And what's the reason else of Thunder, Of lightnings flashes all about, That with such violence breake out, Causing such troubles and such iarres, As with it selfe the world had warres? And can there any thing appeare More wonderfull, then in the aire Congealed waters oft to spie Continuing pendant in the Skie? Till falling downe in haile or snow, They make those mortall wights below To runne, and euer helpe desire From his for Element the fire, Which fearing then to come abroad, Within doores maketh his aboad. Or falling downe oft time in raine, Doth giue greene Liueries to the plaine, Make Shepheards Lambs fit for the dish, And giueth nutriment to fish. Which nourisheth all things of worth The earth produceth and brings forth; And therefore well considering The nature of it in each thing: As when the teeming earth doth grow So hard, that none can plow nor ow, Her breast it doth so mollifie, That it not onely comes to be More easie for the share and Oxe, But that in Haruest times the shocks Of Ceres hanging eared corne Doth fill the Houell and the Barne. To Trees and Plants I comfort giue, By me they fructifie and liue: For first ascending from beneath Into the Skie, with liuely breath, I thence am furnish'd, and bestow The same on Herbs that are below. So that by this each one may see I cause them spring and multiply. Who seeth this, can doe no lesse, Then of his owne accord confesse, That notwithstanding all the strength The earth enioyes in breadth and length, She is beholding to each streame, And hath receiued all from them. Her loue to him she then must giue By whom her selfe doth chiefly liue. This being spoken by this waters God, He straight-way in his hand did take his rod, And stroke it on his banke, wherewith the flood Did such a roaring make within the wood, That straight the The watry Nymph that sp ke to emond. Nymph who then sate on her shore, Knew there was somewhat to be 〈…〉 And therefore hasting to her Brothers Spring She spide what caus'd the waters ecchoing Saw where faire Marine fast asleepe did lie, Whilst that the God still viewing her sate by Who when he saw his Sister Nymph draw neare, He thus gan tune his voice vnto her eare. My fairest Sister (for we come Both from the swelling T e is wombe) The reason why of late I strooke My ruling wand vpon my Brooke Was for this purpose; Late this Maid Which on my banke asleepe is laid, Was by her selfe or other wight, Cast in my spring, and did affright With her late fall, the fish that take Their chiefest pleasure in my Lake: Of all the Fry within my deepe, None durst out of their dwellings peepe. The Trout within the weeds did s •• d, The Eele him hid within the mud. Yea, from this feare I was not free: For as I musing sate to see. How that the prettie Pibbles round Came with my Spring from vnder ground, And how the waters issuing Did make them dance about my Spring; The noise thereof did me appall: That starting vpward therewithall, I in my armes her bodie caught, And both to light and life her brought Then cast her in a sleepe you see. But Brother, to the cause (quoth she) Why by your raging waters wilde Am I here called Thetis childe, Replide the God, for thee I sent, That when her time of sleepe is spent, I may commit her to thy gage, Since women best know womens rage. Meane while, faire Nymph, accompanie My Spring with thy sweet harmonie; And we will make her soule to take Some pleasure, which is said to wake, Although the body hath his rest. She gaue consent, and each of them addrest Vnto their part. The watrie Nymph did sing In manner of a prettie questioning: The God made answer to what she propounded, Whilst from the Spring a pleasant musicke sounded, (Making each shrub in silence to adore them) Taking their subiect from what lay before them. Nymph. WHat's that, compact of earth, infus'd with aire; A ert ine, made full with vncertainties; Sway'd by the motion of each seuerall Spheare; Who's 〈◊〉 with nought but infelicities; Endures nor heat nor cold; is like a Swan, That this houre sings, next dies? God.

It is a Man.

Nymph. Whats be, borne to be sicke, so alwaies dying, That's guided by ineuitable Fate; That comes in weeping, and that goes out crying; Whose Kalender of woes is still in date; Whose life's a bubble, 〈◊〉 length a span A consor still in discorded. God.

Tis a man.

Nymph. What's hee, whose thoughts are still uell'd in th'euent, Though 〈◊〉 for lawfull, by an opposite, Hath all things fleeting, nothing permanent: And at 〈…〉 weares still a Parasite: Hath friends in wealth, or wealthie friends, who ca In want proue meere illusions? God.

Tis a Man.

Nymph. What's he, that what he is not, striues to seem Thus 〈◊〉 support an Atlas weight of care: That of an outward good doth best esteeme: And looketh not within how solid they are That doth not vertuous, but the 〈…〉 Learning and worth by wealth God.

It is Man.

Nymph. What's that possessor which of good makes had; And what is worst, makes choice still for the best; That grieueth most to thinke of what he had; And of his chiefest l sse accounteth 〈◊〉 ; That doth not what he ought, but what he can; Whose fancio's euer boundlesse? God.

Tis a man.

Nymph. But what is it wherein Dame Nature wrought The best of works,The first woman is fained to be named Pandora, 1. a creature seamed of the concurrence of the gifts and ornaments of all the Gods. As Hesiod, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . the onely frame of Heauen; And hauing long to finde a present sought, Wherein the worlds whole beautie might be giuen; She did resolue in it all arts to summon, To ioine with Natures framing? God.

Tis this Woman.

Nymph. If beautie be a thing to be admired; And if admiring draw to it affection; And what we doe affect is most desired; What wight is he to loue denies subiection? And can his thoughts within himselfe confine? Marine that waking lay, said; Celandine. He is the man that hates which some admire; He is the wight that loathes whom most desire: 'Tis onely he to loue denies subiecting, And but himselfe, thinkes none is worth affecting. Vnhappy me the while, accurst my Fate, That Nature giues no loue where she gaue hate. The watrie Rulers then perceiued plaine, Nipt with the Winter of loues frost, Disdaine; This Non-par-el of beautie had beene led To doe an act which Enuie pitied: Therefore in pitie did conferre together, What Physicke best might cure this burning Feuer. At last found out that in a Groue below, Where shadowing Sicamours past number grow, A Fountaine takes his iourney to the Maine, Whose liquors nature was so soueraigne, (Like to the wondrous Well and famous Spring, Which in Plini writes of two Springs rising in Boetia, the first helping memory, called 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 : The latter causing obliuion, called 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . Boetia hath his issuing) That whoso of it doth but onely taste, All former memorie from him doth waste. Not changing any other worke of Nature, But doth endow the drinker with a feature More louely, faire Medea tooke from hence Some of this water, by whose quintessence, Aeson from age came backe to youth. This knowne, The God thus spake: Nymph, be thine owne, And after mine. This Goddesse here (For shees no lesse) will bring thee where Thou shalt acknowledge Springs haue doe As much for thee as any one. Which ended, and thou gotten free, If thou wilt come and liue with me, No Shepherds daughter, nor his wife, Shall boast them of a better life. Meane while I leaue thy thoughts at large, Thy body to my sisters charge; Whilst I into my Spring doe diue, To see that they doe not depriue The Meadowes neere, which much doe thirst, Thus heated by the Sunne. May first (Quoth Marine) Swaines giue Lambs to thee; And may thy Floud haue seignorie Of all Flouds else, and to thy fame Meer greater Springs, yet keepe thy name. May neuer Eue no the Tode, Within thy bankes make their abode! Taking thy iourney from the Sea, Maist thou ne'er happen in thy way On Niter or on Brimstone Mine, To spoile thy taste! this Spring of thine Let it of nothing taste but earth, And salt conceiued, in their birth Be euer fresh! Let no man dare To spoile thy Fish, make locke or ware, But on thy Margent still let dwell Those flowers which haue the sweetest smell. And let the dust vpon thy strand Become like Tagus golden sand. Let as much good heride to thee. As thou hast fauour shew'd to mee. Thu said, in gentle paces they remoue, And hastned onward to the shadie Groue: Where both arriu'd; and hauing found the Rocke, Saw how this precious wa e it did locke. As he whom Auarice possesseth most, Drawne by necessitie vnto his •• st, Doth drop by peece-meale downe his prison'd gold, And seemes vnwilling to let goe his hold: So the strong rocke the water long time stops, And by degrees lets it fall downe in drops. Like hoording huswiues that doe mold their food, And keepe from others, what doth them no good. The drops within a Cesterne fell of stone, Which fram'd by Nature, Art had neuer one Halfe part so curious. Many spells then vsing, The water Nymph twixt Marines lips infusing Part of this water, she might straight perceiue How soone her troubled thoughts began to lea e Her Loue-swolne-breast, and that her inward flame Was cleane asswaged, and tho very name Of Celandine forgotten; did scarce know If there were such a thing as Loue or no. And sighing, therewithall threw in the aire All former loue, all sorrow, all despaire, And all the former causes of h r mone Did there with burie in obli •• on Then mustring vp her thoughts growne vagabonds Prest to releeue her inward bleeding wounds, She had as quickly all things, past forgotten, As men doe Monarchs that in earth 〈…〉 As one new borne she seem'd so al discerning "Though things long learned are the longst vnlearning. Then walk'd they to a Groue but neere at hand, Where fierie Titan had but small command, Because the leaues conspiring kept his beames, For feare of hurting (when hee's in extreames) The vnder flowers, which did enrich the ground With sweeter sents than in Arabia found, The earth doth yeeld (which they through pores exhale) Earths best of odours, th'Aromaticall: Like to that smell which oft our sense 〈◊〉 Within a field which long vnplowed ies Somewhat before the setting of the Sunne; And where the Raine-bow in the Horizon Doth pitch her tips: on as when in the prime, The earth being troubled with a drought long time, The hand of Heauen his spungie Clouds doth straine And throwes into her lap a showre of raine; She sendeth vp (conceiued from the Sunne) A sweet perfume and exhalation. Nor all the Ointments brought from Delos Ile; Nor from the confines of seuen-headed Nile Nor that brought whence Rhaenicians haue abodes, Nor Cyprus wilde Vine-flowers, nor that of Rhodes, Nor Roses-oile from Naples, Capua, Saf •• on consected in Gilician No th •• of Quinces, nor of Marioram, That euer from the Ile of Coos came. Nor these, nor any else, though ne'er so rare, Could with this place for sweetest smels compare. There stood the Elme, whose shade so mildly dim Do h nourish all that groweth vnder him Cypresse that like Piramides runne topping, And hurt the least of any by their dropping. The Alder, whose sat shadow nourisheth, Each Plant set neere to him long flourisheth. The heauie-beaded Plane-tree, by whose shade The grasse growes thickest, men are fresher made. The Oaks, that best endures the Thunder-shocks: The euerlasting Ebene, Cedar, Box. The Oliue that in Wamscot neuer cleaues. The amorous Vine which in the Elme still weaues. The Lotus, Iuniper, where wormes ne'er enter The Pyne, with whom men through the Ocean venter. The warlike Y wgh, by which (more then the Lance) The strong-arm'd English spi i s conquer'd France. Amongst the r st the Tamariske there stood, For Huswiues bosomes onely knowne most good. The cold-place-louing Biroh, and Seruis tree: The Walnut louing vales, and Mulbury. The Maple, Ashe; that doe delight in Fountaines, Which haue their currents by the sides of Mountains. The La •• ell, Mirtle, uy, Date, which hold Their leaues all Winter, be it ne'er so cold. The Firre, that oftentimes doth Rosin drop: The Beech that scales the Welkin with his top: All these, and thousand more within this Groue, By all the industry of Nature strou To frame on Harbour that might keepe within it The best of beauties that the world hath in it. Hero en ring, at the entrance of which shroud, The S nne 〈◊〉 angry hid him in a cloud, As raging that a Groue should from his sight Locke vp a beauty whence himselfe had light. The flowers pull'd in their heads as being sham'd Their beauties by the others were defam'd. Ne re to this Wood there lay a pleasant Mead, Where Fairies often did their Measures tread, Which in the Meadow made such circles geene, As if with Garlands it had crowned beene, Or like the Circle where the Signes we tracke, And learned Shepherds call't the Zodiacke: Within one of these rounds was to be seene A Hillocke rise, where oft the Fairy-Queene At wy-light sate, and did command her Elues, To pinch those Maids that had not swept their shelues: And further if by Maidens ouer-sight, Within doores water were not brought at night: Or if they spread no Table, set no Bread, They should haue nips from toe vnto the head: And for the Maid that had perform'd each thing, She in the Water-paile bade leaue a Ring. Vpon this Hill there sat a louely Swaine, As if that Nature thought it great disdaine That he should (so through her his Genius told him) Take equall place with Swaines, since she did hold him Her chiefest worke, and therefore thought it fit, That with inferiours he should neuer fit. Narcissus change, sure Ouid cleane mistooke, He y'd not looking in a Crystall brooke, But (as those which in emulation gaze) He pinde to death by looking on this face. When he stood fishing by some Riuers brim, The fish would leape, more for a sight of him Then for the flie. The Eagle highest bred, Was taking him once vp for Ganimed. The shag-haird Satyres, and the tripping Fawnes, With all the troope that frolicke on the Lawnes, Would come and gaze on him, as who should say They had not seene his like this many a day. Yea Venus knew no difference twixt th se twaine, Saue Adon was a Hunter, this a Swaine. The woods sweet Queristers from spray to spray Would hop them neerer him, and then there stay: Each ioying greatly from his little hart, That they with his sweet Reed might beare a part This was the Boy, (the Poets did mistake) To whom bright Cynthia so much loue did make; And promis'd for his loue no scornfull eyes Should euer see her more in horried guize: But she at his command would as of dutie Become as full of light as he of beautie. Lucina at his birth for Mid-wife stucke: And Citherea nurc'd and gaue him sucke, Who to that end, once Doue-drawne from the Sea, Her full Paps dropt, whence came the Milkie-way. And as when Plato did i'th' Cradle thriue, Bees to his lips brought honey from their Hiue: So to this Boy they came, I know not whether They brought, or from his lips did honey gather. The Wood-Nymphs oftentimes would b •• i d be, And plucke for him the blushing Strawberie: Making of them a Bracelet on a Bent, Which for a fauour to this Swaine they sent. Sitting in shades, the Sunne would oft by skips Steale through the boughes, and seize vpon his lips. The chiefest cause the Sunne did condescend To Phaeton request, was to this end, That whilst the other did his Horses reyne, He might slide from his Spheare, & court this Swaine Whose sparkling eyes vi'd lustre with the Starres, The truest Center of all Circulars. In brief , if any man in skill were able To finish vp Apelles halfe done Table, This Boy (the man left out) were fittest sure To be the patterne of that portraiture. Piping he sate, as merry as his looke, And by him lay his Bottle and his Hooke. His buskins (edg'd with siluer) were of silke, Which held a legge more white then mornings milk. Those Buskins he had got and brought away For dancing best vpon the Reuell day: His Oaten Reede did yeeld for h such sweet Notes, Ioyned in consort with the Birds shrill throtes, That equaliz'd the Harmony of Spheares, A Musicke that would rauish choisest eares. Long look'd they on (who would not long looke on, That such an obiect had to looke vpon) Till at the last the Nymph did Marine send, To aske the neerest way, whereby to wend To those faire walkes where sprung Marina's ill Whilst she would stay 〈◊〉 Marine obey'd her will, And hastned towards him (who would not doe so, That such a pretty iourney had to goe?) Sweetly she came, and with a modest blush, Gaue him the day, and then accosted thus: Fairest of men, that (whilst thy flocke doth feed) Sitt'st sweetly piping on thine Oaten Reed Vpon this Little berry (some ycleep A Hillocke) void of care, as are thy sheepe Deuoid of spots, and sure on all this greene A fairer flocke as yet was neuer seene: Doe me this fauour (men should fauour Maids) That whatsoeuer path directly leads, And void of danger, thou to me doe show, That by it to the Marish I might goe. Mariage! (quoth he) mistaking what she said, Natures perfection: thou most fairest Maid, (If any fairer then the fairest may be) Come sit thee downe by me; know louely Ladie, Loue is the readiest way: if tane aright You may attaine thereto full long ere night. The Maiden thinking he of Marish spoke, And not of Mariage, straight-way did inuoke, And praid the Shepheards God might alwaies keepe Him from all danger, and from Wolues his sheepe. Wishing withall that in the prime of Spring Each sheepe he had, two Lambs might yeerely bring. But yet (quoth she) arede good gentle Swaine, If in the Dale below, or on yond Plaine; Or is the Village situate in a Groue, Through which my way lies, and ycleeped loue? Nor on yo d Plaine, nor in this neighbouring wood; Nor in the Dale where glides the siluer flood; But like a Beacon on a hill so hie, That euery one may see't which passeth by Is Loue yplac'd: ther's nothing can it hide, Although of you as yet 'tis vnespide. But on which hill (quoth she) pray tell me true? Why here (quoth he) it sits and talkes to you. And are you Loue (quoth she?) fond Swaine adue, You guide me wrong, my way lies not by you. Though not your way, yet you may lye by me: Nymph, with a Shepherd thou as merrily Maist loue and liue, as with the greatest Lord. "Greatnesse doth neuer most content afford. I loue thee onely, not affect worlds pelfe, "She is not lou'd, that's lou'd not for her selfe: How many Shepherds daughters, who in dutie To griping fathers haue inthral'd their beautie, To wait vpon the Gout, to walke when pleases Old Ianuary halt. O that diseases Should linke with youth: She that hath such a mate Is like two twins borne both incorporate: Th'one liuing, th'other dead: the liuing twin Must needs be slaine through noysomnesse of him He carrieth with him: such are their estates, Who meerely marry wealth and not their mates. As ebbing waters freely slide away, To pay their tribute to the raging Sea; When meeting with the floud they iustle stout, Whether the one shall in, or th'other out: Till the strong floud new power of waues doth bring And driues the Riuer backe into his Spring: So Marine's words offring to take their course, By Loue then entring, were kept backe, and force To it, his sweet face, eyes, and tongue assign'd, And threw them backe againe into her minde. "How hard it is to leaue and not to do "That which by nature we are prone vnto? "We hardly can (alas why not?) discusse, "When Nature hath decreed it must be thus. "It is a Maxime held of all, knowne plaine, "Thrust Nature off with forkes, shee'll turne againe. Blithe Doridon (so men this Shepherd hight) Seeing his Goddesse in a silent plight, ("Loue often makes the speeches organs mute,) Began againe thus to renue his sute: If by my words your silence hath beene such, Faith I am sorry I haue spoke so much. Barre I those lips? fit to be th'vttrers, when The heauens would parly with the chiefe of men. Fit to direct (a tongue all hearts conuinces) When best of Scribes writes to the best of Princes, Were mine like yours, of choisest words compleatest, "Ide shew how grief's a thing weighs down the greatest taint it, "The best of formes (who knows not) grief doth "The skilfull'st Pēcil neuer yet could paint it. And reason good, since no man yet could finde What figure represents a grieued minde. Me thinkes a troubled thought is thus exprest, To be a Chaos rude and indigest, Where all doe rule, and yet none beares chiefe sway: Checkt onely by a power that's more then they. This doe speake, since to this euery louer That thus doth loue, is thus still giuen ouer. If that you say you will not, cannot loue: Oh Heauens! for what cause then do you here moue? Are you not fram'd of that expertest mold, For whom all in this Round concordance hold? Or are you framed of some other fashion, And haue a forme and heart, but yet a passion? It cannot be for then vnto what end Did the best worke-man this great worke intend? Not that by minds commerce, and ioynt estate, The worlds continuers still should propagate? Yea, if that Reason (Regent of the Senses) Haue but a part amongst your excellences, Shee'll tell you what you call Virginitie, Is fitly lik'ned to a barren tree Which when the Gardner on it paines bestowes, To graffe an Impe thereon, in time it growes To such perfection, that it yeerely brings As goodly fruit, as any tree that springs. Beleeue me Maiden, yow no chastitie: For maidens but imperfect creatures be. Alas poore Boy (quoth Marine) haue the Fates Exempted no degrees? are no estates Fr e from Loues rage? Be rul'd: vnhappy Swaine, Call backe thy spirits, and recollect againe Thy vagrant wits. I tell thee for a truth "Loue is a Syren that doth shipwracke youth. Be well aduis'd, thou entertainst a guest That is the Harbinger of all vnrest: VVhich like the Vipers young, that licke the earth, Eat out the breeders wombe to get a birth. Faith (quoth the Boy) I know there cannot be, Danger in louing or inioying thee For what cause were things made and called good, But to be loued? If you vnderstood The Birds that prattle here, you would know then, As birds wooe birds, maids should be woo'd of men But I want power to wooe, since what was mine Is fled, and lye as vassals at your shrine: And since what's mine is yours, let that same moue, Although in me you see nought worthy Loue. Marine about to speake, forth of a sling (Fortune to all misfortunes plyes her wing More quicke and speedy) came a sharpned flint, VVhich in the faire boyes necke made such a dint, That crimson bloud came streaming from the wound And he fell downe into a deadly swound. The bloud ran all along where it did fall, And could not finde a place of buriall: But where it came, it there congealed stood, As if the Earth loath'd to drinke guiltlesse blood. Gold-haird Apollo, Muses sacred King, VVhose praise in Delphos Ile doth euer ring: Physickes first founder, whose Arts excellence Extracted Natures chiefest quintessence, Vnwilling that a thing of such a worth Should so be lost straight sent a Dragon forth To fetch this bloud, and he perform'd the same: And now Apothecaries giue it name, From him that fetcht it: (Doctors know it good In Physicks vse) and call it Dragons bloud Some of the bloud by chance did down-ward fall, And by a veine go to a Minerall, VVhence came a Red, decayed Dames infuse it VVith V •• ise eruse, and for painting vse it. Marine astonisht (most vnhappy Maid) O'er-co •• with feare, and at the view afraid, Fell downe into a tran •• , eyes lost their sight, VVhich being open, made all darknesse light H r bloud ran to her heart, or life to f ed, Or lothing to behold so vile a deed. And as when VVinter doth the Earth array In siluer-s ite, and whe the night and day Ar in dissention, Night locks vp the ground, VVhich by the helpe of day is oft vnbound: A shepherds boy with bow and shafts addrest, Ranging the fields, hauing once pierc'd the brest Of some poore fowle doth with the blow straight rush To atch the Bird lyes panting in the Bush: So cus •• this striker i , vp Marine tooke, And hastned with her to a neare-hand Brooke.An expression of the natures of two Ri e •• 〈◊〉 neere together, and differing in their tastes and manner of running. Old Shepherds saine (old shepherds sooth haue sain ) Two Riuers tooke their issue from the Maine, Bo h neere together, and each bent his ac , VVhich of them both should first behold the face O adiant Phoebus: One of them in gliding Clime'd on a Veine where Nir •• had abiding: The other loathing that her purer Waue Should be defil'd with that the Niter gaue, Fled fast away, the other follow'd fast, Till both beene n a Rocke yme at last As seemed best, the Rocke did first deliuer Out of his hollow sides the purer Riuer: (As if it taught those men in honour clad, To helpe the vertuous and suppresse the bad.) Which gotten (loose, did softly glide away. As men from earth, to earth from sea, to sea So Riuers run and that from whence both came Takes what she gaue: Waue Earth but leaues a name, As waters haue their course, & in their place Succeeding streames will out; so is mans race: The Name doth still suruiue, and cannot die, Vntill the Channels stop, on Spring grow day. As I haue seene vpon a Bridall day Full many Maid clad in their best array, In honour of the Bride come with their Flaskets Fill'd full with flowers: others in wicker-baskets Bring from the Marish Rushes, to o'er-spread The ground, where on to Church the Louers tread Whilst that the qu intest youth of all the Plaine Vshers their way with many a piping straine: So, as in ioy, at this faire Riuers birth, Triton came vp a Channell with his mirth, And call'd the neighb'ring Nymphs each in her turne To poure their pretty Riuilets from their Vrne; To wait vpon this new-deliuered Spring. Some running through the Meadowes, with them bring Cowsl p and Mint: and 'tis anothers lot To light vpon some Gardeners curious knot Whence she vpon her brest (loues sweet repose) Doth bring the Queene of flowers, the English Rose. Some from the Fenne bring Reeds, Wilde-tyme from Downs Some frō a Groue the Bay that Poets crowns; Some from an aged Rocke the Mosse hath torne, And leaues him naked vnto winters storme: Another from her bankes (in meere good will) Brings nutriment for fish, the Camomill. Thus all bring somewhat, and doe ouer-spread The way the Spring vnto the Sea doth tread. This while the Floud which yet the Rocke vp pent, And suffered not with iocund merriment To tread rounds in his Spring, came rushing forth, As angry that his waues (he thought) of worth Should not haue libertie, nor helpe the pryme. And is some ruder Swaine composing ryme, Spends many a gray Goose-quill vnto the handle, Buries within his socket many a Candle; Blot! Paper by the quire, and dries vp Inke, As Xerxes Armie did whole Riuers drinke, Hoping thereby his name his worke should raise That it should liue vntill the last of dayes: Which finished, he boldly doth addresse. Him and his workes to vnder-goe the Presse When loe (O Fate!) his worke not seeming fit To walke in equipage with better wit, Is kept from light, there gnawne by Moathes and wormes, At which he frets: Right so this Riuer stormes: But broken forth; As Tauy creepes vpon The Westerne vales of fertile Albion, Here dashes roughly on an aged Rocke, That his entended passage doth vp locke; There intricately mongst the Woods doth wander, Losing himselfe in many a wry Meander: Here amorously bent, clips some faire Mead; And then disperst in rils, doth measures tread Vpon her bosome 'mongst her flowry ranks: There in another place beares downe the banks Of some day labouring wretch: here meets a rill, And with their forces ioyn'd cuts out a Mill Into an Iland, then in iocund guise Suruayes his conquest, la ds his enterprise: Here digs a Caue at some high Mountaines foot: There vndermines an Oake, teares vp his roo : Thence rushing to some Country-farme at hand, Breaks o'er the Yeomans mounds, sweepes from his lan His Haruest hope of Wheat, of Rye, or Pease: And makes that channell which was Shepherds least Here, as our wicked age doth acriledge, Helpes downe an Abbey, then a naturall bridge By creeping vnder ground he frameth out, As who should say he either went about To right the wrong he did or hid his face, For hauing done a deed so vile and base: So ran this Riuer on, and did be stirre Himselfe, to finde his fellow-Traueller. But th'other fearing least her noyse might show What path she took, which way her streams did flo As some way-faring man strayes th'row a wood, Where beasts of prey thirsting for humane bloud Lurke in their dens, he softly listning goes, Not trusting to his heeles, treads on his toes: Dreads euery noise he heares, thinks each small bush To be a beast that would vpon him rush: Feareth to dye, and yet his winde doth smother; Now leaues this path, takes that, then to another: Such was her course. This feared to be found, The other not to finde, swels o'er each mound, Roares, rages, foames, against a mountaine dashes, And in recoile, makes Meadowes standing plashes: Yet findes not what he seekes in all his way, But in despaire runs headlong to the Sea. This was the cause them by tradition taught, Why one floud ran so fast, th'other so soft, Both from one head. Vnto the rougher streame, (Crown'd by that Meadowes flowry Diadem, Where Doridon lay hurt) the cruell Swaine Hurries the Shepherdesse, where hauing laine Her in a Boat like the Cannowes of Inde, Some silly trough of wood, or some trees rinde; Puts from the shoare, and leaues the weeping strand, Intends an act by water, which the land Ab orr'd to boulster; yea, the guiltlesse earth Loa h'd to be Mid-wife to so vile a birth: Which to relate I am inforc'd to wrong The modest blushes of my Maiden-song. Then each faire Nymph whom Nature doth endow With beauties cheeke, crown'd with a shamefast brow; Whose well-tun'd eares, chast-obiect-louing eyne Ne'er heard nor saw the workes of An obscene Italian Poet. Aretine; Who ne'er came on the Citherean shelfe, But is as true as Chastitie it selfe; Where hated Impudence ne'er set her seed; Where lust lies not vail'd in a virgins weed: Le her with-draw. Let each young Shepherdling Walke by, or stop his are, the whilst I sing. But yee, whose bloud, like Kids vpon a plaine, Doth skip, and dance Lauoltoes in each veine; Whose brests are swolne with the Venerean game, And warme your selues at lusts alluring flame; Who dare to act as much as men dare thinke, And wallowing lye within a sensuall sinke; Whose fained gestures doe entrap our youth With an apparancie of simple truth; Insatiate gulphs, in your de ectiue part By Art helpe Nature, and by Nature, Art: Lend me your eares, and I will touch a string Shall lull your sense asleepe the while I sing. But stay: me thinkes I heare something in me That bids me keepe the bounds of modestie; Sayes, "Each mans voice to that is quickly moued "Which of himselfe is best of all beloued; "By vttring what thou knowst lesse glory's got, "Then by concealing what thou knowest not. If so, I yeeld to it, and set my rest Rather to lose the bad, then wrong the best. My Maiden-Muse flies the lasciuious Swaines, And scornes to soyle her lines with lustfull straines Will ot dilate (nor on her fore-head beare Immodesties abhorred Character) His shamelesse pryings, his vndecent doings; His curious searches, his respectlesse wooings: How that he saw. But what? I dare not breake it, You safer may conceiue the I dare speake it. Yet verily had he not thought her dead, Sh'ad lost, ne'er to be found, her Maiden-head. The rougher streame loathing a thing compacted Of so great shame, should o his loud be acted; (According to our times not well allow'd In others, what he in himselfe auow'd) Bent hard his fore-head furrow'd vp his face, And danger led the way the boat did trace. And as within a Landskip that doth stand Wrought by the Pencill of some curious hand, We may discry, here meadow, there a wood Here standing ponds, and there a running •• oud: Here on some mount a house of pleasure vanted, Where once the roaring Cannon had beene planted: There on a hill a Swaine pipes out the day, Out-brauing all the Quiristers of May. A Hunts-man here followes his cry of hounds, Driu ng the Hare along the allow grounds Whilst one at hand seeming he sport t'allow, Followes the hounds, and carelesse leaues the Plow. There in another place some high-rais'd land, In pride beares out her breasts vnto the strand. Here stands a bridge, and there a condu •• 〈◊〉 Here round a May-pole some the measures tr ad: There boyes the truant play and leaue their booke: Here stands an Angler with a baired hooke. There for a Stagge one lurkes within a bough Here sits a Maiden milking of her Cow. There on a goodly plaine (by ime throwne downe) Lies buried in his dust some ancient Towne; Who now inuillaged, there's onely seene In his va •• e ruines what his state had beene: And all of these in shadowes so exprest Make the beholders eyes to take no rest. So for the Swaine the Floud did meane to him To shew in Nature (not by Art to limbe) A Tempests rage, his furious waters threat, Some on this shoare, some on the other be •• Here stands a Mountaine, where was once a Dale; There where a Mountaine stood is now a Vale. Here flowes a billow, there another m ••• s: Each, on each side the skiffe, vnkindly greets. The waters vnderneath g n vpward moue, Wondring what stratage s were wrought aboue: Billowes that mist the bo t, still onward thrust, And on the Cliffes, as swolne with anger burst. All these and more, in substance so exprest, Made the •• holders thoughts to take no rest. Horror in ll mphrid vpon the waues And all the Faries from their gloomy caue Came hou ring o're the Boat, summond each sence Before the fearefull barre of Conscience; Were guilty all, and all condemned were To vnder 〈◊〉 their horrors with despaire What Muse? what Powre? or what thrice sacred Herse, That liues immortall in a well-tun'd Verse, Can lend me such a sight that I might see A guilty conscience true Anatomie; That well kept Register wherein is writ All ils men doe, all goodnesse they omit? His pallid feares, his sorrowes, his affrightings; His 〈◊〉 wisht had-I-w sts remorcefull bitings: His many tortures, his heart-renting paine: How we e his griefes composed in one chaine, And he by it let downe into the Seas, Or th'row the Center to th'Antipodes? He might change Climates, or be barr'd Heauens face; Yet nde no salue, nor euer change his case. Feares, sorrowes, tortures, sad affrights, nor any, Lik to the Conscience sting, though thrice as many; Yet all these torments by the Swaine were borne. Whilst Deaths grim visage lay vpon the storme. But as when some kinde Nurse doth long time keep Her pretty babe at sucke whom falne asleepe She layes downe in his Cradle, stints his cry With many a sweet and pleasing L llaby; Whilst the sweet childe, not troubled with the shock, As sweetly slumbers, as his Nurse doth rocke: So lay the Maid, th'amazed Swaine 〈◊〉 weeping, And death in her was dispossest by sleeping. Th roa ing voyce of winds, the billowes raues; Nor all the mu ••• ing of the sullen waues Co ld once disquiet, or her slumber stirre: But ull'd her move asleepe then wakened her. Such are their states, whose soules from foult offence Enthroned sit in spotlesse Innocence. Where rest my Muse; till (iolly Shepheards Swaine ) Next morne with Pearles of dew bedecks o r plaines Wee'll fold our flockes, then in fit time goe on To tune mine Oaten pipe for Doridon.
THE THIRD SONG. THE ARGVMENT. The Shepheards Swaine here singing on, Tels of the cure of Doridon: And then vnto the waters fals Chanteth the rusticke Pastorals. NOw had the Sunne, in golden chariot hurl'd Twice bid good-morrow to the nether world And Cynthia, in her or e and perfect ound Twice view'd the shadowes of the vpper ground. Twice had the Day-starre vsher'd forth the light; And twice the Euening-starre proclaim'd the night; E e once the sweet-fac'd Boy (now all forlorne) Came with his Pipe to resalute the Morne. When grac'd by time (vnhappy time the while) The cruell Swaine (who ere knew Swaine so vile?) Had stroke the Lad, in came the wat y Nymph, To raise from sound poore Doridon (the Impe, Whom Nature seem'd to haue selected forth To be ingraffed on some stocke of worth;) And the Maids helpe, but since "to doomes of Fate "Succour, though ne'er so soone, comes still too late. She rais'd the youth, then with her armes inrings him And so with words of hope she home-wards brings him. At doore expecting him his Mother sate, Wondring her Boy would stay from her so late; Framing for him vnto her selfe excuses, And with such thoughts gladly her selfe abuses: As that her sonne, since day grew old and weake, Staid with the Maids to runne at Ba llbreake: Or that he cours'd a Parke with females fraught, Which would not run except they might be caught. O in the thickets layd some wily snare To take the Rabber, or the pour blinde Hare. O taught his Dogge to catch the climbing Kid: Thus Shepheards doe; and thus she thought he did. "In things expected meeting with delay, "Though there be none, we frame some cause of stay. And so did she, (as she who doth not so?) Coniecture Time vnwing'd he came so slow. But Doridon drew neere, so did her griefe: Homer. "Ill lucke, for speed, of all things else is chiefe. For as the Blinde-man sung, Time so prouides, That Ioy goes still on foot, and sorrow rides. Now when she saw (a wofull sight) her sonne, Her hopes then fail'd her, and her cries begun To vtter such a plaint, that scarce another, Like this, ere came from any loue-sicke mother. If man hath done this, heauen why mad'st tho men Not to deface thee in thy children; But by the worke the Worke-man to adore; Framing that something, which was nought before. Aye me vnhappy wretch if that in things Which are as we (saue title) men feare Kings, That be their Postures to the life limb'd on Some wood as fraile as they, or cut in stone, "Tis death to stab: why then should earthly things Dare to deface his forme who formed Kings? When the world was but in his infancy, Reuenge, Desires vniust, vile Iealousie, Hate, Enuy, Murther, all these six then raigned, When but their halfe of men the world contained: Yet but in part of these, those ruled then, When now as many vices liue as men. Liue they yes liue I feare to kill my Sonne, With whom my ioyes, my loue, my hopes are done. Cease, quoth the Waters Nymph, that led the Swain Though 'tis each mothers cause thus to complaine: Yet "abstinence in things we must professe "Which Nature fram'd for need, not for excesse. Since the least bloud, drawne from the lesser part Of any childe, comes from the Mothers hart, e cannot chose but grieue, except that wee hould be more sensless than the senslesse tree, eply'd his Mother. Doe but cut the limbe Of any Tree, the trunke will weepe for him: end the cold Alluding to our English pronunciation, and indifferent Orthographie. Sicamor's thin barke in two, is Name and Teares, would say, So Loue should do. That Mother is all •• int (then beasts lesse good) Which drops no water when her childe streames At this the wounded boy fell on his knee, Mother, kinde Mother (said) weepe not for mee, Why, I am well? Indeed I am: If you Cease not to weepe, my wound will bleed anew. Wh n I was promist 〈◊〉 the lights fruition, You oft haue told me, 'twas on this condition, That I should hold it with like sent and pa ne As others doe, and one time leaue againe. Then deerest mother leaue, oh leaue to wan , "Time will effect, where teares can ought auane. Herewith Marinda taking vp her sonne, Her hope, her loue, her ioy, her Doridon; She thank'd the Nymph, for her kinde succour ent, Who strait tript to her wa ry Regiment. Downe in a 〈◊〉 where in that Iuly tooke his name from ulius Caesar. Month whose fame Growes greater by the man who gaue it name, Stands many a well-pil'd cocke of more sweet hay That feeds the husbands Neat each Winters day) A mountaine had his foot, and gan to rise In •• ately height to parlee with the Skies. And yet as blaming his owne lofty gate, Waighing the fickle props in things of state, His head began to droope, and down-wards bendin Knockt on that brest which gaue it birth and endin And lyes so with an hollow hanging vaut, As when some boy trying the Somersaut. Stands on his head and feet, as hee did lie To kicke against carths spangled Canopie; When seeing that his heeles are of such weight That he cannot obtaine their purpos'd height, Leaues any more to striue; and thus doth say, What now I cannot doe, another day May well effect it cannot be denide I shew'd a will to act, because I tride: The Scornefull-hill men call'd him, who did scorne So to be call'd, by reason he had borne No hate to greatnesse, but a minde to be The slaue of greatnesse, through Humilitie: For had his Mother Nature thought it meet He meekly bowing would haue kist her feet. Vnder the hollow hanging of this hill There was a Caue cut out by Natures skill: Or else it seem'd the Mount did open's brest, That all might see what thoughts he there possest. Whose gloomy entrance was enuiron'd round With shrubs that cloy ill husbands Meadow-groun The thick-growne Ha -thorne & the binding Br •• The Holly that out ares cold Winters ire: Who all intwinde, each limbe with limbe did deal That scarse a glympse of light could inward steale. n vncouth place, fit for an vncouth minde, hat is as heauy as that caue is blinde: ere liu'd a man his hoary haires call'd old, pon whose front time many yeares had told. h , since Dame Nature in him feeble grew, nd he vnapt to giue the world ought new, he secret power of Hearbes that grow on mold, ought ought, to cherish and relieue the old. Hither Marinda all in haste came running, nd with her teares desir'd the old mans cunning. When this good man (as goodnesse still is prest t all assayes to helpe a wight distrest) s glad and willing was to ease her sonne, As she would euer ioy to see it done. And giuing her a salue in leaues vp bound; nd she directed how to cure the wound, ith thanks, made home-wards, (longing still to see h'effect of this good Hermits Surgerie) here carefully, her sonne laid on a bed, Enriched with the bloud he on it shed e washes, dresses, bindes his wound (yet sore) hat grieu'd, it could weepe bloud for him no more. Now had the glorious Sunne ane vp his Iune And all the lamps of heau'n inlightned bin ithin the gloomy shades of some thicke Spring, •• d Philomel gan on the Haw-thorne sing, Wh lst euery beast at rest was lowly laid) he outrage done vpon a silly Maid. •• l things were husht, each bird slept on his bough; •• d night gaue rest to him, day tyr'd at plough; Each beast, each bird, and each day-toyling wight, Receiu'd the comfort of the silent night: Free from the gripes of sorrow euery one, Except poore Philomel and Doridon; She on a Thorne sings sweet though sighing strain He on a couch more soft, more sad complaines: Whole in-pen thoughts him long time hauing pa He sighing wept, & weeping thus complained, Sweet Philomela (then he heard her sing) I doe not enuy thy sweet carolling, But doe admire thee that each euen and morrow, Canst carelesly thus sing away thy sorrow. Would I could doe so too and euer be In all my woes still imitating thee: But I may not attaine to that; for then Such most vnhappy, miserable men Would 〈◊〉 with Heauen, and imitate the Sunn Whose golden beames in exhalation, Though drawn from Fens, or other grounds imp Turne all to fructifying nouriture. When we draw nothing by our Sun like eyes, That euer turnes to mirth, but miseries Would I had neuer seene, except that he Who made me wish so, loue to looke on me Had Colin Clout yet 〈◊〉 , (but he is gone) That best on earth could tune a louers mone, Whose sadder Tones inforc'd the Rocks to weepe And laid the greatest griefes in quiet sleepe: Who when he sung (as I would doe to mine) His truest loues to his faire Rosal ne, nti 'd each Shepherds eare to heare him play, nd rapt with wonder, thus admiring say: Thrice happy plaines (if plaines thrice happy may be) Where such a Shepherd pipes to such a Lady. Who made the Lasses long to sit downe neere him; And woo'd the Riuers frō their Springs to heare him. Heauen rest thy Soule (if so a Swaine may pray) And as thy workes liue here, liue there for aye. Meane while (vnhappy) I shall still complaine Loues cruell wounding of a seely Swaine. Two nights thus past: the Lilly-handed Morne Saw Phoebus stealing dewe from Ceres Corne. The mounting Larke (daies herauld) got on wing Bidding each bird chuse out his bough and sing.A description of a Musicall Consort of Birds. The lofty Treble sung the little Wren; Robin the Meane, that best of all loues men; The Nightingale the Tenor; and the Thrush The Counter-tenor sweetly in a bush: And that the Musicke might be full in parts, Birds from the groues flew with right willing hearts But (as it seem'd) they thought (as doe the Swaines, Which tune their Pipes on sack'd Hibernia's plaines) There should some droaning part be, therefore will'd Some bird to flie into a neighb'ring field, In Embassie vnto the King of Bees, To aid his partners on the flowres and trees: Who condiscending gladly flew along To beare the Base to his well-tuned song. Th Crow was willing they should be beholding For his deepe voyce, but being hoarse with skolding, He thus lends aide; vpon an Oake doth climbe, And nodding with his head, so keepeth time. O true delight, enharboring the brests Of those sweet creatures with the plumy crests. Had Nature vnto man such simplesse giuen, He would like Birds befarre more neere to heauen. But Doridon well knew (who knowes no lesse?) "Mans compounds haue o'er thrown his simplenesse. Noone-tide the Morne had wood, and she gan yeeld, When Doridon (made ready for the field) Goes sadly forth (a wofull Shepherds Lad) Drowned in teares, his minde with griefe yclad, To ope his fold and let his Lamkins out. (Full iolly flocke they seem'd, a well fleec'd rout) Which gently walk'd before, he sadly pacing, Both guides and followes them towards their grazing When from a Groue the Wood-Nymphs held full deare Two heauenly voyces did intreat his eare, And did compell his longing eyes to see What happy wight enioy'd such harmonie. Which ioyned with fiue more, and so made seauen, Would parallel in mirth the Spheares of heauen. To haue a sight at first he would not presse, For feare to interrupt such happinesse: But kept aloofe the thicke growne shrubs among, Yet so as he might heare this wooing Song.
F. FIe Shepherds Swaine, why sitst thou all alone, Whil'st other Lads are sporting on the leyes? R. Ioy may haue company, but Griefe hath none: Where pleasure neuer came, sports cannot please. F. Yet may you please to grace our this daies sport, Though not an actor, yet a looker on. R. A looker on indeede, so Swaines of sort, Cast low, take ioy to looke whence they are thrown? F.

Seeke ioy and finde it.

R.

Griefe doth not minde it.

BOTH. Then both agree in one, Sorrow doth hate To haue a mate; "True griefe is still alone. F. Sad Swaine areade, (if that a Maid may aske) What cause so great effects of griefe hath wrought?) R. Alas, Loue is not hid, it weares no maske; To view 'tis by the face conceiu'd and brought. F. The cause I grant: the causer is not learned: Your speech I doe entreat about this taske. R. If that my heart were seene, 'twould be discerned; And Fida's name found grauen on the caske. F.

Hath Loue young Remond moued?

R.

'Tis Fida that is loued.

BOTH. Although 'tis said that no men Will with their hearts, Or goods chiefe parts Trust either Seas or Women. F. How may a Maiden be assur'd of loue, Since falshood late in euerie Swaine excelleth? R. When protestations faile, time may approue Where true affection liues, where falshood dwelleth. F. The truest cause elects a Iudge as true: Fie, how my sighing, my much louing telleth. R. Your loue is fixt in one whose heart to you Shall be as constancy, which ne'er rebelleth. F.

None other shall haue grace.

R.

None else in my heart place.

BOTH. Goe Shepherds Swaines and wiue all, For Loue and Kings Are two like things Admitting no Corriuall.
As when some Malefactor iudg'd to die For his offence, his Execution nye, Caste h his sight on states vnlike to his, And weighs his ill by others happinesse: So Doridon thought euery stare to be Further from him, more neere felicitie. O blessed sight, where such concordance meets, Where truth with truth, and loue with liking greets. Had (quoth the Swain) the Fates giuen me some measure Of true delights inestimable treasure, I had beene fortunate: but now so weake My bankrupt heart will be inforc'd to breake. Sweet Loue that drawes on earth a yoake so euen; Sweet life that imitates the blisse of heauen; Sweet death they needs must haue, who so vnite That two distinct make one Hermaphrodite: Swe t loue, sweet life, sweet death, that so doe meet On earth; in death, in heauen be euer sweet! Let all good wishes euer wait vpon you, And happinesse as hand-maid tending on you. Your loues within one centre meeting haue! One houre your deaths, your corps possesse one graue! You names still greene, (thus doth a Swaine implore) Till time and memory shall be no more! Herewith the couple hand in hand arose, And tooke the way which to the sheep-walke goes. And whil'st that Doridon their gate look'd on, His dogge disclos'd him, rushing forth vpon A well fed Deere, that trips it o'er the Meade, As nimbly as the wench did whilome tread On Ceres dangling eares, or Shaft let goe By some faire Nymph that beares Diana's Bowe. When turning head, he not a foot would sturre, Sco ning the barking of a Shepheards curre: So should all Swaines as little weigh their spite, VVho at their songs doe bawle, but dare not bite. Remond, that by the dogge the Master knew, Came backe, and angry bade him to pursue; Dory (quoth he) if your ill-tuter'd dogge Haue nought of awe, then let him haue a clogge. Doe you not know this seely timorous Deere, (As vsuall to his kinde) hunted whilcare, The Sunne not ten degrees got in the Signes, Since to our Maides, here gathering Columbines, She weeping came, and with her head low laid In Fida's lap, did humbly begge for aide. VVhereat vnto the hounds they gaue a checke, And sauing her, might spie about her necke A Coller hanging, and (as yet is seene) These words in gold wrought on a ground of greene: Maidens: since'tis decreed a Maid shall haue me, Keepe me till he shall kill me that must saue me. But whence she came, or who the words concerne, VVe neither know nor can of any learne. Vpon a pallat she doth he at night, Neere Fida's bed, nor will she f om her sight: Vpon her walkes she all the day attends, And by her side she trips where ere she wends. Remond (replide the Swaine) if I haue wrong'd Fida in ought which vnto her belong'd: I sorrow for't, and truelie doe protest, As yet I neuer heard speech of this Beast: Nor was it with my will; or if it were, Is it not lawfull we should chase the Deere, That breaking our inclosures euery morne Are found at feed vpon our crop of corne? Yet had I knowne this Deere I had not wrong'd Fida in ought which vnto her belong'd. I thinke no lesse, quoth Remond; but I pray, Whither walkes Doridon this Holy-day? Come driue your sheepe to their appointed feeding, And make you one at this our merry meeting. Full many a Shepherd with his louely Lasse, Sit telling tales vpon the clouer grasse: There is the merry Shepherd of the hole; The ot, Piers, Nilkin, Duddy, Hobbinoll, Alexis Siluan, Teddy of the Glen, R wly and Perigot here by the Fen, With many more, I cannot reckon all That mee to solemnize this festiuall. I grieue not at their mirth, said Doridon: Yet had there beene of Feasts not any one Appointed or commanded, you will say, "Where there's Content 'tis euer Holy-day. Le ue further talke (quoth Remond) let's be gone, Ile helpe you with your sheepe, the time drawes on. Fida will call the Hinde, and come with vs. Thus went they on, and Remond did discusse Their cause of meeting, till they won with pacing The circuit chosen for the Maidens tracing. It was a Roundell seated on a plaine, Tha stood as Sentinell vnto the Maine, Enuiron'd round with Trees and many an Arbour, Wherein melodious birds did nightly harbour: And on a bough within the quickning Spring, Would be a teaching of their young to sing; Whose pleasing Noates the tyred Swaine haue made To steale a nap at noone-tide in the shade. Nature her selfe did there in triumph ride, And made that place the ground of all her pride. Whose various flowres deceiu'd the rasher eye In taking them for curious Tapistrie. A siluer Spring forth of a rocke did fall, Tha in a drought did serue to water all. Vpon the edges of a grassie banke, A tuf of Trees grew circling in a ranke, As if they seem'd their sports to gaze vpon, Or stood as guard against the winde and Sunne: So faire, so fresh, so greene, so sweet a ground The piercing eyes of heauen yet neuer found, Here Doridon all ready met doth see, (Oh who would not at such a meeting be?) Where he might doubt, who gaue to other grace, Whether the place the Maids, or Maids the place. Here gan the Reede, and merry Bag-pipe play, Shrill as a Thrush vpon a Morne of May, (A rurall Musicke for an heauenly traine) And euery Shepherdesse danc'd with her Swaine. As when some gale of winde doth nimbly take A faire white locke of wooll, and with it make Some prettie driuing; here it sweepes the plaine: There staies, here hops, there mounts, and turns again: Yet all so quicke, that none so soone can say That now it stops, or leapes, or turnes away: So was their dancing, none look'd thereupon, But thought their seuerall motions to be one. A crooked measure was their first election, Because all crooked tends to best perfection. And as I weene this often bowing measure, Was chiefly framed for the womens pleasure. Though like the rib, they crooked are and bending, Yet to the best of formes they aime their ending: Next in an (I) their measure made a rest, Shewing when Loue is plainest it is best. Then in a (Y) which thus doth Loue commend, Making of two at first, one in the end. And lastly closing in a round do enter, Placing the lusty Shepherds in the center: About the Swaines they dancing seem'd to roule, As other Planets round the Heauenly Pole. Who by their sweet aspect or chiding frowne, Could raise a Sh pherd vp, or cast him downe. Thus were they circled till a Swaine came neere, And sent this song vnto each Shepherds eare: The Note and voyce so sweet, that for such mirth The Gods would leaue the heauens, & dwell on earth.
HAppy are you so enclosed, May the Maids be still disposed In their gestures and their dances, So to grace you with intwining, That Enuy wish in such combining, Fortunes smile with happy chances. Here it seemes as if the Graces Measur'd out the Plaine in traces, In a Shepherdesse disguising. Are the Spheares so nimbly turning? Wandring Lamps in heauen burning, To the eye so much intising? Yes, Heauen meanes to take these thither, And adde one ioy to see both dance together. Gentle Nymphes be not refusing, Loues neglect is times abusing, They and beauty are but lent you, Take the one and keepe the other: Loue keepes fresh, what age doth smother. Beauty gone you will repent you. 'Twill be said when yee haue proued, Neuer Swaines more truly loued: O then flye all nice behauiour. Pitty faine would (as her dutie) Be attending st ll on beautie, Let her not be out of fauour. Disdaine is now so much rewarded, That Pitty weepes since she is vnregarded.
The measure and the Song here being ended: Each Swain his thoughts thus to his Loue cōmended.
The first presents his Dogge, with these: When I my flocke neere you doe keepe, And bid my Dogge goe take a Sheepe, He cleane mistakes what I bid doe, And bends his pace still towards you. Poore wretch, he knowes more care I keepe To get you, then a seely Sheep.
The second, his Pipe, with these: Bid me to sing (faire Maid) my Song shal proue There ne'er was truer Pipe sung truer Loue.
The third, a paire of Gloues, thus. These will keepe your hands from burning, Whilst the Sunne is swiftly turning: But who can any veile deuise To shield my Heart from your faire Eyes?
The fourth, an Anagram. MAIDEN AID MEN Maidens should be ayding Men, And for loue giue loue agen: Learne this lesson from your Mother, One good wish requires another. They deserue their names best, when Maids most willingly aid Men.
The fift, a Ring, with a Picture in a Iewell on it. Nature hath fram'd a Iemme beyond compare, The world's the Ring, but you the Iewell are.
The sixt, a Nosegay of Roses, with a Nettle in it. Such is the Posie, Loue composes; A stinging Nettle mixt with Roses.
The seuenth, a Girdle. This during light I giue to clip your Wast, Faire, grant mine armes that place when day is past.
The eighth, a Heart. You haue the substance, and I liue But by the shadow which you giue; Substance and shadow, both are due And giuen of me to none but you. Then whence is life but from that part Which is possessor of the heart?
The ninth, a Shepherds Hooke. The Hook of right belongs to you, for when I take but seelie Sheepe, you still take Men.
The tenth a Combe. Louely maiden best of any Of our plaines though thrice as many Vaile to loue, and leaue denying, Endlesse knots let fates be tying. Such a face, so fine a feature (Kindest, fairest, sweetest creature) Neuer yet was found, but louing; O then let my plaints be mouing! Trust a Shepherd though the meanest, Truth is best when she is plaines . I loue not with vowes contesting: Faith is faith without protesting. Time that all things doth inherit Renders each def rt his merit. If that, faile in me, as no man, Doubtlesse time nere won a woman Maidens still should be relenting, And once flinty, still repenting. Youth with youth is best combined, Each one with his like is twined, Beauty should haue beautious meaning Euer that hope easeth playning. Vnto you whom Nature dresses Needs no combe to smooth your tresses This way it may doe his dutie n your locks to shade your beautie. 〈…〉 so, and to loue be turning, Else each heart it will be burning.

The Eleauenth

The twelfth.
Lo Cupid leaues his Bowe, his reason is Because your eyes wound when his shafts doe misse.
Whilst euery one was offring at the shrine Of such rare beauties might be stil'd diuine: This lamentable voyce towards them flyes: O Heauen send aid, or else a Maiden dies! Herewith some ran the way the voyce them led; Some with the Maiden staid which shooke for dread; What was the cause time serues not now to tell. Harke; for my iolly Wether rings his bell, And almost all our flocks haue left to graze, Shepherds 'tis almost night, hie home apace, When next we meet (as we shall meet ere long) Ile tell the rest in some ensuing Song.
THE FOVRTH SONG. THE ARGVMENT. Fida's distresse, the Hinde is slaine, Yet from her ruines liues againe. Riots description next I rime; Then Aletheia, and old Time: And lastly, from this Song I goe, Hauing describ'd the Vale of Woe. HAppy yee dayes of old, when euery waste VVas like a SANCTVARIE to the chaste: VVhen Incests, Rapes, Adulteries, were not knowne; All pure as blossomes, which are newly blowne. Maids were as free from spots, and soiles within, As most vnblemisht in the outward skin. Men euery Plaine and Cottage did afford, As smooth in deeds, as they were faire of word. Maidens with Men as sisters with their brothers; And Men with Maids conuers'd as with their Mothers; Free from suspition, or the rage of blood. Strife onely raign'd, for all striu'd to be good. But then as little Wrens but newly fledge, First, by their nests hop vp and downe the hedge; Then one from bough to bough gets vp a tree His fellow noting his agilitie, Thinkes he as well may venter as the other, So flushing from one spray vnto another, G ts to the top, and then enbold'ned flies, Vnto an height past ken of humane eyes: So time brought worse, men first desir'd to talke; Then came suspect; and then a priuate walke; Then by consent appointed times of meeting, Where most securely each might kisse his sweeting; Lastly, with lusts their panting brests so swell, They came to. But to what I blush to tell, And entred thus, Rapes vsed were of all, Incest, Adultery, held as Veniall: The certainty in doubtfull ballance rests, If beasts did learne of men, or men of beasts. Had they not learn'd of man who was their King, So to insult vpon an vnderling, They ciuilly had spent their liues gradation, As meeke and milde as in their first creation; Nor had th'infections of infected minds So alter'd nature, and disorder'd kinds, Fida had beene lesse wretched, I more glad, That so true loue so true a progresse had. When Remond left her (Remond then vnkinde) Fida went downe the dale to seeke the Hinde; And found her taking soyle within a flood: Whom when she call'd straight follow'd to the wood. Fida then wearied, sought the cooling shade, And found an arbour by the Shepherds made To frolike in (when Sol did hottest shine) With cates which were farre cleanlier then fine. For in those dayes men neuer vs'd to feed So much for pleasure as they did for need. Enriching then the arbour downe she sate her; Where many a busie Bee came flying at her: Thinking when she for ayre her brests discloses, That there had growne some tuft of Damaske-Roses, And that her azure veines which then did swell, Were Conduit-pipes brought from a liuing Well. Whose liquor might the world enioy for money, Bees would be bank-rupt, none would care for honey The Hinde lay still without (poore silly creature, How like a woman art thou fram'd by nature? Timerous, apt to teares, wilie in running, Caught best when force is intermixt with cunning) Lying thus distant, different chances meet them, And with a fearfull obiect Fate doth greet them. Description of R ot. Something appear'd, which seem'd farre off, a man, In stature, habit, gate, proportion: But when their eyes their obiects Masters were, And it for stricter censure came more neere, By all his properties one well might ghesse, Th n of a man, he sure had nothing lesse. For verily since old Deucalions flood Ear hs slime did ne'er produce a viler brood. Vpon the various Earths embrodered gowne There is a weed vpon whose head growes Downe Son-thistle 'tis ycleep'd, whose downy wreath, If any one can blow off at a breath, We deeme her for a Maid: such was his haire, Ready to shed at any stirring ayre. His eares were strucken deafe when he came nie, To heare the Widowes or the Orphans crie. His eyes encircled with a bloody chaine, With poaring in the blood of bodies slaine. His mouth exceeding wide, from whence did flie Vollies of execrable blasphemie; Ba ning the Heauens, and he that rideth on them, D •• 'd vengeance to the teeth to fall vpon him: Like Scythian Wolues, or Men of Scirum shoot against the Starres. men of wit bereauen, Which howle and shoot against the lights of Heauen. His hands (if hands they were) like some dead corse, With digging vp his buried ancestors; Making his Fathers Tombe and sacred shrine The trough wherein the Hog-heard fed his Swine. And as that Beast hath legs (which Shepherds feare, Ycleep'd a Badger, which our Lambs doth teare) One long, the other short, that when he runs Vpon the plaines, he halts; but when he wons On craggy Rocks, or steepy stils, we see Noneruns more swift, nor easier then he: Such legs the Monster had, one sinew shrunke, That in the plaines he reel'd, as being drunke; And halted in the paths to Vertue tending: And therefore neuer durst be that way bending: But when he came on carued Monuments, Spiring Colosses, and high raised rents, He past them o're, quicke, as the Easterne winde Sweepes through a Meadow; or a nimble Hinde, Or Satyre on a Lawne; or skipping Roe; Or well-wing'd Shaft forth of a Parthian bow. His body made (still in consumptions rife) A miserable prison for a life. Riot he hight; whom some curs'd Fiend did raise, When like a Chaos were the nights and daies: Got and brought vp in the Cymerian Clime, Where Sun nor Moon, nor daies, nor nights do time: As who should say, they scorn'd to shew their faces To such a Fiend should seeke to spoile the Graces. At sight whereof, Fida nigh drown'd in feare, Was cleane dismaid when he approched neare; Nor durst she call the Deere, nor whistling winde her, Fearing her noise might make the Monster finde her; Who slily came, for he had cunning learn'd him, And seiz'd vpon the Hinde, ere she discern'd him. Oh how she striu'd and strugled; euery nerue Is prest at all assaies a life to serue: Yet soone we lose, what we might longer keepe Were not Preuention commonly a sleepe. Maids, of this Monsters brood be fearefull all, What to the Hinde may hap to you befall. Who with her feet held vp in stead of hands, And teares which pittie from the Rocke commands, She sighes, and shrikes, & weeps, and looks vpon him: Alas she sobs, and many a groane throwes on him; With plaints which might abate a Tyrants knife; She begs for pardon, and entreats for life. The hollow caues resound her moanings neere it, That heart was flint which did not grieue to heare it: The high topt Firres which on that mountaine keep, Haue euer since that time beene seene to weepe. The Owle till then, 'tis thought full well could sing, And tune her voyce to euery bubling Spring: But when she heard those plaints, then forth she yode Out of the couert of an Iuy rod, And hollowing for aide, so strain'd her throat, That since she cleane forgot her former noat. A little Robin sitting on a tree, In dolefull noats bewail'd her Tragedie. An Aspe, who thought him stout, could not dissemble, But shew'd his feare, and yet is seene to tremble. Yet Cruelty was deafe, and had no sight In ought which might gain-say the appetite: But with his teeth rending her throat asunder, Besprinkl'd with her blood the greene grasse vnder. And gurmundizing on her flesh and blood, He vomiting returned to the Wood. Ryot but newly gone, as strange a vision Though farre more heauenly, came in apparition. As that Arabian bird (whom all admire) Her exequies prepar'd and funerall fire, Burnt in a flame conceiued from the Sun, And nourished with slips of Cynamon, Out of her ashes hath a second birth, And flies abroad, a wonderment on earth: So from the ruines of this mangled Creature Description of Truth. Arose so faire and so diuine a featu e, That Enu for her heart would doat vpon her; Heauen could not chuse but be enamour'd on her: Were I a Starre, and she a second Spheare, Ide leaue the other, and be fixed there. Had faire Arachne wrought this Maidens haire, When she with Pallas did for skill compare, Minerua's worke had neuer beene esteem'd, But this had beene more rare and highly deem'd. Yet gladly now she would reuerse her doome, Weauing this haire within a Spiders Loome. Vpon her fore-head, as in glory sate Mercy and Maiesty, for wondring at, As pure and simple as Albania's snow, Or milke-white Swans which stem the streams of Poe: Like to some goodly fore-land, bearing out Her haire, the tufts which fring'd the shoare abou . And lest the man which sought those coasts might slip, Her eyes like Stars, did serue to guide the ship. Vpon her front (heauens fairest Promontory) Delineated was, th'Authentique Story Of those Elect, whose sheepe at first began To nibble by the springs of Canaan: Out of whose sacred loynes (brought by the stem Of that sweet Singer of Ierusalem) Came the best Shepherd euer flocks did keepe, Who yeelded vp his life to saue his sheepe. O thou Eterne! by whom all beings moue, Giuing the Springs beneath, and Springs aboue: Whose Finger doth this Vniuerse sustaine, Bringing the former and the latter raine: Who dost with plenty Meads and Pastures fill, By drops distill'd like dew on Hormon Hill: Pardon a silly Swaine, who (farre vnable In that which is so rare, so admirable) Dares on an Oaten-pipe, thus meanly sing Her praise immense, worthy a siluer string. And thou which through the Desart and the Deepe, Didst lead thy Chosen like a flocke of sheepe: As sometime by a Starre thou guidedst them, Which fed vpon the plaines of Bethelem; So by thy sacred Spirit direct my quill, When I shall sing ought of thy Holy hill, That times to come, when they my rymes rehearse, May wonder at me, and admire my Verse: For who but one rapt in Coelestiall fire, Can by his Muse to such a pitch aspire; That from aloft he might behold and tell Her worth, whereon an iron Pen might dwell. When she was borne, Nature in sport began, To learne the cunning of an Artizan, And did Vermilion with a white compose, To mocke her selfe, and paint a Damaske Rose. But scorning Nature vnto Art should seeke, She spilt her colours on this Maidens cheeke. Her mouth the gate from whence all goodnesse came, Of power to giue the dead a liuing name. Her words embalmed in so sweet a breath, That made them triumph both on Time and Death, Whose fragrant sweets, since the Camelion knew, And tasted of, he to this humor grew: Left other Elements, held this so rare, That since he neuer feeds on ought but Ayre. O had I Virgils verse, or Tullies Tongue! Or raping numbers like the Thracian's Song, I haue a Theame would make the Rocks to dance, And surly Beasts that through the Desart prance, Hie from their Caues, and euery gloomy den, To wonder at the excellence of men. Nay, they would thinke their states for euer raised, But once to looke on one, so highly praised. Out of whose Maiden brests (which sweetly rise) The Seers suckt their hidden Prophecies: And told that for her loue in times to come, Many should seeke the Crowne of Martyrdome, By fire, by sword, by tortures, dungeons, chaines, By stripes, by famine, and a world of paines; Yet constant still remaine (to her they loued) Like Syon Mount, that cannot be remoued. Proportion on her armes and hands recorded, The world for her no fitter place afforded. Praise her who list, he still shall be her debter: For Art ne'er fain'd, nor Nature fram'd a better. As when a holy Father hath began To offer sacrifice to mighty Pan, Do h the request of euery Swaine assume, To scale the Welkin in a sacred fume, Made by a widow'd Turtles louing mate, Or Lamkin, or some Kid immaculate, The offring heaues aloft, with both his hands; Which all adore, that neere the Altar stands: So was her heauenly body comely rais'd On two faire columnes; those that Ouid prais'd In Iulia's borrowed name, compar'd with these, Were Crabs to Apples of th'Hespherides; Or stumpe-foot Vulcan in comparison, With all the height of true perfection. Nature was here so lauish of her store, That she bestow'd vntill she had no more. VVhose Treasure being weakned (by this Dame) She thrusts into the world so many lame. The highest Synode of the glorious Skie, (I heard a VVood-Nymph sing) sent Mercurie To take a suruay of the fairest faces, And to describe to them all womens graces; VVho long time wandring in a serious quest, Noting what parts by Beauty were possest: At last he saw this Maid, then thinking fit To end his iourney, here, Nil-vltra, writ. ida in adoration kiss'd her knee, And thus bespake; Haile glorious Deitie! (If such thou art, and who can deeme you lesse?) VVhether thou raign'st Queene of the Wildernesse, Or art that Goddesse ('tis vnknowne to me) Which from the Ocean drawes her pettigree: Or one of those, who by the mossie bankes Of drisling Hellicon; in airie rankes Tread Roundelayes vpon the siluer sands, Whilst shaggy Satyres tripping o're the strands, Stand still at gaze, and yeeld their senses thrals To the sweet cadence of your Madrigals: Or of the Faiery troope which nimbly play, And by the Springs dance out the Summers day; Teaching the little birds to build their nests, And in their singing how to keepen rests: Or one of those, who watching where a Spring Out of our Grandame Earth hath issuing, With your attractiue Musicke wooe the streame (As men by Fai ries led, falne in a dreame) To follow you, which sweetly trilling wanders In many Mazes, intricate Meanders; Till at the last, no mocke th'enamour'd rill, Ye bend your traces vp some shady hill; And laugh to see the waue no further tread; But in a chafe run soaming on his head, Being enforc'd a channell new to frame, Leauing the other destitute of name. If thou be one of these, or all, or more, Succour a seely Maid, that doth implore Aid, on a bended heart, vnfain'd and meeke, As true as blushes of a Maiden cheeke. Maiden arise, repli'd the new-borne Maid: "Pure Innocence the senslesse stories will aide. Nor of the Fairie troope, nor Muses nine; Nor am I Venus, nor of Proserpine: But daughter to a lusty aged Swaine, That cuts the greene tufts off th'enamel'd plaine; And with his Sythe hath many a Summer shorne The plow'd-lands lab'ring with a crop of corne; Who from the cloud-clipt mountaine by his stroake Fels downe the lofty Pine,Description of Time. the Cedar, Oake: He opes the flood-gates as occasion is Sometimes on that mans land, sometimes on this. When Verolame, a stately Nymph of yore Did vse to decke her selfe on Isis shore, One morne (among the rest) as there she stood, Saw the pure Channell all besmear'd with blood; Inquiring for the cause, one did impart, Those drops came from her holy Albans hart; Here with in griefe she gan intreat my Syre, That Isis streame, which yeerely did attire Those gallant fields in changeable array, Might turne her course and run some other way. Lest that her waues might wash away the guilt From off their hands which Albans blood had spilt: He condescended, and the nimble waue Her Fis no more within that channell draue: But as a witnesse left the crimson gore To slaine the earth, as they their hands before. He had a being ere there was a birth, And shall not cease vntill the Sea and Earth, And what they both containe, shall cease to be, Nothing confines him but Eternitie. By him the names of good men euer liue, Which short liu'd men vnto Obliuion giue: And in forgetfulnesse he lets him fall, That is no other man then naturall: 'Tis he alone that rightly can discouer, Who is the true, and who the fained Louer. In Summers heat when any Swaine to sleepe Doth more addict himselfe then to his sheepe; And whilst the Leaden God sits on his eyes, If any of his Fold or strayes or dyes, And to the waking Swaine it be vnknowne, Whether his sheepe be dead, or straid, or stolne; To meet my Syre he bends his course in paine, Either where some high hill suruaies the plaine; Or takes his step toward the flowrie vallies, Where Zephyre with the Cowslip hourely dallies; Or to the groues, where birds from heat or weather, Sit sweetly tuning of their noates together: Or to a Mead a wanton Riuer dresses With richest Collers of her turning Esses; Or where the Shepherds sit old stories telling, Chronos my Syre hath no set place of dwelling; But if the Shepherd meet the aged Swaine, He tels him of his sheepe, or shewes them slaine. So great a gift the sacred Powers of heauen (Aboue all others) to my Syre haue giuen, That the abhorred Stratagems of night, Lurking in cauernes from the glorious light, By him (perforce) are from their dungeons hurl'd, And shew'd as monsters to the wondring World. What Mariner is he sailing vpon The watry Desart clipping Albion, Heares not the billowes in their dances roare Answer'd by Eccoes from the neighbour shoare? To whose accord the Maids trip from the Downes, And Riuers dancing come, ycrown'd with Townes, All s nging forth the victories of Time, Vpon the Monsters of the Westerne Clime, VVhose horrid, damned, bloody, plots would bring Confusion on the Laureate Poets King, VVhose Hell-fed hearts deuis'd how neuer more A Swan might singing sit on Isis shore: But croaking Rauens, and the Scrich-owles crie, The at Musitians for a Tragedie, Should euermore be heard about her strand, To f ight all Passengers from that sad Land. Long Summers dayes I on his worth might spend, And yet begin againe when I would end. All Ages since the first age first begun, Ere they could know his worth their age was done: VVhose absence all the Treasury of earth Cannot buy out. From farre-fam'd Tagus birth, Not all the golden grauell he treads ouer, One minute past, that minute can recouer. I am his onely Childe (he hath no other) Cleep'd Aletheia, borne without a Mother. Poore Aletheia long despis'd of all, Scarce Charitie would lend an Hospitall To giue my Months cold watching one nights rest, But in my roome tooke in the Misers Chest. In winters time when hardly fed the flocks, And Isicles hung dangling on the Rocks; When Hyems bound the floods in siluer chaines, And hoary Frosts had candy'd all the Plaines; When euery Barne rung with the threshing Flailes, And Shepherds Boyes for cold gan blow their nailes (Wearied with toyle in seeking out some one That had a sparke of true deuotion;) It was my chance (chance onely helpeth need) To finde an house y built for holy deed, With goodly Architect, and Cloisters wide, With groues and walkes along a Riuers side; The place it selfe afforded admiration, And euery spray a Theame of contemplation But (woe is me) when knocking at the gate, Altheia socks reliefe at an Abbey, and is denide.I gan intreat an enterance thereat: The Porter askt my name: I told; He swell'd, And bade me thence: wherewith in griefe repell'd, I sought for shelter to a ruin'd house, Harb'ring the Weasell, and the dust-bred Mouse; And others none, except the two-kinde Bat, Which all the day there melancholy sate: Here sate I downe with winde and raine ybeat; Griefe fed my minde, and did my body eat. Yet Idlenesse I saw (lam'd with the Gout) Had entrance when poore Truth was kept without There saw I Drunkennesse with Dropsies swolne; And pamper'd Lust that many a night had stolne Ouer the Abby-wall when Gates were lock'd, To be in Venus wanton bosome rock'd: And Glut ony that surf ••• ing had bin, Knocke at the gate and straight-way taken in: Sadly I saie, and sighing grieu'd to see, Their happinesse, my infelicitie. At last came En y by, who hauing spide Where I was sadly se •• ed, inward hide, And to the 〈…〉 she cries, Why sit you here, when with these eares and eyes I heard and saw a strumpet dares to say, She is the true faire A theia, Which you haue boasted long to liue among you, Ye suffer more peeuish Girle to wrong you W th this prouok'd, all rose and in a 〈◊〉 Ran to the gate, stroue who should first 〈◊〉 , Bade me be gone, and then (in 〈…〉 ) Did call me counterfait, 〈…〉 , deuill Then like a strumpet droue me from their 〈◊〉 Wi h 〈◊〉 pans, and with the 〈…〉 And 〈…〉 Had heapes of fire-brands banded at his face 〈1 line〉 Inforc'd in fields to sleepe, or wake all night; A silly sheepe seeing the 〈◊〉 by, Forsooked 〈…〉 where once she meant to lye, As if she in her kinde (vnhurting else) Did bid me take such lodging as her selfe Gladly I tooke the place the sheepe had giuen, Vncanopy'd of any thing but heauen. Where nigh benumb'd with cold, with grief frequented, Vnto the silent night I thus lamented: Faire Cynthia, if from thy siluer Throne, Thou euer lentst an eare to Virgins mo d Or in thy Monthly course, one minute staid Thy Palfrayes trot, to hea •• a wretched Maid Pull in their reynes, and lend thine eare to me, Forlorne, forsaken, cloath'd in miserie: But if a woe hath neuer woo'd thine eare, To stop those Courser in their still Cariere But as stone-hearted men, vncharitable, Passe carelesse by the poore, when men lesse able Hold not the needies helpe in long suspence, But in their hands poure their beneuolence. O! if thou be so hard to stop thin ares When stars in pitty drop downe from their Spheares, Yet for a while in gloomy vaile of night, In shrowd the pale beames of thy borrowed light: O! neuer once discourage goodnesse (lending One glimpse of light) to see misfortune spending Her vtmost rage on Truth despis'd, distressed, Vnhappy, vnrelieued, yet vndressed Where is the heart at 〈◊〉 suffring grieueth Where is 〈◊〉 eye that pittying relieueth? Where is the hand tha still the •• ngry f •• deth? Where is the cane that the 〈…〉 ? That heart, that hand, that eare, or else that eye, Giueth, relieueth, feeds, steeds misery? O earth produce me one (of all thy store) Enioyes; and be vaine glorious no more By this had Chan ibler , the village clocke, Bidden the good-wife for her Maids to knocke And the swart plow man for his breakfast s aid, That he might till those lands were fallow laid: The hils and vallies here and there resound With the re-ecchoes of the deepe-mouth'd hound. Each Shepherds daughter with her cleanly Peale, Was come a field to m ke the Mornings meale, And ere the Sunne had clymb'd the Easterne hils, To guild the muttring bournes, and pritty rils, Before the lab'ring Bee had left the Hiue, And nimble Fishes which in Riuers diue, Began to leape, and catch the drowned Flie, I rose from rest, not in felicitie. Seeking the place of Charities resort, Vnware I hapned on a Princes Court; Where meeting Greatnesse, I requir'd reliefe, (O appy vndelay'd) she said in briefe, To small effect thine oratorie tends, How can I keepe the and so many friends? If of my houshold I should make thee one, Farewell my seruant Adulation: I know she will not stay when thou art there: But seeke some Great mans seruice other-where. Darknesse and light, summer and winters weather May be at once, ere you two liue together, Thu with a nod she left me cloath'd in woe. Thence to the Citie once I thought to goe, But somewhat in my mind this thought had thrown, It was a place wherein I was not knowne. And therefore went vnto these homely townes, Sweetly enuiron'd with the Dazied Downes. Vpon a streame washing a village end A Mill is plac'd, that neuer difference kend Twixt dayes for worke, and holy-tides for rest, But alwaies wrought & ground the neighbors grest. Truth entreats succor from a Miller, a Tayler & a Weauer.Before the doore I saw the Miller walking, And other two (his neighbours) with him talking: One of them was a Weauer, and the other The Village Tayler, and his trusty brother; To them I came, and thus my suit began: Content, the riches of a Country-man, Attend your Actions, be more happy still, Then I am haplesse! and as yonder Mill, Though in his turning it obey the streame, Yet by the head-strong torrent from his beame Is vnremou'd, and till the wheele be tore, It daily toyles; then rests, and workes no more: So in lifes motion may you neuer be (Though swayd with griefes) o'er-borne with misery With that the Miller laughing, blush'd his cloathes Then swore by Cocke and other dung-hill oathes, I greatly was to blame, that durst so wade Into the knowledge of the Wheel-wrights ade. I, neighbour, quoth the Tayler (then he ben His pace to me, spruce like a Iacke of Lent) Your iudgement is not seame-rent when you spend it, Nor is it botching, for I can not mend it. And Maiden, let me tell you in displeasure, You must not presse the cloth you cannot measure: But let your steps be stitcht to wisdomes chalking, And cast presumptuous shreds out of your walking. The Weauer said, Fie wench, your selfe you wrong, Thus to let slip the shuttle of your rong: For marke me well, yea, marke me well, I say, I see you worke your speeches Web astray. Sad to the Soule, o'er laid with idle words, O heauen, quoth I, where is the place affords A friend to helpe, or any heart that ruth The most deiected hopes of wronged Truth! Truth! quoth the Miller, plainly for our parts, I and the Weauer hate thee with our hearts: The strifes you raise I will not now discusse, Betweene our honest Customers and vs: But get you gone, for sure you may despaire Of comfort here, seeke it some other-where. Maid (quoth the Tayler) we no succour owe you, For as I guesse her's none of vs doth know you: Nor my remembrance any thought can seize That I haue euer seene you in my dayes. Seene you? nay, therein confident I am; Nay, till this time I neuer heard your name, Excepting once, and by this token chiefe, My neighbour at that instant cald me thie e, By this you see you are vnknowne among vs, We cannot help you, though your stay may wrong vs. Thus went I on, and further went in woe: For as shrill sounding Fame, that's neuer slow, Growes in her going, and increaseth more, Where she is now, then where she was before: So Griefe (that neuer healthy, euer sicke, That froward Scholler to Arethmeticke, Who doth Diuision and Substraction flie, And chiefly learnes to adde and multiply) In longest iourneys hath the strongest strength, And is at hand, supprest, vnquaild at length. Description of a solitarie Val .Betweene two hils, the highest Phoebus sees Gallantly crownd with large Skie-kissing trees, Vnder whose shade the humble vallies lay; And Wilde-Bores from their dens their gambols play: There lay a graueld walke ore-growne with greene, Where neither tract of man nor beast was seene. And as the Plow-man when the land he tils, Throwes vp the fruitfull earth in ridged hils, Betweene whose Chouron forme he leaues a balke; So twixt those hils had Nature fram'd this walke, Not ouer-darke, nor light, in angles bending, And like the gliding of a Snake descending: All husht and silent as the mid of night: No chattring Pie, nor Crow appear'd in sight; But further in I heard tho Turtle-Doue, Singing sad Dirges on her lifelesse Loue. Birds that compassion from the rocks could bring, Had onely license in that place to sing: Whose dolefull noates the melancholly Cat Close in a hollow tree sate wondring at. And Trees that on the hill-side comely grew, When any little blast of Aeol blew, Did nod their curled heads, as they would be The Iudges to approue their melody. Just halfe the way this solitary Groue, A Crystall Spring from either hill-side stroue, Which of them first should wooe the meeker ground, And make the Pibbles dance vnto their sound. But as when children hauing leaue to play, And neare their Masters eye sport out the day, (Beyond condition) in their childish toyes Oft vex their Tutor with too great a noyse, And make him send some seruant out of doore, To cease their clamour, lest they play no more: So when the prettie Rill a place espies, Where with the Pibbles she would wantonize; And that her vpper streame so much doth wrong her To d iue her thence, and let her play no longer; If she with too loud mutt'ring ran away, As being much incens'd to leaue her play; A westerne milde, and pretty whispering gale, Came dallying with the leaues along the dale, And seem'd as with the water it did chide, Because it ran so long vnpacifide: Yea, and me thought it bade her leaue that coyle, Or he would choake her vp with leaues and soyle: Whereat the riuelet in my minde did weepe, And hurl'd her head into a silent deepe. Now he that guides the Chariot of the Sunne, Vpon th'Eclipticke Circle had so runne, That his brasse-hoos'd fire-breathing horses wan The stately height of the Meridian: And the day-lab'ring man (who all the morne Had from the quarry with his Pick-axe torne A large well squared stone, which he would cut To serue his stile, or for some water-shut) Seeing the 〈◊〉 preparing to decline, Tooke out his Bag, and sate him downe to dine When by 〈◊〉 , yet not steepe descent, I gain'd a place, ne'er Poet did inuent The like for sorrow: not in all this Round A fitter seat or passion can be found. As when a dainty Fount, and Crystall Spring, Got newly from the earths imprisoning, And ready prest some channell cleere to win, Is round his rise by Rockes immured in, And from the thirsty earth would be with-held, Till to the Cesterne top the waues haue swell'd But that a carefull Hinde the Well hath found, As he walke sadly through his parched ground; Whose patience suffring not his land to stay Vntill the water o'er the Cesterne play, He gets a Picke-axe and with blowes so stout, Digs on the Rocke, that all the groues about Resound his stroke, and still the rocke doth charge, Till he hath made a hole both long and large, Whereby the waters from their prison run, To close earths gaping wounds made by the Sun: So through these high rais'd hils, embracing round This shady, sad, and solitary ground, Some power (respecting one whose heauy mone Requir'd a place to sit and weepe alone) Had cut a path, whereby the grieued wight Might freely take the comfort of this Scyte. About the edges of whose roundly forme, In order grew such Trees as doe adorne The sable hearse, and sad forsaken mate; And Trees whose teares their losse commiserate, Such are the Cypresse, and the weeping Myrrhe, The dropping Amber, and the refin'd Fyrrhe, The bleeding Vine, the watry Sicamour, And Willough for the forlorne Paramour, In comely distance: vnderneath whose shade Most neat in rudenesse Nature arbors made Some had a light; some so obscure a seat, Would entertaine a sufferance ne'er so great: Where grieued wights sate (as I after found, Whose heauy hearts the height of sorrow crown'd) Wailing in saddest tunes the doomes of Fate On men by vertue cleeped fortunate. The first note that I heard I soone was won, To thinke the sighes of faire Endymion; The subiect of whose mournfull heauy lay Was his declining with faire Cynthia. Next him a great man sate, in woe no lesse; Teares were but barren shadowes to expresse The substance of his griefe, and therefore stood Distilling from his heart red streames of blood: He was a Swaine whom all the Graces kist, A braue, heroicke, worthy Martialist: Yet on the Downes he oftentimes was seene To draw the merry Maidens of the Greene With his sweet voyce: Once, as he sate alone, He sung the outrage of the lazy Drone, Vpon the lab'ring Be , in straines so rare, That all the flitting Pinnionists of ayre Attentiue sat , and in their kindes did long To learne some Noat from his well-timed Song. Exiled Naso (from whose golden pen The Muses did distill delights for men) Thus sang of Cep •• us (whose name was worne Within the bosome of the blushing Morne:) He had a dar was neuer set on wing, But death flew with it: he could neuer fling, But life fled from the place where stucke the head. A Hunters frolicke life in Woods he lead In separation from his yoaked Mate, Whose beauty, once, he valued at a rate Beyond Aurora's cheeke, when she (in pride) Promis'd their off-spring should be Deifide: Procris she hight; who (seeking to restore Her selfe that happinesse she had before) Vnto the greene wood wends, omits no paine Might bring her to her Lords embrace againe: But Fate thus crost her, comming where he lay Wearied with hunting all a Summers day, He somewhat heard within the thicket rush, And deeming it some Beast, hid in a bush, Raised himselfe, then set on wing a dart, Which tooke a sad rest in the restlesse heart Of his chaste wife; who with a bleeding brest Left loue and life, and slept in endlesse rest. With Procris heauie Fate this Shepherds wrong Might be compar'd, and aske as sad a song. In th' Autumne of his youth, and manhoods Spring, Desert (growne now a most deiected thing) Won him the fauour of a Royall Maid, Who with Diana's Nymphes in Forrests straid, And liu'd a Huntresse life exempt from feare. She once encountred with a urly Beare, Neare to a Crystall Fountains flowry brinke, Heat brought them thither both, and both would drink, When from her golden Qui er she ooke forth A Dart, aboue the rest esteem'd for worth, And sent it to his side: the gaping wound Gaue purple streames to oole the parched ground. Whereat he gnasht his teeth, storm'd his hurt lym, Yeelded the earth what it denied him: Yet sunke not there, but (wrapt in horror) hy'd Vnto his hellish caue, despair'd and dy'd. After the Beares iust death, the quickning Sunne Had twice six times about the Zodiacke run, And (as respectlesse) neuer cast an eye, Vpon the night-inuail'd Cymmerij, Wher this braue Swaine (approued valorous) In opposition, of a tyrannous And bloody Sauage being long time gone Quelling his rage with faithlesse Gerion Returned from the stratagems of warres, (Inriched with his quail'd foes bootlesse scarres) To see the cleare eyes of his dearest Loue, And that her skill in hearbs might helpe remoue The freshing of a wound which he had got In he defence, by Enuies poyson'd shot, And comming through a Groue wherein his faire Lay with her brests displai'd to take the aire, His rushing through the boughes made her arise, And dreading some wilde beasts rude enterprize, Directs towards the noyse a sharpned dart, That reach'd the life of his vndaunted heart, Which when shee knew, twice twenty Moones nie spent In teares for him, and dy'd in languishment. Within an arbour shadow'd with a Vine, Mixed with Rosemary and Eglantine, A Shepherdesse was set, as faire as young, Whose praise full many a Shepherd whilome sung, Who on an Altar faire had to her Name, In consecration many an Anagram: And when with sugred straines they stroue to raise Worth, to a garland of immortall Bayes; She as the learnedst Maid was chose by them, (Her flaxen haire crown'd with an Anadem) To iudge who best deseru'd, for she could fit The height of praise vnto the height of wit. But well-a-day those happy times were gone, (Millions admit a small substraction.) And as the Yeere hath first his iocund Spring, Wherein the Leaues, to Birds sweet carrolling, Dance with the winde: then sees, the Summers day Perfect the Embrion Blossome of each spray: Next commeth Autumne, when the threshed sheafe Loseth his graine, and euery tree his leafe: Lastly, cold Winters rage, with many a storme, Threats the proud Pines which Ida's top adorne, And makes the sap leaue succourlesse the shoot, Shrinking to comfort his decaying root. Or as a quaint Musitian being won, To run a point of swee Diuision, Gets by degrees vnto the highest Key; Then with like order falleth in his play Into a deeper Tone; and lastly, throwes His Period in a Diapa on Close: So euery humane thing terrestriall, His v most height attain'd, bends to his fall. And as a comely youth, in fairest age, Enamour'd on a Maid (whose parentage Had Fate adorn'd, as Nature deck her eye, Migh at a becke command a Monarchie) But poore and faire could neuer yet bew tch A mis rs minde, preferring oule and rich And therefore (as a Kings heart left behinde, When as his corps are borne to be enshrin'd) (His Parents will, a Law) like that dead corse, Leauing his heart, is brought vnto his Horse, Carried vnto a place that can impart No secret Embassie vnto his heart, Climbes some proud hill, whose stately eminence Vassals the fruitfull vales circumference: From whence, no sooner can his lights descry The place enriched by his Mistresse eye: But some thicke cloud his happy prospect blends, And he in sorrow rais'd, in teares descends: So this sad Nymph (whom all commiserate) Once pac'd the hill of Greatnesse and of State, And got the top; but when she gan addresse Her sight, from thence to see true happinesse, Fate interpos'd an enuious cloud of feares, And she with-drew into this vale of teares, Where Sorrow so enthral'd best Vertues Iewell, Stones check'd griefs hardnes, call'd her too- oo cruel, A streame of teares vpon her faire cheekes flowes, As morning dew vpon the Damaske-Rose, Or Crystall-glasse vailing Vermilion; Or drops of Milke on the Carnation: She sang and wept (ô y •• Sea-binding Cleeues, Yeeld Tributary drops, for Vertue grieues ) And to the Period of her sad sweet Key Intwinn'd her case with chaste Penelope But see the dri ling South my mournfull straine Answers, in weeping drops of quickning graine, And since this day we can no further goe, Restlesse I rest within this Vale of Woe, Vntill the modest morne o earths vast Zone, The euer gladsome day shall re-inthrone.
THE FIFTH SONG. THE ARGVMENT. In N ats that rocks to pittie moue, Ioya sings her buried Loue: And from her home of plentie giue Comfort to Truth, whom 〈…〉 , Repentance house next cals me on, With Riots true conuersion: Leauing Amintas Loue to Truth, To be the Theame the Muse ens 'th. HErefull of Aprill, vail'd with sorrowes wing, For louely Layes, I dreary Dirges sing. Who so hath seene yong Lads (to sport themselues) Run in a low ebbe to the sandy shelues: Where seriously they worke in digging wels, Or building childish sorts of Cockle-shels: Or liquid water each to other bandy; Or with the Pibbles play at handy-dandy, Till vnawares the Tyde hath clos'd them round, And they must wade it through or else be drown'd, May (if vnto my Pipe he listen well) My Muse distresse with theirs 〈◊〉 paralell. For where I whilome sung the loues of Swaines, And woo'd the Crystall Currants of the Plaines, Teaching the Birds to loue, whilst euery Tree Gaue his attention to my Melodie: Fate now (as enuying my too happy Theame) Hath round begirt my Song with Sorrowes streame, Which till my Muse wade through and get on 〈◊〉 , My griefe swolne Soule can sing of Loue no more. But turne we now (yet not without remo se) To heauenly Aletheius sad discourse, That did from Fida's eyes 〈◊〉 exhale, When thus she shew'd the Solitarie V •• e. ust in the midst this ioy-forsaken ground A hillocke stood with Springs embraced round: And with a Crystall Ring did seeme to marry Themselues, to this small Ile sad-solitarie:) Vpon whose brest (which trembled as it ran) Rode the faire downie-siluer-coated Swan: And on the bankes each Cypresse bow'd his head, To heare the Swan sing her owne A Funerall song before the or •• be 〈◊〉 . Epiced. As when the gallant youth which liue vpon The Westerne Downes of louely Albion; Meeting, some festiuall to solemnize, Choose out two, skil'd in wrastling exercise, Who strongly, at the wrist or coller cling, Wh lst arme in arme the people make a Ring. So did the water round this Ile inlinke, And so the Trees grew on the waters brinke: Waters their streames about the Iland scatter; And Trees perform'd as much vnto the water: Vnder whose shade the Nightingale would bring Her chirping young, and teach them how to sing. The woods most sad, Musitians thither hie, As it had beene the Siluians Castalie, And warbled forth such Elegyacke straines, That strucke the windes dumbe; & the motly plaines We e fill'd with enuy, that such shady places Held all the worlds delights in their embraces O how (me thinkes) the impes of M eme bring Dewes of Inuention from their sacred Spring He e could I spend that spring of Poesie, Which not twice ten Sunnes haue bestow'd on me; And tell the world, the Muses loue appeares In nonag'd youth, as in the length of yeares. But ere my Muse erected haue the frame; Wherein t'enshrine an vnknowne Shepherds name, She many a Groue, and other woods must tread, More Hils, more Dales, more Founts must be displaid, More Meadowes, Rockes, and from them all elect Ma ter befitting such an Architect. As Children on a play-day leaue the Schooles, And gladly runne vnto the swimming Pooles, Or in the thickets, all with nettles stung, Rush to dispoile some sweet Thrush of her young; Or with their hats (for fish) lade in a Brooke Withouten paine: but when the Morne doth looke Out of the Easterne gates, a Snayle would faster Glide to the Schooles, then they vnto their Master: So when before I sung the Songs of Birds, (Whilst euery moment sweetned lines affords) I pip'd deuoid of paine, but now I come Vnto my taske, my Muse is stricken dumbe. My blubbring pen her sable teares lets fall, In Characters right Hyrogliphicall, And mixing with my teares are ready turning, My late white paper to a weed of mourning; Or Inke and Paper striue how to impart, My words, the weeds they wore, within my hart: Or else the blots vnwilling are my rimes And their sad cause should liue till after-times; Fearing if men their subiect should descry, They forth-with would dissolue in teares and die. Vpon the Ilands craggy rising hill, A Quadrant ranne, wherein by Artlesse skill, At euery corner Nature did erect A Columne rude, yet void of all defect: Whereon a Marble lay. The thick-growne Bryer, And prickled Hawthorne (wouen all entyre) Together clung, and barr'd the gladsome light From any entrance, fitting onely night. No way to it but one, steepe and obscure, The staires of rugged-stone, seldome in vre, All ouer-growne with Mosse, as Nature sate To entertaine Griefe with a cloth of State. Hardly vnto the top I had ascended, But that the Trees (siding the steps) befriended My weary limbes, who bowing downe their armes, Ga e hold vnto my hands to scape from harmes: Which euermore are ready, still present Our feet, in climbing places eminent. Before the doore (to hinder Phoebus view) A shady Box-tree grasped with an Eugh, As in the place behalfe they menac'd warre Against the radiance of each sparkling Star. And on their barkes (which Time had nigh deprau'd) These lines (it seem'd) had been of old engrau'd: This place was fram'd of yore, to be possest By one which sometime Hath Beene Happiest. Louely Id a the most beautious Of all the darlings of Occeanus, He peria's enuy and the Westerne pride, Whose party-coloured garment Nature dy'd In more eye-pleasing hewes with richer graine, Then Iris bow attending Aprils raine. Whose Lilly white inshaded with the Rose Had that man seene, who sung th'Eneidos, Dido had in obliuion slept, and she Had giu'n his Muse her best eternitie. Had braue Atrides (who did erst imploy His force to mix his dead with those of Troy) Beene proffered for a truce her fained peece Helen had staid, and that had gone to Greece: The Phrygian soile had not been drunk with blood, Achilles longer breath'd, and Troy yet stood: The Prince of Poets had not sung his story, My friend had lost his euer-liuing glory. But as a snowy Swan, who many a day On Thamar's swelling brests hath had his play, For further pleasure doth assay to swim My natiue Tauy, or the sandy Plim: And on the panting billowes brauely rides, Whilst Country-lasses walking on the sides, Admire her beauty, and with clapping hands, Would force her leaue the streame, and tread the sands, When she regardlesse swims to th'other edge, Vntill an enuious Bryer, or tangling Sedge Dispoyles her Plumes; or else a sharpned Beame Pierceth her brest, and on the bloudy streame She pants for life: So whilome rode this Maid On streames of worldly blisse, more rich arrayd, With Earths delight, then thought could put in vre, To glut the senses of an Epicure. Whilst neighbring Kings vpon their frontires stood, And offer'd for her dowre huge Seas of blood: And periur'd Gerion to winne her, rent The Indian Rockes for gold, and bootlesse spent Almost his patrimony for her sake, Yet nothing like respected as the Drake That skowr'd her Channels, and destroyd the weede, VVhich spoyld her sisters nets, and fishes breede. At last her truest loue she threw vpon A royall Youth, whose like, whose Paragon Heauen neuer lent the Earth: so great a spirit The VVorld could not containe, nor kingdomes merit: And therefore Ioue did with the Saints inthrone him, And left his Lady nought but teares to mone him. Within this place (as wofull as my Verse) She with her Crystall founts bedew'd his Herse, Inuailed with a sable weed she sate, Singing this song which stones dissolued at.
WHat time the world clad in a mourning robe, A Stage made for a wofull Tragedie: When showers of teares from the Coelestiall Globe Bewaild the fate of Sea-lou'd Britanie; When sighs as frequent were as various sights, When Hope lay bed-rid, and all pleasures dying, When Enuy wept, And Comfort slept: When Cruelty it selfe sate almost crying, Nought being heard but what the minde affrights, When Autumne had disrob'd the Summers pride, Then Englands honour, Europes wonder dy'd. O saddest straine that e'er the Muses sung! A text of Woe for Griefe to comment o ; Teares, sighes, and sobs, giue passage to my tongue, Or I shall spend you till the last is gone. Which done, my heart in flames of burning loue (Wanting his moisture) shall to cinders turne: But first, by me Bequeathed e To strew the place wherein his sacred vine Shall be inclos'd, this might in many moue The like effect: (who would not doe it?) when No graue be its him but the hearts of men. That man whose masse of sorrowes hath been such, That by their weight laid on each seuerall part, His fountaines are so drie, he but as much As one poore drop hath left to ease his heart; Why should he keepe it? since the time doth call, That he ne'er better can bestow it in: If so he feares That others teares In greater number, greatest prizes winne; Know n ne giues more then he which giueth all. Then he which hath but one poore teare in store, O let him spend that drop, and weepe no more Why flowes not Helicon beyond her strands? Is Henry dead, and doe the Muses sleepe? Alas! I see each one amazed stands, "Shallow foords mutter, silent are the deepe: Faine would they tell their griefes, but know not where: All are so full, nought can augment their store: Then how should they Their griefes display To men, so clo d, they aine would heare no more? Though blaming those whose plaints they cannot heare: And with this wish their passions I allow, May that Muse neuer speake that's silent now! Is Henry dead? alas! and doe I liue To sing a Scrich-owles Note that he is dead? If any one a fitter Theame can giue, Come giue it now, or neuer to be read. Bu let him see it doe of horror tast, Anguish, destruction: could it rend in sunder With fearefull grones The senselesse stones, Yet should we hardly be enforc'd to wonder, Ou former griefes would so exceed their last: Time cannot make our sorrowes ought compleater; Nor adde one griefe to make our mourning greater. England was ne'er ingirt with waues till now; Till now it held part with the Continent: Aye me! some one in pitty shew me, how I might in dolefull numbers so lament; That any one which lou'd him, hated me, Might dearely loue me, for lamenting him. Alas! my plaint In such constraint Breaks forth in rage that though my passions swimme, Ye are they drowned ere they landed be: Imperfect lines! O happy! were I hurld And cut from life as England from the world. O happier had we beene! if we ad beene Neuer made happie by enioying thee! Where hath the glorious eye of heauen seene A spectacle of greater miserie? Time turne thy course; and bring againe the Spring; Breake Natures lawes; search the records of old, If ought befell Might paralell Sad Britain's case: weepe Rocks, and Heauen behold, What Seas of sorrow she is plunged in. Where stormes of woe so mainly haue beset her; She hath no place for worse, nor hope for better. Britaine was whilome knowne (by more then fame) To be one of the Ilands fortunate; What franticke man would giue her now that name, Lying so rufull and disconsolate? Hath not her watry Zone in murmuring, Fill'd euery shoare with Ecchoes of her crie Yes, Thetis raues, And bids her waues Bring all the Nymphes within her Emperie To be assistant in her sorrowing: See where they sadly sit on Isis shore, And rend their haires as they would ioy no more. Isis the glory of the Westerne world, When our Heroë (honour'd Essex) dy'd, Strucken with wonder, backe againe she hurld, And sill'd her banckes with an vnwoonted Tyde: As if she stood in doubt, if it were so, And for the certaintie had turn'd her way. Why doe not now Her waues reflow? Poor Nymph, her sorrowes will not let her stay; Or fl es to tell the world her Countries woe: Or cares not to come backe, perhaps, as showing Our teares should make the flood, not her reflowing. Sometimes a Tyrant held the reynes of Rome, Wishing to all the City but one head, That all at once might vndergoe his doome, And by one blow from life be seuered. Fate wisht the like on England, and 'twas giuen: (O miserable men, enthral'd to Fate!) Whose heauy hand That neuer s and The misery of Kingdomes ruinate, Mi ding to leaue her of all ioyes bereauen, With one sad blow (Alas! can worser fall!) Hath giuen this little Ile her Funerall. O come yee blessed Impes of Memory, Ere •• a new Parnassus on his graue! There tune your voices to an Elegy, The saddest Note that ere Apollo gaue. Let euery Accent make the s ander by Keepe time vnto your Song with dropping teares. Till drops that fell Haue made a well To swallow him which still vnmoued heares? And though my selfe proue senselesse of your cry, Yet gladly should my light of life grow di , To be i tomb'd in teares are wept for him. When last he sickned, then we first began To tread the Labyrinth of Woe about: And by degrees we further inward ran, Hauing his thread of life to guide vs out. But Destinie no sooner saw vs enter Sad Sorrowes Maze, immured vp in night, (Where nothing dwels But cryes and yels Throwne from the hearts of men depriu'd of light,) When we were almost come into the Center, Fate (cruelly) to barre our ioyes returning, Cut off our Thread, and left vs all in mourning.
If you haue seene at foot of some braue hill, Two Springs arise, and delicately trill, In gentle chidings through an humble dale, (Where tufty Daizies nod at euery gale) And on the bankes a Swaine (with Lawrell crown'd) Marying his sweet Notes with their siluer sound: When as the spongy clouds swolne big with water, Throw their conception on the worlds Theater: Downe from the hils the rained waters roare, Whilst euery leafe drops to augment their store: Grumbling the stones fall o'er each others backe, Rending the greene turfes with their A fall of waters from a very high place. Cataract, And through the Meadowes run with such a noise, That taking from the Swaine the fountaines voice, Inforce him leaue their margent, and alone Couple his base Pipe with their baser Tone. Aletheia to •• da.Know (Shepherdesse) that so I lent an eare To those sad wights whose plaints I told whileare: But when this goodly Lady gan addresse Her heauenly voyce to sweeten heauinesse, It drown'd the rest, as torrents little Springs; And strucken mute at her great sorrowings, Lay still and wondred at her pitious mone, Wept at her griefes, and did forget their owne, Whilst I attentiue a e, and did impart, Teares when they wanted drops, and from a hart, As hi in sorrow as e'er creature wore, Lent thrilling grones to such as had no more. Had wise Vlysses (who regardlesse flung Along the Ocean when the Syrens sung) Pass'd by and seene her on the sea torne cleeues, Waile her lost Loue (while Neptunes watry Theeues Durst not approach for Rockes:) to see her face He would haue hazarded his Grecian race, Thrust head long to the shore, and to her eyes Offer'd his Vessell as a Sacrifice. Or had lie Syrens on a neighbour shore Heard in what raping Notes she did deplore Her buried Glory, they had left their shelues, And to come neere her would haue drown'd them Now silence lock'd the organs of that voyce;Aletheia commeth to Idya. Whereat each merry Syluan wont reioyce, When with a bended knee to her I came, And did impart my griefe and hate name: But first a pardon begg'd, i that my cause So much constrain'd me as to breake the Lawes Of her wish'd sequestration, or ask'd Bread (To saue a life) from her, whose life was dead: But lawlesse famine, selfe-consuming hunger, Alas! compel'd me: had I stayed longer, My weakned limmes had beene my wants forc'd meed, And I had fed, on that I could not feed. When she (compassionate) to my sad mone Did lend a sigh, and stole it from her owne; And (wofull Lady wrackt on haplesse shelfe) Yeelded me comfort, yet had none her selfe: Told how she knew me well since I had beene, As chiefest consort of the Fairy Queene; O happy Queene! for euer euer praise Dwell on thy Tombe; the period of all dayes Onely seale vp thy fame; and as thy Birth Inrich'd thy Temples on the fading earth, So haue thy Vertues crown'd thy blessed soule, Where the first Mouer with his words controule; As with a girdle the huge Ocean bindes; Gathers into his fist the nimble Windes; Stops the bright Courser in his hot careere; Commands the Moone twelue courses in a yeere: Liue thou with him in endlesse blisse, while we Admire all vertues in admiring thee. Thou, thou, the fa tresse of the learned Well; Thou nursing Mother of Gods Israel; Thou, for whose louing Truth, the heauens raines Sweet Mel and Manna on our flowry plaines: Thou, by whose hand the sacred Trine did bring Vs out of bonds, from bloody Bonnering. Ye suckling Babes, for euer blesse that Name Releas'd your burning in your Mothers flame! Thrice blessed Maiden, by whose hand was giuen Free liberty to taste the food of Heauen. Neue forget her (Albions louely Daughters) Which led you to the Springs of liuing Waters And if my Muse her glory faile to sing, May to my mouth my tongue for euer cling! Herewith (at hand) taking her Horne of Plenti Idya cherisheth Aletheia. Fil'd with the choyse of euery Orchards daintie, As Peares, Plums, Apples, the sweet Raspis-berry, The Quince, the Apricocke, the blushing Cherry; The Mulberry (his blacke from Thisbie taking) The cluster'd Filberd, Grapes oft merry-making. (This fruitfull Horne th'immortall Ladies fill'd With all the pleasures that rough Forrests yeeld, And gaue Idya, with a further blessing, That thence (as from a Garden) without dressing, She t ese should euer haue; and neuer want Store, from an Orchard without tree or plant.) With a right willing hand she gaue me, hence, The Stomackes comforter, the pleasing Quince; And or the chiefest cherisher she lent The Royall Thistles milkie nourishment. Here staid I long: but when to see Aurora Kisse the persumed cheekes of dainty Flora. Without the vale I trod one louely Morne, With true intention of a quicke returne, An vnexpected chance stroue to deferre My going backe, and all the loue of her. But Maiden see the day is waxen old, And gins to shut in with the Marigold: The Neat-he ds Kine doe bellow in the yard; And Dairy Maidens for the milke prepar'd, Are drawing at the Vdder, long ere now The Plow-man hath vnyoak't his Teame from plow: My transformation to a fearefull Hinde Shall to vnfold a fitter season finde; Meane while yond Pallace, whose braue Turrets tops, Ouer the stately Wood suruay the cops, Promis'th (if sought) a wished place of rest, Till Sol our Hemisphere haue repossest. Now must my Muse afford a straine to Riot, Who almost kild with his luxurious diet, Lay eating grasse (as dogges) within a wood, So to disgorge the vndisgested food: By whom faire Aletheia past along With Fida Queene of euery shepherds song, By them vnseene (for he securely lay Vnder the thicke of many a leauied spray) And through the leueld Meadowes gently threw Their neatest feet, washt with refreshing dew, Where he durst not approach, but on the edge Of th'hilly wood, in couert of a hedge, VVent onward with them, trode with them in paces, And farre off much admir'd their formes and graces. Into the Plaines at last he headlong venter'd: But they the hill had got and pallace enter'd. VVhen, like a valiant well resolued man Seeking new paths i'th' pathlesse Ocean, Vnto the shores of monster breeding Nyle Or through the North to the vnpeopled Thyle VVhere from the Equinoctiall of the Spring, To that of Autumne, Titans golden Ring Is neuer off; and till the Spring againe In gloomy darknesse all the shoares remaine. Or if he furrow vp the brynie Sea, To ca t his Ancors in the frozen bay Of woody Norway; (who hath euer fed Her people more with scaly fish then bread) Though ratling mounts of Ice thrust at his Helme, And by their fall still threaten to o'rewhelme His little Vessell: and though Winter throw (What age should on their heads) white caps of Snow Striues to congeale his bloud; he cares not for't, But arm'd in minde, gets his intended port: So Ryot, though full many doubts arise, VVhose vnknowne ends might graspe his enterprise, Climbes towards the Palace, and with gate demure, VVith hanging head, a voice as faining pure, With orne and ragged coat, his hairy legs Bloudy, as scratch'd with Bryers, he entrance begs. Remembrance sate as Portresse of this gate: A Lady alwayes musing as she sate, Except when sometime suddainly she rose, And with a back-bent eye, at length, she throwes Her hands to heauen: and in a wondring guize, Star'd on each obiect with her fixed eyes: As some way-faring man passing a wood, (Whose wauing top hath long a Sea-marke stood) Goes iogging on, and in his minde nought hath, But how the Primrose finely strew the path, Or sweetest Violets lay downe their heads At some trees root on mossie feather-beds, Vntill his heele receiues an Adders sting, Whereat he starts, and backe his head doth fling. She neuer mark'd the sute he did preferre, But (carelesse) let him passe along by her. So on he went into a spatious court, All trodden bare with multitudes resort: At th'end whereof a second gate appeares, The Fabricke shew'd full many thousand yeares: Whose Posterne-key that time a Lady kept, Her eyes all swolne as if she seldome slept; And would by fits her golden tresses teare, And striue to stop her breath with her owne haire Her lilly hand (not to be lik'd by Art) A paire of Pincers held; where with her heart Was hardly grasped, while the piled stones Re-eccoed her lamentable grones. Here at this gate the custome long had bin When any sought to be admitted in; Remorce thus vs'd them, ere they had the key, And all these torments felt, pass'd on their way. When Riot came, the Ladies paines nigh done, She past the gate; and then Remorce begun To fetter Riot in strong iron chaines; And doubting much his patience in the paines. As when a Smith and's Man (lame Vulcans fellowes) Call'd from the Anuile or the puffing Bellowes, To clap a well-wrought shooe (for more then pay) Vpon a stubborne Nagge of Galloway; Or vnback'd Ienne , or a Flaunders Mare, Th t the Forge stand snuffing of the ayre; The swarty Smith spi s in his Buckhorne fist, And bids his Man bring out the fiue-fold wist, His shackles, shacklock , hampers, gy es and chaines, His linked boles, and 〈…〉 paines These make him fast and least all these should faulter, Vnto a poste with some fix doubled halter He bindes his head 〈◊〉 all are of the least To curbe the fury of the head strong 〈◊〉 : When if a Carriers 〈◊〉 be brought vnto him, His Mans an hold his oor whilst 〈…〉 him: Remorce was so inforc'd to binde him stronger, Because his faults requi •• d infliction longer Then any 〈◊〉 -prest wigh which many a day Since 〈…〉 himselfe had past that way. When all the cruell torment he had burne, Gal ed with chaines, and on the 〈◊〉 high 〈◊〉 Pinching with glowing pincers his owne heart All ame and restlesse, full of wound and smart, He 〈◊〉 Posterne 〈◊〉 , o inward hi s, And from the gate a two-fold path describe, One leading vp a hill, Repentance way And (as more worthy) on the right hand lay: The other head-long, steepe, and lik'ned well Vnto the path which tendeth downe to hell All steps that thither went shew'd no returning, The port to paines, and to eternall mourning; Where certaine Death liu'd, in an Ebon chaire, The soules blacke homicide meager Despaire Had his abodes there gainst the craggie rocks Some dasht their 〈…〉 , with relentlesse 〈◊〉 , Others on trees (ô most accursed elites) Are fastening knots so to vnd •• themselues Here one in sinne not daring to appeare At Mercies seat with one 〈◊〉 or eare, Within 〈…〉 was 〈…〉 an eye, That vnto God it might for 〈…〉 cry There from a Rocke a 〈…〉 newly fell All torne in peeces, to go whole to Hell Here with a sleepie Potion one thinkes fit To graspt with death, but 〈…〉 know 〈…〉 There in gool 〈◊〉 their liues 〈◊〉 , And die in water to reuiue in fire Here hangs the bloud upon the guiltlesse stones: There wormes 〈…〉 Here lyes and 〈…〉 Without 〈◊〉 her li •• s of 〈…〉 Scattring the ground, and as 〈…〉 , As they at vertue spur ed in the world. Fye haplesse wretch, ô that 〈…〉 Measur'st Gods mercy by thine owne deseruing Which cry'st (distrustfull of the power of 〈◊〉 ) My sinnes are greater then can be forgiue : Which still are ready 〈…〉 At euery stripe of worldly miserie O learne (thou in whose 〈◊〉 the Dragon li k s) Gods Mercy ( 〈◊〉 ) is o'erall hi workes Know he is pitifull, apt to forgiue; Would not a sinners death, but that he liue. O euer, euer rest vpon that word Which doth assure thee, though his two edg'd Sword Be drawne in Iustice gainst thy sinfull soule, To separate the rotten from the whole; Yet if a sacrifice of prayer be sent him, He will not strike; or if he strike repent him. Let none despaire; for cursed Iudas sinne Was not so much in yeelding vp the King Of life to death, as when he thereupon Wholy dispair'd of Gods remission. 〈◊〉 long doubting stood which way were best To leade his steps: at last preferring rest (As foolishly he thought) before the paine Was to be past ere he could well attaine The high-built Palace, 〈◊〉 aduenture on Tha path, which led to 〈◊〉 confusion, When sodainly a voice as sweet as 〈◊〉 , With words diuine began entice his 〈◊〉 Whereat as in a rapture, on the ground 〈…〉 lay, and all his senses 〈◊〉 A time of rest onely that facultie Which neuer can be seene, nor euer dye, That in the essence of an endlesse Nature Do sympathize with the All-good Creator, That onely wak'd which cannot be in err'd And from a heauenly Quire this di ty heard.
Vaine man, doe not mistrust Of heauen winning; Nor (though the most vniust) Despaire for sinning 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 God will be seene his sentence changing, If he behold thee wicked wayes estranging. Climbe vp where pleasures dwell In flowry Allies: And taste the liuing ell That decks the Vallies. Faire Metanoia is attending To crowne thee with those ioyes which know 〈◊〉 ending.
Herewith on leaden wings Sl •• pe from him flew, When on his arme he rose, and sadly threw Shrill acclamation while an hollow caue, Or hanging hill, or heauen 〈◊〉 answer gaue. O sacred Essence lightning me this houre How may I lightly stil thy great Power? Ecc . Power. Power? but of whence? vnder the green-wood spray. Or liu'st in hea 'n? say, Ecc . In Heauens 〈◊〉 In heauens aye tell, may I it obtaine By almes; by fasting, prayer, by paine. Ecch. By paine. Shew me the paine, it shall be vndergone: I to mine end will still goe on Ecch. Goe on. But whither? On! Shew me the place, the time What if the Mountain I do climbe? Ecch. Doe; climbe. Is that the way to ioyes which still endure? O bid my soule of it be sure! Ecch. Be sure. Then thus assured, doe I climbe the hill, Heauen be my guide in this thy will. Ecch. I will. As when a maid taught from her mother wing, To tune her voyce vnto a siluer string, When she should run, she rests; rests when should run, And ends her lesson hauing now begun: Now misseth she her stop, then in her song, And doing of her best she still is wrong, Beg ns againe, and yet againe strikes false, Then in a chafe forsakes her Virginals, And yet within an houre she tries anew, That with her daily paines (Arts chiefest due) She gaines that charming skill: and can no lesse Ta e the fierce walkers of the wildernesse, Then that O agrin Harpist, for whose lay, Tigers with hunger pinde and left their pray. So Riot, when he gan to climbe the hill, Here maketh haste and there long standeth still, Now getteth vp a step, then fals againe, Yet not despairing all his nerues doth straine, To clamber vp a new, then slide his feet, And downe he comes; but giues not ouer yet, For (with the maid) he hopes, a time will be When merit shall be linkt with industry. Now as an Angler melancholy standing Vpon a greene banke yeelding roome for landing, A wrigling yellow worme thrust on his hooke, Now in the midst he throwes, then in a nooke: Here puls his line, there throwes it in againe, M ndeth his Corke and Bait, but all in vaine, He long stands viewing of the curled streame; At last a hungry Pike, or well-growne Breame Snatch at the worme, and hasting fast away, He knowing it, a Fish of stubborne sway, Puls vp his rod, but soft: (as hauing skill) Wherewith the hooke fast holds the Fishes gill, Then all his line he freely yeeldeth him, Whilst furiously all vp and downe doth swim Th'insnared Fish, here on the top doth s ud, There vnderneath the banks, then in the mud; And with his franticke fits so scares the shole, That each one takes his hyde, or starting hole By this the P ke cleane wearied vnderneath A Willow lyes, and pants (if Fishes breath) Wherewith the Angler gently puls him to him, And least his haste might happen to vndoe him, Layes downe his rod, then takes his line in hand, And by degrees getting the Fish to land, Walkes to another Poole: at length is winner Of such a dish as serues him for his dinner: So when the Climber halfe the way had got Musing he stood, and busily gan plot, How (since the mount did alwaies steeper tend) He might with steps secure his iourney end. At last (as wandring Boyes to gather Nuts) A hooked Pole he from a Hasell cuts; Now throwes it here, then there to take some hold, But bootlesse and in vaine, the rockie mold, Admits no cranny, where his Hasell-hooke Might promise him a step, till in a nooke Somewhat aboue his reach he hath espide A little Oake, and hauing often tride To catch a bough with standing on his toe, Or leaping vp, yet not preuailing so; Ho 〈…〉 towards the little 〈◊〉 , The 〈…〉 His ole vnto 〈…〉 his drawing The early rising 〈…〉 , Leauing the greene ough, •• yes a bo •• the Rocke, Whilst, 〈…〉 to him flocke: And now within his 〈…〉 With one hand on ly 〈◊〉 he hold 〈…〉 , And with the 〈◊〉 grasping first the 〈◊〉 , A pretty bough he n his 〈…〉 Then to his gird •• be making 〈◊〉 the hoo •• , His other hand another bough h t b ooke His first, third, and that, another giu •• , To bring him to the place where 〈…〉 Then, as a nimble Sq irrill from the wood, Ranging the hed es for his Filberd ood, Sits peartly on a bough his browne Nuts cracking, And from the shell the sweet white kernell aking, Till (with their crooke and bags) 〈…〉 Boyes, (To share with him) come with so 〈…〉 , That he is forc'd to leaue a Nut nigh broke, And for his life leape to a neighbour 〈◊〉 , Thence to a Beech, thence to a row of A hes; Whilst th'row the Q agmires, and red water plashes The Boyes run dabling thorow thicke and thin, One teares his hose, another breakes his 〈◊〉 , This, torne and atter'd, hath with 〈…〉 Go by the Bryers, and that hath lost his shooe: This drops his band; that head-long 〈◊〉 for haste; Another ries behinde for being last: With sticks and stones 〈…〉 a sounding hollow, The little foole, with no small sport, they follow, Whilst he, fro 〈◊〉 to 〈◊〉 , from spray to spray, Gets to the wood, and hides him in his Dray: Such shi •• m de Ry t, ere he could get vp, And so from bough to bough he won the top, Though hind ••• 〈◊〉 , for euer comming there, Were often hr t vpon him by Dispaire. Now at hi 〈◊〉 the sta ely mountaine lay, And with a gladsome eye began suruay What perils he had rod on since the time His weary fe •• and armes ss id to climbe. When with a humble voyce (withouten feare, Though he look'd wilde and ouer grown with haire) A gentle Nymph in russet course array, Comes and directs him onward in his way. First, brings she him into a goodly Hall, Faire,Description of the house of Repentance. yet not beautified with Minerall: But in a carelesse Art, and artlesse care, Made, loose neglect, more louely farre then rare. Vpon the floore ypau'd with Marble slate) (With Sack-cloth cloth'd) many in ashes sate: And round about the wals for many yeares, Hung Crystall Vials of repentant teares: And Books of vowes, and many a heauenly deed, Lay ready open for each one to read, Some were immured vp in little sheads. There to contemplate Heauen, and bid their Beads. Others with garments thin of Cammels-haire, With head, and armes, and legs, and feet all bare. Were singing Hymnes to the Eternall Sag , For sa 〈◊〉 from their Pilgrimage, Some with a whip their pamper'd bodies beat; Others in fasting liue, and seldome 〈◊〉 But as those Trees which doe in Indi grow And call'd of elder Swaine full long agoe The Sun and Moones faire Trees (full goodly deight) And 〈…〉 challenging their height: Hauing no helpe (to ouer looke braue Towers) From coole refreshing d w, or drisling showers; Whe as the Earth (as oftentimes i 〈◊〉 ) Is interpos'd wixt Sa •• and Nights pale Queen , Or wh •• the Moone •• clipseth Titans light, The Trees (all comfortlesse) rob'd of their sight Weepe liquid drops, which plentifully shoo Along the outward ba ke downe to the root: And by their owne shed teares they euer flourish, So their own sorrowes, their owne ioyes doe nourish: And so within this placefull many a wight, Did make his teares his food both day and night. And had it ganted (from th'Almighty great) To swim th'row them vnto his Mercy-s •• s. Faire Meta ai in a chai e of earth, With count'nance sad, yet sadnesse promis'd mirth, Sate vail'd in coursest weeds of Cammels hayre, Inriching pouertie; yet neuer aire Wa like to her, nor since the world begun A louelier Lady kist the glorious Sun. For her the God of Thunder, mighty, great, Whose Foot-stoole is the Earth, and Heauen his Sea , Vnto a man who from hi crying birth Went on still shunning what he carried, 〈◊〉 VVhen he could walke no further for his graue, Nor could step ouer, but he there must haue A seat to rest, when he would faine g •• on, But age in euery nerue, in euery bone For ad his passage: for her salte hath heauen Fill'd vp the graue, and made his path so euen, That fifteene courses had the bright Steeds run, (And he was weary) 〈◊〉 his course was done. For scorning her, the Courts of Kings which throw A proud ra •• 'd pinnacle to rest the Crow; And on a Plaine out b aue a neighbour Rocke, In stout resistance of a Tempests shock ,) For her contempt heauen (rei ing his disasters) Haue made these Towers but piles to burne their masters. To her the lowly Nymph (Humbless hight) Brought (a her office) this deformed wight; To whom the Lady courteous semblance shewes, And pittying his estate in sacred thewes, And Letters (worthily y le p'd diuine) Resolu'd t'instruct him: but her discipline She knew of true effect, would surely misse, Except 〈◊〉 first his Metamorphosis Should cleane exile: and knowing that his birth VVas to inherit reason, though on ear h Some VVitch had thus transform'd him, by her skill, Expert in changing, euen the very will, In few dayes labours with continuall prayer, (A sacrifice transcends the bu ome ayre) His g isly shape, his soule deformed feature, His h rrid lookes, worse then a sauage creature, By Metanoi 's hand from heauen, began Receiue their sentence of diuorce from man. And as a louely Maiden, pure and chaste, VVith naked Iu ie necke, and gowne vnlac'd, VVithin her chamber, when the day is fled, Makes poore her garments to enrich her bed: First, 〈◊〉 she off her lilly silken gowne, That, rike for sorrow a she layes it downe, And with her armes graceth a VVast coat fine Imbracing her as it would ne'er vntwine. Her 〈◊〉 haire in snaring beholders, She next permits to waue about her shoulders, And •• ough-she cast it backe, the silken slips Still forward steale, and hang vpon her lips: VVhereat she sweetly angry, with her laces Bindes vp the wanton lo ks in curious races, VVhilst (twisting with her ioynts) each haire long lingers, As lo h to be inchain'd, but with her fingers. Then on her head a dressing like a Crowne; Her breasts all bare, her Kir le slipping downe, And all things off (which rightly euer be Call'd the foule-faire markes of our miserie) Except her last, which enuiously doth seize her, Least any eye partake with it in pleasure, Prepares for sweetest rest, while Siluans greet her, And (longingly) the down-bed swels to meet her: So by degrees his shape all brutish vilde, Fell from him (as loose-skin from some yong childe) In lieu whereof a man-like shape appeares, And gallant youth scarce skill'd in twenty yeares, So faire, so fresh, so young, so admirable In euery part, that since I am not able In words to shew his picture, gentle Swaines, Recall the praises in my former straines; And know if they haue gra ed any lim, I onely lent it those, but stole't from him. Had that chaste Roman Dan •• beheld his face, Ere the proud King possest her Husbands place, Her thoughts had beene adulterate, and this staine Had won her greater fame, had she beene slaine. The Larke that many mornes her selfe makes merry With the shrill chanting of her teery-lerry, (Before he was transform'd) would leaue the skyes, And houer o'er him to behold his eyes. Vpon an O en-pipe well could he play, For when he fed his flocke vpon the lay Maidens to heare him from the Plaines came tripping And Birds frō bough to bough full nimbly skipping; His flocke (then happy flocke) would leaue to feed, And stand amaz'd to listen to his Reed: Lyons and Tygers, with each beast of game, With hearing him were many times made tame: Braue trees & flowers would towards him be bending And none that heard him wisht his Song an ending: Maids, Lyons, birds, flocks, trees, each flowre, each spring, Were wrapt with wōder, whē he vs'd to sing So faire a person to describe to men Requires a curious Pencill, not a Pen. Hi Metanoia clad in seemly wise (Not after our corrupted ages guise, Where gaudy weeds lend splendor to the lim, While that his cloaths receiu'd their grace from him) Then o a garden set with rarest flowres, With pleasant fountains stor'd, and shady bowres: She leads him by the hand, and in the groues, Where thousand pretty Birds sung to their Loues, And thousand thousand blossomes (from their stalk ) Milde Z phy us threw downe to paint the walkes: Where yet the wilde Boare neuer durst appeare: Here Fida (euer to kinde Raymond deare) Met them, and shew'd where Aletheia lay, (The airest Maid that euer blest the day) Sweetly she lay, and cool'd her lilly-hand Within a Spring that throw vp golden sands: As if i would intice her to perseuer In liuing there, and grace the banks for euer. To her Amintas (Riot now no more) Came, and saluted neue man before More blest nor like this kisse hath beene another But when two dangling Cherries kist each other: Nor e er beauties, like, met at such close But in the kisses of two Damaske-Roses. O, how the flowres (prest with their treadings on the) S roue to ast vp their heads to looke vpon them! How iealously the buds that so had seene them, Sent forth the sweetest smels to step betweene them, As fe ring the perfume lodg'd in their powers Once known of them, they might neglect the flowres, How often wisht Amintas with his heart, His ruddy lips from •• ers might neuer part, And that the heauens this gift were the 〈◊〉 To eed on nothing but each others breathing A truer loue the Muses 〈◊〉 sung, Nor happyer names ere grac'd a golden tongue O! they are better fitting his sweet stripe, Who on the bankes of 〈…〉 〈…〉 for that learned Swaine whose layes Diuinest Homer crown'd with deathlesse Bayes Or any one sent from the sacred Well Inheriting the soule of Astrophill These, these in golden li es might write this Story, And make these loud their 〈◊〉 eternall glory: Whilst a Swaine la weake 〈◊〉 yeeres as kin, Should in the valley heare them on the hill Yet (when my Sheepe slaue to their Cesto e be one, And I haue brought them backe to 〈…〉 To misse an idle houre, and not for 〈◊〉 , VVith choisest relish shall 〈…〉 Record their worths: and though in a 〈…〉 I misse the glory of a charming ayre, My Muse may one day make the Courtly Swaines Enamour'd on the Musick of the Plaines, And as vpon hill she brauely sings, Teach humble ales to weepe in Crystall Springs.
The end of the first Booke.

BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.

The second Booke.

HORAT.

Carmine Dij superi placantur, carmine Manes.

LONDON, Printed by IOHN HAVILAND, 1625.

TO THE TRVLY NOBLE AND LEARNED WILLIAM EARLE OF PEMBROKE, LORD CHAMBERLAINE TO HIS MAIESTIE, &c. NOT that the gift (Great Lord) deserues your hand, (Held euer worth the rarest workes of men) Offer I this; but since in all our Land None can more rightly claime a Poet's Pen: That Noble Bloud and Vertue truly knowne, Which circular in you vnited run, Makes you each good, & euery good your owne, If it can hold in what my Muse hath done. But weake and lowly are these tuned Layes, Yet though but weake to win faire Memorie, You may improue them, and your gracing raise; For things are priz'd as their possessours be. If for such fauour they haue worthlesse striuen, Since Loue the cause was, be that Loue forgiuen! Your Honours, W. BROWNE.
To the most ingenious Author Mr. W. BROWNE. INgenious Swaine! that highly dost adorne Clear Tauy! on whose brinck we both were borne! Iust Praise in me would ne're be thought to mo e From thy sole Worth, but from my partiall Loue. Wherefore I will not doe thee so much wrong, As by such mixture to allay thy Song, But while kinde strangers rightly praise each Grace Of thy chaste Muse; I (from the happy Place That brought thee forth, and thinkes it not vnfit To boast now that it earst bred such a Wit;) Would onely haue it knowne I much reioyce; To heare such Matters, sung by such a Voyce. IOHN GLANVILL.
To his Friend Mr. BROWNE. ALL that doe reade thy Workes, and see thy face, (Where scarce a haire growes vp, thy chin to grace) Doe greatly wonder how so youthfull yeares Could frame a Work, where so much worth appears. To heare how thou describ'st a Tree, a Dale, A Groue, a Greene, a solitary Vale, The Euening Showers, and the Morning Gleames, The golden Mountaines, and the siluer Streames, How smooth thy Verse is, and how sweet thy Rimes, How sage, and yet how pleasant are thy Lines; What more or lesse can there be said by men, But, Muses rule thy Hand, and guide thy Pen. THO WENMAN, è Societate Inter. T •• pli.
To his worthily-affected Friend Mr. VV. BROWNE. AWake sad Muse, and thou my sadder spright, Made so by Time, but more by Fortunes spight, Awake, and hie vs to the Greene, There shall be seene The quaintest Lad of all the time For neater Rime: Whose free and vnaffected straines Take all the Swaines That are not rude and ignorant, Or Enuy want. And Enuy lest it's hate discouered e A Cour l Loue and Friendship offers thee: The Shepherdesses blithe and faire For thee despaire. And whosoe're depends on Pan Holds him a man Beyond themselues, (if not compare,) He is so rare, So innocent in all his wayes As in his Layes. He masters no low soule who hopes to please The Nephew of the braue Philisides.
Another to the same. WEre all mens enuies fixt in one mans lookes, That monster that would prey on safest Fame, Durst no once checke at thine, nor at thy Name: So he who men can reade as well as Bookes Attes thy Lines; thus tride, they show to vs As Sc ua's Shield, thy Selfe Emeritus. W. HERBERT.
To my Browne, yet brightest Swaine That woons, or haunts or Hill or Plaine. Pocta nascitur. PIpe on, sweet Swaine, till Ioy, in Blisse, sleepe waking; Hermes, it seemes, to thee, of all the Swaines, Hath lent his Pipe and Art: For thou art making With sweet Notes (noted) Heau'n of Hils and Plaines! Nay, if as thou beginst, thou dost hold on, The totall Earth thine Arcadie will bee; And Neptunes Monarchy thy Helicon: So, all in both will make a God of thee. To whom they will exhibit Sacrifice Of richest Loue and Praise; and enuious Swaines (Charm'd with thine Accents) shall thy Notes agniz To reach aboue great Pans in all thy Straines. Then, ply this Veyne: for, it may well containe The richest Morals vnder poorest Shroud; And sith in thee the Past'rall spirit doth raigne, On such Wits-Treasures let it sit abrood: Till it hath hatch'd such Numbers as may buy The rarest Fame that e're enriched Ayre; Or fann'd the Way faire, to AETERNITY, To which vnsoil'd, thy Glory shall repaire! Where (with the Gods that in faire Starres doe dwell, When thou shalt, blazing, in a Starre abide) Thou shalt be stil'd the Shepherds-Starre, to tell Them many Mysteries; and, be their Guide. Thus, doe I spurre thee on with sharpest praise, To vse thy Gifts of Nature, and of Skill, To double-gilde Apollos Browes, and Bayes, Yet make great NATVRE Arts true Sou'raigne still. So, ame shall euer say, to thy renowne, The Shepherds-Star, or bright'st in Skie, is Browne! The true Louer of thine Art and Nature. IOHN DAVIES of Heres.
AD ILLVSTRISSIMVM IVVENEM GVLIELMVM BROWNE Generosum, in Operis sui Tomum secundum Carmen gratulatorium. SCri ta priùs vidi, legi, digito que notaui Carminis istius singula verba meo. Ex scriptis sparsim quaerebam carpere dicta, Omnia sed par est, aut ego nulla notem. Filia si fuerit facies haec nactae sororis, Laudator prolis solus & Author eris: Haec nondum visi qui flagrat amore libelli Prae arrat scriptis omnia c rta tuis. CAROLV CROKE.
To my noble Friend the Author. A Perfect Pen, it selfe will euer praise. So pipe our Shepherd in his Roundelayes, That who could iudge, of Musickes sweetest straine, Would sweare thy Muse were in a heauenly vaine. A Worke of worth, showes what the Worke-man is: When as the fault, that may be found amisse, (To such at least, as haue iudicious eyes) Nor in the Worke, nor yet the Worke-man lyes. Well worthy thou, to weare the Lawrell wreath: When frō thy brest, these blessed thoughts do breath; That in thy gracious Lines such grace doe giue, It makes thee, euerlastingly to liue. Thy words well coucht, thy sweet inuention show, A perfect Poet, that could place them so. VNTON CROKE, è Societate Inter. Templi.
To the Author. THat priuiledge which others claime, To flatter with their Friends With thee (Friend) shall not be mine ayme, My Verse so much pretends. The generall Vmpire of best wit In this will speake thy fame. The Muses Minio s as they sit, Will still confirme the ame. Let me sing him that merits best, Let others scrape for fashion; Their b z ing prate thy worth will iest, And sleight such commendation. ANTH. VINCENT.
To his worthy Friend Mr. W. BROWNE, on his BOOKE. THat Poets are not bred so, but so borne, Thy Muse it proues; for in her ages morne She hath stroke enuy dumbe, and charm'd the loue Of eu'ry Muse whose birth the Skies approue. Goe on; I know thou art too good to feare. And may thy earely straines affect the eare Of that rare Lord, who iudge and guerdon can The richer gifts which doe aduantage man IOHN MORGAN, è Societate Inter. Templi.
To his Friend the Authour. SOmetimes (deare friend) I make thy Booke my meat, And then I iudge 'tis Hony that I eat. Sometimes my drinke it is, and then I thinke It is Apollo's Nectar, and no drinke. And being hurt in minde, I keepe in store Thy Booke, a precious Balsame for the sore 'Tis Hony, Nectar, Balsame most diuine: Or one word for them all; my Friend, 'tis thine. THO. HEYGATE, è Societate Inter. Templi.
To his Friend the Author. IF antique Swaines wanne such immortall praise, Though they alone with their melodious Layes, Did onely charme the Woods and flowry Lawnes: Satyres, and Floods, and Stones, and hairy Fawnes: How much braue Youth to thy due worth belongs, That charm'st not thē but men with thy sweet Songs? AVGVSTVS CAESAR, è Societate Inter. Templi.
To the Authour. TIs knowne I scorne to flatter (or commend) What merits not applause though in my Friend: Which by my censure should now more appeare, Were this not full as good as thou art deare: But since thou couldst not (erring) make it so, That I might my impartiall humour show By finding fault; Nor one of th se friends tell How to shew loue so ill, that I as well Might paint out mine: I feele an enuious touch, And tell thee Swaine: that at thy fame I grutch, Wishing the Art that makes this Poeme shine, And this thy Worke (wert not thou wronged) mine. For when Detraction shal forgotten be, This will continue to eternize thee; And if hereafter any busie wit Should, wronging thy conceit, miscensure it, Though seeming learn'd or wise: here he shall see, Tis prais'd by wiser and more learn'd then hee. G. WITHER
To Mr. BROWNE. WEre there a thought so strange as to deny That happy Bayes doe some mens Births adorne, Thy worke alone might serue to iustifie, That Poets are not made so, but so borne. How could thy plumes thus soone haue soar'd thus Hadst thou not Lawrell in thy Cradle worne? Thy Birth o'er-tooke thy Youth: And it doth make hie Thy youth (herein) thine elders ouer-take. W. B.
To my truly-belou'd Friend M. Browne, on his Pastorals. SOme men, of Bookes or Friends not speaking right, May hurt them more with praise, then Foes with spight. But I haue seene thy Worke, and I know thee: And, if thou list thy selfe, what thou canst bee. For, though but early in these paths thou tread, I finde thee write most worthy to be read. It must be thine owne iudgement, yet that sends This thy worke forth; that iudgement mine commends. And, where the most reade bookes, on Authors fames, Or, like our Money-brokers, take vp names On credit, and are couz n'd; see, that thou By offring not more sureties, then enow, Hold thine owne worth vnbroke: which is so good Vpon th'Exchange of Letters, as I wou'd More of our Writers would like thee, not swell With the how much they set forth, but th'how well. BEN. IONSON.
BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS. THE SECOND BOOKE.
THE FIRST SONG. THE ARGVMENT. Marina's freedome now I sing, And of her new endangering: Of Famines Caue, and then th'abuse Tow'rds buried Colyn and his Muse. AS when a Mariner (accounted lost,) Vpon the watry Desert long time tost, In Summers parching hear, in Winters cold, In tempests great, in dangers manifold: Is by a fau'ring winde drawne vp the Mast, Whence he descries his natiue soile at last: For whose glad sight he gets the hatches vnder, And to the Ocean tels his ioy in thunder, (Shaking those Barnacles into the Sea, At once, that in the wombe and cradle lay) When sodainly the still inconstant winde Masters before, that did attend behinde; And growes so violent, that he is faine Command the Pilot stand to Sea againe; Lest want of Sea-roome in a Channell streight, Or casting Anchor might cast o're his freight: Thus gentle Muse it happens in my Song, A iourney, tedious, for a strength so young I vnder-tooke: by siluer-seeming Floods, Past gloomy Bottomes, and high-wauing Woods, Climb'd Mountaines where the wanton Kidling dallies; Thē with soft steps enseal'd the meekned Vallies, In quest of memory: and had possest A pleasant Garden, for a welcome rest No sooner, then a hundred Theames come on And hale my Barke a-new for Helicon, Thrice sacred Powers! (if sacred Powers there be Whose milde aspect engyrland Poesie) Yee happy Sisters of the learned Spring, Whose heauenly notes the Woods are rauishing Braue Thespian Maidens, at whose charming layes Each Mosse-thrumb'd Mountaine bends, each Current playes P ërian Singers! O yee blessed Muses! Who as a Iem too deare the world refuses! Whose truest louers neuer clip with age, O be propitious in my Pilgrimage! Dwell on my lines! and till the last sand fall, Run hand in hand with my weake Pastorall! Cause euery coupling cadence flow in blisses, And fill the world with enuy of such kisses. Make all the rarest Beauties of our Clyme, That eigne a sweet looke on my younger ryme, To linger on each lines inticing graces, As on their Louers lips and chaste imbraces! Through rouling trenches of self-drowning waues, Where stormy gusts throw vp vntimely graues, By billowes whose white some shew'd angry mindes, For not out-roaring all the high-rais'd windes, Into the euer-drinking thirsty Sea By Rockes that vnder water hidden lay, To ship wracke passengers, (so in some den Theeues bent to robbry watch way-faring men.) Fairest Marina, whom I whilome sung In all this tempest (violent though long) With out all sense of danger lay asleepe: Till tossed where the still inconstant deepe With wide spred armes, stood ready for the tender Of daily tribute, that the swolne floods render Into her Chequer: (whence as worthy Kings She helpes the wants of thousands lesser Springs) Here waxt the windes dumbe (shut vp in their caues) As still as mid-night were the sullen waues, And Neptunes siluer-euer-shaking brest As smooth as when the Hal yon builds her nest. None other wrinckles on his face were seene Then on a fertile Mead, or sportiue Greene, Where neuer Plow-share ript his mothers wombe To giue an aged seed a liuing tombe, Nor blinded Mole the bathing earth ere stir'd, Nor Boyes made Pit-fals for the hungry Bird. The whistling Reeds vpon the waters side Shot vp their sharpe heads in a stately pride, And not a binding Ozyer bow'd his head, But on his root him brauely carryed. No dandling leafe plaid with the subtill aire, So smooth the Sea was, and the Skie so faire. Now with his hands in stead of broad-palm'd Oares, The Swaine attempts to get the shell-strewd shores, And with continuall lading making way, Thrust the small Boat into as faire a Bay As euer Merchant wisht might be the rode Wherein to ease his sea-torne Vessels lode. It was an Iland (hugg'd in Neptunes armes, As tendring it against all forraigne harmes,) And Mona height: so amiably faire, So rich in soyle, so healthfull in her aire, So quicke in her increase, (each dewy night Yeelding that ground as greene, as fresh of plight As't was the day before, whereon then fed Of gallant Steeres, full many a thousand head.) So deckt with Floods, so pleasant in her Groues, So full of well-fleec'd Flockes and fatned Droues; That the braue issue of the Troian line, (Whose worths, like Diamonds, yet in darknesse shine,) Whose deeds were sung by learned Bards as hye, In raptures of immortall Poesie, As any Nations, since the Grecian Lads Were famous made by Homers Iliads.) Those braue heroicke spirits, twixt one another Prouerbially call Mon Mam Kumbry. Mona Cambria's Mother. Yet Cambria is a land from whence haue come Worthies well worth the race of Ilium. Whose true desert of praise could my Muse touch, I should be proud that I had done so much. And though of mighty Brute I cannot boast, Yet doth our warlike strong Deuonian coast Resound his worth, since on her waue-worne strand He and his Troians first set foot on land, Stroo e Saile, and Anchor cast on Petunt Classem omnibus bonu nuslam, prosperis ventis mare sulcantes in To enesio lutore felic ter applicarunt. Galf. Monvin. Totnes shore. Though now no Ship can ride there any more, In h'Ilands Rode the Swain now moares his Boa Vnto a Willow (lest it outwards float) And with a rude embracement taking vp The Maid (more faire then Hebe. She that fill'd the cup Of the great Thunderer, wounding with her eyes More hearts then all the troopes of Deities.) He wades to shore, and sets her on the sand, That gently yeelded when her foot should land. Where bubling waters through the pibbles fleet, As if they stroue to kisse her slender feet. Whilst like a wretch, whose cursed hand hath tane The sacred reliques from a holy Phane, Feeling the hand of heauen (inforcing wonder) In his returne, in dreadfull cracks of thunder, Within a bush his Sacriledge hath left, And thinkes his punishment freed with the theft: So fled the Swaine, from one; had Neptune spide At halfe an ebbe; he would haue forc'd the Tyde To swell anew; whereon his Carre should sweepe, Deckt with the riches of th'vnsounded deepe, And he from thence, would with all state, on shore, To wooe this beautie, and to wooe no more. Diuine Electra (of the Sisters seuen That beautifie the glorious Orbe of heauen) When Iliums stately towres, serv'd as one light To guide the Rauisher in vgly night Vnto her virgin beds, with-drew her face, And neuer would looke downe on humane race Til this Maids birth; since whē some power hath won her By often fits to shine, as gazing on her. Grim Saturnes son, the dread Olimpicke Ioue That dark't three dayes to frolicke with his Loue, Had he in Al men's stead clipt this faire wight, The world had slept in euerlasting night. For whose sake onely (had she liued then) Deucalious flood had neuer rag'd on men: Nor Phaëton perform'd his fathers duty, For feare to rob the world of such a beauty: In whose due praise, a learned quill might spend Houres, daies, months, yeeres, and neuer make an end. What wretch inhumane or what wilder blood (Suckt in a desert from a Tygers brood) Could leaue her so disconsolate? but one Bred in the wasts of frost-bit Calydon; For had his veynes beene heat with milder ayre, He had not wrong'd so foule, a Maid so faire. Sing on sweet Muse, and whilst I feed mine eyes Vpon a Iewell and vnvalued prize, As bright a Starre, a Dame, as faire, as chaste, As eye beheld, or shall, till Natures last: Chat me her quicke senses! and with raptures sweet Make her affection with your cadence meet! And if her gracefull tongue admire one straine, It is the best reward my Pipe would gaine. In lieu whereof, in Laurell-worthy rimes Her Loue shall liue vntill the end of times, And spight of age, the last of dayes shall see Her Name embalm'd in sacred Poesie. Sadly alone vpon the aged rocks, Whom Thetis grac'd in washing oft their locks Of branching Sampire, sate the Maid o'retaken With sighes and teares, vnfortunate, forsaken, And with a voice that floods frō rocks would borrow, She thus both wept and sung her noates of sorrow. I Heauen be deafe and will not heare my cries, But addes new daies to adde new miseries Heare then ye troubled Waues and flitting Gales, That coole the bosomes of the fruitfull Vales! Lend, one, a flood of teares, the other, winde, To weepe and sigh that Heauen is so vnkinde! But if ye will not spare, of all your store One teare, or sigh, vnto a wretch so poore; Yet as ye trauell on this spacious Round, Through Forrests, Mountains, or the Lawny ground, If't happ' you see a Maid weepe forth her woe, As I haue done; Oh bid her as ye goe Not lauish teares! for when her owne are gone, The world is flinty and will lend her none. If this be eke deni'd; O hearken then Each hollow vaulted Rocke, and crooked Den! And if within your sides one Eccho be Let her begin to rue my destinie! And in your cle ts her plainings doe not smother, But let that Eccho each it to another! Till round the world in sounding coombe and plaine, The last of them tell it the first againe: Of my sad Fate, so shall they neuer lin, But where one ends, another still begin. Wretch that I am, my words I vainly waste, Eccho, of all woes onely speake the last; And that's enough: for should she vtter all, As at Medusa's head, each heart would fall Into a linty substance, and repine At no one griefe, except as great as mine. No carefull Nurse would wet her watchfull eye, When any pang should gripe her infantry, Nor though to Nature it obedience gaue, And kneeld, to doe her Homage, in the graue, Would she lament, her suckling from her torne: Scaping by death those torments I haue borne. This sigh'd, she wept (low leaning on her hand) H r briny teares downe rayning on the sand, Which seene by (them, that sport it in the Seas Oh Dolphins backes) the faire Ner ides, They came on shore, and slily as they fell Conuai'd each teare into an Oyster-shell, And by some power that did affect the Girles, Transform'd those liquid drops to orient Pearles, And strew'd them on the shore: for whose rich prize In winged Pines, the Roman Colonies Flung through the deepe Abysse to our white rocks For Iems to decke their Ladyes golden lockes: Who valew'd them as highly in their kinds As those the Sun-burnt Aethiopian finds. Long on the shore, distrest Marina lay: For he that ope's the pleasant sweets of May Beyond the Noon-stead so farre droue his teame, That Haruest-folkes (with curds and clouted creame, With cheese and butter, cakes, and cates enow, That are the Yeomans from the yoake or Cowe) On sheafes of corne were at their noonshuns close, Whilst by them merrily the Bag-pipe goes: Ere from her hand she lifted vp her head, Where all the Graces then inhabited. When casting round her ouer-drowned eyes, (So haue I seene a Iem of mickle price Roule in a Scallop-shell with water fild) She, on a marble rocke at hand behild In Characters deepe cut with Iron stroke, A Shepherds moane, which read by her, thus spoke: Glide soft ye siluer Floods, And euery Spring: Within the shady Woods, Let no Bird sing! Nor from the Groue a Turtle Doue, Be seene to couple with her loue, But silence on each Dale and Mountaine dwell Whilst WILLY bids his friend and ioy Farewell. But (of great Thetis traine) Yee Mermaids faire, That on the shores doe plaine Your Sea-greene haire, As ye in tramels knit your locks Weepe yee; and so inforce the rocks In heauy murmures through the broad shores tell, How WILLY bade his friend and ioy Farewell. Cease, cease, yee murdring winds To moue a waue; But if with troubled minds You seeke his graue; Know 'tis as various as your selues, Now in the deepe, then on the shelues, His coffin toss'd by fish and surges fell, Whilst WILLY weepes and bids all ioy Farewell. Had he Arion like Beene iudg'd to drowne, Hee on his Lute could strike So rare a sowne; A thousand Dolphins would haue come And ioyntly striue to bring him home. But he on Ship-boord dide, by sicknesse fell, Since when his WILLY bade all ioy Farewell. Great Neptune heare a Swaine! His Coffin take, And with a golden chaine (Por pittie) make It fast vnto a rocke neere land! Where eu'ry calmy morne Ile stand And ere one sheepe out of my fold I tell, Sad WILLY'S Pipe shall bid his friend Farewell. Ah heauy Shepherd (who so ere thou be) Quoth faire Marina, I doe pitty thee: For who by death is in a true friend crost, Till he be earth, he halfe himselfe hath lost. More happy deeme I thee, lamented Swaine, Whose body lies among the scaly traine, Since I shall neuer thinke, that thou canst dye, Whilst WILLY liues, or any Poetry: For well it seemes in versing he hath skill, And though he (ayded from the sacred Hill) To thee with him no equall life can giue, Yet by his Pen thou maist for euer liue. With this a beame of sudden brightnesse flyes Vpon her face, so dazeling her cleere eyes, That neither flowre nor grasse which by her grew She could discerne cloath'd in their perfect hue. For as a Wag (to sport with such as passe) Taking the Sun-beames in a Looking-glasse, Conuayes the Ray into the eyes of one, Who (blinded) either stumbles at a stone, Or as he dazeled walkes the peopled streets, Is ready iustling euery man he meets: So then Apollo did in glory cast His bright beames on a rocke with gold enchast, And thence the swift reflection of their light Blinded those eyes: The chiefest Stars of night. When streight a thick-swolne Cloud (as if it sought In beauties minde to haue a thankfull thought) Inuail'd the lustre of great Titans Carre, And she beheld, from whence she sate not farre, Cut on a high-brow'd Rocke (in laid with gold) This Epitaph, and read it, thus enrold. In d pth of waues long hath ALEXIS slept, So choicest Iewels are the closest kept; Whose death the land had seene, but it appeares To counter aile his losse, men wanted teares. So here he lyes, whose Dirge each Mermaid sings, For whom the Clouds weepe raine, the Earth her springs. Her eyes these lines acquainted with her minde Had scarcely made; when o're the hill behinde She heard a woman cry; Ah well-a-day, What shall I doe? goe home, or flye, or stay. Admir'd Marina rose, and with a pace As gracefull as the Goddesses did trace O're stately Ida (when fond Paris doome Kindled the fire, should mighty Troy entombe.) She went to aid the woman in distresse, (True beauty neuer was found mercilesse) Yet durst she not goe nye, lest (being spide) Some villaines outrage, that might then betide (For ought she knew) vnto the crying Maid, Might graspe with her: by thickets which arai'd The high Sea-bounding hill, so neere she went, She saw what wight made such lowd dre iment. Lowd? yes: sung right: for since the Azure skie Imprison'd first the world, a mortals cry With greater clang or neuer pierc'd the ayre. A wight she was so farre from being faire; None could be foule esteem'd, compar'd with her. Describing Foulnesse, pardon if I erre, Ye Shepherds Daughters, and ye gentle Swaines! My Muse would gladly chaunt more louely straines: Yet since on miry grounds she trode, for doubt Of sinking, all in haste, thus wades she out. As when great Neptune in his height of pride The inland creeks fils with a high Spring-tyde, Great sholes of fish, among the Oysters hye, Which by a quicke ebbe, on the shores, left dry, The fishes yawne, the Oysters gapen wide: So broad her mouth was: As she stood and cride, She tore her eluish knots of haire, as blacke And full of dust as any Collyers sacke. Her eyes vnlike, were like her body right, Squint and misse-shapen, one dun, t'other white. As in a picture limb'd vnto the life, Or carued by a curious workmans knife, If twenty men at once should come to see The great effects of vntirde industry, Each seu'rally would thinke the pictures eye Was fixt on him, and on no stander by: So as she (bawling) was vpon the banke, If twice fiue hundred men stood on a ranke, Her ill face towards them; euery one would say, She lookes on me; when she another way Had cast her eyes, as on some rocke or tree, And on no one of all that company. Her Nose (ô crooked nose) her mouth o're-hung, As it would be directed by her tongue: Her Fore-head such, as one might neere auow Some Plow-man, there, had lately beene at plow. Her Face so scorcht was, and so vilde it showes, As on a Peare-tree she had scar'd the Crowes. Within a Tanuers fat I oft haue eyde (That three moones there had laine) a large Oxe-hyde In liquor mixt with strongest barke (for gaine) Yet had not tane one halfe so deepe a staine As had her skin: and that, as hard well-nye As any Brawnes, long hardned in the stye. Her Shoulders such, as I haue often seene A silly Cottage on a Village greene Might change his corner posts, in good behoofe, For foure such vnder-proppers to his roofe. Huswiues, goe hire her, if you yeerely gaue A Lamkin more then vse, you that might saue In washing-Beetles, for her hands would passe To serue that purpose, though you daily wash. For other hidden parts, thus much I say; As Ballad-mongers on a Market-day Taking their stand, one (with as harsh a noyse As uer Cart-wheele made) squeakes the sad choice Of Tom the Miller with a golden thumbe, Who crost in loue, ran mad, and deafe, and dumbe, Halfe part he chants, and will not sing it out, But thus he speakes to his attentiue rout: Thus much for loue I warbled from my brest, And gentle friends, for money take the rest: So speake I to the ouer-longing eare, That would the rest of her description heare, Much haue I sung for loue, the rest (not common) Martial will shew for coine, in's crabbed woman. If e're you saw a Pedant gin prepare To speake some gracefull speech to Master Maior, And being bashfull, with a quaking doubt That in his eloquence he may be out; He oft steps forth, as oft turnes backe againe; And long 'tis e're he ope his learned veine: Thinke so Marina stood: for now she thought To venture forth, then some coniecture wrought Her to be iealous, lest this vgly wight (Since like a Witch she lookt) through spels of night, Might make her body thrall (that yet was free) To all the foule intents of Witcherie: This drew her backe againe. At last she broke Through all fond doubts, went to her, and bespoke In gentle manner thus: Good day, good Maid; With that her cry she on a sodaine staid, And rub'd her squint eyes with her mighty fist. But as a Miller hauing ground his grist, Lets downe his flood-gates with a speedy fall, And quarring vp the passage therewithall, The waters swell in spleene, and neuer stay Till by some cleft they finde another way: So when her teares were stopt from either eye Her singults, blubbrings, seem'd to make them flye Out at her Oyster-mouth and Nose-thrils wide. Can there (quoth faire Marina) e're betide (In these sweet Groues) a wench, so great a wrong, That should inforce a cry so loud, so long? On these delightfull Plaines how can there be So much as heard the name of villany? Except when Shepherds in their gladsome fit Sing Hymnes to Pan that they are free from it. But shew me, what hath caus'd thy grieuous yell? As late (quoth she) I went to yonder Well, (You cannot see it here; that Groue doth couer With his thicke boughes his little channell ouer.) To fetch some water (as I vse) to dresse My Masters supper (you may thinke of flesh; But well I wot he tasteth no such dish) Of Rotchets, Whitings, or such common fish, That with his net he drags into his Boat: Among the Flags below, there stands his Coat (A simple one) thatch'd o're with Reede and Broome; It hath a Kitchen, and a seuerall roome For each of vs. But this is nought: you flee, Replide Marine, I prithee answer me To what I question'd. Doe but heare me first, Answer'd the Hag. He is a man so curst, Although I toyle at home, and serue his Swine, Yet scarce allowes he me whereon to dine: In Summer time on Black-berries I liue, On Crabs and Hawes, and what wilde Forrests giue: In Winters cold, bare-foot, I run to seeke For Oysters, and small Winkles in each creeke, Whe •• on I feed, and on the Meager S one. But if he home returne and finde me gone, I still am sure to feele his heauy hand. Alas and weale away, since now I stand In such a plight: for if I seeke his dore Hee'l beat me ten times worse then e're before. What hast thou done? (yet askt Marina) say? I with my pitcher lately tooke my way (As late I said) to thilke same shaded Spring, Fill'd it, and homewards, rais'd my voyce to sing; But in my backe returne, I (haplesse) spide A tree of Cherries wilde, and them I eyde With such a longing, that vnwares my foot Got vnderneath a hollow-growing root, Carrying my pot as Maids vse on their heads, I fell with it, and broke it all to shreads. This is my griefe, this is my cause of mone. And if some kinde wight goe not to attone My surly Master with me wretched Maid, I shall be beaten dead. Be not afraid, Said sweet Marina, hasten thee before; Ile come to make thy peace: for since I sore Doe hunger, and at home thou hast small cheere, (Need and supply grow farre off, seldome neere.) To yonder Groue Ile goe, to taste the spring, And see what it affords for nourishing. Thus parted they. And sad Marina blest The houre she met the Maid, who did invest Her in assured hope, she once should see Her Flocke againe (and driue them merrily To their flowre-decked layre, and tread the shores Of pleasant Albion) through the well poys'd Oares Of the poore Fisher-man that dwelt thereby. But as a man who in a Lottery Hath ventur'd of his coyne; ere he haue ought, Thinkes this or that shall with his Prize be bought, And so enricht, march with the better ranke; When sodainly he's call'd, and all is Blanke: To chaste Marina, so doth Fortune proue; "Statesmen and she are neuer firme in loue. No sooner had Marina got the wood, But as the trees she neerly search'd for food, A Villaine, leane, as any rake appeares, That look't, as pinch'd with famine, Aegypts yeeres, Worne out and wasted to the pithlesse bone, As one that had a long Consumption. His rusty teeth (forsaken of his lips As they had seru'd with want two Prentiships) Did through his pallid cheekes, and lankest skin Bewray what number were enranckt within. His greedy eyes deepe sunke into his head, Which with a rough haire was o're couered. How many bones made vp this starued wight Was soone perceiu'd; a man of dimmest sight Apparantly might see them knit, and tell How all his veines and euery sinew fell. His belly (inwards drawne) his bowels prest, His vnfill'd skin hung dangling on his brest, His feeble knees with paine enough vphold That pined carkasse, casten in a mold Cut out by Deaths grim forme. If small legs wan Euer the title of a Gentleman; His did acquire it. In his flesh pull'd downe As he had liu'd in a beleaguerd towne, Where Plenty had so long estranged beene That men most worthy note, in griefe were seene (Though they reioyc'd to haue attain'd such meat) Of Rats, and halfe-tann'd Hydes, and stomacks great, Gladly to feed: and where a Nurse, most vilde, Drunke her owne milke, and staru'd her crying childe. Yet he through want of food not thus became: But Nature first decreed, That as the flame Is neuer seene to flye his nourishment, But all consumes: and still the more is lent The more it couets. And as all the Floods (Down trēching from small groues, & greater woods) The vast insatiate Sea doth still deuoure, And yet his thirst not quenched by their power: So euer should befall this starued wight; The more his vyands, more his appetite. What ere the deepes bring forth, or earth, or ayre, He rauine should, and want in greatest fare. And what a Citie twice seuen yeeres would serue, He should deuoure, and yet be like to starue. A wretch so empty, that if e're there be In Nature found the least vacuitie, 'Twill be in him. The graue to Ceres store; A Caniball to lab'rers old and poore; A Spunge-like-Dropsie, drinking till it burst; The Sicknesse tearm'd the Wolf , vilde and accurst, In some respects like th'art of Al ••• my That thriues least, when it long'st doth multiply: Limos he cleeped was whose long-nayl'd paw Seizing Marina, and his sharpe sang'd ia (The strongest part he had) fixt in her weeds, He forc'd her thence, through thickets & high Reeds, Towards his Caue. Her fate the swift windes rue, And round the Groue in heauy murmures lew. The limbs of trees, that (as in loue with either) In close embrasements long had liu'd together, Rubb'd each on other, and in shre ks did show The windes had mou'd more partners of their woe. Old and decaied stocks, that long time spent Vpon their armes, their roots chiefe nourishment; And that drawne dry, as freely did impart Their boughes a feeding on their fathers heart, Yet by respectlesse imp es when all was gone, Pithlesse and saplesse, naked left alone, Their hollow trunks, fill'd with their neighbours moanes, Sent from a thousand vents, ten thousand groanes. All Birds flew from the wood, as they had been Scar'd with a strong Bolt ratling 'mong the treen. Limos with his sweet theft full slily rushes Through sharp-hook'd brambles, thornes, & tangling bushes, Whose tenters sticking in her garments, sought (Poore shrubs) to helpe her, but auailing nought, As angry (best intents miss'd best proceeding) They scratch'd his face & legs, cleere water bleeding. Not greater haste a fearefull schoole-boy makes Out of an Orchard whence by stealth he takes A churlish Farmers Plums, sweet Peares or Grapes, Then Limos did, as from the thicke he scapes Downe to the shore. Where resting him a space, Restlesse Marina gan intreat for grace Of one whose knowing it as desp'rate stood, As where each day to get supply of food. O! had she (thirsty) such intreaty made At some high Rocke, proud of his euening shade, He would haue burst in two, and from his veines (For her auaile) vpon the vnder Plaines A hundred Springs a hundred wayes should swim, To shew her teares inforced floods from him. Had such an Oratresse beene heard to plead For aire Polixena, the Murthrers head Had beene her pardon, and so scap'd that shocke, Which made her louers tombe her dying blocke. Not an inraged Lion, surly, wood, No Tyger reft her young, nor sauage brood; No, not the foaming Boare, that durst approue Louelesse to leaue the mighty Queene of Loue, But her sad plaints, their vncouth walkes among Spent, in sweet numbers from her golden tongue, So much their great hearts would in softnes steepe, They at her foot would groueling lye, and weepe. Yet now (alas!) nor words, nor floods of teares Did ought auaile. The belly hath no eares. As I haue knowne a man loath meet with gaine That carrieth in his front least shew of paine, Who for his vittailes all his raiment pledges, Whose stackes for firing are his neighbours hedges, From whence returning with a burden great, Wearied, on some greene banke he takes his seat, But fearefull (as still theft is in his stay) Gets quickly vp, and hasteth fast away: So Limos sooner eased then yrested Was vp, and through the Reeds (as much molested As in the Brakes) who louingly combine, And for her aide together twist and twine, Now manacling his hands, then on his legs Like fetters hang the vnder-growing Segs: And had his teeth not beene of strongest hold, He there had left his prey. Fates vncontrold, Denide so great a blisse to Plants or men, And lent him strength to bring her to his den. West, in Apollo's course to Tagus streame, Crown'd with a siluer circling Diadem Of wet exhaled mists, there stood a pile Of aged Rocks (torne from the neighbour Ile And girt with waues) against whose naked brest The surges tilted, on his snowie crest The towring Falcon whilome built, and Kings Stroue for that Eirie on whose scaling wings, Monarchs, in gold refin'd as much would lay As might a month their Army Royall pay. Braue Birds they were, whose quick-self-less-ning kin Still won the girlonds from the A Falcon differing from the Falcon-gentle. Beregrin. Not Cerna Ile in Affricks siluer maine, Nor lustfull-bloody Tereus Thracian straine, Nor any other Lording of the ayre Durst with this Eirie for their wing compare. About his sides a thousand Seaguls bred, The M uy and the Halcyon famosed For colours rare, and for the peacefull Seas Round the Sicilian coast, her brooding dayes. Pussins (as thicke as Starlings in a Fen) Were fetcht from thence: there sate the Pewet hen, And in the clefts the Martin built his nest. But those by this curst caitife dispossest Of roost and nest, the least; of life, the most: All left that place, and sought a safer coast. In stead of them the Caterpiller hants, And Can re-worme among the tender plants, That here and there in nooks and corners grew Of Cormorants and Locusts not a few; The cramming Rauen, and a hundred more Deuouring creatures; yet when from the shore Limos came wading (as he easily might Except at high tydes) all would take their fligh , Or hide themselues in some deepe hole or other, Lest one deuourer should deuoure another. Neere to the shore that bord'red on the Rocke No merry Swaine was seene to feed his Flocke, No lusty Neat-heard thither droue his Kine, Nor boorish Hog-heard fed his rooting Swine: A stony ground it was, sweet Herbage fail'd: Nought there but weeds, which Limos, strongly nail'd, Tore from their mothers brest, to stuffe his maw. No Crab-tree bore his load, nor Thorne his haw. As in a Forest well compleat with Deere We see the Hollies, Ashes, euery where Rob'd of their cloathing by the browsing Game: So neere the Rocke, all trees where e're you came, To cold Decembers wrath stood void of barke. Here danc'd no Nymph, no early-rising Larke Sung vp the Plow-man and his drowsie mate: All round the Rocke barren and desolate. The description of the Caue of Famine. In midst of that huge pile was Limos Caue Full large and round, wherein a Millers knaue Might for his Horse and Querne haue roome at will: Where was out-drawne by some inforced skill, What mighty conquests were atchieu'd by him. First stood the siege of great Ierusalem, Within whose triple wall and sacred Citie (Weepe ye stone-hearted men! oh read and pittie! 'Tis Sions cause inuokes your briny teares: Can any dry eye be when she appeares As I must sing her? oh, if such there be: Flie, flie th'abode of men! and hasten thee Into the Desart, some high Mountaine vnder, Or at thee boyes will hisse, and old men wonder.) Here sits a mother weeping, pale and wan, With fixed eyes, whose hopelesse thoughts seem'd ran How (since for many daies no food she casted, Her Meale, her Oyle consum'd, all spent, all wasted) For one poore day she might attaine supply, And desp'rate of ought else, sit, pine, and dye. At last her minde meets with her tender childe That in the cradle lay (of Oziers wilde) Which taken in her armes, she giues the teat, From whence the little wretch with labour great Not one poore drop can sucke: whereat she wood, Cries out, ô heauen are all the founts of food Exhausted quite? and must my Infan yong Be fed with shooes? yet wanting those ere ong, Feed on it selfe? No: first the roome that gaue Him soule and life, shall be his timelesse graue: My dugs, thy best reliefe, through griping hunger Flow now no more, my babe; Then since no longer By r e thou canst be fed, nor any other, Be thou the Nurse, and feed thy dying Mother. Th n in another place she straight appeares, See hing her suckling in her scalding teares. From whence not farre the Paint r made her stand Tearing his sod flesh with her cruell hand, In gobbets which she ate. O cursed wombe, That to thy selfe art both the graue and tombe. A little sweet lad (there) seemes to intreat (With held vp hands) his famisht Sire for meat, Who wanting ought to giue his hoped ioy But throbs and sighes; the ouer-hungry boy, For some poore bit, in darke nooks making quest, His Sachell finds, which growes a gladsome feast To him and both his Parents. Then, next day He chewes the points wherewith he vs'd to play: Deuouring last his Books of euery kinde, They fed his body which should feede his minde: But when his Sachell, Points, Books all were gone, Before his Sire he droopes, and dies anon. In height of Art then had the Work-man done, A pious, zealous, most religious sonne, Who on the enemy excursion made, And spight of danger strongly did inuade Their victuals conuoy, bringing from them home Dri'd figs, Dates, Almonds, and such fruits as come To the beleagring foe, and sate's the want Therewith of those, who, from a tender plant Bred him a man for armes: thus oft he went, And Storke-like sought his Parents nourishment, Till Fates decreed, he on the Roman Speares Should giue his bloud for them, who gaue him theirs. A Million of such throes did Famine bring Vpon the Citie of the mighty King, Till, as her people, all her buildings rare Consum'd themselues and dim'd the lightsome ayre. Neere this the curious Pencell did expresse A large and solitary wildernesse, Whose high well limmed Oakes in growing show'd As they would case strong At as of his load: Here vnderneath a tree in heauy plight (Her bread and pot of water wasted quite) Aegyptian Hagar (nipt with hunger fell) Sate rob'd of hope: her Infant Ishmael (Farre from her being laid) full sadly seem'd To cry for meat, his cry she nought esteem'd, But kept her still, and turn'd her face away, Knowing all meanes were bootlesse to assay In such a Desert: and since now they must Sleepe their eternall sleepe, and cleane to dust, She chose (apart) to graspe one death alone, Rather then by her babe a million. Then Eresichthons case in Ouids Song Was portraied out; and many moe along The insides of the Caue; which were descride By many loope-holes round on euery side. These faire Marina view'd, left all alone, The Caue fast shut, Limos for pillage gone; Neere the wash'd shore mong roots and breers, and thorns, A Bullocke findes, who deluing with his hornes The hurtlesse earth (the while his tough hoofe tore The yeelding turffe) in furious rage he bore His head among the boughs that held it round, While with his bellowes all the shores resound: Him Limos kil'd, and hal'd with no small paine Vnto the Rocke; fed well; then goes againe: Which seru'd Marina fit, for had his food Fail'd him, her veines had fail'd their deerest blood. Now great Hyperion left his golden throne That on the dancing waues in glory shone, For whose declining on the Westerne shore The orientall hils blacke mantles wore, And thence apace the gentle Twi-light fled, That had from hideous cauernes vshered All-drowsie Night; who in a Carre of Iet, By S eeds of Iron-gray (which mainly swet Moist drops on all the world) drawne through the skie, The helps of darknesse waited orderly. First, thicke clouds rose from all the liquid plaines: Then mists from Marishes, and grounds whose veines Were Conduit-pipes to many a crystall spring: From standing Pooles and Fens were following Vnhealthy fogs: each Riuer, euery Rill Sent vp their vapours to attend her will. These, pitchie curtains drew, 'twixt earth & heauen. And as Nights Chariot through the ayre was driuen, Clamour grew dumb, vnheard was Shepheards song, And silence girt the Woods; no warbling tongue Talk'd to the Eccho; Satyres broke their dance, And all the vpper world lay in a trance. Onely the curled streames soft chidings kept; And little gales that from the greene leafe swept Dry Summers dust, in fearefull whisp'rings stir'd, As loth to waken any singing Bird. Darknesse no lesse then blinde Cimmerian Of Famines Caue the full possession wan, Where lay the Shepherdesse in wrapt with night, (The wished garment of a mournfull wight) Here silken slumbers and refreshing sleepe Were seldome found; with quiet mindes those keepe, Not with disturbed thoughts; the beds of Kings Are neuer prest by them, sweet rest inrings The tyred body of the swarty Clowne, And oftner lies on flocks then softest downe. Twice had the Cocke crowne, and in Cities strong The Bel-mans dolefull noyse and carefull song, Told men, whose watchfull eyes no slumber hent, What store of houres theft-guilty night had spent. Yet had not Morpheus with this Maiden been, As fearing Limos; (whose impetuous teen Kept gentle rest from all to whom his Caue Yeelded inclosure (deadly as the graue.) But to all sad laments left her (forlorne) In which three watches she had nie outworne. Faire siluer-footed Thetis that time threw Along the Ocean with a beautious crew Of her attending Sea-nymphs (Ioues bright Lamps Guiding from Rocks her Chariots Sea-horses. Hippocamps.) A iourney, onely made, vnwares to spye If any Mighties of her Empery Opprest the least, and forc'd the weaker sort To their designes, by being great in Court. O! should all Potentates whose higher birth Enroles their titles, other Gods on earth, Should they make priuate search, in vaile of night, For cruell wrongs done by each Fauorite; Here should they finde a great one paling in A meane mans land, which many yeeres had bin His charges life, and by the others heast, The poore must starue to feed a scuruy beast. If any recompence drop from his fist, His time's his owne, the mony, what he list. There should they see another that commands His Farmers Teame from furrowing his lands, To bring him stones to raise his building vast, The while his Tenants sowing time is past. Another (spending) doth his rents inhance, Or gets by tricks the poores inheritance. But as a man whose age hath dim'd his eyes, Vseth his Spectacles, and as he pryes Through them all Characters seeme wondrous faire, Yet when his glasses quite remoued are (Though with all carefull heed he neerly looke) Cannot perceiue one tittle in the Booke; So if a King behold such fauourites (Whose being great, was being Parasites) With th'eyes of fauour, all their actions are To him appearing plaine and regular: But let him lay his sight of grace aside, And see what men he hath so dignifide, They all would vanish, and not dare appeare, Who Atom-like, when their Sun shined cleare, Danc'd in his beame; but now his rayes are gone, Of many hundred we perceiue not one. Or as a man who standing to descry How great floods farre off run, and vallies lye, Taketh a glasse prospectiue good and true, By which things most remote are full in view: If Monarchs, so, would take an Instrument Of truth compos'd to spie their Subiects drent In foule oppression by those high in seat (Who care not to be good but to be great) In full aspect the wrongs of each degree Would lye before them; and they then would see, The diuellish Polititian all conuinces, In murdring Statesmen and in poisning Princes; The Prelate in pluralities asleepe, Whilst that the Wolfe lies preying on his sheepe; The drowsie Lawyer, and the false Atturnies Tire poore mens purses with their life-long-iournies; The Country Gentleman, from's neighbours hand Forceth th'inheritance, ioynes land to land, And (most insatiate) seekes vnder his rent To bring the worlds most spacious continent; The awning Citizen (whose loue's bought dearest) Deceiues his brother when the Sun shines clearest, Gets, borrowes, breakes; lets in, and stops out light, And liues a Knaue to leaue his sonne a Knight; The griping Farmer hoords the seed of bread, Whilst in the streets the poore lye famished: And ree there's none from all this worldly strife, Except the Shepherds heauen-blest happy life. But stay sweet Muse! forbeare this harsher straine, Keepe with the Shepherds; leaue the Satyres veine, Coupe not with Beares, let Icarus alone To scorch himselfe within the torrid Zone: Let Phaeton run on, Ixion fall, And with an humble stiled Pastorall Tread through the vallies, dance about the streames, The owly Dales will yeeld vs Anadems To shade our temples, 'tis a worthy meed, No better girlond seekes mine Oaten Reed; Let others climbe the hils, and to their praise (Whilst I sit girt with Flowers) be crown'd with Bayes. Shew now faire Muse what afterward became Of great Achilles Mother; She whose name The Mermaids sing, and tell the weeping strand A brauer Lady neuer tript on land, Except the euer-liuing Fayerie Queene, Whose vertues by her Swaine so written beene, That time shall call her high enhanced story In his rare song, The Muses chiefest glory. So mainly Thetis droue her siluer throne, Inlaid with pearles of price, and precious stone, (For whose gay purchase, she did often make The scorched Negro diue the briny Lake) That by the swiftnesse of her Chariot wheels (Scouring the Maine as well-built English Keels) She, of the new-found World all coasts had seene, The shores of Thessaly, where she was Queene, Her brother Pontus waues, imbrac'd, with those Moeotian fields and vales of Tenedos, Streit Hellespont, whose high-brow'd cliffes yet sound The mournfull name of young Leander drown'd, Then with full speed her Horses doth she guide Through the Aegaean Sea, that takes a pride In making difference twixt the fruitfull lands Europe and Asia almost ioyning hands, But that she thrusts her billowes all afront To stop their meeting through the Hellespont. The Midland Sea so swiftly was she scouring, The Adriaticke gulfe braue Ships deuouring. To Padus siluer streame then glides she on (Enfamoused by rekelesse Phaëton) Plin. lib. 3. cap. 16. Padas that doth beyond his limits rise, When the hot Dog-starre raines his maladies, And robs the high and ayre-inuading Alpes Of all their Winter-suits and snowie scalpes, To drowne the leuel'd lands along his shore, And make him swell with pride. By whom of yore The sacred Heliconian Damsels sate (To whom was mighty Pindus consecrate) And did decree (neglecting other men) Their height of Art should flow from Maro's pen. And pratling Eccho's euermore should long For repetition of sweet Naso's song. It was inacted here, in after dayes What wights should haue their temples crown'd with Bayes. Learn'd Ariosto, holy Petrachs quill, And Tasso should ascend the Muses hill. Diuinest Bartas, whose enriched soule Proclaim'd his Makers worth, should so enroule His happy name in brasse, that Time nor Fate Tha swallow all, should euer ruinate. Delightfull Salust, whose all blessed layes The Shepherds make their Hymnes on Holy-daies; And truly say thou in one weeke hast pend What time may euer study, ne're amend. M rot and Ronsard, Garnier's buskind Muse Should spirit of life in very stones infuse. And many another Swan whose powerfull straine Should raise the Golden World to life againe. But let vs leaue (faire Muse) the bankes of Po, Thetis forsooke his braue streame long agoe, And we must after. See in haste she sweepes Along the Celticke shores, th'Armorick deepes She now is entring: beare vp then a head, And by that time she hath discouered Our Alablaster rocks, we may descry And ken with her, the coasts of Britany. There will she Anchor cast, to heare the Songs Of English Shepherds, whose all-tunefull tongues So pleas'd the Nayades, they did report Their songs perfection in great Nereus Court: Which Thetis hearing, did appoint a day When she would meet them in the Brittish Sea, And thither for each Swaine a Dolphin bring To ride with her, whilst she would heare him sing. The time prefixt was come; and now the Starre Of blissefull light appear'd, when she her Carre Staid in the narrow Seas. At Thames faire port The Nymphes and Shepherds of the Isle resort. And thence did put to Sea with mir hfull rounds, Whereat the billowes dance aboue their bounds, And bearded Goats, that on the clouded head Of any sea-suruaying Mountaine fed, Leauing to crop the luy, listning stood At those sweet ayres which did intrance the flood. In iocund sort the Goddesse thus they met. And after reu'rence done, all being set Vpon their finny Coursers, ound her throne, And she prepar'd to cut the watry Zone Ingirting Albion; all their pipes were still, And Colin Clout began to tune his quill With such deepe Art, that euery one was giuen To thinke Apollo (newly slid from heau'n) Had tane a humane shape to win his loue, Or with the Westerne Swaines for glory stroue. He sung th'heroicke Knights of Faiery land In lines so elegant, of such command, That had the Orpheus. Thracian plaid but halfe so well, He had not left Eurydice in hell. But e're he ended his melodious song An host of Angels flew the clouds among, And rapt this Swan from his attentiue mates, To make him one of their associates In heauens faire Quire: where now he sings the praise Of him that is the first and last of dayes. Diuinest Spencer heau'n-bred, happy Muse! Would any power into my braine infuse Thy worth, or all that Poets had before, I could not praise till thou deseru'st no more. A dampe of wonder and amazement strooke Thetis attendants, many a heauy looke Follow'd sweet Spencer, till the thickning ayre Sights further passage stop'd. A passionate teare Fell from each Nymph, no Shepherds cheeke was dry, A dolefull Dirge, and mournfull Elegie Flew to the shore. When mighty Nereus Queene (In memory of what was heard and seene) Imploy'd a Factor (fitted well with store Of richest Iemmes, refined Indian Ore) To raise, in honour of his worthy name, A Piramis, whose head (like winged Fame) Should pierce the clouds, yea seeme the stars to kisse, And Mausolus great tombe might shrowd in his. Her will had beene performance, had not Fate (That neuer knew how to commiserate) Suborn'd curs'd Auarice to lye in waight For that rich prey: (Gold is a taking bait) Who closely lurking like a subtile Snake Vnder the couert of a thorny brake, Seiz'd on the Factor by faire Thetis sent, And rob'd our Colin of his Monument. Yee English Shepherds, sonnes of Memory, For Satyres change your pleasing melody, Scourge, raile and curse that sacrilegious hand, That more then Fiend of hell, that Stygian brand, All-guilty Auarice: that worst of euill, That gulfe-deuouring, off-spring of a Deuill: Heape curse on curse so direfull and so fell, Their weight may presse his damned soule to hell. Is there a spirit so gentle can refraine To torture such? O let a Satyres veine Mix with that man! to lash this hellish lym, Or all our curses will descend on him. For mine owne part, although I now commerce With lowly Shepherds, in as low a Verse; If of my dayes I shall not see an end Till more yeeres presse me; some few houres Ile spend In rough-hewn Satyres, and my busied pen Shall ierke to death this infamy of men. And like a Fury, glowing coulters beare, With which? But see how yonder fondlings teare The r fleeces in the brakes; I must goe free Them of their bonds; Rest you here merrily Till my returne: when I will touch a string Shall make the Riuers dance, and Vallies ring.
THE SECOND SONG. THE ARGVMENT. What Shepherds on the Sea were seene To entertaine the Oceans Queene, Remond in search of Fida gone, And for his loue young Doridon, There meeting with a wofull Swaine, Mute, and not able to complaine His metamorphos'd Mistresse wrong; Is all the subiect of this Song. THe MVSES friend (gray-eyde Aurora) yet Held all the Meadowes in a cooling sweat, The milke-white Gossamores not vpwards snow'd, Nor was the sharpe and vsefull steering goad Laid on the strong-neckt Oxe; no gentle bud The Sun had dride; the cattle chew'd the cud Low leuel'd on the grasse; no Flyes quicke sting Inforc'd the Stonehorse in a furious ring To teare the passiue earth, nor lash his taile About his buttockes broad; the slimy Snaile Might on the wainscot (by his many mazes Winding Meanders and selfe-knitting traces) Be follow'd, where he stucke, his glittering slime Not yet wip't off. It was so early time, The carefull Smith had in his sooty forge Kindled no coale; nor did his hammers vrge His neighbours patience: Owles abroad did flye, And day as then might plead his infancy. Yet of faire Albion all the westerne Swaines Were long since vp, attending on the Plaines When Nereus daughter with her mirthfull hoast Should summon them, on their declining coast. But since her stay was long: for feare the Sun Should finde them idle, some of them begun To leape and wrastle, others threw the barre; Some from the company remoued are, To meditate the songs they meant to play, Or make a new Round for next Holiday: Some tales of loue their loue-sicke fellowes told: Others were seeking stakes to pitch their fold. This, all alone was mending of his Pipe: That, for his lasse sought fruits most sweet most ripe. Here (from the rest) a louely shepherds boy Sits piping on a hill, as if his ioy Would still endure, or else that ages frost Should neuer make him thinke what he had lost. Yonder a shepherdesse knits by the springs, Her hands still keeping time to what she sings: Or seeming, by her song, those fairest hands Were comforted in working. Neere the sands Of some sweet Riuer sits a musing lad, That moanes the losse of what he sometime had, His Loue by death berest: when fast by him An aged Swaine takes place, as neere the brim O 's graue as of the Riuer; shewing how That as those floods, which passe along right now Are follow'd still by others from their spring, And in the Sea haue all their burying: Right so our times are knowne, our ages found, (Nothing is permanent within this Round:) One age is now, another that succeeds, Extirping all things which the former breeds: Another followes that, doth new times raise, New yeers, new months, new weeks, new houres, new daies, Mankinde thus goes like Riuers from their spring, And in the Earth haue all their burying. Thus sate the old man counselling the young; Whilst, vnderneath a tree which ouer-hung The siluer streame (as some delight it tooke To trim his thicke boughes in the Crystall Brooke) Were set a iocund crew of youthfull Swaines, Wooing their sweetings with delicious straines. Sportiue Oreades the hils descended, The Hamadryades their hunting ended, And in the high woods left the long-liu'd Harts To feed in peace, free from their winged Darts; Floods, Mountains, Vallies, Woods, each vacant lies Of Nimphs that by them danc'd their Haydigyes: For all those Powers were ready to embrace The present meanes, to giue our Shepherds grace. And vnderneath this tree (till Thetis came) Many resorted; where a Swaine, of name Lesse, then of worth: (and we doe neuer owne Nor apprehend him best, that most is knowne.) Fame is vncertaine, who so swiftly flyes By th'vnregarded shed where Vertue lies: Shee (ill inform'd of Vertues worth) pursu'th (In haste) Opinion for the simple Truth. True Fame is euer likened to our shade, He soonest misseth her, that most hath made To ouer-take her; who so takes his wing, Regardlesse of her, shee'll be following: Her true proprietie she thus discouers, "Loues her contemners, and contemnes her louers. Th'applause of common people neuer yet Pursu'd this Swaine; he knew't the counterfeit Of setled praise, and therefore at his songs, Though all the Shepherds and the gracefull throngs Of Semigods compar'd him with the best That euer touch'd a Reed, or was addrest In shepherds coat, he neuer would approue Their Attributes, giuen in sincerest loue; Except he truly knew them as his merit. Fa •• e giues a second life to such a spirit. This Swaine, intreated by the mirthfull rout, That with intwined armes lay round about The tree 'gainst which he lean'd. (So haue I seene Tom Pipe stand vpon our village greene, Backt with the May-pole, whilst a iocund crew In gentle motion circularly threw Themselues about him.) To his fairest Ring Thus 'gan in numbers well according sing: VEnus by Adonis side Crying kist, and kissing cride Wrung her hands and tore her haire For Adonis dying there. Stay (quoth shee) ô stay and liue! Nature surely doth not giue To the Earth her sweetest flowres To be seene but some few houres On his face, still as he bled For each drop a teare she shed, Which she kist or wip't away, Else had drown'd him where he lay. Faire Proserpina (quoth shee) Shall not haue thee yet from mee; Nor thy soule to flie begin While my lips can keepe it in. Here she clos'd againe. And some Say, Apollo would haue come To haue cur'd his wounded lym, But that shee had smother'd him. Looke as a Traueller in Summers day Nye choakt with dust, and molt with Titans ray, Longs for a spring to coole his inward heat, And to that end, with vowes, doth heauen intreat, When going further, finds an Apple-tree, (Standing as did old Hospitalitie, With ready armes to succour any needs:) Hence plucks an Apple, tastes it, and it breeds So great a liking in him for his thirst, That vp he climbs, and gathers to the first A second, third; nay, will not cease to pull Till he haue got his cap and pockets full. "Things long desir'd so well esteemed are, "That when they come we hold them better farre. "There is no meane 'twixt what we loue and want, "Desire, in men, is so predominant. No esse did all this quaint assembly long Then doth the Traueller: this Shepherds Song Had so ensnar'd each acceptable eare, That but a second, nought could bring them cleare From an affected snare; had Orpheus beene Playing, some distance from them, he had seene Not one to stirre a foot for his rare straine, But left the Thracian for the English Swaine. Or had suspicious Iuno (when her Ioue Into a Cowe transform'd his fairest Iō. Loue) Great Inachus sweet Stem in durance giuen To this young Lad; the Mercury Messenger of heauen (Faire Maia's off-spring) with the depth of Art That euer Ioue to Hermes might impart, In fingring of a Reed, had neuer won Poore Io's freedome. And though Arctors son (Hundred-ey'd Argus) might be lull'd by him, And loose his pris'ner: yet in euery lym That God of wit had felt this Shepherds skill, And by his charmes brought from the Muses hill Inforc'd to sleepe; then, rob'd of Pipe and Rod, And vanquish'd so, turne Swaine, this Swaine a God. Yet to this Lad not wanted Enuies sting, ("He's not worth ought, that's not worth enuying.) Since many at his praise were seene to grutch. For as a Miller in his boulting hutch Driues out the pure meale neerly (as he can) And in his sister leaues the courser bran: So doth the canker of a Poets name Let slip such lines as might inherit Fame, And from a Volume c ls some small amisse, To fire such dogged spleenes as mate with his. Yet, as a man that (by his Art) would bring The ceaslesse current of a Crystall Spring To ouer-looke the lowly flowing head, Sinkes by degrees his soder'd Pipes of Lead, Beneath the Fount, whereby the water goes High, as a Well that on a mountaine flowes: So when Detraction and a Cynnicks tongue Haue sunke Desert vnto the depth of wrong, By that, the eye of skill, True Worth shall see To braue the Stars, though low his passage be. But, here I much digresse, yet pardon, Swaines: For as a Maiden gath'ring on the Plaines A sen full Nosegay (to set neere her pap, Or as a fauour, for her Shepherds cap) Is seene farre off to stray, if she haue spide A Flower that might increase her Posies pride: So if o wander I am sometimes prest, 'Tis for a straine that might adorne the rest. Requests, that with deniall could not meet, Flew to our Shepherd, and the voices sweet Of fairest Nymphes, intreating him to say. What wight he lou'd; he thus began his lay: SHall I tell you whom I loue? Hearken then a while to me; And if such a woman moue, As I now shall versi ie; Be assur'd, 'tis she, or none That I loue, and loue alone. Nature did her so much right, As she scornes the helpe of Art. In as many Vertues dight As e're yet imbrac'd a heart. So much good so truly tride, Some for lesse were deiside. Wit she hath without desire To make knowne how much she hath; And her anger flames no higher Then may sitly sweeten wrath. Full of pitty as may be, Though perhaps not so to me. Reason masters euery sense, And her vertues grace her birth: Louely as all excellence, Modest in her most of mirth: Likelihood enough to proue, Onely worth could kindle Loue. Such she is: and if you know Such a one as I haue sung; Be she browne or faire, or so, That she be but somewhile young; Be assur'd, 'tis she, or none Tha I loue, and loue alone. 〈◊〉 Pyrocis, 〈◊〉 , and 〈◊〉 were fained to be the horses of the Sunne. ous and his fellowes in the teame, (Who, since their watring in the Westerne streame, Had run a furious iourney to appease The night-sicke eyes of our Antipodes.) Now (sweating) were in our Horizon seene To drinke the cold dew from each flowry greene: When Tritons Trumpet (with a shrill command) Told; siluer-footed Thetis was at hand. As I haue seene when on the brest of Thames A heauenly beauty of sweet English Dames, In some calme Eu'ning of delightfull May, Wit Musicke giue a farewell to the day, Or as they would (with an admired tone) Greet Nights ascension to her Eben Throne, Rap with their melodie, a thousand more Run to be wasted from the bounding shore: So ran the Shepherds, and with hasty feet Stro e which should first increase that happy fleet. The true Dolphi s. presagers of a comming storme Teaching their sins, to steere them, to the forme Of Thetis will; like Boats at Anchor stood, As ready to conuay the Muses brood Into the brackish Lake, that seem'd to swell, As proud so rich a burden on it fell. Ere their ariuall Astrophel had done His shepherds lay, yet equaliz'd of none. Th'admired mirrour, glory of our Isle, Thou far-far-more then mortall man, whose stile Strucke more men dumbe to hearken to thy song, Then Orph us Harpe, or Tullies golden tongue. To him (as ight) for wits deepe quintessence, For honour, valour, vertue, excellence, Be all the Garlands, crowne his toombe with Bay, Who spake as much as ere our tongue can say. Happy Arcadia while such louely straines Sung of thy Vallies, Riuers, Hils and Plaines; Ye most vnhappy other ioyes among, That neuer heard'st his Musicke nor his Song. Deafe men are happy so, whose Vertues praise (Vnheard of them) are sung in tunefull layes. And pardon me ye Sisters of the Mountaine, Who waile his losse from the Pegasian Fountaine, If (like a man for portraiture vnable) I set my Pencill to Apelles table; Or dare to draw his Curtaine, with a will To shew his true worth, when the Artists skill Within that Curtaine fully doth expresse His owne Arts-Mastry my vnablenesse. He sweetly touched, what I harshly hit, Yet thus I glory in what I haue writ; Sidney began (and if a wit so meane May taste with him the dewes of Hippocrene) I sung the Past'rall next; his Muse, my mouer: And on the Plaines full many a pensiue louer Shall sing vs to their loues, and praising be, My humble lines, the more, for praising thee. Thus we shall liue with them, by Rocks, by Springs, As well as Homer by the death of Kings. Then in a straine beyond an Oaten Q ill The learned M. Chapman Shepherd of faire Hi ching hill Sung the heroicke deeds of Greece and Troy, In lines, so worthy life, that I imploy My Reed in vaine to ouertake his fame. All praisefull tongues doe wait vpon that name. Our second Ouid, the most pleasing Muse That heau'n did e're in mortals braine infuse, All-loued Draiton, in soule-raping straines, A genuine no t, of all the Nimphish traines Bega to tune; on it all eares were hung As sometime Dido's on Aeneas tongue. Iohnson whose full of merit to reherse Too copious is to be confinde in verse; Yet therein onely fittest to be knowne, Could any write a line which he might owne. One, so iudicious; so well knowing; and A man whose least worth is to vnderstand; One so exact in all he doth preferre To able censure; for the Theater Not Seneca transcends his worth of praise; Who writes him well shall well deserue the Bayes. Well-languag'd Danyel: Brooke, whose polisht lines Are ittest to accomplish high designes, Whose pen (it seemes) still young Apollo guides; Worthy the forked Hill for euer glides Streames from thy braine, so faire, that time shall see Thee honour'd by thy Verse, and it by thee. And when thy Temples well-deseruing Bayes, Might impe a pride in thee to reach thy praise, As in a Crystall glasse, fill'd to the ring With the cleare water of as cleare a spring A steady hand may very safely drop Some quantity of gold, yet o're the top No force the liquor run; although before The Glasse (of water) could containe no more: Ye so all-worthy Brooke though all men sound With plummets of iust praise thy skill profound, Thou in thy verse those attributes canst take And not apparent ostentation make, That any second can thy vertues raise, Striuing as much to hide as merit praise. Da ies and Wither, by whose Muses power A naturall day to me seemes but an houre, And could I euer heare their learned layes, Ages would turne to artificiall dayes. These sweetly chanted to the Queene of Waues, She prais'd, and what she prais'd, no tongue depraues. Then base contempt (vnworthy our report) Fly from the Muses and their faire resort, And exercise thy spleene on men like thee: Such are more fit to be contemn'd then wee. 'Tis not the rancour of a cankred heart That can debase the excellence of Art; Nor great in titles make our worth obey, Since we haue lines farre more esteem'd then they. For there is hidden in a Poets name A Spell that can command the wings of Fame, And maugre all Obliuions hated birth, Begin their immortalitie on earth; When he that gainst a Muse with hate combines, May raise his Tombe in vaine to reach our lines. Thus Thetis rides along the narrow eas Encompast round with louely Naides, With gaudy Nymphs, and many a skilfull Swaine, Whose equals, earth cannot produce againe, But leaue the times and men that shall succeed them Enough to praise that age which so did breed them. Two of the quaintest Swaines that yet haue beene Fail'd their attendance on the Oceans Queene, Remond and Doridon, whose haplesse Fates Late seuer'd them from their more happy mates. For (gentle Swaines) if you remember well When last I sung on brim of yonder dell, And as I ghesse it was that sunny morne, When in the groue there by my sheepe were shorne, I weene I told you, while the Shepherds yong Were at their Past'rall, and their rurall Song, The shrikes of some poore Maid fallen in mischance, Inuok't their aid, and drew them from their dance: Each an a seuerall way to helpe the Maid; Some tow'rds the Vallie, some the green wood straid: Here one the thicket beats, and there a Swaine Enters the hidden Caues; but all in vaine. Nor could they finde the wight whose shrikes and cry Flew through the gentle ayre so heauily, Nor see or man or beast, whose cruell teene Would wrong a Maiden or in graue or greene. Backe then return'd they all to end their sport, But Doridon and Remond; who resort Backe to those places which they erst had sought, Nor could a thicket be by Nature wrought In such a web, so intricate, and knit So strong with Bryers, but they would enter it. Remond his Fida cals; Fida the woods Resound againe, and Fida speake the floods, As if the Riuers and the Hils did frame Themselues no small delight, to heare her name. Yet she appeares not. Doridon would now Haue call'd his Loue too, but he knew not how: Much like a man who dreaming in his sleepe That he is falling from some Mountaine steepe Into a soundlesse Lake, about whose brim A thousand Crocodiles doe wait for him, And hangs but by one bough, and should that breake His life goes with it, yet to cry or speake, Though faine he would, can moue nor voyce, nor tongue: So when he Remond heard the woods among Call for his Fida, he would gladly too Haue call'd his fairest Loue, but knew not who, Or what to call; poore Lad, that canst not tell, Nor speake the name of her thou lou'st so well. Remond by hap neere to the Arbour found Where late the Hynd was slaine, the hurtlesse ground Besmear'd with blood; to Doridon he cride, And tearing then his haire, ô haplesse tide (Quoth he) behold! some cursed hand hath tane From Fida this; ô what infernall bane, Or more then hellish fiend inforced this Pure as the streame of aged Symois, And as the spotlesse Lilly was her soule! Yee sacred Powers that round about the Pole Turne in your Spheares! ô could you see this deed, And keepe your motion? If the eldest seed Of chained Saturne hath so often beene In Hunters and in Shepherds habit seene To trace our Woods, and on our fertile Plaines Wooe Shepherds Daughters with melodious strains, Where was he now, or any other Powre? So many seu'rall Lambes haue I each howre And crooked horned Rams brought to your Shrines, And with Perfumes clouded the Sun that shines, Yet now forsaken? to an vncouth state Must all things run, if such will be ingrate. Cease Remond (quoth the Boy) no more complaine, Thy fairest Fida liues; nor doe thou staine With vile reproaches any power aboue, They all as much as thee haue beene in loue: Saturne his Rhea; Iupiter had store, As I , Leda, Europa, and more; Mars entred Vulcans bed, pertooke his ioy; Phoebus had Daphne, and the Hyacinth. sweet-fac'd Boy; Venus, Adonis; and the God of Wit In chastest bonds was to the Muses knit, And yet remaines so, nor can any seuer His loue, but brother-like affects them euer Pale changefull Cinthia her Endimion had, And oft on Latmus sported with that Lad: If these were subiect (as all mortall men) Vnto the golden shafts, they could not then But by their owne affections rightly ghesse Her death would draw on thine; thy wretchednesse Charge them respectlesse; since no Swaine then thee Hath offred more vnto each Deitie. But feare not Remond, for those sacred Powres Tre don obliuion; no desert of ours Can be intoomb'd in their celestiall brests; They weigh our offrings, and our solemne feasts And they forget thee not: Fida (thy deere) Treads on the earth, the blood that's sprinkled here Ne're fill'd her veynes, the Hynd possest this gore, See where the Coll r lyes she whilome wore; Some Dog hath slaine her, or the griping Carle That spoiles our Plaines in digging them for Marle. Looke as two little Brothers who addrest To search the hedges for a Thrushes nest, And haue no sooner got the leauy Spring, When mad in lust with fearefull bellowing A strong-neckt Bull pursues throughout the field, One climbes a tree, and takes that for his shield, Whence looking from one pasture to another, What might betide to his much-loued Brother, Further then can his ouer-drowned eyes Aright perceiue, the furious beast he spies Tosse something on his hornes, he knowes not what, But one thing feares, and therefore thinkes it that; When comming nigher he doth well discerne It of the wondrous-one-night-seeding Ferne Some bundle was: yet thence he home-ward goes Pensiue and sad, nor can abridge the throes His feare began, but still his minde doth moue Vnto the worst: Mistrust goes still with Loue. So far'd it with our Shepherd, though he saw Not ought of Fida's rayment, which might draw A more suspicion; though the Coller lay There on the grasse, yet goes he thence away Full of mistrust, and vowes to leaue that Plaine Till he embrace his chasest Loue againe. Loue-wounded Doridon intreats him then That he might be his partner, since no men Had cases liker; he with him would goe, Weepe when he wept, and sigh when he did so: I (quoth the Boy) will sing thee songs of loue, And as we sit in some all-shady groue, Where Philomela and such sweetned throats, Are for the mastry tuning various notes, I'le striue with them, and tune so sad a Verse, That whilst to thee my fortunes I rehearse, No Bird but shall be mute, her note decline, And cease her woe, to lend an eare to mine. I'le tell thee tales of loue, and shew thee how The Gods haue wandred as we Shepherds now, And when thou plain'st thy Fida's losse, will I Eccho the same, and with mine owne, supply. Know Remona I doe loue, but well-a-day I know not whom; but as the gladsome May Shee's faire and louely, as a Goddesse she (If such as hers a Goddesse beauty be) First stood before me, and inquiting was How to the Marish she might soonest passe, When rusht a Villaine in, hell be his lot, And drew her thence, since when I saw her not, Nor know I where to search; but if thou please 'Tis not a Forrest, Mountaine, Rockes, or Seas Can in thy iourney stop my going on. Fate so may smile on haplesse Doridon, That he reblest may be with her faire sight, Though thence his eyes possesse eternall night. Remond agreed, and many weary dayes They now had spent in vnfrequented wayes: About the Riuers, Vallies, Holts, and Crags, Among the Ozyers and the wauing Flags, They neerly pry, if any dens there be, Where from the Sun might harbour crueltie: Or if they could the bones of any spy, Or torne by beasts, or humane tyranny, They close inquiry make in cauernes blinde, Yet what they looke for would be death to finde. Right as a curious man that would descrie (Lead by the trembling hand of Iealousie) If his faire wife haue wrong'd his bed or no, Meeteth his torment if he finde her so. One Eu'n e're Phoebus (neere the golden shore Of Tagus streame) his iourney gan giue o're, They had ascended vp a woody hill (Where oft the Fauns with their Bugles shrill Wakened the Eccho, and with many a shout Follow'd the fearefull Deere the woods about, Or through the Brakes that hide the craggy rockes, Digd to the hole where lyes the wily Fox.) Thence they beheld an vnder-lying Vale Where Flora set her rarest flowres at sale, Whither the thriuing Bee came oft to sucke them, And fairest Nymphes to decke their haire did plucke them. Where oft the Goddesses did run at base, And on white Harts begun the Wilde-goose-chase: Here various Nature seem'd adorning this, In imitation of the fields of blisse; Or as she would intice the soules of men To leaue Elizium, and liue here agen. Not Hybla mountaine in the iocund prime Vpon her many bushes of sweet Thyme Shewes greater number of industrious Bees, Then were the Birds that sung there on the trees. Like the trim windings of a wanton Lake, That doth his passage through a Meadow make, Ran the delightfull Vally 'tweene two Hils: From whose rare trees the precious Balme distils, And hence Apollo had his simples good That cur'd the Gods, hurt, by the Earths ill brood. A Crystall Riuer on her bosome slid, And (passing) seem'd in sullen muttrings chid The artlesse Songsters, that their Musicke still Should charme the sweet Dale, and the wistfull Hill, Not suffering her shrill waters as they run Tun'd with a whistling gale in Vnison To tell as high they priz'd the brodred Vale, As the quicke Lenn s or sweet Nightingale. Downe from a steepe Rocke came the water first, (Where lusty Satyres often quench'd their thirst) And with no little speed seem'd all in haste Till i the louely bottome had embrac'd: Then as intran 'd to heare the sweet Birds sing, In curled whirlpooles she her course doth bring, As l th to leaue the songs that lull'd the Dale, Or waiting time when she and some soft gale Should speake what true delight they did possesse. Among the rare flowres which the Vally dresse. But since those quaint Musitians would not stay, Nor suffer any to be heard but they: Much like a little ad who gotten new To play his part amongst a skilfull crew Of choise Musitians, on some softer string That is not heard; the others fingering Drowning his Art; the boy would gladly get Applause with others that are of his Set. And therefore strikes a stroke loud as the best, And often des ants when his fellowes rest; That, to be heard (as 〈◊〉 ingers doe) Spoiles his owne Musick and his partners too: So at the furt er end the waters fell From off an 〈◊〉 bancke downe a lowly Dell, As they had vow'd ere passing from that ground, The Birds should be inforc'd o heare their sound. No small delight the Shepherds tooke to see A Vally. coombe so dight in Flora iuery, Where faire Feronia Accord ng to that of Silius lib. 13. Pu icor. — •• ur in agros Diues vbi a t omnes colitur eronia luco. honour'd in the Woods, And all the Deities that haunt the floods, With powrefull Nature stroue to 〈◊〉 a plot, Who •• like the sweet Arcadia yeelded nor. Downe through the arched wood the Shepherds wend, And seeke all places that might helpe their end, When comming neere the bottome of the hill A deepe fetch'd sigh (which seem'd of power to kill The brest that held it) pierc'd the listning wood, Whereat the eare still Swaines no longer stood Where they were looking on a tree, whose 〈◊〉 A Loue knot held, which two ioyn'd hearts the winde; But searching round, vpon an aged foot Thicke linde with moste, which (though to little boot) Seem'd as a shelter it had lending beene Against cold Winters stormes and wreakfull teene; Or clad the stocke in Summer with that hue His withered branches not a long time knew: For in his hollow truncke and perish'd graine The Cuckow now had many a Winter laine, And thriuing Pismires laid their egges in store; The Dormouse slept there, and a many more. Here sate the Lad, of whom I thinke of old Virgils prophetique spirit had foretold, Who whilst Dame Nature for her cunnings sake, A male or female doubted which to make, And to adorne him, more then all, assaid, This pritty youth was almost made a Maid. Sadly he sate, (and as would griefe) alone, As if the Boy and Tree had beene but one, Whilst downe neere boughs did drops of Amber creep , As if his sorrow made the trees to weepe. If euer this were true in Ouids Verse That teares haue powre an Adamant to pierce, Or moue things void of sense, 'twas here approu'd. Th ngs vegetatiue, once, his teares haue mou'd. Surely the stones might well be drawne, in pitty To burst that he should mone, as for a Ditty To come and range themselues in order all, And of their owne accord raise Thebes a wall. Or else his teares (as did the others song) Might haue th'attractiue power to moue the throng Of all the Forrests, Citizens and Woods, With eu'ry Denizon of Ayre and Floods, To sit by him and grieue; to leaue their iarres, Their strifes, dissentions, and all ciuill warres; And though else disagreeing, in this one Mourning for him should make an Vnion. For whom the heauens would weare a sable sute, If men, beasts, fishes, birds, trees, stones were mute. His eyes were fixed (rather fixed Starres) With whom it seem'd his teares had beene in warres, The diff'rence this (a hard thing to descry) Whether the drops were clearest, or his eye. Teares fearing conquest to the eye might fall, An inundation brought and drowned all. Yet like true Vertue from the top of State (Whose hopes vile Enuie hath seene ruinate) Being lowly cast, her goodnesse doth appeare (Vncloath'd of greatnesse) more apparant cleere: So though deiected, yet remain'd a feature Made sorrow sweet plac'd in so sweet a creature. "The test of misery the truest is, "In that none hath but what is surely his. His armes a crosse, his sheepe-hooke lay beside him: Had Venus pass'd this way, and chanc'd t'haue spide him, With open brest, locks on his shoulders spred, She would haue sworne (had she not seene him dead;) It was Adonis; or if e're there was Held transmigration by Pithagoras. Of soules, that certaine then, her lost-loues spirit A fairer body neuer could inherit. His Pipe which often wont vpon the Plaine To sound the Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian straine, Lay from his Hooke and Bagge cleane cast apart, And almost broken like his Masters heart. Yet till the two kinde Shepherds neere him stept, I finde he nothing spake but that he wept. Cease gentle Lad (quoth Remond) let no teare Cloud those sweet beauties in thy face appeare; Why dost thou call-on that which comes alone, And will not leaue thee till thy selfe art gone? Thou maist haue griefe when other things are rest thee, All else may slide away, this still is left thee; And when thou wantest other company, Sorrow will euer be embracing thee. But fairest Swaine what cause hast thou of woe? Thou hast a well-fleec'd flocke seed to and fro, (His sheepe along the Vally that time fed Not arre from him, although vnfollowed) What, doe thy Ewes abortiues bring? or Lambs For want of milke seeke to their fellowes Dams? No gryping Land-lord hath inclos'd thy walkes, Nor oyling Plowman furrow'd them in balkes. Ver hath adorn'd thy Pastures all in greene With Clouer-grasse as fresh as may be seene: Cleare gliding Springs refresh thy Meadowes heat, Meads promise to thy charge their winter-meat, And yet thou grieu'st. O had some Swains thy store, Their Pipes should tell the Woods they ask'd no more. Or haue the Parca with vnpartiall knife Lef some friends body tenantlesse of life, And thou bemoan'st that Fate in his youths morne Ore-cast with clouds his light but newly borne? "Count not how many yeares he is bereau'd, "But those which he possest and had receiu'd; "If I may tread no longer on this stage, "Though others thinke me young; it is mine age: "For who so hath his Fates full period told, "He full of yeeres departs, and dyeth old May be that Auarico thy minde hath crost, And so thy sighes are for some trif e lost Why shouldst thou hold that deare the world throwes on thee? "Thinke nothing good which may be taken from thee, Look as some pondrous weight or massie pack, Laid to be carried on a Porters back, Doth make his strong ioynts cracke, and forceth him (Maugre the helpe of euery nerue and lim,) To straggle in his gate, and goeth double, Bending to earth, such is his burdens trouble: So any one by Auarico ingirt, And prest with wealth, lyes groueling in the dirt. His wretched minde bends to no point but this, That who hath most of wealth hath most of blisse. Hence comes the world to seeke such traffique forth And passage through the congealed North, Who when their haires with Isicles are hung And that their chatt'ring teeth confound their tongue, Shew them a glitt'ring stone, will streight waies say, If paines thus prosper, oh what fooles would play? Yet I could tell them (as I now doe thee) "In getting wealth we lose our libertie. "Besides, it robs vs of our better powres, "And we should be our selues were these not ours. "He is not poorest that hath least in store, "But he which hath enough, yee asketh more "No is he rich by whom are all possest, "But he which nothing hath, yet asketh least. "If thou life by Nature, leading pitch, "Thou neuer shalt be poore, nor euer rich "Led by Opinion; for their states are such, "N ture but little seekes, Opinion much! Amongst the many buds proclaiming May, (Decking the fields in holy dayes a ay, Striuing who shall surpasse in brauery) Marke the aste blooming of the Hawthorne-tree Who finely clothed in a robe of white, Feeds full the wanton eye with May's delight; Yet for the brauery that she is in Doth neither handle Cara nor Wheele to spin, Nor changeth robes but twice, is neuer seene In other colours then in white or greene. Lea ne then content young Shepherd from this tree, Whose greatest wealth is Natures liuery, And richest ingots neuer toyle to finde, Nor care for pouerty but of the minde. This spoke young Remond: yet the mournfull Lad Not once replyde; But with a smile, though sad, He shooke his head then crost his armes againe, And from his eyes did showres of salt teares raine, Which wrought so on the 〈◊〉 , they could not smother Their sighes, but spent them f eely as the other. Tell vs (quoth Doridon) thou fairer farre: Then Hippolit •• . he whole chastity made him a Starre, More fit to throw the wounding shafts of Loue, Then follow sheepe, and pine here in a Groue. O doe not hide thy sorrowes, shew them briefe; "He oft findes ayde that doth disclose his griefe. If thou wouldst it continue, thou dost wrong; "No man can sorrow very much and long: For thus much, louing Nature hath dispos'd, That 'mongst the woes that haue vs round inclos'd, This comfort's left (and we should blesse her for't) That we may make our griefes be borne, or short. Beleeue me Shepherd, we are men no lesse Free from the killing throes of heauinesse Then thou art here, and but this diff'rence sure, That vse hath made vs apter to endure. More he had spoke, but that a Bugle shrill Rung through the Vally from the higher Hill, And as they turn'd them tow'rds the hartning sound, A gallant Stag as if he scorn'd the ground Came running with the winde, and bore his head As he had beene the King of forrests bred. Not swifter comes the Messenger of Heauen, Or winged vessell with a full gale driuen, Nor the swift Swallow flying neere the ground, By which the ayres distemp'rature is found: Nor Mirrha's course, nor Daphne's speedy flight, Shunning the daliance of the God of light, Then seem'd the Stag, that had no sooner crost them But in a trice their eyes as quickly lost him. The weeping Swaine ne're mou'd, but as his eyes Were onely giuen to shew his miseries, Attended those; and could not once be won To leaue that obiect whence his teares begun. O had that 〈◊〉 man, who (by a Tyrants hand) Seeing his childrens bodies strew the sand, And he next morne for torments prest to goe, Yet from his eyes let no one small teare flow, But being ask'd how well he bore their losse, Like to a man affliction could not crosse, He stoutly answer'd: Happier sure are they Th •• I shall be by space of one short day: No more his griefe wa . But had he beene here He had beene flint, had he not spent a teare. For still that man the perfecter is knowne, Who others sorrowes feeles more then his owne. R mond and Doridon were turning then Vnto the most disconsolate of men, But that a gallant Dame, faire as the morne, Or louely bloomes the Peach-tree that adorne, Clad in a changing silke, whose lustre shone Like yellow flowres and grasse farre off, in one, Or like the mixture Nature doth display Vpon the quaint wings of the Popi iay, Her horne about her necke with siluer tip, Too hard a metall for so soft a lip: Which it no oftner kist, then Ioue did frowne, And in a mortals shape would saine come downe To feed vpon those dainties, had not hee Beene still kept backe by Iuno's iealousie. An Iuory dart she held of good command, White was the bone, but whiter was her hand; Of many peeces was it nearly fram'd, But more the hearts were that her eyes inflam'd. Vpon her head a greene light silken cap, A peece of white Lawne shadow'd either pap, Betweene which hillocks many Cupids lay, Where with her necke or with her teats they play, Whilst her quicke heart will not with them dispence, But heaues her brests as it would beat them thence, Who fearing much to lose so sweet repaire, Take faster hold by her dishe ell'd haire. Swiftly she ran; the sweet Bryers to receiue her Slipt their-embracements, and (as loth to leaue her) Stretch'd themselues to their length: yet on she goes. So great Diana frayes a heard of Roes And speedy followes: Arethusa sled So, from the Alpheus. Riuer, that her rauished. When this braue Huntresse neere the Shepherds drew, Her Lilly arme in full extent she threw, To plucke a little bough (to fan her face) From off a thicke-leau'd Ash: (no tree did grace The low Groue as did this, the branches spred Like Neptune's Trident vpwards from the head.) No sooner did the grieued Shepherd see The Nimphs white hand extended tow'rds the tree, But rose and to her ran, yet she had done Ere he came neere, and to the wood was gone; Yet now approach'd the bough the Huntresse tore, He suck it with his mouth, and kist it o're A hundred times, and softly gan it binde With Dock-leaues, and a slip of Willow rinde. Then roūd the trunke he wreaths his weakned armes, And with his scalding teares the smooth bark warms, Sighing and groaning, that the Shepherds by Forgot to helpe him, and lay downe to cry: "For 'tis impossible a man should be "Grieu'd to himselfe, or faile of company. Much the two Swaines admir'd, but pitti'd more That he no powre of words had, to deplore Or shew what sad misfortune 'twas befell To him, whom Nature (seem'd) regarded well. As thus they lay, and while the speechlesse Swaine His teares and sighes spent to the woods in vaine, One like a wilde man ouer-growne with haire, His nailes long growne, and all his body bare, Saue that a wreath of Iuy twist did hide Those parts which Nature would not haue discride, And he long haire that curled from his head A grassie garland rudely couered. But Shepherds I haue wrong'd you, 'tis now late, For see our Maid stands hollowing on yond gate, 'Tis supper-time, withall, and we had need Make haste away, vnlesse we meane to speed With those that kisse the Hares foot: Rhumes are bred, Some say, by going supperlesse to bed, And those I loue not; therefore cease my rime, And put my Pipes vp till another time.
THE THIRD SONG. THE ARGVMENT. A Redbrest doth from pining saue Marina sh t in Famines Caue. The Golden age described plaine, And Limos by the Shepherds slaine, Doe giue me leaue a while to moue My Pipe of Tauy and his Loue. ALas that I haue done so great a wrong Vnto the fairest Maiden of my Song, Diuine Marina, who in Limos Caue Lyes euer fearefull of a liuing graue, And night and day vpon the hardned stones, Rests, if a rest can be amongst the mones Of dying wretches; where each minute all Stand still afraid to heare the Deaths-man call. Thrice had the golden Sun his hot Steeds washt In the West Maine, and thrice them smartly lasht Out of the Baul y East, since the sweet Maid Had in that dismall Caue beene sadly laid. Where hunger pinch'd her so, she need not stand In feare of murdring by a second hand: For through her tender sides such darts might passe Gainst which strong wals of stone, thick gates of brasse Deny no entrance, nor the Campes of Kings, Since soonest there they bend their flaggy wings. But heauen that stands still for the best's auaile, Len eth his hand when humane helpings faile; For 'twere impossible that such as she Should be forgotten of the Deitie; Since in the spacious Orbe could no man finde A fairer face match'd with a fairer minde. A little Robin Red-brest one cleare morne, Sate sweetly singing on a well-leau'd Thorne: Whereat Marina rose, and did admire He durst approach from whence all else retire: And pittying the sweet Bird what in her lay, She sully stroue to fright him thence away. Poore harmelesse wretch (quoth she) goe seeke some spring, And to her sweet fall with thy fellowes sing; Fly to the well-replenish'd Groues, and there Doe entertaine each Swaines harmonious eare; Trauerse the winding branches; chant so free, That euery louer fall in loue with thee; And if thou chance to see that louely Boy (To looke on whom the Siluans count a ioy) He whom I lou'd no sooner then I lost, Whose body all the Graces hath ingrost, To him vnfold (if that thou dar'st to be So neare a neighbour to my Tragedie) As farre as can thy voyce, (in plaints so sad, And in so many mournefull accents clad, That as thou sing'st vpon a tree there by He may some small time weepe, yet know not why) How I in death was his, though Powres diuine Will not permit that he in life be mine. Doe this thou louing Bird; and haste away Into the woods: but if so be thou stay To doe a deed of charity on me When my pure soule shall leaue mortalitie, By cou'ring this poore body with a sheet Of greene leaues, gath'red from a vally sweet; It is in vaine: these harmelesse lims must haue Then in the Caitifes wombe, no other graue. Hence then sweet Robin; lest in staying long At once thou chance forgoe both life and song. With this she husht him thence, he sung no more, But (fraid the second time) flew tow'rds the shore. Within as short time as the swiftest Swaine Can to our May-pole run and come againe, The little Redbrest to the prickled thorne Return'd, and sung there as he had beforne: And faire Marina to the loope-hole went, Pittying the pretty Bird, whose punishment Limos would not deferre if he were spide. No sooner had the bird the Maiden eyde, But leaping on the rocke, downe from a bough, He takes a Cherry vp (which he but now Had thither brought, and in that place had laid Till to the cleft his song had drawne the Maid) And flying with the small stem in his bill, (A choiser fruit, then hangs on Bacchus Citharon in Bo •• ia. hill) In faire Marina's bosome tooke his rest, A heauenly seat fit for so sweet a guest: Where Citherea's Doues might billing sit, And Gods and men with Enuie looke on it; Where rose two mountaines, whose rare sweets to crop Was harder then to reach Olympus top: For those the Gods can; but to climbe these hils Their powres no other were then mortall wils. Here left the Bird the Cherry, and anone Forsooke her bosome, and for more is gone, Making such speedy flights into the Thicke, That she admir'd he went and came so quicke. Then lest his many Cherries should distast, Some other fruit he brings then he brought last. Some ime of Strawberries a little stem, Oft changing colours as he gath'red them: Some greene, some white, some red on them infus'd, These lou'd, those fear'd, they blush'd to be so vs'd. The Peascod greene, oft with no little toyle Hee'd seeke for in the fattest fertil'st soile, And rend it from the stalke to bring it to her, And in her bosome for acceptance wooe her. No Be ry in the Groue or Forrest grew, That sit for nourishment the kinde Bird knew, Nor any powrefull herbe in open field, To serue her brood the teeming earth did yeeld, But with his vtmost industry he sought it, And to the Caue for chaste Marina brought it. So from one well-stor'd garden to another, To gather Simples runs a carefull mother, Whose onely childe lies on the shaking bed Grip'd with a Feuer (sometime honoured In Rome as if a Febrem ad minus nocendum templis col bant, ait Val. Maximus. Vid Tullium in te tio de Nat. Deorum, & secundo de Legibus. God) nor is she bent To other herbes then those for which she went. The feathred houres fiue times were ouer-told, And twice as many floods and ebbs had old The small sands out and in, since faire Marine (For whose long losse a hundred Shepherds pine) Was by the charitable Robin fed: For whom (had she not so beene nourished) A hundred Doues would search the Sun-burnt hils, Or fruitfull Vallies lac'd with siluer rils, To bring her Oliues. Th'Eagle strong of sight To Countries farre remote would bend her flight, And with vnwearied wing strip through the skie To the choise plots of Gaule and Italy, And neuer lin till home-ward she escape With the Pomgranat, Lemmon, Oringe, Grape, Or the lou'd Citron, and attain'd the Caue. The well-plum'd Goshawke (by th'Egyptians graue Vs'd in their my sticke Characters for speed) Would not be wanting at so great a need, But from the well-stor'd Orchards of the Land Brought the sweet Peare (once by a cursed hand At One writes that K. Iohn was poison'd at Swinsted, with a dish of peares: Others, there, in a cup of wine: Some, that he died at Newark of the Flux A fourth, by the distemperature of Peaches eaten in his sit of an Ague. Among so many doubts, I leaue you to beleeue the Author most in credit with our best of A tiquaries. Swinsted vs'd with poyson, for the fall Of one who on these Plaines rul'd Lord of all.) The sentfull Osprey by the Rocke had fish'd And many a prettie Shrimp in Scallops dish'd, Some way conuay'd her; no one of the shole That haunt the waues, but from his lurking hole Had pull'd the Cray-fish, and with much adoe Brought that the Maid, and Perywinckles too. But these for others might their labours spare, And not with Robin for their merits share. Yet as a Herdesse in a Summers day, Heat with the glorious Suns all-purging ray, In the calme Euening (leauing her faire flocke) Betakes her selfe vnto a froth-girt Rocke, On which the head-long Tauy throwes his waues, (And foames to see the stones neglect his braues:) Where sitting to vndoe her Buskins white, And wash her neat legs, (as her vse each night) Th'in amour'd flood before she can vnlace them, Rowles vp his waues as hast'ning to imbrace them, And though to helpe them some small gale doe blow, And one of twenty can but reach her so; Yet will a many little surges be Flashing vpon the rocke full busily, And doe the best they can to kisse her feet, But that their power and will, not equall meet: So as she for her Nurse look'd tow'rds the land, (And now beholds the trees that grace the strand, Then lookes vpon a hill whose sliding sides. A goodly flocke (like winters cou'ring) hides, And higher on some stone that iutteth out, Their carefull master guiding his trim rout By sending forth his Dog, (as Shepherds doe) Or piping sate, or clo ting of his shoe.) Whence, nearer hand drawing her wandring sight, (So from the earth steales the all-quickning light) Beneath the rocke, the waters, high, but late, (I know not by what sluce or empting gate) Were at a low ebbe; on the sand she spies A busie Bird that to and fro still flies, Till pitching where a heatfull Oyster lay, Opening his close iawes, (closer none then they Vnlesse the griping fist, or cherry lips Of happy Louers in their melting sips.) Since the decreasing waues had left him there Gaping for thirst, yet meets with nought but ayre, And that so hot; ere the returning tyde, He in his shell is likely to be fride; The wary Bird a prittie pibble takes And claps it twixt the two pearle-hiding flakes Of the broad yawning Oyster, and she then Securely pickes the fish out (as some men A tricke of policie thrust, tweene two friends, Seuer their powres, and his intention ends) The Bird thus getting that, for which she stroue Brought it to her: to whom the Queene of Loue Seru'd as a foyle, and Cupid could no other, But flie to her mistaken for his Mother. Marina from the kinde Bird tooke the meat, And (looking downe) she saw a number great Of Birds, each one a pibble in his bill, Would doe the like, but that they wanted skill: Some threw it in too farre, and some too short; This could not beare a stone fit for such sport, But harmelesse wretch putting in one too small, The Oyster shuts and takes his head withall. Another bringing one too smooth and round, (Vnhappy Bird that thine owne death hast found) Layes it so little way in his hard lips, That with their sodaine close, the pibble slips So strongly forth (as when your little ones Doe twixt their fingers slip their Cherry-stones) That it in passage meets the brest o head Of the poore wretch, and layes him there for dead. A many striu'd, and gladly would haue done As much or more then he which first begun, But all in vaine, scarce one of twenty could Performe the deed, which they full gladly would. For this not quicke is to that act he go'th, That wanteth skill, this cunning, and some both: Yet none a will, for (from the caue) she sees Not in all-louely May th'industrious Bees More busie with the flowres could be, then these Among the shell-fish of the working Seas. Limos had all this while beene wanting thence, And but iust heau'n preseru'd pure innocence By the two Birds; her life to ayre had flit Ere the curst Caytife should haue forced it. The first night that he left her in his den He got to shore, and neere th'abodes of men That liue as we by tending of their flockes, To enterchange for Ceres golden lockes, Or with the Neat-herd for his milke and creame: Things we respect more then the Diademe His choise made-dishes; O! the golden age Met all contentment in no surplusage Of dainty viands, but (as we doe still) Dranke the pure water of the crystall rill, Fed on no other meats then those they fed, Labour, the salad that their stomacks bred. Nor sought they for the downe of siluer Swans, Nor those Sow-thistle lockes each small gale fans, But hydes of Beasts, which when they liu'd they kept, Seru'd them for bed and cou'ring when they slept. If any softer lay, 'twas (by the losse Of some rocks warmth) on thicke and spungy mosse, Or on the ground: some simple wall of clay Parting their beds from where their cattle lay. And on such pallats one man clipped then More golden slumbers then this age agen. That time Physitians thriu'd not: or if any I dare say, all: yet then were thrice as many As now profess't, and more, for euery man Was his owne Patient and Physitian. None had a body then so weake and thin, Bankrout of natures store, to feed the sinne Of an insatiate female, in whose wombe Could nature all hers past, and all to come Infuse, with vertue of all drugs beside, She might be tyr'd, but neuer satisfied. To please which Orke her husbands weakned peece Must haue his Cullis mixt with Amber-greece, Phesa t and Partridge into elly turn'd, Grated with gold, seuen times refin'd and burn'd, With dust of Orient Pearle, richer the East Yet ne're beheld: (O Epicurian feast!) This is his breakfast; and his meale at night Possets no lesse prouoking appetite, Whose deare ingredients valu'd are at more Then all his Ancestors were worth before. When such as we by poore and simple fare More able liu'd, and di'd no without heire, Sprung from our owne loines, and a spotlesse bed Of any other powre vnseconded: When th'others issue (like a man falne sicke, Or through the Feuer, Gout, or Lunaticke, Changing his Doctors oft, each as his notion Prescribes a seu'rall dyet, seu'rall potion, Meeting his friend (who meet we now adayes That hath not some receit for each disease?) He tels him of a plaister, which he takes; And finding after that, his torment slakes, (Whether because the humour is out-wrought, Or by the skill which his Physitian brought, It makes no matter:) for he surely thinkes None of their purges, nor their diet drinkes Haue made him sound; but his beleefe is fast That med'cine was his health which he tooke last: So (by a mother) being taught to call One for his Father, though a Sonne to all, His mothers often scapes (though truly knowne) Cannot diuert him; but will euer owne For his begetter, him, whose name and rents He must inherit. Such are the descents Of these men; to make vp whose limber heyre As many as in him, must haue a share; When he that keepes the last yet least adoe, Fathers the peoples childe, and gladly too. Happier those times were, when the Flaxen clew By faire Arachne's hand the Lydians knew, And sought not to the worme for silken threds, To rowle their bodies in, or dresse their heads. When wise Minerua did th' Athenians learne To draw their milke-white fleeces into yarne; And knowing not the mixtures which began (Of colours) from the Babylonian, Nor wooll in Sardis dyde, more various knowne By hues, then Iris to the world hath showne: The bowels of our mother were not ript For Mader-pits, nor the sweet meadowes stript Of their choise beauties, nor for Ceres load The fertile lands burd'ned with needlesse Woad. Through the wide Seas no winged Pine did goe To Lands vnknowne for staining Indico; Nor men in scorching clymates moar'd their Keele To traffique for the costly Concheneele. Vnknowne was then the Phrygian brodery, The Tyrian purple, and the Scarlet dye, Such as their sheepe clad, such they woue and wore, Russet or white, or those mixt, and no more: Except sometimes (to brauery inclinde) They dide them yellow caps with Alder rinde. The Graecian mantle, Tuscan robes of state, Tissu , nor Cloth of gold of highest rate, They neuer saw; onely in pleasant woods, Or by th'embrodered margin of the floods, The dainty Nymphs they often did behold Clad in their light silke robes, stitcht oft with gold. The Arras hangings round their comely Hals, Wanted the Cerites web and minerals: Greene boughes of trees which fatning Acornes lade, Hung full with flowres and Garlands quaintly made, Their homely Cotes deck'd trim in low degree, As now the Court with richest Tapistry. In stead of Cushions wrought in windowes laine, They pick'd the Cockle from their fields of Graine, Sleepe bringing Poppy, by the Plow-men late Not without cause to Ceres consecrate, For being round and full at his halfe birth It signifi'd the perfect Orbe of earth; And by his inequalities when blowne, The earths low Vales and higher Hils were showne. By multitude of graines it held within, Of men and beasts the number noted bin; And she since taking care all earth to please, Had in her 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 and 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 were sacrifices peculiar to Ceres, the one for being a Law-giuer, the other as Goddesse of the grounds. Thesmophoria offred these. Or cause that seed our Elders vs'd to eat, With honey mixt (and was their after meat) Or since her Daughter that she lou'd so well By him that in th'infernall shades doth dwell, And on the Srygian bankes for euer raignes (Troubled with horrid cries and noyse of chaines) (Fairest Pros rpina) was rapt away; And she in plaints, the night; in teares, the day Had long time spent; when no high Power could giue her Any redresse; the Vide Serui •• m in Virg. Georg. 1. Poppy did releeue her: For eating of the seeds they sleepe procur'd, And so beguil'd those griefes she long endur'd. Or rather since her Loue (then happy man) Micon (ycleep'd) the braue Athenian, Had beene transform'd into this gentle Flowre, And his protection kept from Flora's powre. The Daizy scattred on each Mead and Downe, A golden tuft within a siluer Crowne, (Faire fall that dainty flowre and may there be No Shepherd grac'd that doth not honour thee) The Primrose, when with six leaues gotten grace Maids as a True-loue in their bosomes place The spotlesse Lilly, by whose pure leaues be Noted the chaste thoughts of virginitie; Carnations sweet with colour like the fire, The fit Impresa's for imflam'd desire; The Hare-bell for her stainlesse azur'd hue, Claimes to be worne of none but those are true; The Rose, like ready youth inticing stands, And would be cropt if it might choose the hands; The yealow King-cup, Flora them assign'd To be the badges of a iealous minde; The Oringe-tawny Marigold: the night Hides not her colour from a searching sight. To thee then dearest Friend (my songs chiefe mate) This colour chiefly I appropriate, That spight of all the mists Obliuion can Or en ious frettings of a guilty man, Retain'st thy worth; nay, mak'st it more in prise, Like Tennis-bals throwne downe hard, highest rise. The Columbine in tawny often taken, Is then ascrib'd to such as are forsaken; Flora's choise buttons of a russet dye Is Hope euen in the depth of misery. The ansie, Thistle, all with prickles set, The Cowslip, Honisuckle, Violet, And many hundreds more that grac'd the Meads, Gardens and Groues, (where beautious Flora treads) Were by the Shepherds Daughters (as yet are Vs'd in our Cotes) brought home with speciall care: For b uising them they not alone would quell But rot the rest, and spoile their pleasing smell. Much like a Lad, who in his tender prime Sent from his friends to learne the vse of time, As are his mates, or good or bad, so he Thriues to the world, and such his actions be. As in the Rainbowes many coloured hew Here see we watchet deepned with a blew, There a darke tawnie with a purple mixt, Yealow and flame, with streakes of greene betwixt, A bloudy streame into a blushing run And ends still with the colour which begun, Drawing the deeper to a lighter staine, Bringing the lightest to the deep'st againe, With such rare Art each mingleth with his fellow, The blew with watche , greene and red with yealow Like to the changes which we daily see About the Doues necke with varietie, Where none can say (though he it strict attends) Here one begins; and there the other ends: So did the Maidens with their various flowres Decke vp their windowes, and make neat their bowres: Vsing such cunning as they did dispose The ruddy Piny with the lighter Rose, The Moncks-hood with the Buglosse, and intwine The white, the blew, the flesh-like Columbine With Pinckes, Sweet-Williams; that farre off the eye Could not the manner of their mixtures spye. Then with those flowres they most of all did prise, (With all their skill, and in most curious wise On tufts of Hearbs or Rushes) would they frame A dainty border round their Shepherds name. Or Poesies make, so quaint, so apt, so rare, As if the Muses onely liued there: And that the after world should striue in vaine What they then did to counterfeit againe. Nor will the Needle nor the Loome e're be So perfect in their best embroderie, Nor such composures make of silke and gold, As theirs, when Nature all her cunning told. The word of Mine did no man then bewitch, They thought none could be fortunate if rich. And to the couetous did wish no wrong But what himselfe desir'd: to liue here long. As of their Songs, so of their liues they deem'd, Not of the long'st, but best perform'd, esteem'd. They thought that heauen to him no life did giue, Who onely thought vpon the meanes to liue. Nor wish'd they 'twere ordain'd to liue here euer, But as life was ordain'd they might perseuer. O happy men! you euer did possesse No wisedome, but was mixt with simplenesse; So, wanting malice: and from folly free, Since reason went with your simplicitie. You search'd your selues if all within were faire, And did not learne of others what you were. Your liues the patternes of those vertues gaue Which adulation tels men now they haue. With pouerty, in loue we onely close Because our Louers it most tru ly showes: When they who in that blessed age did moue, Knew neither pouerty, nor want of loue. The hatred which they bore was onely this, That euery one did hate to doe amisse. Their fortune still was subiect to their will: Their want (ô happy!) was the want of ill. Ye truest, fairest, louelyest Nymphes that can Out of your eyes lend fire Promethian, All-beautious Ladies, loue-alluring Dames, That on the banckes of Isca, Humber, Thames, By your encouragement can make a Swaine Climbe by his Song where none but soules attaine: And by the gracefull reading of our lines Renew our heat to further braue designes: (You, by whose meanes my Muse thus boldly sayes: Though she doe sing of Shepherds loues and layes, And flagging weakly low gets not on wing To second that of Hellens rauishing: Nor hath the loue nor beauty of a Queene My subiect grac'd, as other workes haue beene; Yet not to doe their age nor ours a wrong, Though Queenes, nay Goddesses fam'd Homers song) Mine hath beene tun'd and heard by beauties more Then all the Poets that haue liu'd before. Not cause it is more worth: but it doth fall That Nature now is turn'd a prodigall, And on this age so much perfection spends, That to her last of treasure it extends; For all the ages that are slid away Had not so many beauties as this day. O what a rapture haue I gotten now! That age of gold, this of the louely brow Haue drawne me from my Song! I onward run Cleane from the end to which I first begun. But ye the heauenly creatures of the West, In whom the vertues and the graces rest, Pardon! that I haue run astray so long, And grow so tedious in so rude a song, If you your selues should come to adde one grace Vnto a pleasant Groue or such like place, Where here the curious cutting of a hedge, There, by a pond, the trimming of the sedge; Here the fine setting of well shading trees, The walkes there mounting vp by small degrees, The grauell and the greene so equall lye, It, with the rest, drawes on your lingring eye: Here the sweet smels that doe perfume the ayre, Arising from the infinite repaire Of odoriferous buds, and herbs of price, (As if it were another Paradice) So please the smelling sense, that you are faine Where last you walk'd to turne and walke againe. There the small Birds with their harmonious notes Sing to a Spring that smileth as she floats: For in her face a many dimples show, And often skips as it did dancing goe: Here further downe an ouer-arched Alley That from a hill goes winding in a valley, You spie at end thereof a standing Lake, Where some ingenious Artist striues to make The water (brought in turning pipes of Lead Through Birds of earth most liuely fashioned) To counterfeit and mocke the Siluans all, In singing well their owne set Madrigall. This with no small delight retaines your eare, And makes you think none blest but who liue there. Then in another place the fruits that be In gallant clusters decking each good tree Inuite your hand to crop some from the stem, And liking one, taste euery sort of them: Then to the arbours walke, then to the bowres, Thence to the walkes againe, thence to the flowres, Then to the Birds, and to the cleare spring thence, Now pleasing one, and then another sense: Here one walkes oft, and yet anew begin'th, As if it were some hidden Labyrinth; So loath to part, and so content to stay, That when the Gardner knocks for you away, It grieues you so to leaue the pleasures in it, That you could wish that you had neuer seene it: Blame me not then, if while to you I told The happinesse our fathers clipt of old, The meere imagination of their blisse So rapt my thoughts, and made me sing amisse. And still the more they ran on those dayes worth, The more vnwilling was I to come forth. O! if the apprehension ioy vs so, What would the action in a humane show? Such were the Shepherds (to all goodnesse bent) About whose Villages. Thorps that night curs'd Limos went. Where he had learn'd that next day all the Swaines, That any sheepe fed on the fertill plaines, The feast of Pales Goddesse of their grounds Did meane to celebrate. Fitly this sounds He thought, to what he formerly intended, His stealth should by their absence be befriended: For whilst they in their offrings busied were, He 'mongst the flocks might range with lesser feare. How to contriue his stealth he spent the night. The Morning now in colours richly dight Stept o're the Easterne thresholds, and no lad That ioy'd to see his pastures reshly clad, But for the holy rites himselfe addrest With necessaries proper to that feast. The Altars euery where now smoaking be With Beane-stalkes, Sauine, Laurell, Rosemary, Their Cakes of Grummell-seed they did preferre, And Pailes of milke in sacrifice to her. Then Hymnes of praise they all deuoutly sung In those Palilia for increase of young. But ere the ceremonies were halfe past One of their Boyes came downe the hill in haste, And told them Limos was among their sheepe; That he, his fellowes, nor their dogs cloud keepe The Rau'ner from their flocks; great store were kild, Whose blood he suck'd, and yet his panch not fild. O hasten then away! for in an houre He will the chiefest of your fold deuoure. With this most ran (leauing behinde some few To finish what was to faire Pales due) And as they had ascended vp the hill Limos they met, with no meane pace and skill, Following a well-fed Lambe; with many a shout They then pursu'd him all the plaine about. And either with fore-laying of his way, Or he full gorg'd ran not so swift as they, Before he could recouer downe the strand, No Swaine but on him had a fastned hand. Reioycing then (the worst Wolfe to their flocke Lay in their powres) they bound him to a Rocke, With chaines tane from the plow, and leauing him Return'd backe to their Feast His eyes late dim Now sparkle forth in flames, he grindes his teeth, And striues to catch at euery thing he seeth; But to no purpose: all the hope of food Was tame away; his little flesh, lesse bloud, He suck'd and tore at last, and that denide, With fearefull shrikes most miserably dyde. Vnfortunate Marina thou art free From his iawes now, though not from misery. Within the Caue thou likely art to pine, If (ô may neuer) faile a helpe diuine, And though such aid thy wants doe still supply; Yet in a prison thou must euer lye: But heau'n that fed thee, will not long defer To send thee thither some deliuerer: For, then to spend thy sighes there to the maine Thou fitter wert to honour Thetis traine. Who so farre now with her harmonious crew Scour'd through the Seas (ô who yet euer knew So rare a consort?) she had left behinde The Kentish, Sussex shores, the Victa quam Vespasianus a Claudio missus sub •• gauit. Vide Eed. in Hist. Ecc. lib. 1. ca. 3. Isle assignde To braue Vespasians conquest, and was come Where the shrill Trumper and the ratling Drum Made the waues tremble (ere befell this chance) And to no softer Musicke vs'd to dance. Haile thou my natiue soile thou blessed plot Whose equall all the world affordeth not Shew me who can? so many crystall Rils Such sweet-cloath'd Vallies, or aspiring Hils, Such Wood-groūd, Pastures, Quarries, welthy Mines, Such Rocks in whom the Diamond fairely shines: And if the earth can shew he like agen; Yet will she faile in her Sea-ruling men. Time neuer can produce men to ore-take The fames of Green il, Dauies, Gilbert, Drake Or worthy Hawkins, or of thousands more That by their powre made the Deuonian shore Mocke the proud Tagus; for whose richest spoyle The boasting Spaniard left the Indian soyle Banckrupt of store, knowing it would quit cost By winning this, though all the rest were lost. As oft the Sea-Nymphs on her strand haue set Learning of Fisher-men to knit a net, Wherein to winde vp their disheuel'd haires, They haue beheld the frolicke Mariners For exercise (got early from their beds) Pitcht bars of siluer, and cast golden sleds. At Ex, a louely Nymph with Thetis met, She singing came, and was all round beset With other watry powres, which by her song She had allur'd to float with her along. The Lay she chanted she had learn'd of yore, Taught by a Ioseph of Excestèr writ a Poem of the Troian War according to Dar s the Phrigians story, but falsly attributed to Cornelius Nepos, as it is printed. He liued in the time of Hen. 2. and Rich. 1. See the Illustrations of my most worthy friend M. Selden vpon M. Draitons Poly-olbion, pag. 98. skilfull Swaine, who on her shore Fed his faire flocke: a worke renown'd as farre As His braue subiect of the Troian warre. When she had done, a prettie Shepherds boy That from the neare Downs came (though he smal ioy Tooke in his tunefull Reed, since dire neglect Crept to the brest of her he did affect, And that an euer-busie-watchfull eye Stood as a barre to his felicitie,) Being with great intreaties of the Swaines, And by the faire Queene of the liquid plaines Woo'd to his Pipe, and bade to lay aside All troubled thoughts, as others at that tyde, And that he now some merry note should raise, To equall others which had sung their laies: He shooke his head, and knowing that his tongue Could not belye his heart, thus sadly sung: AS new-borne babes salute their ages morne With cries vnto their wofull mother hurld: My infant Muse that was but lately borne Began with watry eyes to wooe the world. She knowes not how to speake, and therefore weepes Her woes excesse, And striues to moue the heart that senslesse sleepes, To eauinesse; Her eyes inuail'd with sorrowes clouds Scarce see the light, Disdaine hath wrapt her in the shrowds Of loathed night, How should she moue then her grief-laden wing, Or leaue my sad complaints, and Paeans sing? Six Pleyad's liue in light, in darknesse one. Sing mirthfull Swaines, but let me sigh alone. It is enough that I in silence sit, And bend my skill to learne your laies aright; Nor striue with you in ready straines of wit, Nor moue my bearers with so true delight. But if for heauy plaints and notes of woe Your eares are prest; No Shepherd liues that an my Pipe out-goe In such vnrest. I haue not knowne so many yeeres As chances wrong, Nor haue they knowne more floods of teares From one so yong. Faine would I tune to please as others doe, Wert not for faining Song and numbers too. Then (since not fitting now are songs of mone) Sing mirthfull Swaines, but let me sigh alone. The Nymphs that float vpon these watry plaines Haue oft beene drawne to listen to my Song, And Sirens left to tune dissembling straines In true b wailing of my sorrowes long. Vpon the waues of late a siluer Swan By me did ride, And thrilled with my woes forthwith began To sing, and dide, Yet where they should, they cannot moue. O haplesse Verse! That itter, then to win a Loue, Art for a Herse. Hence-forward silent be; and ye my cares Be knowne but to my selfe; or who despaires, Since pittie now lyes turned to a stone, Sing mirthfull Swai es; but let me sigh alone. The fitting accent of His mournfull lay So pleas'd the pow'rfull Lady of the Sea, That she intreated him to sing againe; And he obeying tun'd this second straine: BOrne to no other comfort then my teares. Yet rob'd of them by griefes too inly deepe. I cannot rightly waile my haplesse yeeres, Nor moue a passion that for me might weepe. Nature alas too short hath knit My tongue to reach my woe: Nor haue I skill sad notes to fit That might my sorrow show. And to increase my torments ceasl sse sting, There's no way left to shew my paines, But by my pen in mournfull straines, Which others may perhaps take ioy to sing. As (woo'd by Mayes delights) I haue beene borne To take the kinde ayre of a wistfull morne Neere Tauies voicefull streame (to whom I owe More straines then from my Pipe can euer flowe) Here haue I heard a sweet Bird neuer lin To chide the Riuer for his clam'rous din; There seem'd another in his song to tell, That what the faire streame did he liked well; And going further heard another too, All varying still in what the others doe; A little thence, a fourth with little paine Con'd all their lessons, and them sung againe; So numberlesse the Songsters are that sing In the sweet Groues of the too-carelesse Spring, That I no sooner could the hearing lose Of one of them, but straight another rose, And perching deftly on a quaking spray, Nye tyr'd her selfe to make her hearer stay, Whilst in a bush two Nightingales together Shew'd the best skill they had to draw me thither: So (as bright Thetis past our cleeues along) This shepherds lay pursu'd the others song, And carce one ended had his skilfull stripe, But s reight another tooke him to his Pipe. By that the younger Swaine had fully done, Thetis with her braue company had won The mouth of Dert, and whilst the Tritons charme The dancing-waues, passing the crystall Arme Sweet Tulme and Plim; ariu'd where Thamar payes Her daily tribute to the westerne Seas. Here sent she vp her Dolphins, and they plide So busily their fares on euery side, They made a quicke returne, and brought her downe A many Homagers to Thamars crowne, Who in themselues were of as great command As any meaner Riuers of the Land. With euery Nymph the Swaine of most account That fed his white sheepe by her clearer fount: And euery one to Thetis sweetly sung. Among the rest a Shepherd (though but young, Yet h rtned to his Pipe) with all the skill His few yeeres could, began to fit his quill. By Ta ies speedy streame he fed his flocke, Where when he sate to sport him on a rocke, The Water-nymphs would often come vnto him, And for a dance with many gay gifts wooe him. Now posies of this flowre, and then of that; Now with fine shels, then with a rushie hat, With Corrall or red stones brought from the deepe To make him bracelets, or to marke his sheepe: WILLY he hight. Who by the Oceans Queene More cheer'd to sing then such young Lads had beene, Tooke his best framed Pipe, and thus gan moue His voyce of Walla, Tauy's fairest Loue. FAire was the day, but fairer was the Maid Who that daies morn into the green-woods straid. Sweet was the ayre, but sweeter was her breathing, Such rare perfumes the Roses are bequeathing. Bright shone the Sun, but brighter were her eyes, Such are the Lampes that guide the Deities; Nay such the fire is, whence the Pythian Knight Borrowes his beames, and lends his Sister light, Not Pelop's shoulder whiter then her hands, Nor snowie Swans that iet on Isca's sands. Sweet Flora as if rauisht with their sight, In emulation made all Lillies white: For as I oft haue heard the Wood-nimps say, The dancing Fairies when they left to play Then blacke did pull them, and in holes of trees Stole the sweet honey from the painfull Bees, Which in the flowre to put they oft were seene, And for a banquet brought it to their Queene. But she that is the Goddesse of the flowres (Inuited to their groues and shady bowres) Mislik'd their choise. They said that all the field No other flowre did for that purpose yeeld; But quoth a nimble Fay that by did stand: If you could giue't the colour of yond hand; (Walla by chance was in a meadow by Learning to 'sample earths embrodery) It were a gift would Flora well befit, And our great Queene the more would honour it. She gaue consent; and by some other powre Made Venus Doues be equall'd by the flowre, But not her hand; for Nature this prefers, All other whites but shadowings to hers. Her haire was rowl'd in many a curious fret, Much like a rich and artfull Coronet, Vpon whose arches twenty Cupids lay, And were or tide, or loath to flye away. Vpon her bright eyes Phoebus his inclinde, And by their radience was the God stroke blinde, That cleane awry th'Ecclipticke then he stript, And from the milky way his horses whipt; So that the Easterne world to feare begun Some stranger droue the Chari t of the Sun. And neuer but that once did heauens bright eye Bestow one looke on the Cymmerij. A greene silke frock her comely shoulders clad, And ooke delight that such a seat it had, Which at her middle gath'red vp in pleats, A lo e-knot Girdle willing bondage threats. Not Venus Ceston held a brauer peece, Nor that which girt the fairest flowre of Greece. Downe from her waste, her mantle loose did fall, Which Zephyre (as afraid) still plaid withall, And then tuck'd vp somewhat below the knee Shew'd searching eyes where Cupids columnes be. The inside lin'd with rich Carnation silke, And in the midst of both, Lawne white as milke. Which white beneath the red did seeme to shroud, As Cynthia's beautie through a blushing cloud, About the edges curious to behold A deepe fringe hung of rich and twisted gold, So on the greene marge of a crystall brooke A thousand yealow flowres at fishes looke; And such the beames are of the glorious Sun, That through a tuft of grasse dispersed run. Vpon her leg a paire of Buskins white, Studded with orient Pearle and Chrysolite, And like her Mantle stircht with gold and greene, (Fairer yet neuer wore the Forrests Queene) Knit close with ribands of a party hue, A knot of Crimson and a tuft of blew, Nor can the Peacocke in his spotted traine So many pleasing colours shew againe; Nor could there be a mixture with more grace, Except the heau'nly Roses in her face. A siluer Quiuer at her backe she wore, With Darts and Arrowes for the Stag and Boare, But in her eyes she had such darts agen Could conquer Gods, and wound the hearts of men. Her left hand held a knotty Brasill Bow, Whose strength with teares she made the red Deere know. So clad, so arm'd, so drest to win her will Diana neuer trode on Latmus hill. Walla, the fairest Nimph that haunts the woods, Walla, belou'd of Shepherds, Faunes and Floods Walla, for whom the frolike Satyres pine, Walla, with whose fine foot the flowrets twine, Walla, of whom sweet Birds their ditties moue, Walla, the earths delight, and Tauy's loue. This fairest Nimph, when Tauy first preuail'd And won affection where the Siluans ail'd, Had promis'd (as a fauour to his streame) Each weeke to crowne it with an Anadem: And now Hyperion from his glitt'ring throne Seu'n times his quickning rayes had brauely showne Vnto the other world, since Walla last Had on her Tauy's head the Garland plac'd; And this day (as of right) she wends abroad To ease the Meadowes of their willing load. Flora as if to welcome her those houres Had beene most lauish of her choisest flowres, Spreading more beauties to intice that morne Then she had done in many daies beforne. Looke as a Maiden sitting in the shade Of some close Arbour by the Wood-binde made, With-drawne alone where vndiscride she may By her most curious Needle giue assay Vnto some Purse (if so her fancy moue) Or other token for her truest Loue, Varie ie of silke about her pap, •• in a box she takes vpon her lap, Whose pleasing colours wooing her quicke eye, Now his she thinkes the ground would beautifie, And that, to flourish with, she deemeth best; When spying others, she is straight possest Those fittest are; yet from that choice doth fall And she resolues at last to vse them all: So Walla, which to gather long time stood, Whether those of the field, or of the wood; Or those that 'mong the springs and marish lay; But then the blossomes which inrich'd each spray Allur'd her looke; whose many coloured graces Did in her Garland challenge no meane places: And therefore she (not to be poore in plenty) From Meadows, springs, woods, spraies, culs some one dainty, Which in a scarfe she put, and onwards set To finde a place to dresse her Coronet. A little Groue is seated on the marge Of Tauy's streame, not ouer-thicke nor large, Where euery morne a quire of Siluans sung, And leaues to chattring winds seru'd as a tongue, By whom the water turnes in many a ring, As if it faine would stay to heare them sing, And on the top a thousand young Birds flye, To be instructed in their harmony. Neere to end of this all-ioysome Groue A dainty circled plot seem'd as it stroue To keepe all Bryers and bushes from inuading Her pleasing compasse by their needlesse shading, Since it was not so large, but that the store Of trees around could shade her brest and more. In midst thereof a little swelling hill, Gently disburd'ned of a cry stall rill Which from the greenside of the flowrie banke Eat downe a channell; here the Wood-nymps drank, And great Diana hauing slaine the Deere, Did often vse to come and bathe her here. Here alk'd they of their chase, and where next day They meant to hunt; here did the shepherds play, And any a gaudy Nymph was often seene Imbracing shepherds boyes vpon this greene. From hence the spring hasts downe to Tauy's brim, And paies a tribute of his drops to him. Here Walla rests the rising mount vpon, That seem'd to swell more since she sate thereon, And from her scarfe vpon the grasse shooke downe The smelling flowres that should her Riuer crowne. The Scarfe (in shaking it) she brushed oft, Whereon were flowres so fresh and liuely wrought, That her owne cunning was her owne deceit, Thinking those true which were but counterfeit. Vnder an Aldar on his sandy marge, Was Tauy set to view his nimble charge, And there his Loue he long time had expected: While many a rose-cheekt Nymph no wile neglected To wooe him to imbraces which he scorn'd, As valluing more the beauties which adorn'd His fairest Walla, then all Natures pride Spent on the cheekes of all her sexe beside. Now would they tempt him with their open brests, And sweare their lips were Loues assured Tests: That Walla sure would giue him the deniall Till she had knowne him true by such a triall, Then comes another, and her hand bereaues The soone-slipt Alder of two clammy leaues, And clapping them together, bids him see And learne of loue the hidden mystery. Braue Flood (quoth she) that hold'st vs in suspence, And shew'st a God-like powre in abstinence, At this thy coldnesse we doe nothing wonder, These leaues did so, when once they grew asunder; But since the one did taste the others blisse, And felt his partners kinde, partake with his, Behold how close they ioyne, and had they power To speake their now content, as we can our, They would on Nature lay a hainous crime For keeping close such sweets vntill this time Is there to such men ought of merit du , That doe abstaine from what they neuer knew? No: then as well we may account him wise For speaking nought, who wants those faculties Taste thou our sweets; come here and freely sip Diuinest Nectar from my melting lip; Gaze on mine eyes, whose life infusing beames Haue power to melt the Icy Northerne streames, And so inf a •• the God of those bound Seas They should vnchaine their virgin passages, And teach our Mariners from day to day To bring vs Iewels by a neerer way. Twine thy long fingers in my shining haire, And thinke it no disgrace to hide them there; For I could tell thee how the Paphian Queene Met me one day vpon yond pleasant Green , And did intreat a slip (though I was coy.) Wherewith to fetter her lasciuious Boy. Play with my teates that swell to haue impression; And if thou please from thence to make digression, Passe thou that milkie way where great Apollo And higher powres then he would gladly follow. When to the full of these thou shalt attaine, It were some mastry for thee to refraine; But since thou know'st not what such pleasures be The world will not commend but laugh at thee. But thou wilt say, thy Walla yeelds such store Of ioyes, that no one Loue can raise thee more Admit it so, as who but thinkes it strange? Yet shalt thou finde a pleasure more, in change If that thou lik'st not gentle Flood but-heare To proue that state the best I neuer feare. Tell me wherein the state and glory is Of thee, of Auon, or braue Thamesis? In your owne Springs? or by the flowing head Of some such Riuer onely seconded? Or is it through the multitude that doe Send downe their waters to attend on you? Your mixture with lesse Brookes addes to your fames, So long as they in you doe loose their names: And comming to the Ocean, thou dost see, It takes in other Floods as well as thee; It were no sport to vs that hunting loue If we were still confinde to one large Groue. The water which in one Poole hath abiding Is not so sweet as Rillets euer gliding, Nor would the brackish waues in whom you meet Containe that state it doth, but be lesse sweet, And with contagious streames all mortals smother, But that it moues from this shore to the other. There's no one season such delight can bring, As Summer, Autumne, Winter, and the Spring. Nor the best Flowre that doth on earth appeare Could by it selfe content vs all the yeere. The Salmons, and some more as well as they, Now loue the fresher, and then loue the Sea. The flitting Fowles not in one coast doe tarry, But with the yeere their habitation vary. What Musicke is there in a Shepherds quill (Plaid on by him that hath the greatest skill) If but a stop or two thereon we spy? Musicke is best in her varietie. So is discourse, so ioyes; and why not then As well the liues and loues of Gods as men? More she had spoke, but that the gallant Flood Replide: ye wanton Rangers of the wood Leaue your allurements; hye ye to your chase; See where Diana with a nimble pace Followes a strucke Deere: if you longer stay Her frowne will bend to me another day. Harke how she winds her Horne; she some doth call Perhaps for you, to make in to the fall. With this they left him. Now he wonders much Why at this time his Walla's stay was such, And could haue wish'd the Nymphs back, but for feare His Loue might come and chance to finde them there. To passe the time at last he thus began (Vnto a Pipe ioyn'd by the art of an) To praise his Loue: his hasty waues among The frothed Rocks, bearing the Vnder-song. AS carefull Merchants doe expecting stand (After long time and merry gales of winde) Vpon the place where their braue Ship must land: So w ite I for the vessell of my minde. Vpon a great aduenture is it bound, Whose safe returne will vallu'd be at more Then all the wealthy prizes which haue crown'd The golden wishes of an age before. Out of the East Iewels of worth she brings, Th' vnualu'd Diamond of her sparkling Eye Wants in the Treasures of all Europe's Kings, And were it mine they nor their cownes should buy. The Saphires ringed on her painting brest, Run as rich veines of Ore about the mold, And are in sicknesse with a pale possest, So true; for them I should disualue gold. The melting Rubies on her cherry lip Are of such powre to hold; that as one day Cupid flew thirsty by, he stoop'd to sip And fast'ned there could neuer get away. The sweets of Candie are no sweets to me When hers I taste; nor the Perfumes of price Rob'd from the happy shrubs of Araby, As her sweet breath, so powrefull to intice. O hasten then! and if thou be not gone Vnto that wished trafficke through the Maine, My powrefull sighes shall quickly driue thee on, And then begin to draw thee backe againe. If in the meane rude waues haue it opprest, It shall suffice I venter'd at the best. Scarce had he giuen a period to his Lay When from a Wood (wherein the Eye of day Had long a stranger beene, and Phoebe's light Vainly contended with the shades of night.) One of those wanton Nymphs that woo'd him late Came crying tow'rds him; O thou most ingrate Respectlesse Flood! canst thou here idely sit, And loose desires to looser numbers fit? Teaching the ayre to court thy carelesse Brooke, Whil'ft thy poore Walla's cries the hils haue shooke With an amazed terror: heare! ô heare! A hundred Eccho's shriking euerie where! See how the frightfull Heards run from the Wood; Walla alas, as she to crowne her Flood, Attended the composure of sweet flowres, Was by a lust-fir'd Satyre 'mong our bowres Well-neere surpriz'd, but that she him discride Before his rude imbracement could betide. Now but her feet no helpe, vnlesse her cries A needfull aid draw from the Deities. It needlesse was to bid the Flood pursue, Anger gaue wings; waies that he neuer knew Till now, he treads; through dels and hidden brakes Flies through the Meadows, each where ouertakes Streames swiftly gliding, and them brings along To further iust reuenge for so great wrong, His current till that day was neuer knowne, But as a Meade in Iuly, which vnmowne Beares in an equall height each bent and stem, Vnlesse some gentle gale doe play with them. Now runs it with such fury and such rage, That mightie Rocks opposing vassalage, Are from the firme earth rent and ouer-borne In Fords where pibbles lay secure beforne. Low'd Cataracts, and fearefull roarings now Affright the Passenger; vpon his brow Continuall bubbles like compelled drops, And where (as now and then) he makes short stops In little pooles drowning his voice too hie, 'Tis where hethinkes he heares his Walla cry. Yet vaine was all his haste, bending a way, Too much declining to the Southerne Sea, Since she had turned thence, and now begun To crosse the braue path of the glorious Sun. There lyes a Vale extended to the North Of Tauy's streame, which (prodigall) sends forth In Autumne more rare fruits then haue beene spent In any greater plot of fruitfull Kent. Two high brow'd rocks on either side begin, As with an ar h to close the valley in, Vpon their rugged fronts short writhen Oakes Vntouch'd of any fellers banefull stroakes, The Iuy twisting round their barkes, hath fed Past time wilde Goates which no man followed. Low in the Valley some small Heards of Deere, For head and footmanship withouten peere, Fed vndisturb'd. The Swaines that thereby thriu'd By the tradition from their Sires deriu'd, Call'd it sweet Ina's Coombe: but whether she Were of the earth or greater progeny. Iudge by her deedes; once this is truely knowne She many a time hath on a Bugle blowne, And through the Dale pursu'd the iolly Chase, As she had bid the winged windes a base. Pale and distracted hither Walla runs, As closely follow'd as she hardly shuns; Her mantle off, her haire now too vnkinde Almost betrai'd her with the wanton winde. Breathlesse and faint she now some drops discloses, As in a Limbeck the kinde sweat of Roses, Such hang vpon her brest, and on her cheekes; Or like the Pearles which the tand Aethiop seekes. The Satyre (spur'd with lust) still getteth ground, And longs to see his damn'd intention crown'd. As when a Greyhound (of the rightest straine) Let slip to some poore Hare vpon the plaine; He for his prey striues; th'other for her life, And one of these or none must end the strife: Now seemes the Dog by speed and good at bearing To haue her sure; the other euer fearing, Maketh a sodaine turne, and doth deferre The Hound a while from so neere reaching her: Yet being fetcht againe and almost tane Doubting (since touch'd of him) she scapes her bane: So of these two the minded races were, For Hope the one made swift, the other Feare. O if there be a powre (quoth Walla then Keeping her earnest course) o'reswaying men And their desires! ô let it now be showne Vpon this Satyre halfe-part earthly knowne. What I haue hitherto with so much care Kept vndefiled, spotlesse, white and faire, What in all speech of loue I still reseru'd, And from it's hazard euer gladly sweru'd; O be it now vntouch'd! and may no force That happy Iewell from my selfe deuorce! I that haue euer held all women be Void of all worth if wanting chastitie; And who so any lets that best flowre pull, She might be faire, but neuer beautifull: O let me not forgoe it! strike me dead! Let on these Rocks my limbs be scattered! Burne me to ashes with some powrefull flame, And in mine owne dust bury mine owne name, Rather then let me liue and be defil'd. Chastest Diana! in the Deserts wilde, Haue I so long thy truest handmaid beene? Vpon the rough rocke-ground thine arrowe keene, Haue I (to make thee crownes) beene gath'ring still Faire-cheekt Etesia's yealow Cammomill? And sitting by thee on our flowrie beds Knit thy torne Buck-stals with well twisted threds, To be forsaken? O now present be, If not to saue, yet helpe to ruine me! If pure Virginitie haue heretofore By the Olympicke powres beene honour'd more Then other states; and Gods haue beene dispos'd To make them knowne to vs, and still disclos'd To the chaste hearing of such Nymphs as we Many a secret and deepe misterie; If none can lead without celestiall aid Th'immaculate and pure life of a Maid, O let not then the Powres all-good diuine Permit vile lust to soile this brest of mine! Thus cride she as she ran: and looking backe Whether her hot pursuer did ought slacke His former speed; she spies him not at all, And somewhat thereby cheer'd gan to recall Her nye fled hopes: yet fearing he might lye Neere some crosse path to worke his villanie, And being weary, knowing it was vaine To hope for safety by her feet againe, She sought about where she her selfe might hide. A hollow vaulted Rocke at last she spide, About whose sides so many bushes were, She thought securely she might rest her there. Farre vnder it a Caue, whose entrance streight Clos'd with a stone-wrought dore of no mean weight; Yet from it selfe the gemels beaten so That little strength could thrust it to and fro. Thither she came, and being gotten in Barr'd fast the darke Caue with an iron pin. The Satyre follow'd, for his cause of stay, Was not a minde to leaue her, but the way Sharpe ston'd and thornie, where he pass'd of late, Had cut his clouen foot, and now his gate Was not so speedy, yet by chance he sees Through some small glade that ran between the trees Where Walla went. And with a slower pace Fir'd with hot blood, at last attain'd the place. When like a fearefull Hare within her Forme, Hearing the Hounds come like a threatning storme, In full cry on the walke where last she trode, Doubts to stay there, yet dreads to goe abroad: So Walla far'd. But since he was come nie, And by an able strength and industry, Sought to breake in; with teares anew she fell To vrge the Powres that on Olympus dwell. And then to Ina call'd: O if the roomes The Walkes and Arbours in these fruitfull coombes Haue famous beene through all the Westerne Plaines In being guiltlesse of the lasting staines Pour'd on by lust and murther: keepe them free! Turne me to stone, or to a barked tree, Vnto a Bird, or flowre, or ought forlorne; So I may die as pure as I was borne. "Swift are the prayers and of speedy haste, "That take their wing from hearts so pure and chaste. "And what we aske of Heauen it still appeares "More plaine to it in mirrours of our teares. Approu'd in Walla. When the Satyre rude Had broke the doore in two, and gan intrude With steps prophane into that sacred Cell, Where oft (as I haue heard our Shepherds tell) Faire Ina vs'd to rest from Phoebus ray: She or some other hauing heard her pray, Into a Fountaine turn'd her; and now rise Such streames out of the caue, that they surprise The Satyre with such force and so great din, That quenching his lifes flame as well as sin, They roul'd him through the Dale with mighty rore And made him flye that did pursue before. Not farre beneath i'the Valley as she trends Her siluer streame, some Wood-nymphs and her friends That follow'd to her aide, beholding how A Brooke came gliding, where they saw but now Some Herds were feeding, wondring whence it came Vntill a Nymph that did attend the game In that sweet Valley, all the processe told, Which from a thicke-leau'd-tree she did behold: See quoth the Nymph where the rude Satyre lies Cast on the grasse; as if she did despise To haue her pure waues soyl'd (with such as he) Retaining still the loue of puritie. To Tauy's Crystall streame her waters goe, As if some secret power ordained so, And as a Maid she lou'd him, so a Brooke To his imbracements onely her betooke. Where glowing on with him, attain'd the stare Which none but Hymens bonds can imitate. On Walla's brooke her sisters now bewaile, For whom the Rocks spend teares when others faile, And all the Woods ring with their piteous mones: Which Tauy hearing as he chid the stones, That stopt his speedy course, raising his head Inquir'd the cause, and thus was answered: Walla is now no more. Nor from the hill Will she more plucke for thee the Daffadill, No make sweet Anadems to gird thy brow, Yet in the Groues she runs; a Riuer now. Looke as the feeling Sentid . Plant which (learned Swaines Relate to grow on the East Indian Plaines) Shrinkes vp his dainty leaues, if any sand You throw thereon, or touch it with your hand: So with the chance the heauy Wood-nymphs told, The Riuer (inly touch'd) began to fold His armes acrosse, and while the torrent raues) Shrunke his graue head, beneath his siluer waues. Since when he neuer on his bankes appeares But as one franticke: when the clouds spend teares He thinkes they of his woes compassion take, (And not a Spring but weepes for Walla's sake) And then he often (to bemone her lacke) Like to a mourner goes, his waters blacke, And enery Brooke attending in his way, For that time meets him in the like aray. Here WILLY that time ceas'd; and I a while: For yonder's Roget comming o're the stile, 'Tis two daies since I saw him (and you wonder You'le say that we haue beene so long asunder) I thinke the louely Heardesse of the Dell That to an Oaten Quill can sing so well, Is she that's with him: I must needs goe meet them, And if some other of you rise to greet them 'Twere not amisse, the day is now so long That I ere night may end another Song.
THE FOVRTH SONG. THE ARGVMENT. The Cornish Swaines and Brittish Bard Thetis hath with attention heard. And after meets an aged man That tels the haplesse loue of Pan: And why the flockes doe liue so free From Wolues within rich Britannie. LOOKE as a Louer with a lingring kisse About to part with the best halfe that's his, Faine would he stay but that he feares to doe it, And curseth time for so fast hastning to it; Now takes his leaue, and yet begins anew To make lesse vowes then are esteemed true, Then saies he must be gone, and then doth finde Something he should haue spoke that's out of minde, And whilst he stands to looke for't in her eyes, Their sad-sweet glance so tye his faculties, To thinke from what he parts, that he is now As farre from leauing her, or knowing how, As when he came; begins his former straine, To kisse, to vow, and take his leaue againe, Then turns, comes back, sighes, parts, & yet doth go, Apt to retire, and loath to leaue her so: Braue Streame, so part I from thy flowrie banke, Where first I breath'd, and (though vnworty) dranke Those sacred waters which the Muses bring To wooe Britannia to their ceaslesse spring. Now would I on, Vide de am mitate loci. Malmesb. 2. lib. de gest. Pontif. s . 146 but that the crystall Wels, The fertill Meadowes, and their pleasing smels, The Woods delightfull, and the scatt'red Groues, (Where many Nymphs walk with their chaster Loues) Soone make me stay: And think that Ordgar's Ordulphus. son (Admonish'd by a heauenly vision) Not without cause did that apt fabricke reare, (Wherein we nothing now but Eccho's heare That wont with heauenly Anthemes daily ring And duest praises to the greatest King) In this choise plot. Since he could light vpon No place so fit for contemplation. Though I a while must leaue this happy foyle, And follow Thetis in a pleasing toyle, Yet when I shall returne, Ile striue to draw The Nymphs by Thamar, Tauy, Ex and Tau, By Turridge, Otter, Ock by Dert and Plym, With all the Nayades that fish and swim In their cleare streames, to these our rising Downes, Where while they make vs chaplets, wreaths and crowns Ile tune my Reed vnto a higher key, (And haue already cond some of the La .) Wherein (as Mantua by her Virgils birth And Thame s by him that sung her Nuptiall mirth) You may be knowne (though not in equall pride) As farre as Tiber throwes his swelling Tide. And by a Shepherd (feeding on your plaines) In humble, lowly, plaine, and ruder straines, Heare your worths challenge other floods among, To haue a period equall with their song. Where Plym and Thamar with imbraces meet, Thetis weighes ancor now, and all her Fleet: Leauing that spacious 〈◊〉 Sound, within whose armes I haue those Vessels seene, whose hot alarmes Haue made Iberia tremble, and her towres Prostrate themselues before our iron showres While their proud builders hearts haue been inclinde To shake (as our braue Ensignes) with the winde. For as an Eyerie from their Seeges wood Led o're the Plaines and taught to get their food: By seeing how their Breeder takes his prey Now from an Orchard doe they scare the Iey, Then o're the Corne-fields as they swiftly flye, Where many thousand hurtfull Sparrowes lye Beat ng the ripe graine from the bearded are, At their reproach, all (ouer-gone with feare) Seeke for their safetie; some into the dike; Some in the hedges drop, and others like The thick-growne corne, as for their hiding best, And vnder turfes or grasse most of the rest That of a flight which couer'd all the graine, Not one appeares, but all or hid, or slaine So by Heröes were we led of yore, And by our drums that thundred on each shore, Stroke with amazement Countries farre and neere; Whilst their Inhabitants like Heards of Deere, By kingly Lyons chas'd, fled from our Armes. If any did oppose, instructed swarmes Of men immail'd; Fate drew them on to be A greater Fame to our got Victory. But now our Leaders want, those Vessels lye Rotting, like houses through ill husbandry, And on their Masts, where oft the Ship-boy stood, Or siluer Trumpets charm'd the brackish Flood, Some wearied Crow it set; and daily seene Their sides in stead of pitch calk'd ore with greene: Ill hap (alas) haue you that once were knowne By reaping what was by Iberīa sowne. By bringing yealow sheaues from out their plaine, Making our Barnes the store-house for their graine: When now as if we wanted land to till, Wherewith we might our vselesse Souldiers fill: Vpon their Hatches where halfe-pikes were borne, In euery chinke rise stems of bearded corne: Mocking out idle times that so haue wrought vs, Or putting vs in minde what once they brought vs. Beare with me Shepherds if I doe digresse, And speake of what our selues doe not professe: Can I behold a man that in the field, Or at a breach hath taken on his Shield More Darts then euer M. Scena. Roman; that hath spent Many a cold December, in no Tent But such a Earth and Heauen make; that hath beene Except in Iron Plates not long time s ene; Vpon whose body may be plainly told More wounds then his lanke purse doth almes-dee hol: O can I see this man (aduentring all) Be onely grac'd with some poore Hospitall, Or may be worse, intreating at his doore For some reliefe whom he secur'd before, And yet not shew my griefe? First may I learne To see, and yet forget how to discerne; My hands neglectfull be at any need, Or to defend my body, or to feed, Ere I respect those times that rather giue him Hundreds to punish, then one to relieue him. As in an Euening when the gentle ayre Brea hes to the sullen night a soft repaire; I oft haue set on Thames sweet banke to heare My Friend with his sweet touch to charme mine eare, When he hath plaid (as well he can) some straine Tha likes me, streight I aske the same againe, And he as gladly granting, strikes it o're With some sweet relish was forgot before: I would haue beene content if he would play, In that one straine to passe the night away; But fearing much to doe his patience wrong, Vnwillingly haue ask'd some other song: So in this diffring Key though I could well A many houres but as few minutes tell, Yet lest mine owne delight might iniure you (Though loath so soone) I take my Song anew. Yet as when I with other Swaines haue beene Invited by the Maidens of our greene To wend to yonder Wood, in time of yeare When Cherry-trees inticing burdens beare, He that with wreathed legs doth vpwards goe, Pluckes not alone for those which stand below But now and then is seene to picke a few To please himselfe as well as all his crew: Or if from where he is he doe espie Some Apricocke vpon a bough thereby, Which ouerhangs the tree on which he stands, Climbs vp and striues to take it with his hands: So if to please my selfe I somewhat sing, Let it not be to you lesse pleasuring; No thirst of glory tempts me: for my straines Be fit poore Shepherds on the lowly Plaines; The hope of riches cannot draw from me One line that tends to seruile flatterie, Nor shall the most in titles on the earth Blemish my Muse with an adulterate birth, Nor make me lay pure colours on a ground Where nought substantiall can be euer found. No such as sooth a base and dunghill spirit, With attributes fit for the most of merit, Cloud their free Muse; as when the Sun doth shine On straw and durt mixt by the sweating Hyne, It nothing gets from heapes so much impure But noysome steames that doe his light obscure. My free-borne Muse will not like Danae be, Won with base drosse to clip with slauery; Nor end her choiser Balme to worthlesse men, Whose names would dye but for some hired pen No: f I praise, Vertue shall draw me to it, And not a base procurement make me doe it. What now I sing is but to passe away A tedious houre, as some Musitians play; Or make another my owne griefes bemone Or to be least alone when most alone. In this can I as oft as I will choose, Hug sweet content by my retired Muse, And in a study finde as much to please As others in the greatest Pallaces. Each man that liues (according to his powre) On what he loues bestowes an idle houre; In stead of Hounds that make the woodded hils Talke in a hundred voyces to the Rils, I like the pleasing cadence of aline Strucke by the consort of the sacred Nine. In lieu of Hawkes, the raptures of my soule Transcend their pitch and baser earths controule. For running Horses, Contemplation flyes With quickest speed to win the greatest prize. For courtly dancing I can take more pleasure To heare a Verse keepe time and equall measure. For winning Riches, seeke the best directions How I may well subdue mine owne affections. For raising stately piles for heires to come, Here in this Poem I erect my toombe. And time may be so kinde in these weake lines To keepe my Name enroll'd, past his, that shines In guilded Marble, or in brazen leaues: Since Verse preserues, when Stone & Brasse deceiues. Or if (as worthlesse) Time not lets it liue To those full dayes which others Muses giue, Yet I am sure I shall be heard and sung Of most seuerest eld, and kinder young beyond my daies, and maugre Enuies strife, Adde to my name some houres beyond my life. Such of the Muses are the able powres, And since with them I spent my vacant houres, I finde nor Hawke, nor Hound, nor other thing, Turnies nor Reuels, pleasures for a King, Yeeld more delight, for I haue of possest As much in this as all in all the rest, And that without expence, when others oft With their vndoings haue their pleasures bought. On now my loued Muse, and let vs bring Thetis to heare the C r ist Michael sing; And after him to see a 〈◊〉 vnfold The Tragedie of DR 〈◊〉 leaues of gold. Then heare another GREENVILS name relate, Which imes succeeding shall perpetuate. And make those two the Pillers great of Fame, Beyond whose worths shall neuer sound a Name. Nor Honour in her euerlasting story More deeper graue for all ensuing glory. New Thetis staies to heare the Shepherds tell Where Arthur met his death, and Mordred fell. Of holy Vrsula (that fam'd her age) With other Virgins in her pilgrimage. And as she forwards steeres is showne the Rocke Mai e-Amber, to be shooke with weakest shocke, So equall is it poiz'd; but to remoue All strength would faile, and but an infants proue. Thus while to please her some new Songs deuise, And others Diamonds (shaped angle-wise, And smooth'd by Nature, as she did impart Some willing time to trim her selfe by Art) Sought to present her and her happy crew: She of the Gulfe and Syllies tooke a view. And doubling then the point, made on away Tow'rds goodly Se erne and the Irish Sea, There meets a Shepherd that began sing o're The Lay which aged Robert of Glocester. Robert sung of yore, In praise of England and the deeds of Swaines That whilome fed and rul'd vpon our plames. The Brittish Bards then were not long time mu e, But to their sweet Harps sung their famous Brute: Stri ing in spight of all the mists of eld, To haue his Story more authenticke held. Why should we enuy them those wreaths of Fame? Being as proper to the Troian name, As are the dainty flowres which Flora spreads Vnto the Spring in the discoloured Meads. Rather afford them all the worth we may, For what we giue to them adds to our Ray. And Brittons: thinke not that your glories fall, Deriued from a meane originall; Since lights that may haue powre to check the darke, Can haue their lustre from the smallest sparke. "Not from Nobilitie doth Vertue spring, "But Vertue makes fit Nobles for a King. "From highest nests are croaking Rauens borne, "When sweetest Nightingales sit in the Thorne. From what low Fount soe're your beings are (In softer peace and mighty brunts of warre) Your owne worths challenge as triumphant Bayes As euer Troian hand had power to raise. And when I leaue my Musiques plainer ground, The world shall know it from Bellona's sound. Nor shall I erre from Truth; for what I write She doth peruse, and helps me to indite. The small conuerse which I haue had with some, Branches, which from those gallant trees haue come, Doth, what I sing, in all their acts approue, And with more daies increase a further loue. As I haue seene the Lady of the May Set in an Arbour (on a Holy-day) Built by the May-pole, where the iocund Swaines Dance with the Maidens to the Bagpipes straines, When enuious Night commands them to be gone, Call for the merry youngsters one by one, And for their well performance soone disposes, To this, a Garland inte woue with Roses. To that, a carued Hooke, or well-wrought Scrip, Gracing another with her cherry lip: To ne her Garter, to another then A Hand-kerchiefe cast o're and o're agen: And none returneth emptie that hath spent His paines to fill their rurall merriment: So Hereus Daughter when the Swaines had done With an vnsparing, liberall hand, begun To giue to euery one that sung before, Rich orient Pearles brought from her hidden store, Red branching Corrall, and as precious Iems As euer beautifide the Diadems: That they might liue what chance their sheepe betide, On her reward, yet leaue their heires beside. Since when I think the world doth nothing giue them As weening Thetis euer should relieue them. And Poets freely spend a golden showre, As they expected Her againe each houre. Then with her thanks and praises for their skill In tuning numbers of the sacred Hill. She them dismist to their contented Coates: And euery Swaine a seuerall passage floates Vpon his Dolphin. Since whose safe repaire, Those Fishes, like, a well composed ayre. And (as in loue to men) are euer seene Before a tempests rough regardlesse teene, To swim high on the waues: as none should dare Excepting fishes to aduenture there. When these had left her, she draue on in pride He prouder Coursers through the swelling tyde, To view the Cambrian Cliffes, and had not gone An houres full speede, but neere a Rocke (whereon Congealed frost and snow in Summer lay, Seldome dissolued by Hyperious ray) She saw a troope of people take their seat, Whereof some wrung their hands, and some did beat Their troubled brests, in signe of mickle woe, For those are actions griefe inforceth to. Willing to know the cause, somewhat neere hand She spies an aged man sit by the strand, Vpon a greene hill side (not meanly crown'd With golden flowres; as chiefe of all the ground) By him a little Lad, his cunning heire, Tracing greene Rushes for a Winter Chaire. The old man while his sonne full neatly knits them Vnto his worke begun, as trimly fits them. Both so intending what they first propounded, As all their thoghts by what they wrought were boū ded. To them She came, and kindly thus bespake: Ye happy creatures, that your pleasures take In what your needes inforce, and neuer aime A limitlesse desire to what may maime The setled quiet of a peacefull state, Patience attend your labours! And when Fate Brings on the restfull night to your long daies, Wend to the fields of blisse! Thus Thetis prayes. Faire Queene, to whom all dutious praise we owe, Since from thy spacious Cestorne daily flow (Repli'd the Swaine) refreshing streames that fill Earth's dugs (the hillocks) so preseruing still The infant grasse, when else our Lambs might bleat In vaine for suke, whose Dams haue nought to eat. For these thy praiers we are doubly bound, And that these Cleeues should know; but (ô) to sound My often mended Pipe presumption were, Since Pan would play if thou wouldst please to heare. The louder blasts which I was wont to blow Are now but faint, nor doe my fingers know To touch halfe part those merry tunes I had. Yet if thou please to grace my little Lad With thy attention, he may somewhat strike Which thou from one so young maist chance to like. With that the little Shepherd left his taske, And with a blush (the Roses onely maske) Deni'd to sing. Ah father (quoth the Boy) How can I tune a seeming note of ioy? The worke which you command me, I intend Scarce with a halfe ben minde, and therefore spend In doing little, now, an houre or two, Which I in lesser time could neater doe. As oft as I with my more umble ioints Trace the sharpe Rushes ends, I minde the points Which Philocel did giue; and when I brush The prittie tuft that growes beside the rush, I neuer can forget (in yonder layre) How Philocel was wont to stroake my haire. No more shall I be tane vnto the Wake, Nor wend a fishing to the winding Lake, No more shall I be taught on siluer strings To learne the measures of our banquettings. The twisted Collers, and the ringing Bels, The Morrice Scarfes, and cleanest drinking shels Will neuer be renew'd by any one; Nor shall I care for more when he is gone. See; yonder hill where he was wont to sit, A cloud doth keepe the golden Sun from it, And for his seat (as teaching vs) hath made A mourning couering with a scowling shade. The dew on euery flowre, this morne, hath laine Longer then it was wont, this side the plaine, Belike they meane since my best friend must die, To shed their siluer drops as he goes by. Not all this day here, nor in comming hither, Heard I the sweet Birds tune their Songs together, Except one Nightingale in yonder Dell Sigh'd a sad Elegie for Philocel. Neere whom a Wood-Doue kept no small adoe, To bid me in her language Doe so too, The Weathers bell that leads our flocke around Yeelds as me thinkes this day a deader sound. The little Sparrowes which in hedges creepe, Ere I was vp did seeme to bid me weepe. If these doe so, can I haue feeling lesse, That am more apt to take and to expresse? No: let my owne tunes be the Mandrakes grone If now they tend to mirth when all haue none. My pritty Lad (quoth Thetis) thou dost well To feare the losse of thy deere Philocel. But tell me Si e, what may that Shepherd be? Or if it lye in vs to set him free, Or if with you yond people touch'd with woe, Vnder the selfe same load of sorrow goe. Faire Queene (replide the Swaine) one is the cause That moues our griefe, & those kind shepherds draws To yonder rocke. Thy more then mortall spirit May giue a good beyond our power to merit. And therefore please to heare while I shall tell The haplesse Fate of hopelesse Philocel. Whilome great Pan, the Father of our flocks Lou'd a faire lasse so famous for her locks, That in her time all women first begun To lay their looser tresses to the Sun. And theirs whose hew to hers was not agreeing, Were still roll'd vp as hardly worth the seeing. Fondly haue some beene led to thinke, that Man Musiques invention first of all began From the dull Hammers stroke; since well we know, From sure tradition that hath taught vs so, Pan sitting once to sport him with his Fayre, Mark'd the intention of the gentle ayre, In the sweet sound her chaste words brought along; Fram'd by the repercussion of her tongue: And from that harmony begun the Art Which others (though vniustly) doe impart To bright Apollo, from a meaner ground, A sledge or parched nerues; meane things to found So rare an Art on; when there might be giuen All earth for matter with the gyre of heauen. To keepe her slender fingers from the Sunne, Pan through the pastures oftentimes hath run To plucke the speckled Fox-gloues from their stem, And on those fingers neatly placed them. The Hony-suckles would he often strip And lay their sweetnesse on her sweeter lip: And then as in reward of such his paine, Sip from those cherries some of it againe. Some say, that Nature, while this louely Maid Liu'd on our plaines, the teeming earth araid With Damaske Roses in each pleasant place, That men might liken somewhat to her face. Others report: Venus, afraid her sonne Might loue a mortall as he once had done, Preferr'd an earnest sute to highest Ioue, That he which bore the winged shafts of loue, Might be debarr'd his sight, which sute was sign'd, And euer since the God of Loue is blinde. Hence is't he shoots his shafts so cleane awry, Men learne to loue when they should learne to dye. And women, which before, to loue began Man without wealth, loue wealth without a man. Great Pan of his kinde Nymph had the imbracing Long, yet too short a time. For as in tracing These pithfull Rushes, such as are aloft, By those that rais'd them presently are brought Beneath vnseene: So in the loue of Pan (For Gods in loue doe vndergoe as man) She, whose affection made him raise his song, And (for her sport) the Satyres rude among Tread wilder measures, then the frolike guests, That lift their light heeles at Lyeus feasts; Shee, by the light of whose quick-turning eye He neuer read but of felicitie. She whose assurance made him more then Pan, Now makes him farre more wretched then a man. For mortals in their losse haue death a friend, When gods haue losses, but their losse no end. It chanc'd one morne (clad in a robe of gray, And blushing oft as rising to betray) Intic'd this louely Maiden from her bed (So when the Roses haue discouered Their taintlesse beauties, flyes the early Bee About the winding Allies merrily.) Into the Wood, and 'twas her vsuall sport, Sitting where most harmonious Birds resort, To imitate their warbling in a quill Wrought by the hand of an, which she did fill Halfe full with water: and with it hath made Th Nightingale (beneath a sullen shade) To chant her vtmost Lay, nay, to inuent New notes to passe the others instrument, And (harmelesse soule) ere she would leaue that strife. Sung he blast song, and ended with her life. So gladly chusing (as doe other some) Rather to dye then liue and be o're come. But as in Autumne (when birds cease their noate , And stately Forrests d'on their yealow coates, When Ceres golden locks are nearely shorne And mellow fruit from trees are roughly torne) A little Lad set on a banke to shale The ripened Nuts pluck'd in a wooddy Vale, Is rigl ed thence (of his deare life 〈◊〉 ) By some wilde Bull lowd bellowing for the heard: So while the Nymph did earnestly contest Whether the Birds or she recorded best, A Rauenous Wolfe, bent eager to his prey Rush'd from a theeuish brake, and making way, The twined Thornes did crackle one by one, As if they gaue her warning to be gone. A rougher gale bent downe the lashing boughes, To beat the beast from what his hunger vowes. When she (amaz'd) rose from her haplesse seat (Small is resistance where the feare is great) And striuing to be gone, with gaping awes The Wolfe pursue , and as his rending pawes Were like to seise, a Holly bent betweene, For which good deed his leaues are euer greene. Saw you a lusty Mastiue at the stake Throwne from a cunning Bull, more fiercely make A quicke returne; yet to preuent the goare Or deadly bruize which he escap'd before, Winde here and there, nay creepe if rightly bred, And proffring otherwhere, fight still at head: So though the stubborn boughes did thrust him back, (For Nature, loath, so rate a Iewels wracke, Seem'd as she here and there had plash'd a tre , If possible to hinder Destiny.) The sauage Beast foaming with anger flyes More fiercely then before, and now he tries By sleights to take the Maid; as I haue seene A nimble Tumbler on a burrow'd greene, Bend cleane awry his course, ve giue a checke And throw himselfe vpon a Rabbets necke. For as he ho ly chas'd the Loue of Pan, A heard of Deere out of a thicket ran, To whom he quickly turn'd, as if he meant To leaue the Maid, but when she swiftly bent Her race downe to the Plaine, the swifter Deere He so one forsooke. And now was got so neere That (all in vaine) she turned to and fro (As well she could) but not preuailing so, Breathlesse and weary calling on her Loue With fearefull shrikes that all the Ecchoes moue (To call him to) she fell downe deadly wan, And ends her sweet life with the name of Pan. A youthfull Shepherd of the neighbour W ld Missing that morne a sheepe out of his Fold, Carefully seeking round to finde his stray, Came on the instant where this Damsell lay. Anger and pitty in his manly brest Vrge yet restraine his teares. Sweet Maid possest (Quoth he) with lasting sleepe, accept from me His end, who ended thy hard destinie! With that his strong Dog of no dastard kinde (Swift as the Foales conceiued by the winde) He sets vpon the Wolfe, that now with speed Flies to the neighbour-wood, and lest a deed So full of ruth should vnreuenged be, The Shepherd followes too, so earnestly Chearing his Dog, that he ne're turn'd againe Till the curst Wolfe lay strangled on the plaine. The ruin'd temple of her purer soule The Shepherd buries. All the Nymphs condole So great a losse while on a Cypresse graffe Neere to her graue they hung this Epitaph: LEast loathed age might spoile the worke in whom All earth delighted, Nature tooke it home. Or angry all hers else were carelesse deem'd, Here did her best to haue the rest esteem'd. For eare men might not thinke the Fates so crosse, But by their rigour in as great a losse; If to the graue there euer was assign'd One like this Nymph in body and in minde. We wish her here in balme not vainly spent, To fit this Maiden with a Monument. For Brasse and Marble were they seated here, Would fret or melt in teares to lye so neere. Now Pan may sit and tune his Pipe alone Among the wished shades, since she is gone, Whose willing care allur'd him more to play, Then if to heare him should Apollo stay. Yet happy Pan! and in thy Loue more blest, Whom none but onely death hath dispossest; While others loue as well, yet liue to be Lesse wrong'd by Fate then by inconstancie. The sable mantle of the silent night, Shut from the world the euer-ioy some light Care fled away, and so fresh slumbers please To leaue the Court for lowly Cottages. Wilde beasts forsooke their dens on wooddy hils, And sleightfull Otters left the purling Rils; Rookes to their Nests in high woods now were flung And with their spread wings shield their naked yong. When theeues from thickets to the crosse-wayes stir, And terror frights the loanely passenger. When nought was heard but now & then the howle Of some vilde Curre, or whooping of the Owle; Pan that the day before was farre away At shepherds sports, return'd, and as he lay Within the bowre wherein he most delighted, Was by a gastly vision thus affrighted Heart-thrilling grones first heard he round his bowre, And then the Schrich-owle with her vtmost powre Labour'd her loathed note, the forrests bending With winds, as Hecate had beene ascending. Her at his curled hayres on end doe rise, And chilly drops trill o're his staring eyes; Fai e would he call, but knew not who, nor why, Yet getting heart at last would vp and ry If any diuellish Hag were come abroad With some kinde Mothers late deliuer'd load, A ruthlesse bloudy sacrifice to make To those infernall Powres, that by the Lake Of mighty S •• x and blacke Cocytus dwell, Aiding each Witches Charme and misticke Spell: But as he rais'd himselfe within his best A sudden light about his lodging spread, And there withall his Loue all ashie pale As ue ing mist from vp a watry Vale, Ap ear'd, and weakly neere his bed she prest, A rauell'd wound distain'd her purer brest. (Brests softer farre then tufts of vnwrought silke) Whence had she liu'd to giue an infant milke, The vertue of that liquor (without ods) Had made her babe immorrall as the Gods. Pan would haue spoke, but him she thus preuents: Wonder not that the troubled Elements Speake my approach; I draw no longer breath, But am inforced to the shades of death. My exequies are done, and yet before I take my turne to be transported o're The neather floods among the shades of Dis To end my iourney in the fields of blisse: I come to tell thee that no humane hand Made me to seeke wastage on the Stygian strand; It was an hungry Wol e that did im rue Himselfe in my last bloud And now I sue In hate to all that kinds, and shepherds good To be reuenged on that cursed brood. Pan vow'd, and would haue lip her, but she fled, And as she came so quickly vanished. Looke as a well-growne stately headed B ck But lately by the Wood-mans arrow struck , Runs gadding o're the Lawnes, or nimbly straies Among the comb ous Brakes a thousand wayes Now through the high-wood s •• wres, then by the brooks, On euery hill side, and each vale he lookes, If'mongst their store of simple may be found An hear be to draw and heale his smarring wound, But when he long hath sought, and all in vaine, Steales to the Couert closely backe againe, Where round ingirt with Ferne more highly sprung, Striues to appease the raging with his tongue, And from the speckled Heard absents him till He be recouer'd somewhat of his ill So wounded Pan turnes in his restlesse bed, But finding thence all ease abandoned, He rose, and through the wood distracted runs Yet carries with him what in vaine he shunt Now he exclaim'd on 〈◊〉 and wisht he ne're Had mortall lou'd, or that he mortall were. And sitting lastly on an Oake bare trunke (Where ••• ne in Winter stood long time vnsunke) His plaints he g n ren w but then the light That through the boughes flew from the Queene of night, (As giuing him occasion to repine) Be •• raid an Elme imbraced by a Vine Clipping so strictly that they seem'd to be One in their growth, one shade, one fruit, one tree. Her boughes his armes, his leaues so mixt with hers, That with no winde he mou'd but streight she sti s. As showing all should be, whom loue combinde, In notion one and onely two in kinde This more afflicts him while he thinketh most Not on his losse, but on the substance lost. O haplesse Pan, had there but beene one by, To tell thee (though as poore a Swaine as I) Though (whether casuall meanes or death doe moue) "We part not without griefe things held with loue: "Yet in their losse some comfort may be got "If we doe minde the time we had them not. This might haue lessen'd somewhat of thy paine, O made thee loue as thou mightst loose againe. If thou the best of women didst forgoe, Weigh if thou foundst her, or did'st make her so; If she were found so, know there's more then one; If made, the Worke-man liues, though she be gone. Should from mine eyes the light be 〈◊〉 away. Yet night her pleasures hath as well as day. And my desires to heauen, yeeld lesse offence, Since blindnesse is a part of Innocence. So though thy Loue sleepe in eternall night, Yet there's in lo nnesse somewhat may delight. Instead of dalliance, partnership in woes, It wants, the care to keepe, and feare to los . For iealousies and fortunes baser pelfe, He rest inioyes that well inioyes himselfe. Had some one told thee thus, or thou bethought thee Of inward helpe, thy sorrow had not brought thee To weigh misfortune by anothers good: Nor leaue thy seat to range about the wood. Stay where thou art, turne where thou wert before, Light yeelds small comfort, no hath darknesse more. A wooddy hill there stood, at whose low fee Two goodly streames in one broad channell meet, Whose fretfull waues bea ing against the hill, Did all the bottome with soft muttrings fill. Here in a nooke made by another mount, (Whose stately Oakes are in no lesse account For height or spreading, then the proudest be That from Oëta looke on Thessaly) Rudely o're hung there is a vaulted Caue, That in the day as sullen shadowes gaue, As Euening to the woods. An vncouth place, (Where Hags and Goblins might retire a space) And hated now of Shepherd , since there lie The corps of one (lesse louing Deities Then we affected him) that neuer lent Hi hand to ought but to our detriment. A man that onely liu'd to liue no more, And di'd still to be dying. Whose chiefe store Of vertue, was, his hate did not pursue her, Because he onely heard of her, not knew her. That knew no good, but onely that his sight Saw euery thing had still his opposit And euer this his apprehension caught, That what he did was best, the other naught. That alwaies lou'd the man that neuer lou'd, And hated him whose hate no death had mou'd. That (politique) at fitting time and season Could hate the Traitor, and yet loue the Treason. That many a wofull heart (ere his decease) In peeces tore to purchase his owne peace. Who neuer gaue his almes but in this fashion, To salue his credit, more then for saluation. Who on the names of good-men euer fed, And (most accursed) sold the poore for bread. Right like the Pitch-tree, from whose any limbe Comes neuer twig, shall be the seed of him. The Muses scorn'd by him, laugh at his fame, And neuer will vouchsafe to speake his Name. Let no man for his losse one teare let fall, But perish with him his memoriall Into this 〈◊〉 the God of Shepherd went, The Trees in grones, the Books in t are ament His fatall chance, the Brookes that whilome lept To heare him play while his fair Mistresse slept, Now left their 〈◊〉 and such wanton moods, And with loud clamours 〈◊〉 the neighbring woods. There spent h most of might but when the day Drew from the earth her pitchie vaile away, When all the •• owry plaines with Carols •• ng That by the mounting Larke were sh illy sung, When dusky mists ro e from the crystall floods, And darknesse no where raign'd but in the woods; Pan left the Caue, and now intends to finde The sacred place where lay his loue 〈◊〉 . A plot of earth, in whose chill armes was laid As much perfection as had euer Maide If curious Nature had but taken care To make more lasting, what she made so faire. Now wanders Pan the arched Groues, and hils Where Fa er es often da •• 'd, and Shepherds quils In sweet contentions pass'd the tedious day Yet (being early) in his vnknowne way Met not a Shepherd, nor on all the Plaine A Flocke then feeding saw, nor of his traine One iolly Satyre stirring yet abroad, Of whom he might inquire, this to the load Of his affliction addes; Now he inuokes Those. Hamadriades. Nymphs in mighty For rests, that with Oakes Haue equall Pates, each with her seuerall Tree Receiuing birth, and ending, Destinie. Cals on all Powres, intreats that he might haue But for his Loue, the knowledge of her graue; That since the Fates had tane the Iem away, He might but see the Carknet where it lay; To doe fit right to such a part of mold, Couering so rare a piece, that all the Gold Or Diamond Earth can yeeld, for value, ne're Shall match the treasure which was hidden there! A hunting Nymph awakned with his mone, (That in a bowre neere-hand lay all alone, Twining her small armes round her slender waste, That by no others vs'd to be imbrac'd) Got vp, and knowing what the day before Was guiltie of; she addes not to his store As many simply doe, whose friends so crost They more afflict by shewing what is lost: But bad him follow her. He as she leads, Vrgeth her hast. So a kinde mother treads Earnest, distracted, where, with bloud defil'd She heares lyes dead her deere and onely childe. Mistrust now wing'd his feer, then raging ire, "For Speed comes euer lamely to Desire. Delayes, the stones that waiting Suiters grind. By whom at Court the poore mans cause is sign'd. Who to dispatch a suit, will not deferre To take death for a ioynt Commissioner. Delay, the Wooers bane, Reuenges hate, The plague to Creditors decaid estate, The Test of Patience, of our Hopes the Racke, That drawes them forth so long vntill they cracke, Vertues best benefactor in our times, One that is set to punish great mens crimes, She that had hindred mighty Pan a while, Now steps aside: and as ore-flowing Nyle Hid from Clymene's sonne his recking head So from his rage all opposition fled; Giuing him way, to reach the timelesse Toombe Of Natures glory, for whose ruthlesse doome (When all the Graces did for mercy pleade, And Youth and Goodnesse both did intercede) The Sons of Earth (if liuing) had beene driuen To heape on hils, and warre anew with heauen. The Shepherds which he mist vpon the Downes Here meets he with: for from the neighbring Townes Maidens and Men resorted to the graue To see a wonder more then time e're gaue. The holy Priests had told them long agone Amongst the learned Shepherds there was one So giuen to pietie, and did adore So much the name of Pan, that when no more He breadth'd, those that to ope his heart began, Found written there with gold the name of Pan. Which, vnbeleeuing man, that is not mou'd To credit ought, if not by reason prou'd, And ties the ouer-working powre to doe Nought otherwise then Nature ceacheth to, Held as most fabulous: Not inly seeing, The hand by whom we liue, and All haue being No worke for admirable doth intend, Which Reason hath the powre to comprehend, And Faith no merit hath from heauen lent Where humane reason yeelds experiment. Till now they durst not trust the Legend old, Esteeming all not true their Elders told, And had not this last accident made good The former, most, in vnbeliefe had stood, But Fame that spread the bruit of such a wonder, Bringing the Swaine of places farre a sunder To this selected plot (now famous more Then any Groue, Mount, Plaine, had bin before By relicke, vision, buriall or birth O Anchoresse, or Hermit yet on earth) Out of the Maide s bed of endlesse rest Shewes them a Tree new growne, so fairely drest With spreading armes and curled top, that Ioue Ne're brauer saw in his D d nian Groue. The hart-like leaues oft each with other pyle, As doe the hard scales of the Crocodyle, And none on all the tree was scene but bore Written thereon in rich and purest Ore The name of Pan; whose lustre farre beyond Sparkl'd, as by a Torch the Dyamond. Or those bright spangles which faire Goddesse doe Shine in the haire of these which follow you. The Shepherds by direction of great Pan, Search'd for the root, and finding it began In her true heart, bids them againe inclose What now his eyes for euer, euer, lose. Now in the selfe-same Spheare his thoughts must moue VVith Xerxes. him that did the shady Plane-tree loue. Yet though no issue from her loines shall be To draw from Pan a noble peddigree, And Pan shall not as other Gods haue done Glory in deeds of an heroicke Sonne, Nor haue his Name in Countries neere and farre Proclaim'd; as by his Childe the Thunderer; If Phoebus on this Tree spread warming rayes, And Northerne blasts kill not her tender sprayes, His Loue shall make him famous in repute, And still increase his Name, yet beare no fruit. To make this sure (the God of Shepherds last) (When other Ceremonies were o're past) And to performe what he before had vow'd To dire Reuenge. Thus spake vnto the crow'd: What I haue lost kinde Shepherds all you know; And to recount it were to dwell in woe; To shew my passion in a Funerall Song, And with my sorrow draw your sighes along, Words, then, well plac'd might challenge somewhat due, And not the cause alone, win teares from you. This to preuent, I set Orations by "For passion seldome loues formalitie. What profits it a prisoner at the Barre, To haue his iudgement spoken regular? Or in the prison heare it often read, When he at first knew what was forfeited? Our griefes in others teares, like plates in water Seeme more in quantitie. To be relator Of my mishaps, speaks weaknesse, and that I Haue in my selfe no powre of remedy. 〈◊〉 (yet that once too often) heretofore The siluer Ladon on his sandy shore Heard my complaines, and those coole groues that be Shading the brest of louely Arcady Witnesse the teares which I for Syrinx spent. Syrinx the faire; from whom the instrument That fils your feasts with ioy (which when I blow Drawes to the agging dug milke white as snow) Had his beginning. This enough had beene To shew the Fates (my Pron p •• , in suo Pr tocosm . deemed sisters) ene, Here had they staid this Adage had beene none "That our disasters neuer come alone What boot is it though I am said to be The worthy sonne of winged Mercury That I with gentle Nymphs in Forrests high ist out the sweet time of my infancie And when more yeeres had made me able growne Was through the Mountains for their leader known? That high-brow'd Maenalus where I was bred And stony hils not few haue honoured Me as protector, by the hands of Swaines, Whose sheepe retire there from the open plaines? That Inn Shepherds cups ( Apoll nius Smyrn us. reiecting gold) Of milke and honie measures eight times told Haue offred to me; and the ruddy wine Fresh and new pressed from the bleeding Vine? That gleesome Hunters pleased with their sport, With sacrifices due haue thank'd me for't. That patient Anglers standing all the day Neere to some shallow stickle or deepe bay. And Fisherm n whose nets haue drawne to land A shoale so great it well-nye hides the sand, For such successe, some Promontories head Thrust at by waues, hath knowne me worshipped? But to increase my griefe, what profits this? "Since still the losse is as the looser is. The many-kernell-bearing Pyne of late From all trees else to me was consecrate, But now behold a root more worth my loue, Equall to that which in an obscure Groue Infernall 〈◊〉 proper takes to her: Whose golden slip the Troian wanderer (By sage Cumoean Sybil taught) did bring (By Pates decreed) to be the warranting Of his free passage, and a safe repaire Through darke Auernus to the vpper ayre. This must I succour, this must I defend And from the wilde Boares rooting euer shend, Here shall the Wood-pecker no entrance finde, Nor Tiny's Beuers gnaw the clothing rinde, Lambeders Heards, nor Radnors goodly Deere Shall neuer once be seene a browsing here. And now ye Brittish Swains (whose harmelesse sheepe Then all the worlds besides I ioy to keepe, Which spread on euery Plaine and hilly Wold Fleeces no lesse esteem'd then that of Gold, For whose exchange one Indy Iems of price, The other giues you of her choisest spice. And well she may; but we vnwise the while Lessen the glory of our fruitfull Isle: Making those Nations thinke we foolish are, For baser Drugs to vent our richer ware, Which (saue the bringer) neuer profit man Except the Sexton and Physitian. And whether change of Clymes or what it be That proues our Mariners mortalitie, Such expert men are spent for such bad fares As night haue made vs Lords of what is theirs. Stay, stay at home ye Nobler spirits, and prise Your liues more high then such base trumperies, For beare to fetch, and they'le goe neere to sue, And at your owne doores offer them to you; Or haue their woods and plaines so ouer growne With poisnous weeds, roots, gums & feed vnknown That they would hire such Weeders as you be To free their land from such fertilitie. Their Spices hot their nature best indures, But 'twill impaire and much distemper yours. What our owne soyle affords befits vs best. And long, and long, for euer may we rest Needlesse of helpe! and may this Isle alone Furnish all other Lands, and this Land none! Excuse me Thetis, quoth the aged man, If passion drew me from the words of Pan! Which thus I follow: You whose flocks, quoth he, By my protection, quit your industry, For all the good I haue and yet may giue To such as on the Plaines hereafter liue, I doe intreat what is not hard to grant, That not a hand rend from this holy Plant The smallest br nch; and who so cutteth this Dye for th'offence; to me so hainous 'tis. And by the Floods infernall here I sweare, (An oath whose breach the gre •• est Gods forbeare) Ere Phoebe thrice twelue times shall fill her homes No furzy tuft, thicke wood, nor brake of thornes Shall harbour Wolfe nor in this Ile shall breed, Nor liue one of that kinde; if what's decreed You keepe inuiolate. To this they swore: And since, those beasts haue frighted vs no mo •• . But Swaine (quoth Thetis) what is this you tell, To what you feare shall •• ll on Philo el? Faire Queene at end; but oh I feare, quoth he, Ere I haue ended my sad Historie Vnstaying time may bring on his last houre, And so defraud vs of thy wished powre. Yond goes a Shepherd; giue me leaue to run And know the time of execution, Mine aged limbs I can a little straine, And quickly come (to end the rest) againe.
THE FIFTH SONG. THE ARGVMENT. Within this Song my Muse doth tell The worthy fact of Philocel, And how his Loue and he in thrall To death depriu'd of Funerall The Queene of Waues doth gladly saue, And frees Marina from the Caue. SO soone a can a Martin from our Towne Fly to the Riuer vnderneath the Down, And backe returne with mort •• in her hill, Some little ••• nny in her nest to fill The Shepherd came. And thus began anew: Two houres alas, onely two houres are due From time to him, t'is sentenc'd so of those That here on earth as Destinies dispose The liues and deaths of men; and that time past He yeelds his iudgement leaue and breaths his last. But to the cause. Great Goddesse vnderstand In Mona-Ile thrust from the Brittish land, As (since it needed nought of others store) It would intire be, and a part no more, There liu'd a Maid so faire, that for her sake Since she was borne the Ile had neuer Snake, Nor were it fit a deadly sting should be To hazard such admired Symmetrie, So many beauties so comm ••• in one, That all delight were dead if she were gone, Shepherds that in her cleare eyes did delight, Whilst they were open neuer held it night: And were they shut, although the morning gray Call'd vp the Sun, they hardly though it day. Or if they call'd it so, they did not passe Withall to say that it eclipsed 〈◊〉 . The Roses on her cheekes, such, as each urne Phoebus might kisse, but had no powre to burne. From her sweet lips distill sweet sweete doe, Then from a Cherry halfe way cut in two Whose yeelding touch would a Promet 〈…〉 Lumps truly senslesse with a Muse inspire Who praising her would youth's desire o 〈◊〉 , Each man in minde should be a rauisher. Some say the nimble-witted Mercury Went late disguis'd professing Palmistrie, And Milk-maids fortunes told abou the Land, Onely to get a touch of her soft hand. And that a Shepherd walking on the brim Of a cleare streame where she did vse to swim, Saw her by chance, and thinking she had beene Of Chastitie the pure and fairest Queene, Stole thence dismaid, lest he by her decree Might vndergoe Acteons destinie. Did youths kinde heat inflame me (but the snow Vpon my head, shewes it coold long agoe) I then could giue (fitting so faire a feature) Right to her fame, and fame to such a creature. When now much like a man the Palsie shakes, And spectacles befriend, yet vndertakes To limne a Lady, to whose red and white Apelles curious hand would owe some right; His too vnsteady Pencell, shadowes here Somewhat too much, and giues not ouer, cleere; His eye deceiu'd mingles his colours wrong, There strikes too little, and here staies too long, Does and vndoes, takes off, puts on (in vaine) Now too much white, then too much red againe, And thinking then to giue some speciall grace, He workes it ill, or so mistakes the place, That she which sits were better pay for nought, Then haue it ended, and so lamely wrought: So doe I in this weake description erre; And striuing more to grace more iniure her. For euer where true worth for praise doth call, He rightly nothing giues that giues not all. But as a Lad who learning to diuide, By one small misse the whole hath falsifide. Caelia men call'd, and rightly call'd her so: Whom Philocel (of all the Swaines I know Most worthy) lou'd: alas! that loue should be Subiect to fortunes mutabilitie! What euer learned Bards to fore haue sung, Or on the Plaines Shepherds and Maidens young, Of sad mishaps in loue are set to tell, Comes short to match the Fate of Philocel. For as a Labourer toyling at a Bay To force some cleere streame from his wonted way, Working on this side sees the water run Where he wrought last, and thought it firmely done; And that leake stopt, heares it come breaking out Another where, in a farre greater spout, Which mended to, and with a turfe made trim The brooke is ready to o'reflow the brim, Or in the banke the water hauing got: Some Mole-hole, runs, where he expected not: And when all's done, still feares, lest some great raine Might bring a flood and throw all downe againe: So in our Shepherds loue; one hazard gone Another still as bad was comming on. This danger past another doth begin, And one mishap thrust out lets twenty in. For he that loues, and in it hath no stay, Limits his blisse seld' past the Marriage day. But Philocels alas and Caelia's too Must ne're attaine so farre, as others doe. Else Fortune in them from her course should swerue Who most afflicts those that most good deserue. Twice had the glorious Sun run through the Signer, And with his kindly heat improu'd the Mines, (As such affirme with certaine hopes that try The vaine and fruitlesse Art of Alohymie) Since our Swaine lou'd: and twice had Phoebus bin In horned Aries taking vp his Inne, Ere he of Caelia's heart possession won. And since that time all his intentions done Nothing, to bring her thence. All eyes vpon her, Watchfull, as Vertues are on truest Honour. Kept on the Ile as carefully of some, As by the Troians their Palladium. But where's the Fortresse that can Loue debar? The forces to oppose when he makes war? The Watch which he shall neuer finde asleepe? The Spye that shall disclose his counsels deepe? That Fort, that Force, that Watch, that Spye would be A lasting stop to a fifth Emperie. But we as well may keepe the heat from fire As seuer hearts whom loue hath made intire. In louely May when Titans golden raies Make ods in houres betweene the nights and daies; And weigheth almost downe the once-euen Scale Where night and day, by th'Aequinoctiall Were laid in ballance, as his powre he bent To banish Cynthia from her Regiment, To Latmus stately Hill; and with his light To rule the vpper world both day and night, Making the poore Antipodes to feare A like coniunction 'twixt great Iupiter And some Alo mena new, or that the Sun From their Horizon did obliquely run: This time the Swaine and Maidens of the Ile The day with sportiue dances doe beguile, And euery Valley ring with shepherds songs, And euery Eccho each sweet noat prolongs, And euery Riuer with vnusuall pride And dimpled cheeke rowles sleeping to the tide, And lesser springs, which ayrie-breeding Woods, Preferre as hand-maids to the mighty floods, Scarce fill vp halfe their channels, making haste (In feare, as boyes) lest all the sport be past Now was the Lord and Lady of the May Meeting the May-pole at the breake of day, And Caelia as the fairest on the Greene, Not without some Maids enuy chosen Queene, Now was the time com'n when our gentle Swaine Must inne his haruest or lose all againe. Now must he plucke the Rose lest other hands, Or tempests blemish what so fairely stands: And therefore as they had before decreed Our shepherd go s a Boat, and with all speed In night (that doth on Louers actions smile) Arriued safe on Mona's fruitfull Ile. Betweene two ooks (immortall, without mother) That stand as if one facing one another, There ran a Creek vp, intricate and blinde, As if the waters hid them from the winde, Which neuer wash'd but at a higher tyde The frizled coat which doe the Mountaines hide, Where neuer gale was longer knowne to stay Then from the smooth waue it had swept away The new diuorced leaues, that from each side Left the thicke boughes to dance out with the tide. At further end the Creeke, a stately Wood Gaue a kinde shadow (to the brackish Flood) Made vp of trees, not lesse kend by each skiffe Then that sky-scaling Pike of Tenerife, Vpon whose tops the Herneshew bred her young, And hoary mosse vpon their branches hung: Whose rugged rindes sufficient were to show Without their height, what time they gan to grow. And if dry eld by wrinckled skin appeares, None could allot them lesse then Nestor's yeeres. As vnder their command the thronged Creeke Ran lessened vp. Here did the Shepherd seeke Where he his little Boat might safely hide, Till it was fraught with what the world beside Could not outvalew; nor giue equall weight Though in the time when Greece was at her height. The ruddy Horses of the Rosie morne Out of the Easterne gates had newly borne Their blushing Mistresse in her golden Chaire, Spreading new light throughout our Hemispheare. When fairest Caelia with a louelier crew Of Damsels then braue Latmus euer knew, Came forth to meet the Youngsters; who had here Cut downe an Oake that long withouten peere Bore his round head imperiously aboue His other Mates there, consecrate to Ioue. The wished time drew on: and Caelia now (That had the fame for her white arched brow) While all her louely fellowes busied were In picking off the Iems from Tellus haire, Made tow'rds the Creeke, where Philocel vnspide, (Of Maid or Shepherd that their May-games plide) Receiu'd his wish'd-for Caelia; and begun To steere his Boat contrary to the Sun, Who could haue wish'd another in his place To guide the Carre of light, or that his race Were to haue end (so he might blesse his hap) In Caelia's bosome, not in Thetis lap. The Boat oft danc'd for ioy of what it held. The hoyst-vp Saile, not quicke but gently sweld, And often shooke, as fearing what might fall, Ere she deliuer'd what she went withall. Winged The Westerne winde. And supposed (with the Star es) the birth of Aurora by A tra •• , as Apollodor s: 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . Argestes faire Aurora's sonne, Licenc'd, that day to leaue his Dungeon, Meekly attended, and did neuer erre Till Caelia grac'd our Land and our Land her. As through the waues their loue-fraught Wherry ran A many Cupids, each set on his Swan, Guided with reines of gold and siluer twist The spotlesse Birds about them, as they list, Which would haue sung a Song (ere they were gone) Had vnkinde Nature giuen them more then one; Or in bestowing that, had not done wrong, And made their sweet liues forfeit, one sad song. Yet that their happy Voyage might not be Without Times shortner, Heauen-taught Melodie, (Musicke that lent feet to the stable Woods, And in their currents turn'd the mighty Floods, Sorrowes sweet Nurse, yet keeping Ioy aliue, Sad discontent's most welcome Corrasiue, The soule of Art, best lou'd when Loue is by, The kinde inspirer of sweet Poesie, Lest thou should'st wanting be, when Swans would faine Haue sung one Song, and neuer sung againe) The gentle Shepherd hasting to the shore Began this Lay, and tim'd it with his Oare. NEuer more let holy Dee O're other Riuers braue, Or boast bow (in his iollitie) Kings row'd vpon his waue. But silent be, and euer know That Neptune for my Fare would row. Those were Captiues. If he say That now I am no other, Yet she that beares my prisons key Is fairer then Loues Mother; A God tooke me, those one lesse high, They wore their bonds, so doe not I. Swell then, gently swell yee Floods As proud of what yee beare, And Nymphs that in low corrall Woods String Pearles vpon your haire, Ascend: and tell if ere this day A fairer pri •• was seene at Sea. See the Salmons leape and bound To please vs as we passe, Each Mermaid on the Rocks around, Lets fall her brittle glasse, As they their beauties did despise, And lou'd no mirrour but your eyes. Blow, but gently blow faire winde From the forsaken shore, And be as to the Halcyon kinde, Till we haue ferr 'd o're: So maist thou still haue leaue to blow, And fan the way where she shall goe. Floods, and Nymphs, and Winds, and all That see vs both together, Into a disputation fall; And then resolue me, whether The greatest kindnesse each can show, Will quit our trust of you or no. Thus as a merry Milke-maid neat and fine Returning late from milking of her Kine, Shortens the dew'd way which she treads along With some selfe-pleasing-since-new-gotten Song, The Shepherd did their passage well beguile. And now the horned Flood bore to our Ile His head more high then he had vs'd to doe, Except by Cynthia's newnesse forced to. Not Ianuaries snow dissol 'd in Floods Makes Thamar more intrude on Blanchden Woods, Nor the concourse of waters when they fleet After a long Raine, and in Souerne meet, Rais'th her inraged head to root faire Plants, Or more affright her high inhabitants, (When they behold the waters rusully, And saue the waters nothing else can see) Then Neptunes subiect now, more then of yore: As loth to set his burden soone on shore. O Neptune! hadst thou kept them still with thee, Though both were lost to vs, and such as we, And with those beautious birds which on thy brest Get and bring vp; afforded them a rest; Delos, that long time wandring peece of earth Had not beene fam'd more for Diana's birth; Then those few planks that bore them on the Seas, By the blest issue of two such as these. But they were landed so are not our woes, Nor euer shall, whil'st from an eye there flowes One drop of moisture; to these present times We will relate, and some ad Shepherds imes To after ages may their Fates make knowne, And in their depth of sorrow drowne his owne. So our Relation and his mournfull Verse, Of teares, shall force such tribute to their Herse, That not a priuate griefe shall euer thriue But in that deluge fall, yet this suruiue. Two furlongs from the shore they had not gone, When from a low-cast Valley (hauing on Each hand a woody hill, whose boughes vnlopt Haue not alone at all time sadly dropt, And turn'd their stormes on her deiected brest, But when the fire of heauen is ready prest To warme and further what it should bring forth, (For lowly Dales mate Mountaines in their worth) The Trees (as screenlike Greatnesse) shades his raye, As it should shine on none but such as they) Came (and full sadly came) a haplesse Wretch, Whose walkes & pastures once were known to stretch From East to West so farre that no dike ran For noted bounds, but where the Ocean His wrathfull billowes thrust, and grew as great In sholes of Fish as were the others Neat. Who now deiected and depriu'd of all, Longs (and hath done so long) for funerall. For as with hanging head I haue beheld A widow Vine, stand, in a naked field, Vnhusbanded, neglected, all forlorne, Brouz'd on by Deere, by Cattle cropt and torne, Vnpropt, vnsuccoured by stake or tree, From wreakfull stormes impetuous tyrannie, When had a willing hand lent kinde redresse, Her pregnant bunches might from out the Presse Haue sent a liquour both for taste and show No lesse diuine then those of Malligo: Such was this wight, and such she might haue beene. She both th'extremes hath felt of Fortunes teene, For neuer haue we heard from times of yore, One sometime enuy'd and now pitti'd more. Her obiect, as her state, is, low as earth; Priuation her companion; thoughts of mirth •• kesome; and in one selfe-same circle turning, With sodaine sports brought to a house of mourning. Of others good her best beliefe is still And constant to her owne in nought but ill. The onely enemy and friend she knowes Is Death, who though defers must end her woes, Her contemplation frightfull as the night. She neuer lookes on any liuing wight Without comparison; and as the day Giues vs, but takes the Glowormes light away: So the least ray of Blisse on others throwne Depriues and blinds all knowledge of her owne. Her comfort is (if for her any be) That none can shew more cause of griefe then she. Yet somewhat she of aduerse Fate hath won, Who had vndone her were she not vndone. For those that on the Sea of Greatnesse ride Farre from the quiet shore, and where the tide In ebbs and floods is ghess'd, not truly knowne; Expert of all estates except their owne; Keeping their station at the Helme of State, Not by their Vertues but auspicious Fate, Subiect to calmes of fauour stormes of rage, Their actions noted as the common Stage, Who, like a man borne blinde that cannot be By demonstration shewne what 'tis to see, Liue still in Ignorance of what they want, Till Misery become the Adamant, And touch them for that point, to which, with speed, None comes so sure as by the hand of Need. A Mirrour strange she in her right hand bore, By which her friends from flatterers heretofore She could distinguish well; and by her side, (As in her full of happinesse) vntide, Vnforc'd, and vncompell'd, did sadly goe (As if partaker of his Mistresse woe) A louing Spaniell, from whose rugged backe (The onely thing (but death) she moanes to lacke) She plucks the haire, and working them in pleats Furthers the suit which Modestie intreats. Men call her Athliot: who cannot be More wretched made by infelicitie, Vnlesse she here had an immortall breath, Or liuing thus, liu'd timorous of death. Out of her lowly and forsaken dell She running came, and cri'd to Philocel, Helpe! helpe! kinde shepherd helpe! see yonder where A louely Lady hung vp by the haire, Struggles, but mildly struggles with the Fates, Whose thread of life spun to a thread that mates Dame Natures in her haire, staies them to wonder, While too fine twisting makes it breake in sunder. So shrinkes the Rose that with the flames doth meet; So gently bowes the Virgin parchment sheet, So rowlethe waues vp and fall out againe, As all her beautious parts, and all in vaine. Farre, farre, aboue my helpe or hope in trying, Vnknowne, and so more miserably dying, Smothring her torments, in her panting brest, She meekly waits the time of her long rest. Hasten! ô hasten then! kinde Shepherd haste. He went with her: And Caelia (that had grac'd Him past the world besides) seeing the way He had to goe, not farre, rests on the lay. 'Twas neere the place where Pans transformed Loue Her guilded leaues displaid, and boldly stroue For lustre with the Sun: a sacred tree (Pal'd round) and kept from violation free: Whose smallest spray rent off, we neuer prize At lesse then life Here, though her heauenly eyes From him she lou'd could scarce afford a sight, (As if for him they onely had their light) Those kinde and brighter Stars were knowne to erre And to all misery betrayed her. For turning them aside, she (haplesse) spies The holy Tree, and (as all nouelties In tempting women haue small labour lost Whether for value nought, or of more cost) Led by the hand of vncontroll'd desire She rose, and thither went. A wrested Bryre Onely kept close the gate which led into it, (Easie for any all times to vndoe it, That with a pious hand hung on the tree Garlands or raptures of sweet Poesie) Which by her opened, with vnweeting hand, A little spray she pluckt, whose rich leaues fan'd And chatter'd with the ayre, as who should say Doe not for once, ô doe not this bewray! Nor giue sound to a tongue for that intent "Who ignorantly sinnes, dies innocent. By this was Philocel returning backe, And in his hand the Lady; for whose wrack Nature had cleane forsworne to frame a wight So wholly pure, so truly exquisite: But more deform'd, and from a rough-hewne mold, Since what is best liues seldome to be old. Within their sight was fairest Caelia now; Who drawing neere, the life-priz'd golden bough Her Loue beheld. And as a Mother kinde What time the new-cloath'd trees by gusts of winde Vnmou'd, stand wistly listning to those layes The feather'd Quiristers vpon their sprayes Chaunt to the merry Spring, and in the Euen She with her little sonne for pleasure giuen, To tread the fring'd bankes of an amorous flood, That with her musicke courts a sullen wood, Where euer talking with her onely blisse That now before and then behinde her is, She stoopes for flowres the choisest may be had, And bringing them to please her prittie Lad, Spies in his hand some banefull flowre or weed, Whereon he gins to smell, perhaps to feed, With a more earnest haste she runs vnto him, And puls that from him which might else vndoe him: So to his Caelia hastned Philocel, And raught the bough away. Hid it: and fell To question if she broke it, or if then An eye beheld her? Of the race of men (Replide she) when I tooke it from the tree Assure your selfe was none to testifie, But what hath past since in your hand, behold A fellow running yonder o're the Wold I well inform'd of. Can there (Loue) insue Tell me! oh tell me! any wrong to you, By what my hand hath ignorantly done? (Quoth fearefull Caelia) Philocel! be won By these vnfained teares, as I by thine, To make thy greatest sorrowes partly mine Cleere vp these showres (my Sun) quoth Philocel, The ground it needs not. Nought is so from Well But that reward and kinde intreaties may Make smooth the front of wrath, and this allay. Thus wisely he supprest his height of woe, And did resolue, since none but they did know Truly who rent it: And the hatefull Swaine That lately past by them vpon the Plaine (Whom well he knew did beare to him a hate, (Though vndeserued) so inueterate That to his vtmost powre he would assay To make his life haue ended with that day.) Except in his, had seene it in no hand, That hee against all throes of Fate would stand, Acknowledge it his deed, and so afford A passage to his heart for Iustice sword, Rather then by her losse the world should be Despiz'd and scorn'd for loosing such as she. Now (with a vow of secrecy from both) Inforcing mirth, he with them homewards go'th; And by the time the shades of mighty woods Began to turne them to the Easterne Floods, They thither got: where with vndaunted heart He welcomes both; and freely doth impart Such dainties as a Shepherds cottage yeeld Tane from the fruitfull woods and fertile fields; No way distracted nor disturb'd at all. And to preuent what likely might befall His truest Caelia, in his apprehending Thus to all future care gaue finall ending: Into their cup (wherein for such sweet Girles Nature would Myriades of richest Pearles Dissolue, and by her powrefull simples striue To keepe them still on earth, and still aliue) Our Swaine infus'd a powder, which they dranke: And to a pleasant roome (set on a banke Neere to his Coa , where he did often vse At vacant houres to entertaine his Muse.) Brought them, and seated on a curious bed Till what he gaue in operation sped, And rob'd them of his sight, and him of theirs, Whose new inlightning will be quench'd with teares. The Glasse of Time had well nye spent the Sand It had to run, ere with impartiall hand Iustice must to her vpright Ballance take him. Which he (afraid it might too soone forsake him) Began to vse, as quickly as perceiue, And of his Loue thus tooke his latest leaue. Caelia! thou fairest creature euer eye Beheld, or yet put on mortalitie Caelia that hast but iust so much of earth, As makes thee capable of death! Thou birth Of euery Vertue, life of euery good Whose chastest sports, and daily taking food Is imitation of the highest powres, Who to the earth lend seasonable showres, That it may beare, we to their Altars bring Things worthy their accept, our offering. I the most wretched creature euer eye Beheld, or yet put on mortalitie, Vnhappy Philocel, that haue of earth Too much to giue my sorrowes endlesse birth, The spring of sad misfortunes; in whom lyes No blisse that with thy worth can sympathize, Clouded with woe that hence will neuer flit, Till death eternall night grow one with it, I as a dying Swan that sadly sings Her moanfull Dirge vnto the siluer springs, Which carelesse of her Song glide sleeping by Without one murmure of kinde Elegie, Now stand by thee; and as a Turtles ma e, With lamentations inarticulate, The neere departure from her loue bemones, Spend these my bootlesse sighes and illing grones. Here as a man (by Iustice doome) exilde To Coasts vnknowne, to Desarts rough and wilde, Stand I to take my latest leaue of thee. Whose happy and heauen-making company Might I enioy in Libia's Continent, Were blest fruition and not banishment. First of those Eyes that haue already tane Their leaue of me: Lamps fitting for the Phane Of heauens most powre, & which might ne're expire But be as sacred as the Vestall fire. Then of those plots, where halfe-Ros'd Lillies be, Not one by Art but Natures industry, From which I goe as one excluded from The taintlesse flowres of blest Elixium. Next from those Lips I part, and may there be No one that shall hereafter second me Guiltlesse of any kisses but their owne, Their sweets but to themselues to all vnknowne: For should our Swaines diuulge what swee •• there be Within the Sea-clipt bounds of Britanie, We should not from inuasions be exempted; But with that prize would all the world be tempted. Then from her heart; ô no! let that be neuer, For if I part from hence I dye for euer. Be that the Record of my loue and name! Be that to me as is the Phoenix flame! Creating still anew what Iustice doome Must yeeld to dust and a forgotten toombe. Let thy chaste loue to me (as shadowes run In full extent vnto the setting Sun) Meet with my fall, and when that I am gone Backe to thy selfe retyre, and there grow one; If to a second light thy shadow be. Let him still haue his ray of loue from me And if as I, that likewise doe decline, Be mine or his, or else be his and mine. But know no other, nor againe be sped, "She dyes a virgin that but knowes one bed. And now from all at once my leaue I take, With this petition, that when thou shalt wake, My teares already spent may serue for thine And all thy sorrowes be excus'd by mine ea rather then my losse should draw on hers, (Heare Heauen the suit which my (sad soule prefers) Let this her slumber like Obliuions streame, Make her beleeue our loue was but a dreame! Let me be dead in her as to the earth, Ere Nature loose the grace of such a birth. Sleepe thou sweet soule from all disquiet free, And since I now beguile thy destinie, Let after patience in thy brest arise, To giue his name a life who for thee dies. He dyes for thee that worthy is to dye, Since now in leauing that sweet harmonie Which Nature wrought in thee, he drawes not to him Enough of sorrow that might streight vndoe him. And haue for meanes of death his parting hence, So keeping Iustice still in Innocence. Here staid his tongue, and teares anew began. "Parting knowes more of griefe then absence can. And with a backward pace and lingring eye Left and for euer left their company. By this the curs'd Informer of the deede With wings of mischiefe (and those haue most speed) Vnto the Priests of Pan had made it knowne. And (though with griefe enough) were thither flown With strict command the Officers that be As hands of Iusti •• in her each decree. Those vnto iudgement brought him: where accus'd That with vnhappy hand he had abus'd The holy Tree; and by the oath of him Whose eye beheld the separated limb, All doubts dissolu'd; quicke iudgement was warded, (And but last night) that hi her strongly guarded This morne he should be brought; & from yond o k (Where euery houre new store of mourners flocke) He should be head-long throwne (too hard a doome) To be depriu'd of life; and dead, of toombe. This is the cause faire Goddesse that appeares Before you now clad in an old mans teares, Which willingly flow out, and shall doe more Then many Winters haue seene heretofore. But Father (quoth she) let me vnderstand How you are sure that it was Caelia's hand Which rent the branch; and then (if you can) tell What Nymph it was which neere the lonely Dell Your shepherd succour'd Quoth the good old man: The last time in her Orbe pale Cynthia ran, I to the prison went, and from him knew (Vpon my vow) what now is knowne to you. And that the Lady which he found distrest Is Pida call'd, a Maid not meanly blest By heauens endowments, and. Alas but see Kinde Philocel ingirt with miserie, More strong then by his bonds, is drawing nigh The place appointed for his tragedie: You may walke thither and behold his fall; While I come neere enough, yet not at all. Nor shall it need I to my sorrow knit The griefe of knowing with beholding it. The Goddesse went: (but ere she came did shrowd Her selfe from euery eye within a cloud) Where she beheld the Shepherd on his way, Much like a Bridegroome on his marriage-day; Increasing not his miserie with feare. Others for him, but he shed not a teare. His knitting sinewes did not tremble ought, Nor to vnusuall palpitation brought Was or his heart or lyuer, nor his eye, Nor tongue, nor colour shew'd a dread to dye. His resolution keeping with his spirit, ( oth worthy him that did them both inherit) Held in subiection euery thought of feare, Scorning so base an executioner. Some time he spent in speech; and then began Submissely prayer to the name of Pan, When sodainly this cry came from the Plaines: From guiltlesse blood be free ye Brittish Swaines! Mine be those bonds, and mine the death appointed! Let me be head-long thrown, these limbs disioynted! Or if you needs must hurle him from that brim, Except I dye there dyes but part of him. Doe then right Iustice and performe your oath! Which cannot be without the death of both. Wonder, drew thitherward their drowned eyes, And Sorrow Philocels. Where he espies, What he did onely feare, the beautious Maid, His wofull Caelia, whom (ere night arraid Last time the world in suit of mournfull blacke, More darke then vse, as to bemone their wracke) He at his cottage left in sleepes soft armes, By powre of simples and the force of charmes, Which time had now dissolu'd, and made her know For what intent her Loue had left her so. She staid not to awake her mate in sleepe, Nor to bemone her Fate. She scorn'd to weepe, Or haue the passion that within her lyes So distant from her heart as in her eyes. But rending of her haire, her throbbing brest Beating with ruthlesse strokes, she onwards prest As an inraged furious Lionesse, Through vncouth •• e dings of the wildernesse, In hot pursuit of her late missed brood. The name of Philocel speakes euery wood, And she begins it still, and still her pace. Her face-deckt anger, anger decke her face. So ran distracted He u a along The streets of Troy. So did the people throng With helplesse hands and heauy hearts to see Their wofull ruine in her progenie. As harmlesse flocks of sheepe that neerely fed Vpon the open plaines wide scattered, Ran all afront, and gaz'd with earnest eye (Not without teares) while thus she passed by. Springs that long time before had held no drop, Now welled forth and ouer-went the top, Birds left to pay the Spring their wonted vowes, And all forlome sate drooping on the boughes. Sheep, Springs and Birds, nay trees vnwonted grones Bewail'd her chance, and forc'd it from the stones. Thus came she to the place (where aged men, Maidens, and wiues, and youth and childeren That had but newly learnt their Mothers name, Had almost spent their teares before she came.) And those her earnest and related words Threw from her brest; and vnto them affords These as the meanes to further her pretence: Receiue not on your soules, by Innocence Wrong'd, lasting staines; which from a sluce the Sea May still wash o're but neuer wash away. Turne all your wraths on me; for here behold The hand that tore your sacred Tree of gold; These are the feet that led to that intent; Mine was th'offence, be mine the punishment. Long hath he liu'd among you, and he knew The danger imminent that would insue; His vertuous life speakes for him, heare it then And cast not hence the miracle of men What now he doth is through some discontent, Mine was the fact, be mine the punishment! What certaine death could neuer make him doe (With Caelia's losse) her presence forc'd him to. She that could cleere his greatest clouds of woes, Some part of woman made him now disclose, And shew'd him all in teares: And for a while Out of his heart vnable to exile His troubling thoughts in words to be conceiu'd; But weighing what the world should be bereau'd, He of his sighes and throbs some license wan, And to the sad spectators thus began: Hasten! ô haste! the houre's already gone, Doe not deferre the execution! Nor make my patience suffer ought of wrong! 'Tis nought to dye, but to be dying long! Some fit of Frenzie hath possest the Maid, She could not doe it, though she had assaid, No bough growes in her reach; nor hath the tree A spray so weake to yeeld to such as she. To win her loue I broke it, but vnknowne And vndesir'd of her; Then let her owne No touch of preiudice without consent, Mine was the fact, be mine the punishment! O! who did euer such contention see Where death stood for the prize of victory? Where loue and strife were firme and truly knowne, And where the victor must be ouerthrowne? Where both pursude, and both held equall strife That life should further death, death further life. Amazement strucke the multitude. And now They knew not which way to performe their vow. If onely one should be depriu'd of breath, They were not certaine of th' offenders death; If both of them should dye for that offence, They certainly should murder Innocence; If none did suffer for it, then there ran Vpon their heads the wrath and curse of Pan. This much perplex'd and made them to defer The deadly hand of th' Executioner, Till they had sent an Officer to know The Iudges wil : (and those with Fates doe goe) Who backe return'd, and thus with teares began: The Substitutes on earth of mighty Pan, Haue thus decreed (although the one be free) To clea •• themselues from all impunitie, If, who the offender is, no meanes procure, Th'offence is certaine, be their death as sure. This is their doome (which may all plagues preuent) To haue the guil y kill the innocent. Looke as two little Lads (their parents treasure) Vnder a Tutor strictly kept from pleasure, While they their new-giuen lesson closely scan Heare of a message by their fathers man, That one of them, but which he hath forgot, Must come along and walke to some faire plot; Both haue a hope: their carefull Tutor loth To hinder either, or to license both; Sends backe the Messenger that he may know His Masters pleasure which of them must goe: While both his Schollers stand alike in feare Both of their freedome and abiding there, The Seruant comes and sayes that for that day Their Father wils to haue them both away: Such was the feare these louing soules were in That time the messenger had absent bin. But farre more was their ioy twixt one another, In hearing neither should out-liue the other. Now both intwinde, because no conquest won, Yet either ruinde: Philocel begun To arme his Loue for death: a roabe vnfit Till Hymen s saffron'd weed had vsher'd it My fairest Caelia! come; let thou and I, That long haue learn'd to loue, now learne to dye; It is a lesson hard if we discerne it, Yet none is borne so soone as bound to learne it. Vnpartiall Fate layes ope the Booke to vs, And let vs con it still imbracing thus; We may it perfect haue, and goe before Those that haue longer time to read it o re; And we had need begin and not delay, For tis our turne to read it first to day. Helpe when I misse, and when thou art in doubt Ile be thy prompter, and will helpe thee out. But see how much I erre: vaine Metaphor And elocution Destinies abhorre. Could death be staid with words, or won with teares, Or mou'd with beauty, o with vnripe yeeres; Sure thou could'st doe't; this Rose, this Sun-like eye Should not so soone be quell'd, so quickly dye. But we must dye my Loue; not thou alone, Nor onely I, but both; and yet but one. Nor let vs grieue; for we are marryed thus, And haue by death what life denied vs. It is a comfort from him more then due; "Death seuers many, but he couples few. Life is a Flood that keepes vs from our blisse, The Ferriman to waft vs thither, is Death, and none else; the sooner we get o're Should we not thanke the Ferriman the more? O hers intreat him for a passage hence, And groane beneath their griefes and impotence, Yet (mercilesse) he l ts those longer stay, And sooner takes the happy man away Some little happinesse haue thou and I, Since we shall dye before we wish to dye. Should we here longer liue, and haue our dayes As full in number as the most of these, And in them meet all pleasures may betide, We gladly might haue lin'd and patient dyde: When now our fewer yeeres made long by cares (That without age can snow downe siluer haires) Make all affirme (which doe our griefes discry) We patiently did liue, and gladly dye. The difference (my Loue) that doth appeare Betwixt our Fates and theirs that see vs here, Is onely this: the high-all-knowing powre Conceales from them, but tels vs our last houre. For which to Heauen we far-farre more are bound, Since in the houre of death we may be found (By its prescience) ready for the hand That shall conduct vs to the Holy-land. When those, from whom that houre conceal'd is, may Euen in their height of Sinne be tane away. Besides, to vs Iustice a friend is knowne, Which neither lets vs dye nor liue alone. That we are forc'd to it cannot be held; "Who feares not Death, denies to be compell'd. O that thou wert no Actor in this Play, My sweetest Caelia! or diuorc'd away From me in this: ô Nature! I confesse I cannot looke vpon her heauinesse Without betraying that infirmitie Which at my birth thy hand bestow'd on me. Would I had dide when I receiu'd my birth! Or knowne the graue before I knew the earth! Heauens! I but one life did receiue from you, And must so short a loane be paid with two? Cannot I dye but like that brutish stem Which haue their best belou'd to dye with them? O let her liue! some blest powre heare my cry? Let Caelia liue and I contented dye. My Philocel (quoth she) neglect these throes! Aske not for me, nor adde not to my woes! Can there be any life when thou art gone? Nay, can there be but desolation? Art thou so cruell as to wish my stay, To wait a passage at an vnknowne day? Or haue me dwell within this Vale of woe Excluded from those ioyes which thou shalt know? Enuie not me that blisse! I will assay it, My loue deserues it, and thou canst not stay it. Iustice! then take thy doome; for we intend, Except both liue, no life; one loue, one end. Thus with embraces, and exhorting other, With teare-dew'd kisses that had powre to smother; Their foft and ruddy lips close ioyn'd with either, That in their deaths their soules might meet together. With prayers as hopefull as sincerely good, Expecting death they on the Cliffes edge stood; And lastly were (by one oft forcing breath) Throwne from the Rocke into the armes of death. Faire Thetis whose command the waues obey, Loathing the losse of so much worth as they, Was gone before their fall; and by her powre The Billowes (mercilesse, vs'd to deuoure, And not to saue) she made to swell vp high, Euen at the instant when the tragedy Of those kinde soules should end: so to receiue them, And keepe what crueltie would faine bereaue them. Her hest was soone perform'd: and now they lay Imbracing on the surface of the Sea, Void of all sense; a spectacle so sad That Thetis, nor no Nymph which there she had, Touch'd with their woes, could for a while refraine But from their heauenly eyes did sadly raine Such showres of teares (so powrefull since diuine) That euer since the Sea doth taste of Bryne. With teares, thus, to make good her first intent She both the Louers to her Chariot hent: Recalling Life that had not cleerely tane Full leaue of his or her more curious Phane, And with her praise sung by these thankfull paire Steer'd on her Coursers (swift as fleeting ayre) Towards her Pallace built beneath the Seas: Proud of her iourney, but more proud of these. By that time Night had newly spred her robe Ouer our halfe-part of this massie Globe, She won that famous Ile which Ioue did please To honour with the holy Druydes. And as the Westerne side she stript along, Heard (and so staid to heare) this heauy Song. O Heauen! what may I hope for in this Caue? A Graue. But who to me this last of helpes shall retch? A Wretch. Shall none be by pittying so said a wight? Yes Night. Small comfort can befall in heauy plight To me poore Maid, in whose d stresses be Nor hope, nor helpe, nor one to pittie me, But a cold Graue, a Wretch, and darksome Night. To digge that Graue what fatall thing appeares? Thy Teares. What Bell shall ring me to that bed of ease? Rough Seas. And who for Mourners hath my Fate assign'd? Each Winde. Can any be debarr'd from such I finde? When to my last Rites Gods no other send To make my Graue, for Knell, or mourning friend, Then mine own Teares, rough Seas, & gusts of Wind. Teares must my graue dig: but who bringeth those Thy Woes. What Monument will Heauen my body spare? The Ayre. And what the Epitaph when I am gone? Obliuion. Most miserable I, and like me none Both dying, and in death, to whom is lent Nor Spade, nor Epitaph, nor Monument. Excepting Woes, Ayre and Obliuion. The end of this gaue life vnto a grone, As if her life and it had beene but one; Yet she as carelesse of reseruing either, If possible would leaue them both together. It was the faire Marina, almost spent With griefe and feare of future famishment. For (haplesse chance) but the last rosie morne The willing Redbrest flying through a Thorne, Against a prickle gor'd his tender side, And in an instant, so, poore creature, dyde. Thetis much mou'd with those sad notes she heard, He freeing thence to Triton soone referr'd; Who found the Caue as soone as set on shore, And by his strength remouing from the doore A weighty stone, brought forth the fearefull Maid, Which kindly led where his faire Mistresse staid Was entertain'd as well became her sort, And with the rest steer'd on to Thetis Court, Fo whose release from imminent decay My Muse a while will here keepe Holy-day.
FINIS.