LONDON Printed by N. O. for George Nor­ton, and are to be sold at his Shop without Temple-barre. 1614.

Of his Friend Maister William Browne.

A Poets borne, not made: No wonder then
Though Spencer, Sidney: (miracles of men,
Sole English Makers; whose cu [...]n names so bie
Expresse by implication Poesy)
Were long vnparaleld: For nature bold
In their creation, spent that precious mould,
That Nobly better earth, that purer spirit
Which Poets, as their Birth [...]ights, claime [...]inherite:
And in their great production, Prodigall;
Carelesse of futures well-nye spent her-all
Veiwing her work: conscious sh'had suffred wracke
Hath caus'd our Countrymen ere since to lacke
That better earth, and forme: Long thrifty growne
Who truely might heare Poets, brought forth none:
Till now of late, seeing her stockes new-full
(By Time, and Thrift) of matter beautifull,
And quint-essence of formes; what seuerall
Our elder Poets graces had, those all
Shee now determin'd to vnite in one;
So to surpasse her selfe; and call'd him Browne.
'That beggard by his birth, shee's now so poore
That of true Makers shee can make no more.
[Page] Heereof accus'd; answer'd, shee meant that [...]ee
A species should, no indiuiduum bee.
That (Phoenix-like) Hee in himselfe should find
Of Poesy contain'd each seuerall kind.
And from this Phoenix's vrne, thought shee could take
Whereof all following-Poetswell to make.
For of some forme, shee had, now made knowne
They were her errours whilst [...]'intented Browne.
In libellum, inscriptionem (que).
Not Aeglogues your, but Eclogues: To compare:
Virgil's selected, yours elected are.
Hee Imitates, you Make: and this your creature
Expresseth well your Name, and theirs, their Nature.
E. IOHNSON Int. Temp.

To the truely Vertuous, and worthy of all Honour, the Right Honourable EDVVARD, Lord ZOVCH, Saint MAVRE and CANTELVPE, and one of his Mties. most Honourable Priuy Councell.

BE pleas'd (great Lord) whē vnderneath the shades
Of your delightfull Brams-hill, (where the spring
Her flowers for gentle blasts with Zephire trades)
Once more to heare a filly Shepheard sing.
Yours be the pleasure, mine the Sonneting;
Eu'n that hath his delight; nor shall I need
To seeke applause amongst the common store
[...]t is enough if this mine-oaten Reed
Please but the eare it should; I aske no more.
Nor shall those rurall notes which heretofore
Your true attention grac'd and wing'd for fame
[...]mperfect lye; Obliuion shall not gaine
Ought on your worth, but sung shall be your name
[...]o long as England yeelds or song or Swaine.
Free are my lines, though drest in lowly state,
And scorne to flatter but the men I hate.
Your Honours. W. BROVVNE.

THE SHEPHEARDS PIPE. The first Eglogue.

Roget and Willy both ymet,
Vpon a greeny Ley,
With Rondelayes and Tales are set.
To spend the length of day.
ROGET, droope not, see the spring
Is the earth enamelling,
And the birds on euery Tree
Greete this morne with melody:
Hearke, how yonder Thrustle chants it,
And her mate as proudly vants it;
[Page] See how euery streame is drest
By her Margine, with the best
Of Flora's gifts, she seemes glad
For such Brookes such flowres she had.
All the trees are quaintly tyred
With greene buds, of all desired;
And the Hauthorne euery day,
Spreads some little shew of May:
See the Prim-rose sweetely set
By the much-lou'd Violet
All the Bankes do sweetly couer,
As they would inuite a Louer
With his Lasse, to see their dressing
And to grace them by their pressing?
Yet in all this merry tyde
When all cares are laid aside,
Roget sits as if his bloud
Had not felt the quickning good
Of the Sun, nor cares to play,
Or with songs to passe the day
As he wont: Fye, Roget flye,
Raise thy head, and merrily
Tune vs somewhat to thy reed:
See our Flockes do freely feed,
Heere we may together sit,
And for Musicke very fit
Is this place; from yonder wood
Comes an Eccho shrill and good,
Twice full perfectly it will
Answere to thine Oaten quill.
[...]oget, droope not then, but sing
Some kind welcome to the Spring.
[Page] Roget.
AH Willie, Willy, why should I,
Sound my notes of iollity?
Since no sooner can I play
Any pleasing Roundelay,
But some one or other still
'Gins to descant on my Quill;
And will say, by this, he me
Meaneth in his Minstralsie.
If I chance to name an Asse
In my song, it comes to passe,
One or other sure will take it
As his proper name, and make it
Fit to tell his nature too.
Thus what e're I chance to do
Happens to my losse, and brings
To my name the venom'd stings
Of ill report: How should I
Sound then notes of iollity?
TIs true indeed, we say all
Rub a gal'd horse on the gall,
Kicke he wil, storme and bite,
But the horse of sounder plight
Gently feeles his Maisters hand.
In the water thrust a brand
Kindled in the fire, 'twill hisse,
When a sticke that taken is
From the Hedge, in water thrust,
Neuer rokes as would the first,
But endures the waters touch:
Roget, so it fares with such
[Page] Whose owne guilt hath them enflam'd,
Rage when e're their vice is blam'd.
But who in himselfe is free
From all spots, as Lillies be,
Neuer stirres, do what thou can.
If thou slander such a man
Yet he's quiet, for he knowes
With him no such vices close.
Onely he that is indeed
Spotted with the leprous seed
Of corrupted thoughts, and hath
An vlcerous soule in the path
Of reproofe, he straight will brall
If you rub him on the gall.
But in vaine then shall I keepe
These my harmlesse flocke of sheepe.
And though all the day I tend them,
And from Wolues & Foxes shend them.
Wicked Swaines that beare mee spight,
In the gloomy vaile of night,
Of my fold will draw the pegges,
Or else breake my Lambkins legges:
Or vnhang my Weathers bell,
Or bring bryers from the dell,
And them in my fold by peeces
Cast, to tangle all their fleeces.
Welladay! such churlish Swaynes
Now and then lurke on our plaines:
That I feare, a time, ere long
Shall not heare a Sheepheards song.
Nor a Swayne shall take in taske
Any wrong, nor once vnmaske
Such as do with vices rife
Soyle the Sheepheards happy life:
[Page] Except he meanes his Sheepe shall bee
A prey to all their iniury.
This causeth mee I do no more
Chant so as I wont of yore:
Since in vaine then should I keepe
These my harmlesse flocke of Sheope.
YEt if such thou wilt not sing,
Make the Woods and Vallies ring
With some other kind of lore,
Roget hath enough in store,
Sing of loue, or tell some tale,
Praise the flowers, the Hils, the Vale:
Let vs not heere idle be;
Next day I will sing to thee.
Hearke on knap of yonder Hill
Some sweet Sheepheards tune his quill;
And the Maidens in a round
Sit (to heare him) on the ground.
And if thou begin, shall wee
Grac'd be with like company.
And to gird thy Temples bring
Garlands for such fingering.
Then raise thee Roget.
Gentle Swaine
Whom I honour for thy straine,
Though it would beseeme me more
To attend thee and thy lore:
Yet least thou might'st find in me
[...] neglect of courtesie,
[...] will sing what I did leere
[Page] Long agon in Ianiueere
Of a skilfull aged Site,
As we tosted by the fire.
SIng it out, it needs must be
Very good what comes from thee.
Whllome an Emperour prudent and wise,
Raigned in Rome, and had sonnes three
Which he had in great chiertee & great prise,
And when it shop so, that th'infirmitee
Of death, which no wight may eschew or flee
Him threw downe in his bed, hee let do call
His sonnes, and before him they came all.
And to the first he said in this maneere,
All th'eritage which at the dying
Of my fadir, he me left, all in feere
Leaue I thee: And all that of my buying
Was with my peny, all my purchasing,
My second sonne bequeath I to thee,
And to the third sonne thus said hee:
Vnmoueable good, right none withouten oath
Thee giue I may; but I to thee deuise
Iewels three, a Ring, Brooch and a Cloth:
With which, and thou bee guied as the wise,
Thou maist get all that ought thee suffi [...];
Who so that the Ring vseth still to weare
Of all folkes the loue hee shall conquere.
[Page] And who so the Broch beareth on his breast,
It is eke of such vertue and such kind,
That thinke vpon what thing him liketh best,
And he as bliue shall it haue and finde.
My words sonne imprint well in mind:
The Cloth eke hath a meruailous nature,
Which that shall be committed to thy cure.
Who so sit on it, if he wish where
In all the world to beene, he suddenly
Without more labour shall be there.
Sonne those three Iewels bequeath I
To thee, vnto this effect certainely
That to study of the Vniuersiree
Thou go, and that I bid and charge thee.
When he had thus said the vexation
Of death so hasted him, that his spirit
Anon forsooke his habitation
In his body, death would no respyte
Him yeue at all, he was of his life quitte.
And buried was with such solemnity,
As fell to his Imperiall dignity.
Of the yongest sonne I tell shall,
And speake no more of his brethren two,
For with them haue I not to do at all.
Thus spake the mother Ionathas vnto:
Sin God hath his will of thy father do:
To thy fathers Will, would I me conforme,
And truly all his Testament performe.
[Page] He three Iewels, as thou knowest well
A Ring, a Brooch, and a Cloth thee bequeath,
Whose vertues, he thee told euery deal,
Or that he past hence and yalde vp the breath:
O good God, his departing, his death
Full grieuously sticketh vnto mine heart,
But suffered mot been all how sore it smart.
In that case women haue such heauinesse,
That it not lyeth in my cunning aright
You tell, of so great sorrow the excesse,
But wise women can take it light,
And in short while put vnto the flight
All sorrow & woe, and catch againe comfort,
Now to my tale make I my resort.
Thy fathers will, my sonne, as I said ere,
Will I performe, haue heere the ring and go
To study anon, and when that thou art there,
As thy father thee bade, do euen so,
And as thou wilt my blessing haue also:
Shee vnto him as swy the tooke the Ring
And bad him keepe it well, for any thing.
Hee went vnto the study generall
Where he gat loue enough, and acquaintance
Right good and friendly, the ring causing all,
And on a day to him befell this chance,
With a woman, a morsell of pleasance
By the streetes of the Vniuersity,
As he was in his walking, met he.
[Page] And right as bliue he had with her a tale,
[...]nd therewithall sore in her loue he brent,
[...]ay, fresh and piked was she to the sale,
[...]or to that end, and to that intent
[...]he thither came, and both forth they went:
And he a pistle rowned in her eare,
Nat wot I what, for I ne came nat there.
[...]he was his Paramour shortly to sey,
This man to folkes all was so leefe,
That they him gaue aboundance of money,
He feasted folke, and stood at high boucheefe,
Of the lacke of good, hee felt no griefe,
All whiles the ring he with him had,
But fayling it, his friendship gan sad.
His Paramour which that'y called was
[...]ellicula, maruailed right greatly
Of the dispences of this Ionathas,
[...]in she no peny at all with him sy,
And on a night as there she lay him by
In the bed, thus she to him spake, and said,
And this petition assoile him praid.
O reuerent sir, vnto whom quoth she,
Obey I would ay with hearts humblenesse,
[...]ince that ye han had my virginitie,
[...]u I beseech of your high gentlenesse,
Tellith me whence comth the good and richesse
That yee with feasten folke, and han no store,
By ought I see can, ne gold, ne tresore.
[Page] If I tell it, quoth he, par auenture
Thou wilt discouer it, and out it publish,
Such is womans inconstant nature,
They cannot keep Councell worth a rish:
Better is my tongue keepe, than to wish
That I had kept close that is gone at large,
And repentance is thing that I more charge.
Nay good sir, quoth she, holdeth me not suspect
Doubteth nothing, I can be right secree,
Well worthy were it me to been abiect
From all good company, if I quoth she
Vnto you should so mistake me.
Be not adread your councell me to shew.
Well, said he, thus it is at words few.
My father the ring which that thou maist see
On my finger, me at his dying day
Bequeath'd, which this vertue and propertee
Hath, that the loue of men he shall haue aye
That weareth it, and there shall be no nay
Of what thing that him liketh aske & craue
But with good will, he shall as bliue it haue.
Through the rings vertuous excellence
Thus am I rich, and haue euer ynow.
Now Sir, yet a word by your licence
Suffreth me to say, and to speake now:
Is it wisedome, as that it seemeth you,
Weare it on your finger continually?
What woldst thou meane, quoth he, therby?
[Page] What perill thereof might there befall?
Right great, quoth she, as yee in company
Walke often, fro your finger might it fall,
Or plucked off been in a ragery
And so be lost, and that were folly:
Take it me, let me been of it wardeine,
For as my life keepe it would I certeine.
This Ionathas, this innocent yong man,
Giuing vnto her words full credence,
As youth not auised best be can:
The Ring her tooke of his insipience.
When this was done, the heat & the feruence
Of loue which he beforne had purchased,
Was quench'd, and loues knot was vnlaced.
Men of their gifts to stint began.
Ah thought he, for the ring I not ne beare,
Faileth my loue; fetch me woman
(Said he) my Ring, anon I will it weare.
She rose, and into chamber dresseth her,
And when she therein had been a while,
Alasse (quoth she) out on falshood and gyle.
The chest is broken, and the Ring take out,
And when he heard her complaint and cry,
He was astonied sore, and made a shout,
And said, Cursed be the day that I
Thee met first, or with mine eyne sy.
She wept and shewed outward cheere of wo,
But in her heart was it nothing so.
[Page] The ring was safe enough, and in her Chest
It was, all that she said was leasing,
As some woman other while at best
Can lye and weepe when is her liking.
This man saw her wee, and sayd Dearling
Weep no more, Gods helpe is nye,
To him vnwiste how false she was and slye.
He twyned thence, and home to his countree
Vnto his mother the streight way he went,
And when she saw thither comen was he,
My sonne, quoth she, what was thine intent
Thee, fro the schoole, now to absent?
What caused thee fro schoole hither to hye?
Mother, right this, said he, nat would I lye.
Forsooth mother, my ring is a goe,
My Paramour to keepe I betooke it,
And it is lost, for which I am full woe,
Sorrowfully vnto mine heart it sit.
Sonne, often haue I warned thee, and yet
For thy profit I warne thee my sonne,
Vnhonest women thou hereafter shunne.
Thy brooch anon right woll I to thee fet,
She brought it him, and charged him full deep
When he it tooke, and on his breast it set,
Bet than his ring he should it keepe,
Lest he the losse bewaile should and weepe.
To the vniuersity shortly to seyne
In what he could, he hasted him ageine.
[Page] And when he comen was, his Paramour
Him met anon, and vnto her him tooke
As that he did erst, this yong reuelour,
Her company he nat a deale forsooke,
Though he cause had, but as with the hooke
Of her sleight, he beforne was caught and hent,
Right so he was deceiued oft and blent.
And as through vertue of the Ring before
Of good he had abundance and plentee
While it was with him, or he had it lo [...]e:
Right so through vertue of the brooch had hee
What good him list; she thought, how may this be,
Some priuy thing now causeth this richesse:
As did the Ring herebefore I gesse.
Wondring hereon she praid him, and besought
Besily night and day, that tell he would
The cause of this; but he another thought,
He meant it close for him it kept be should,
And a long time it was or he it told.
She wept aye too and too, and said alasse,
The time and houre that euer I borne was!
Trust ye not on me Sir? she seid,
Leuer me were be slaine in this place,
By that good Lord that for vs all deid,
Then purpose againe you any fallace;
Vnto you would I be my liues space
As true, as any woman in earth is
Vnto a man doubteth nothing of this.
[Page] Small may she doe, that cannot well by heet,
Though not performed be such a promesse.
This Ionathas thought her words so sweet,
That he was drunke of the pleasant sweetnesse
Of them, and of his foolish tendernesse.
Thus vnto her he spake, and said tho,
Be of good comfort, why weepest thou so?
And she thereto answered thus, sobbing,
Sir quoth she, my heauinesse and dreed
Is this; I am adread of the leesing
Of your brooch, as Almighty God forbeed
It happen so: Now what so God thee speed,
Said he, wouldest thou in this case counsaile,
Quoth she, that I keep it might sans faile.
He said, I haue a feare and dread algate,
If I so did thou wouldst it leese
As thou lostest my ring, now gon but late,
First God pray I quoth she, that I not cheese,
But that my heart as the cold frost may freeze:
Or else be it brent with wild fire:
Nay, surely it to keepe is my desire.
To her words credence he gaue pleneere,
And the brooch tooke her, and after anone,
Whereas he was beforne full leefe and cheere
To folke, and had good, all was gone,
Good & frendship him lacked, there was none.
Woman, me fetch the brooch quoth he, swythee
Into thy chamber for it goe; hye thee.
[Page] She into chamber went, as then he bad,
[...]ut she not brought that he sent her fore,
[...]he meant it nat, but as she had be mad
Her clothes hath she all to rent and tore,
And cryd alasse, the brooch away is bore.
For which I wole anon right with my knife
My selfe slay, I am weary of my life.
This noice he heard, and bliue he to her ran,
[...]eening she would han done as she spake,
And the knife in all haste that he can
From her tooke, and threw it behind his back,
And said, ne for the losse, ne for the lacke
Of the brooch, sorrow not, I forgiue all,
I trust in God, that yet vs helpe he shall.
To th'Emperesse his mother this yongman
Againe him dresseth, he went her vnto,
And when she saw him, she to wonder gan,
The thought now somewhat there is misdoe,
And said, I dread thy Iewels two
Been lost now, percase the brooch with the ring.
Mother he said, yea, by heauen King.
[...]onne, thou wotst well no iewell is left
[...]nto thee now, but the cloath pretious
Which I thee take shall, thee charging eft
The company of women riotous
[...]hou flee, least it be to thee so gricuous
That thou it nat sustaine shalt ne beare
Such company on my blessing forbeare.
[Page] The cloth she felt, and it hath him take,
And of his Lady his mother, his leaue
He tooke, but first this forward gan he make▪
Mother said he, trusteth this weel and leeue,
That I shall seyn, for sooth ye shall it preeue,
If I leese this cloth, neuer I your face,
Henceforth see wole, ne you pray of grace;
With Gods helpe I shall do well ynow,
Her blessing he tooke, and to study is go,
And as beforne told haue I vnto you,
His Paramour his priuy mortall foe
Was wont to meet him, right euen so
She did than, & made him pleasant cheere:
They clip and kisse and walke homeward in feere.
When they were entred in the house, he sprad
This cloth vpon the ground, and thereon sit,
And bad his Paramour, this woman bad,
To sit also by him adowne on it.
She doth as he commandeth, and bit,
Had she this thought and vertue of the cloth
Wist, to han set on it, had she been loth.
She for a while was full sore affesed.
This Ionathas wish in his heart gan:
Would God that I might thus been eased,
That as on this cloth I and this woman
Sit heare, as farre were, as that neuer man
Or this came, & vnneth had he so thought,
But they with the cloth thither weren brought.
[Page] Right to the worlds end, as that it were.
When apparceiued had she this, she cry'd
As thogh she through girt had be with a spere.
Harrow! alasse that euer shope this tide!
How came we hither? Nay, he said, abide,
Worse is coming here sole wole I thee leaue
Wild beasts shallen thee deuoure or caue.
For thou my Ring & Brooch hast fro me holden.
O reuerent Sir! haue vpon me pittee,
Quoth she, if yee this grace do me wolden,
As bring me home againe to the Cittee
Where as I this day was, but if that yee
Them haue againe, of foule death do me dye
Your bountee on me kythe, I mercy cry,
This Ionathas could nothing beware,
Ne take ensample of the deceites tweine
That she did him beforne, but feith him bare,
And her he commanded on deaths peine
Fro such offences thenceforth her restreine:
She swore, and made thereto foreward,
But herkneth how she bore her afterward.
Whan she saw and knew that the wrath and ire
That he to her had borne, was gone and past,
And all was well: she thought him eft to fire,
In her malice aye stood she stedfast,
And to enquire of him was not agast
In so short time how that it might be
That they came thither out of her contree.
[Page] Such vertue hath this cloth on which we sit,
Said he, that where in this world vs be list
Sodeinly with the thought shallen thither flit,
And how thither come vnto vs vnwist:
As thing fro farre, vnknowne in the mist.
And therwith, to this woman fraudulent
To sleep he said, haue I good talent.
Let see, quoth he, stretch out anon thy lap,
In which wole I my head downe lay and rest,
So was it done, and he anon gan nap,
Nap? nay, he slept right well, at best,
What doth this woman, one the sicklest
Of women all, but that cloth that lay
Vnder him, she drew lyte and lyte away
Whan she it had all: would God, quoth she,
I were as I was this day morning!
And therewith this root of iniquitee
Had her wish, and sole left him there sleeping.
O Ionathas! like to thy perishing
Art thou, thy paramour made hath thy berd,
Whan thou wakest, cause hast thou to be ferd
But thou shalt do full well, thou shalt obteene
Victory on her, thou hast done some deed
Pleasant to thy mother, well can I weene,
For which our Lord quite shall thy meed,
And thee deliuer out of thy wofull dreed.
The child whom that the mother vseth blesse
Full often sythe is eased in distresse.
[Page] Whan he awoke, and neither he ne fond
Woman ne Cloth, he wept bitterly,
And said, Alasse! now is there in no lond
Man worse I know begon then am I
On euery side his looke he cast, and sy
Nothing but birds in the aire flying,
And wild beasts about him renning.
Of whose sight he full sore was agrysed,
He thought all this well deserued I haue,
What ayled me to be so euill auised,
That my counsell could I nat keepe and saue?
Who can foole play? who can mad and raue?
But he that to a woman his secree
Discouereth, the smart cleaueth now on me;
He thus departeth as God would harmlesse;
And forth of auenture his way is went,
But whitherward he draw, he conceitlesse
Was, he nat knew to what place he was bent.
He past a water which was so feruent
That flesh vpon his feet left it him none;
All cleane was departed from the bone.
It shope so that hee had a little glasse,
Which with that water anon filled he
And whan he further in his way gone was,
Before him he beheld and saw a tree
That faire fruit bore, and in great plentee:
He eate thereof, the taste him liked well,
But he there-through became a foule mesel.
[Page] For which vnto the ground for sorrow and wo
He fell, and said, cursed be that day
That'I was borne, and time and houre also
That my mother conceiued me, for ay
Now am I lost; alasse and well away!
And when some deel slaked his heauinesse,
He rose, and on his way he gan him dresse,
Another water before him he sye,
Which (sore) to comen in he was adrad:
But nathelesse, since thereby, other way
Ne about it there could none be had,
He thought so streitly am I bestad,
That though it sore me affese or gast,
Assoile it wole I, and through it he past.
And right as the first water his flesh
Departed from his feet, so the secownd
Restored it, and made all whole and fresh:
And glad was he, and ioyfull that stownd
Whan he felt his feet whole were and sound:
A violl of the water of that brooke
He fild, and fruit of the tree with him tooke.
Forth his iourney this Ionathas held,
And as he his looke about him cast,
Another tree from a farre he beheld,
To which he hasted, and him hied fast,
Hungry he was, and of the fruit he thrast
Into his mouth, and eate of it sadly,
And of the lepry he purged was thereby.
[Page] Of that fruit more he raught, & thence is gone
And a faire Castle from a farre, saw he
In compasse of which, heads many one
Of men there hung, as he might well see,
But not for that he shun would, or flee,
He thither him dresseth the streight way
In that euer that he can or may.
Walking so, two men came him ageine,
And saiden thus: deere friend we you pray
What man be ye? Sirs, quoth he, certeine
A leech I am, and though my selfe it say,
Can for the health of sicke folkes well pu [...]uay.
They said him, of yonder castle the King
A leper is, and can whole be for nothing.
With him there hath bin many a sundry leech
That vndertooke him well to cure and heale
On paine of their heads, but all to seech
Their Art was, 'ware that thou not with him deale,
But if thou canst the charter of health enseale;
Least that thou leese thy head, as didden they,
But thou be wise thou finde it shall no pley.
Sirs, said he, you thanke I of your reed,
For gently ye han you to me quit:
But I nat dread to loose mine heed,
By Gods helpe full safe keepe I will it,
God of his grace such cunning and wit
Hath lent me, that I hope I shall him cure,
Full well dare I me put in auenture.
[Page] They to the kings presence han him lad,
And him of the fruit of the second tree
He gaue to eate, and bad him to be glad,
And said, anon your health han shall yee;
Eke of the second water him gaue he
To drinke, & whan he those two had receiued
His Lepry from him voided was and weiued.
The King (as vnto his high dignity
Conuenient was) gaue him largely,
And to him said, If that it like thee
Abiden here, I more habundantly
Thee giue wole. My Lord sickerly,
Quoth he, faine would I your pleasure fulfill.
And in your high presence abide still.
But I no while may with you abide
So mochill haue I to done elsewhere.
Ionathas euery day to the sea side
Which was nye, went, to looke and enquere
If any ship drawing thither were
Which him home to his country lead might,
And on a day of ships had he sight.
Well a thirty, toward the Castle draw,
And at time of Euensong, they all
Arriueden, of which he was full faw,
And to the shipmen cry he gan and call,
And said, if it so hap might and fall,
That some of you me home to my countree
Me bring would, well quit should he bee.
[Page] And told them whither that they shoulden go.
One of the shipmen forth start at last,
And to him said, my ship and no moe
Of them that here been, doth shope and cast
Thither to wend; let see, tell on fast,
Quoth the shipman, that thou for my trauaile
Me giue wilt, if that I thither saile.
They were accorded, Ionathas forth goeth
Vnto the King to aske him licence
To twine thence, to which the king was loth,
And nathlesse with his beneuolence,
This Ionathas from his magnificence
Departed is, and forth to the shipman
His way he taketh, as swyth as he can.
Into the ship he entreth, and as bliue
As winde and wether good shope to be,
Thither as he purposed him arriue
They sailed forth, and came to the Cittee
In which this Serpentine woman was, shee
That had him terned with false deceitis,
But where no remedy followeth, streit is.
Turnes been quit, all be they good or bad
Sometime; though they put been in delay.
But to my purpose, she deemed he had
Been deuoured with beasts many a day
Gone, she thought he deliuered was for ay.
Folke of the Citty knew not Ionathas,
So many a yeare was past, that he there was.
[Page] Misliking and thought changed eke his face,
Abouten he go'th, and for his dwelling
In the Cittie, he hired him a place,
And therein exercised his cunning
Of Physicke, to whom weren repairing
Many a sicke wight, and all were healed,
Well was the sick man that with him dealed.
Now shape it thus that this Fellicula,
(The well of deceiuable doublenesse,
Follower of the steps of Dallida)
Was than exalted vnto high richesse,
But she was fallen into great sicknesse
And heard seine, for not might it been hid
How masterfull a leech he had him kid.
Messages solemne to him she sent,
Praying him to do so mochill labour
As come and see her; and he thither went:
Whan he her saw, that she his Paramour
Had been, he well knew, and for that dettour
To her he was, her he thought to quite
Or he went, and no longer it respite.
But what that he was, she ne wist nat
He saw her vrine, and eke felt her pous,
And said, the sooth is this plaine and flat,
A sicknesse han yee strange and meruailous,
Which to auoid is wonder dangerous:
To heale you there is no way but one,
Leech in this world other can finde none.
[Page] Auiseth you whether you list it take
Or not, for I told haue you my wit.
Ah sir, said she, for Gods sake,
That way me shew, and I shall follow it
What euer it be: for this sicknesse sit
So nigh mine heart, that I wot not how,
Me to demene, tell on I pray yow.
Lady yee must openly you confesse,
And if against good conscience and right,
Any good han ye take more or lesse,
Beforne this houre, of any manner wight,
Yeeld it anon; else not in the might
Of man is it, to giue a medicine
That you may heale of your sicknes & pine.
If any such thing be, tell out it reed,
And yee shall been all whole I you beheet;
Else mine Art is naught withouten dreed.
O Lord she thought health is a thing ful sweet
Therewith desire I souerainly to meet:
Since I it by confession may recouer,
A foole am I but I my guilt discouer.
How falsely to the sonne of th'Emperour
Ionathas, had she done, before them all
As yee han heard aboue, all that errour
By knew she, ô Fellicula thee call
Well may I so, for of the bitter gall
Thou takest the beginning of thy name,
Thou root of malice and mirrour of shame.
[Page] Than said Ionathas, where are those three
Iewels, that thee fro the Clerke with-drew?
Sit in a Coffer at my beds feet, yee
Shall finde them; open it, and so pray I you.
He thought not to make it queint and tow
And say nay, and streine courtesie,
But with right good will thither he gan hye.
The Coffer he opened, and them there fond,
Who was a glad man but Ionathas? who
The ring vpon a finger of his hond
He put, and the brooch on his breast also,
The cloth eke vnder his arme held he tho;
And to her him dresseth to done his cure.
Cure mortall, way to her sepulture.
He thought rue she should, and fore-thinke
That she her had vnto him mis bore.
And of that water her he gaue to drinke,
Which that his flesh from his bones before
Had twined, where through he was almost lore
Nad he relieued been, as ye aboue
Han heard, and this he did eke for her loue.
Of the fruit of the tree he gaue her ete,
Which that him made into the Leper stert,
And as bliue in her wombe gan they fret
And gnaw so, that change gan her hert,
Now harkneth how it her made smert.
Her wombe opened, & out fell each intraile
That in her was, thus it is said sans faile.
[Page] Thus wretchedly, (lo) this guile-man dyde,
And Ionathas with iewels three
No lenget there thought to abide,
But home to the Empresse his mother hasteth he,
Whereas in ioy, and in prosperitee
His life led he to his dying day,
And so God vs grant that we doe may.
By my hooke this is a Tale
Would befit our Whitson-ale:
Better cannot be I wist,
Descant on it he that list.
And full gladly giue I wold
The best Cosset in my fold,
And a Mazor for a fee,
If this song thou'lt teachen me.
Tis so quaint and fine a lay,
That vpon our reuell day
If I sung it, I might chance
(For my paines) be tooke to dance
With our Lady of the May.
Roget will not say thee nay,
If thou deem'st it worth thy paines.
Tis a song, not many Swaines
Singen can, and though it be
Not so deckt with nycetee
Of sweet words full neatly chused
As are now by Shepheards vsed:
Yet if well you sound the sence,
And the Morals excellence,
You shall finde it quit the while,
[Page] And excuse the homely stile.
Well I wot, the man that first
Sung this Lay, did quench his thirst,
Deeply as did euer one
In the Muses Helicon.
Many times he hath been seen
With the Farries on the greene,
And to them his Pipe did sound,
Whilst they danced in a round.
Mickle solace would they make him,
And at mid-night often wake him,
And convey him from his roome
To a field of yellow broo ne;
Or into the Medowes, where
Mints perfume the gentle Aire,
And where Flora spends her treasure:
There they would begin their measure.
If it chanc'd nights sable shrowds
Muffled Cinthia vp in clowds;
Safely home, they then would see him,
And from brakes and quagmires free him.
There are few such swaines as he
Now adayes for harmony.
What was he thou praisest thus?
Scholler vnto Tityrus.
Tityrus the brauest Swaine
Euer liued on the plaine,
Taught him how to feed his Lambes,
How to cure them, and their Dams:
How to pitch the fold, and then,
How he should remoue agen:
[Page] Taught him when the Corne was ripe,
How to make an Oaten Pipe,
How to ioyne them, how to cut them,
When to open, when to shut them,
And with all the skill he had
Did instruct this willing lad.
Happy surely was that Swaine!
And he was not taught in vaine:
Many a one that prouder is,
Han not such a song as this;
And haue garlands for their meed,
That but iarre as Skeltons reed.
Tis too true: But see the Sunne
Hath his iourney fully run;
And his horses all in sweate,
In the Ocean coole their heate;
Seuer we our sheepe and fold them,
T'will be night ere we haue told them.

THOMAS OCCLEEVE, one of the priuy Seale, com­posed first this tale, and was neuer till now imprinted. As this shall please, I may be drawne to publish the rest of his workes, being all perfect in my hands. Hee wrote in CHAVCER Stime.

THE SHEPHEARDS PIPE. The second Eglogue.

Two Shepheards here complaine the wrong
Done by a swinish Lout,
That brings his Hogges their Sheepe among,
And spoyles the Plaine throughout.
IOCKIE, say: what might he be
That sits on yonder hill?
And tooteth out his notes of glee
So vncouth and so shril?
Notes of glee? bad ones I trow,
I haue not heard beforne
[Page] One so mistooke as Willie now,
Tis some Sow-gelders horne.
And well thou asken mightst if I
Do know him, or from whence
He comes, that to his Minstralsie
Requires such patience.
He is a Swinward, but I thinke
No Swinward of the best.
For much he reketh of his swinke,
And carketh for his rest.
Harme take the Swine! What makes he heere?
What lucklesse planets frownes
Haue drawne him and his Hogges in feere
To root our daisied downes.
[...]ll more hee thriue! and may his Hogges
And all that ere they breed
Be euer worried by our Dogges,
For so presumptuous deed.
Why kept hee not among the Fennes?
Or in the Copses by,
Or in the Woods, and braky glennes,
Where Hawes and Acornes lye?
About the Ditches of the Towne,
Or Hedge-rowes hee might bring them.
But then some pence 'twould cost the Clowne
To yoke and eke to ring them.
And well I weene he loues no cost
But what is for his backe:
To goe full gay him pleaseth most,
And lets his belly lacke▪
[Page] Two sutes he hath, the one of blew,
The other home-spun gray:
And yet he meanes to make a new
Against next reuell day;
And though our May-lord at the feast
Seem'd very trimly clad,
In cloth by his owne mother drest,
Yet comes not neere this lad.
His bonnet neatly on his head,
With button on the top,
His shooes with strings of leather red,
And stocking to his slop.
And yet for all it comes to passe,
He not our gybing scapes:
Some like him to a trimmed Asse,
And some to lacke-an-Apes.
It seemeth then by what is said,
That Iockie knowes the Boore;
I would my scrip and hooke haue laid
Thou knewst him not before.
Sike lothed chance by fortune fell,
(If fortune ought can doe)
Not kend him? Yes. I ken him well
And sometime paid for't too.
Would Iockie euer stoope so low,
As conissance to take
Of sike a Churle? Full well I know
No Nymph of spring or lake,
[Page] No Heardesse, nor no shepheards gerle
But faine would sit by thee,
And Sea-nymphs offer shells of perle
For thy sweet melodie.
The Satyrs bring thee from the woods
The Straw-berrie for hire,
And all the first fruites of the budds
To wooe thee to their quire.
[...]iluanus songsters learne thy straine,
For by a neighbour spring
The Nightingale records againe
What thou dost primely sing.
Nor canst thou tune a Madrigall,
Or any drery mone,
But Nymphs, or Swaines, or Birds, or all
Permit thee not alone.
And yet (as though deuoid of these)
Canst thou so low decline,
As leaue the louely Naides
For one that keepeth Swine?
But how befell it?
Tother day
As to the field I set me,
Neere to the May-pole on the way
This sluggish Swinward met me.
And seeing Weptol with him there,
Our fellow-swaine and friend,
bad, good day, so on did fare
To my preposed end.
But as backe from my wintring ground
I came the way before,
This rude groome all alone I found
Stand by the Ale-house dore.
[Page] There was no nay but I must in
And taste a cuppe of Ale;
Where on his pot he did begin
To stammer out a tale.
He told me how he much desir'd
Th'acquaintance of vs Swaines,
And from the forrest was retir'd
To graze vpon our plaines:
But for what cause I cannot tell,
He can nor pipe nor sing,
Nor knowes he how to digge a well,
Nor neatly dresse a spring:
Nor knowes a trappe nor snare to till,
He sits as in a dreame;
Nor scarce hath so much whistling skill
Will hearten-on a teame.
Well, we so long together were,
I gan to haste a way,
He licenc'd me to leaue him there,
And gaue me leaue to pay.
Done like a Swinward; may you all
That close with such as he,
Be vsed so! that gladly fall
Into like company.
But if I faile not in mine Art,
Ile send him to his yerd,
And make him from our plaines depart
With all his durty herd.
I wonder he hath suffred been
Vpon our Common heere,
His Hogges doe root our yonger treen
And spoyle the smelling breere.
[Page] Our purest welles they wallow in,
All ouer-spred with durt,
Nor will they from our Arbours lin,
But all our pleasures hurt.
Our curious benches that we build
Beneath a shady tree,
Shall be orethrowne, or so defilde
As we would loath to see.
Then ioyne we Iockie; for the rest
Of all our fellow Swaines,
I am assur'd will doe their best
To rid him fro our plaines.
What is in me shall neuer faile
To forward such a deed.
And sure I thinke wee might preuaile
By some Satyricke reed.
[...]f that will doe, I know a lad
Can hit the maister-vaine.
But let vs home, the skyes are sad,
And clouds distill in raine.


Old NEDDY'S pouertie they mone.
Who whilome was a Swaine
That had more Sheepe himselfe alone,
Then ten vpon the plaine.
VVHere is euery piping lad
That the fields are not yclad
With their milk-white shee
Tell me: Is it Holy-day,
Or if in the Month of May
Vse they long to sleepe?
[Page] Piers.
Thomalin 'tis not too late,
For the Turtle and her mate
Sitten yet in nest:
And the Thrustle hath not been
Gath'ring worms yet on the green
But attends her rest.
Not a bird hath taught her yong,
Nor her mornings lesson sung
In the shady groue:
But the Nightingale in darke
Singing, woke the mounting Larke
She records her loue.
Not the Sun hath with his beames
Guilded yet our christall streames
Rising from the Sea,
Mists do crowne the mountaines tops,
And each pretty mirtle drops,
Tis but newly day.
Yet see yonder (though vnwist)
[...]ome man commeth in the mist;
Hast thou him be held?
[...]ee he crosseth or'e the land
With a dogg and staffe in hand,
Limping for his eld.
[...]es, I see him, and doe? know him,
[...]nd we all do reu'rence owe him,
Tis the aged Sire
[...]EDDY, that was wont to make
[...]ch great feasting at the wake,
And the
The Midsum­mer fires are tearmed so in the West parts of England.
[Page] Good old man! see how he walkes
Painfull and among the balkes
Picking lockes of wull:
I haue knowne the day when he
Had as much as any three,
When their lofts were full.
Vnderneath yond hanging rockes
All the valley with his Flockes
Was whilome ouer-spread:
Hee had milch-goates without peeres,
Well-hung kine, and fatned steeres
Many hundred head.
WILKINS core his Dairy was,
For a dwelling it may passe
With the best in towne.
Curds and Creame with other cheare,
Haue I had there in the yeare
For a greeny gowne.
Lasses kept it, as againe
Were not fitted on the plaine
For a lusty dance:
And at parting, home would take vs,
Flawnes or Sillibubs to make vs
For our iouisance.
And though some in spight would tell,
Yet old NEDDY tooke it well;
Bidding vs againe
Neuer at his Cote be strange:
Vnto him that wrought this change,
Mickle be the paine!
What disaster THOMALIN
This mischance hath cloth'd him in,
Quickly tellen me;
[Page] Rue I doe his state the more,
That hee clipped heretofore
Some felicity.
Han by night accursed theeues
Slaine his Lambs, or stoine his Beeues?
Or consuming fire
Brent his shearing-house, or stall;
Or a deluge drowned all?
Tell me it intire.
Haue the Winters been so set
To raine and snow, they haue wet
All his driest Laire:
By which meanes his sheepe haue got
Such a deadly curelesse rot,
That none liuing are?
Thomal [...]n.
Neither waues, nor theeues, nor fire,
Nor haue rots impoor'd this Sire,
Suretiship, nor yet
Was the vsurer helping on
With his damn'd extortion,
Nor the chaines of debt.
But deceit that euer lies
Strongest arm'd for treacheries
In a bosom'd friend:
That (and onely that) hath brought it.
Cursed be the head that wrought it!
And the basest end.
Groomes he had, and he did send them
With his heards a field, to tend them,
Had they further been;
Sluggish, lazy, thriftlesse elues,
Sheep had better kept themselues
From the Foxes teen.
[Page] Some would kill their sheepe, and then
Bring their maister home agen
Nothing but the skin;
Telling him, how in the morne
In the fold they found them torne,
And nere lying lin.
If they went vnto the faire
With a score of farned ware,
And did chance to sell,
If old NEDDY had againe
Halfe his owne; I dare well saine,
That but seldome fell.
They at their returne would say,
Such a man, or such would pay,
Well knowne of your Hyne.
Alas poore man! that subtill knaue
Vndid him, and vaun [...] i [...] braue
Though his Maister pine.
Of his maister he would begg
Such a lambe that broke his legg,
And if there were none:
To the fold by night hee'd hye,
And them hurt full rufully
Or with staffe or stone.
Hee would haue petitions new,
And for desp'rate debts would sue
NEDDY had forgot:
He would grant: the other then
Tares from poore and aged men:
Or in Iayles they rot.
NEDDY lately rich in store,
Giuing much, deceiued more,
On a sudden fell:
[Page] Then the Steward lent him gold,
Yet no more then might bee told
Worth his maisters Cell.
That is gone, and all beside,
(Well-a-day, alacke the tide)
In a hollow den,
Vnderneath yond gloo my wood
Wons he now, and wails the brood
Of ingrateful men.
But alas! now hee is old,
Bit with hunger, nipt with cold,
What is left him?
Or to succour, or releeue him,
Or from wants oft to repreeue him
Al's bereft him,
Saue he hath a little crowd,
(Hee in youth was of it prowd)
And a dogge to dance:
With them, he on holy-dayes
In the Farmers houses playes
For his sustenance.
See; he's neere, let's rise and meet him,
And with dues to old age, greet him,
It is fitting so.
Tis a motion good and sage,
Honour still is due to age:
Vp, and let vs go.



In this the Author bewailes the death of one whom he shadoweth vnder the name of Philarete, compounded of the Greeke words [...] and [...], a louer of ver­tue, a name well be fitting him to whose memory these lines are consecrated, being sometime his truly loued [...] now as much lamented) friend Mr THOMAS MANVVOOD. sonne to the worthy Sir PETER MANVVOOD Knight.

VNDER an aged Oke was WILLY laid,
Willy, the lad who whilome made the rockes
To ring with ioy, whilst on his pipe he plaid,
And from their maisters wood the neighbring flockes.
But now o're-come with dolors deepe
That nye his heart-strings rent,
Ne car'd he for his silly sheepe,
Ne car'd for merriment.
But chang'd his wonted walkes
For vncouth paths vnknowne,
Where none but trees might heare his plaints,
And eccho rue his mone.
[Page] Autumne it was, when droop't the sweetest floures,
And Riuers (swolne with pride) orelook'd the bankes,
Poore grew the day of Summers golden houres,
And void of sapp stood Ida's Cedar-rankes,
The pleasant meadows sadly lay
In chill and cooling swears
By rising fountaines, or as they
Fear'd Winters wastfull threats.
Against the broad-spred Oke,
Each winde in fury beares;
Yet fell their leaues not halfe so fast
As did the Shepheards teares.
As was his seate, so was his gentle heart,
Meeke and deiected, but his thoughts as hye
As those aye-wandring lights, who both impart
Their beames on vs, and heauen still beautifie.
Sad was his looke, (ò heauy Fate!
That Swaine should be so sad
Whose merry notes the forlorne mate
With greatest pleasure clad.)
Broke was his tunefull pipe
That charm'd the Christall Floods,
And thus his griefe tooke airie wings
And flew about the woods.
[Page] Day, thou art too officious in thy place,
And night too sparing of a wished stay,
Yee wandring lampes: ô be ye fixt a space!
Some other Hemisphere grace with your ray.
Great Phoebus! Daphne is not heree,
Nor Hyacinthus faire;
Phoebe! Endimion and thy deere
Hath long since clef [...] the aire.
But yee haue surely seene
(Whom we in sorrow misse)
A Swaine whom Phoebe thought her loue,
And Titan deemed his.
But he is gone; then inwards turne your light,
Behold him there; here neuer shall you more;
O're-hang this sad plaine with eternall night!
Or change the gaudy green she whilome wore
To fenny blacke. HYPERION great
To ashy palenesse turne her!
Greene well befits a louers heate
But blacke beseernes a mourner.
Yet neither this thou canst,
Nor see his second birth,
His brightnesse blindes thine eye more now,
Then thine did his on earth.
[Page] Let not a shepheard on our haplesse plaines,
Tune notes of glee, as vsed were of yore!
For PHILARET is dead, let mirthfull straines
With PHILARETE cease for euermore!
And if a fellow swaine doe liue
A niggard of his teares;
The Shepheardesses all will giue
To store him, part of theirs.
Or I would lend him some,
But that the store I haue
Will all be spent before I pay
The debt I owe his graue.
O what is left can make me leaue to mone?
Or what remains but doth increase it more!
Looke on his sheepe: alas! their masters gone.
Looke on the place where we two heretofore
With locked arms haue vowd our loue,
(Our loue which time shall see
In shepheards songs for euer moue,
And grace their harmony)
It solitary seemes.
Behold our flowrie beds;
Their beauties fade, and Violets
For sorrow hang their heads.
[Page] Tis not a Cypresse bough, a count'nance sad,
A mourning garment, wailing Elegie,
A standing herse in sable vesture clad,
A Toombe built to his names eternitie,
Although the shepheards all should striue
By yearly obsequies,
And vow to keepe thy fame aliue
In spight of destinies
That can suppresse my griefe:
All these and more may be,
Yet all in vaine to recompence
My greatest losse of thee
Cypresse may fade, the countenance bee changed,
A garment rot, an Elegie forgotten,
A herse'mongst irreligious rites bee ranged,
A toombe pluckt down, or else through age be rotten:
All things th'vnpartiall hand of Fate
Can raze out with a thought,
These haue a seu'rall fixed date,
Which ended, turne to nought,
Yet shall my truest cause
Of sorrow firmly stay,
When these effects the wings of Time
Shall fanne and sweepe away.
[Page] Looke as a sweet Rose fairely budding forth
Bewrayes her beauties to th'enamour'd morne,
Vntill some keeneblast from the enuious North,
Killes the sweet budd that was but newly borne,
Or else her rarest smels delighting
Make her, her selfe betray
Some white and eurious hand inuiting
To plucke her thence away.
So stands my mournfull case,
For had he beene lesse good,
He yet (vncropt) had kept the stocke
Whereon he fairely stood.
Yet though so long hee liu'd not as hee might,
Hee had the time appointed to him giuen.
Who liueth but the space of one poore night,
His birth, his youth, his age is in that Eeuen.
Who euer doth the period see
Of dayes by heau'n forth plotted,
Dyes full of age, as well as hee
That had more yeares alotted.
In sad Tones then my verse
Shall with incessant teares
Bemoane my haplesse losse of him
And not his want of yeares.
[Page] In deepest passions of my griefe-swolne breast
(Sweete soule!) t [...]is onely comfort seizeth me,
That so few yeares should make thee so much blest,
And gaue such wings to reach ETERNITY.
Is this to dye? No: as a shippe
Well built, with easie winde
A lazy hulke doth farre out-strippe,
And soonest harbour finde:
Quicke was his passage giuen,
When others must haue longer time
To make them fit for heauen.
Then not for thee these briny teares are spent,
But as the Nightingale against the breere
Tis for my selfe I moane, and doe lament
Not that thou left'st the world, but left'st mee heere.
Heere, where without thee all delights
Faile of their pleasing powre,
All glorious dayes seeme vgly nights,
Me thinkes no Aprill showre
Embroder should the earth,
But briny reares distill,
Since FLORA'S beauties shall no more
Be honour'd by thy quill.
[Page] And yee his sheepe (in token of his lacke)
Whilome the fairest flocke on all the plaine:
Yeane neuer Lambe, but bee it cloath'd in blacke.
Yee shady Sicamours! when any Swaine,
To carue his name vpon your rinde
Doth come, where his doth stand,
Shedde droppes, if he be so vnkinde
To raze it with his hand.
And thou my loued Muse
No more should'st numbers moue,
But that his name should euer liue,
And after death my loue.
This said, he sigh'd, and with o're-drowned eyes
Gaz'd on the heauens for what he mist on earth;
Then from the earth, full sadly gan arise
As farre from future hope as present mirth,
Vnto his Cote with heauy pace
As euer sorrow trode
He went, with minde no more to trace
Where mirthfull Swaines abode,
And as he spent the day,
The night he past alone,
Was neuer Shepheard lou'd more deere,
Nor made a truer mone.

TO THE VERTVOVS and much lamenting Sisters of my euer admired friend, Mr THO­MAS MANVVOOD.

To me more known then you, is your sad chance,
Oh! had I still enioy'd such ignorance;
Then, I by these spent teare not bin known,
Nor left anothers griefe to sing mine owne.
Yet since his fate hath wrought these throes
Permit a Partner in your woes
The cause doth yeeld, and still may do
Ynough for YOV, and others to [...]
But if such plaints for YOV are kep.
Yet may I grieue since you haue wept.
For hee more perfect growes to be [...]
That feeles anothers MISERIE
And thogh these drops wch mourning run
From seuerall Fountaines first begun
And some farre off, some neerer sleete
They will (at last) in one streame meete
Mine shal with yours, yours mix wth mine
And make one Offring at his Shrine:
For whose ETERNITIE on earth, my Muse
To build this ALTAR, did her best skill vse;
And that you, I, and all that held him deere,
Our teares and sighes might freely offer heere.


WILLY incites his friend to write
Things of a higher fame
Then silly Shephards vse endite
Valid in a Shepheards name.
MOrne had got the start of night,
Lab'ring men were ready dight
With their shouels and their spades
For the field, and (as their trades)
[Page] Or at hedging wrought, or ditching
For their food more then enritching.
When the shepheards from the fold
All their bleating charges told,
And (full carefull) search'd if one
Of all their flocke were hurt or gone,
Or (if in the night-time cul'd)
Any had their fleeces pul'd:
'Mongst the rest (not least in care)
CVTTY to his fold gan fare,
And yong WILLY (that had giuen
To his flocke the latest euen
Neighbourhood with CVTTY's sheep)
Shaking off refreshing sleepe,
Hy'd him to his charge that blet;
Where he (busied) CVTTY met.
Both their sheepe told, and none mist
Of their number; then they blist
PAN, and all the Gods of plaines
For respecting of their traines
Of silly sheepe; and in a song
Praise gaue to that holy throng.
Thus they draue their flockes to graze,
Whose white fleeces did amaze
All the Lillies, as they passe
Where their vsuall feeding was.
Lillies angry that a creature
Of no more eye-pleasing feature
Then a sheepe, by natures duty
should be crownd with far more beauty
Then a Lilly; and the powre
Of white in sheepe, ourgoe a flowre:
From the middle of their sprout
(Like a Furies sting) thrust out
[Page] Dart-like forks in death to steep them,
But great PAN did safely keepe them;
And affoorded kinde repaire
To their dry and wonted laire,
Where their maisters (that did eye them)
Vnderneath a Haw-thorne by them,
On their pipes thus gan to play,
And with rimes weare out the day.
CEase CVTTY: cease, to feed these simple Flockes,
And for a Trumpet change thine Oaten-reeds;
O're-looke the vallies as aspiring rockes,
And rather march in steele, then shepheards weeds.
Beleeue me CVTTY! for heroicke deeds
Thy verse is fit; not for the liues of Swaines,
(Though both thou canst do well) and none proceeds
To leaue high pitches for the lowly plaines:
Take thou a Harpe in hand, striue with APOLLO;
Thy Muse was made to lead, then scorne to follow.
WILLY: to follow sheepe I ne're shall scorne;
Much lesse to follow any Deity;
Who'gainst the Sun (though weakned by the morne)
Would vie with lookes, needeth an Eagles eye,
[...] dare not search the hidden mistery
Of tragicke Scenes; nor in a buskin'd stile
Through death and horror march, nor their height fly
Whose pens were fed with blood of this faire Ile.
It shall content me, on these happy downes
To sing the strife for garlands, not for crownes.
[Page] Willie.
O who would not aspire, and by his wing
Keep stroke with fame, and of an earthly iarre
Another lesson teach the Spheres to sing?
Who would a shepheard that might be a star?
See learned Cutty, on yond mountaines are
Cleere springs arising, and the climbing goat
That can get vp, hath water cleerer farre
Then when the streames do in the vallies float.
What mad-man would a race by torch-light run
That might his steps haue vsher'd by the Sunne?
We Shepheards tune out layes of Shepheards loues,
Or in the praise of shady groues, or springs;
We seldome heare of CITHEREA's Doues,
Except when some more learned Shepheard sings;
And equall meed haue to our sonetings:
A Belt, a sheep-hooke, or a wreath of flowres,
Is all we seeke; and all our versing brings,
And more deserts then these are seldome ours.
But thou whose muse a falcons pitch can sore
Maist share the bayes euen with a Conqueror.
Why doth not WILLY then produce such lines
Of men and armes as might accord with these?
Cause Cutties spirit not in Willy shines,
Pan cannot weild the Club of Hercules,
Nor dare a Merlin on a Heron seise.
Scarce know I how to fit a shepheards eare;
Farre more vnable shall I be to please
In ought, which none but semi-gods must heare;
When by thy verse (more able) time shall see
Thou canst giue more to kings then kings to thee.
[Page] Cuttie.
But (wel-a-day) who loues the muses now?
Or helpes the climber of the sacred hill?
None leane to them: but striue to disalow
All heauenly dewes the goddesses distill.
Let earthly mindes base mucke for euer fill,
Whose musicke onely is the chime of gold,
Deafe be their eares to each harmonious quil!
As they of learning thinke, so of them hold.
And if ther's none deserues what thon canst doe,
Be then the Poet and the Patron too.
I tell thee Cuttie, had I all the sheepe
With thrice as many moe, as on these plaines
Or shepheard or faire maiden sits to keepe,
I would them all forgoe, so I thy straines
Could equalize: O how our nearest swaines
Do trim themselues, when on a holy-day
They hast to heare thee sing, knowing the traines
Of fairest Nymphs wil come to learne thy lay.
Well may they run and wish a parting neuer, (uer,
So thy sweet tongue might charme their eares for e [...]
These attributes (my lad) are not for me,
Bestow them where true merit hath assign'd;
And do I not? bestowing them on thee:
Beleeue me Cuttie, I doe beare this minde,
That whereso'ere we true deseruing finde,
To giue a silent praise is to detract;
[Page] Obscure thy verses (more then most refin'd)
From any one, of dulnesse so compact.
And rather sing to trees then to such men,
Who know not how to crowne a Poets pen.
WILLY, by thy incitement I'le assay
To raise my subiect higher then tofore,
And sing it to our Swaines next holy-day,
Which (as approu'd) shall fill them with the store
Of such rare accents; if dislik'd, no more
Will I a higher straine then shepheards vse,
But sing of Woods and Riuers as before.
Thou wilt be euer happy in thy Muse.
But see, the radiant Sun is gotten hye,
Let's seeke for shadow in the groue hereby.


PHILOS of his Dogge doth bragge
For hauing many feates;
The while the Curre vndoes his bagge,
And all his dinner eates.
STay IOCKIE, let vs rest here by this spring,
And PHILOS too, since we so well are met;
This spreading Oke will yeeld vs shadowing
Till Phaebus steeds be in the Ocean wet.
[Page] Iockie.
Gladly (kind swaine) I yeeld, so thou wilt play
And make vs merry with a Roundelay.
No Iockie, rather wend we to the wood,
The time is fit, and Filberds waxen ripe,
Let's go and fray the Squirrell from his food;
We will another time heare Willie pipe.
But who shall keepe our flockes when we are gone?
I dare not go and let them feed alone.
Nor I: since but the other day it fell,
Leauing my sheep to graze on yonder plaine,
I went to fill my bottle at the well,
And ere I could return two lambs were slaine.
Then was thy dogg iil taught, or else a sleepe;
Such Curres as those shall neuer watch my sheepe.
Yet Philos hath a dogg not of the best;
He seemes too lazy, and will take no paines,
More fit to lye at home and take his rest
Then catch a wandring sheep vpon the plains.
Tis true indeed: and Philos wot ye what?
I thinke he playes the Fox he growes so fat.
[Page] Philos.
Yet hath not Iockie nor yet Willie seene
A dogge more nimble then is this of mine,
Nor any of the Fox more heedfull beene
When in the shade I slept, or list to dine.
And though I say't, hath better tricks in store
Then both of yours, or twenty couple more.
How often haue the maidens stroue to take him,
When he hath crost the plaine to barke at Crowes?
How many Lasses haue I knowne to make him
Garlands to gird his necke, with which he goes
Vaunting along the lands so wondrous trim,
That not a dog of yours durst barke at him.
And when I list (as often-times I vse)
To tune a Horne-pipe, or a Morris-dance,
The dogge (as hee by nature could not chuse)
Seeming asleepe before, will leap and dance.
Belike your dog came of a Pedlers brood,
Or Philos musicke is exceeding good.
I boast not of his kin, nor of my Reed,
(Though of my reed and him I wel may boast)
Yet if you will aduenture that some meed
Shall be to him that is in action most,
As for a Coller of shrill sounding bels
My dog shall striue with yours, or any's els.
[Page] Iockie.
PHILOS in truth I must confesse your Wagge
(For so you call him) hath of trickes good store,
To steale the vittailes from his maisters bagge,
More cunningly, I nere saw dogge before.
See WILLY, see! I prithee PHILOS note
How fast thy bread & cheese goes down his throte.
Now PHILOS see how mannerly your Curre,
Your well-taught dog, that hath so many trickes,
Deuoures your Dinner.
I wish 'twere a burre
To choke the Mungtell!
See how cleane he lickes
Your Butter-boxe; by Pan, I doe not meanly
Loue Philos dog that loues to be so cleanly.
Well flouted IOCKIE.
PHILOS! run amaine,
For in your scrip hee now hath thrust his head
So farre, he cannot get it forth againe;
See how he blind-fold strags along the mead;
And at your scrip your bottle hangs, I thinke.
He loues your meat, but cares not for your drinke.
I, so it seemes: and PHILOS now may goe
Vnto the wood, or home for other cheere.
[Page] Philos.
Twere better he had neuer seru'd me so,
Sweet meat, sowre sauce, he shal abye it deere.
What must he be aforehand with his maister?
Onely in kindnesse hee would be your taster.
Well Willy you may laugh, and vrge my spleen;
But by my hooke I sweare he shall it rue,
And had far'd better had hee fasting been.
But I must home for my allowance new.
So farewell lads. Looke to my fleeced [...]raine
Till my returne.
We will.
Make haste againe.


PALINODE intreates his friend
To leaue a wanton Lasse;
Yet hee pursue her to his end
And [...] all Councell passe.
WHither wends Hobbinoll so early day?
What be thy Lamkins broken from the fold,
And on the plaines all night haue run ast ray?
Or are thy sheepe and sheep-walkes both ysold?
What mister-chance hath brought thee to the field
Without thy sheepe? thou wert not wont to yeeld
[Page] To idle sport,
But didst resort
As early to thy charge from drowzy bed
As any shepheard that his flocke hath fed
Vpon these downes.
Such heauy frownes
Fortune for others keepes; but bends on me
Smiles would be fit the seat of maiestie.
Hath Palinode
Made his abode
Vpon our plaines, or in some vncouth Cell?
That heares not what to Hobbinoll befell;
Phillis the faire, and fairer is there none,
To morrow must be linkt in marriage bands,
Tis I that must vndo her virgin Zone.
Behold the man, behold the happy hands.
Behold the man? Nay then the woman too,
Though both of them are very smal beholding
To any powre that set them on to wooe;
Ah Hobbinoll! it is not worth vnfolding
What shepheards say of her; thou canst not chuse
But heare what language all of Phillis vse;
Yet, then such tongues,
To her belongs
More men to sate her lust; vnhappy elfe!
That wilt be bound to her to loose thy selfe.
Forsake her first.
[Page] Hobinoll.
Thou most accurst!
Durst thou to slander thus the innocent,
The graces patterne, Vertues president?
She, in whose eye
Shines modesty,
Vpon whose brow lust neuer lookes with hope,
Venus rul'd not in Phillis Horoscope;
Tis not the vapour of a Hemblocke stem
Can spoile the perfume of sweet Cynnamon;
Nor vile aspersions, or by thee or them
Cast on her name, can stay my going on.
On maist thou goe, but not with such a one,
Whom (I dare sweare) thou knowst is not a maid:
Remember when I met her last alone
As wee to yonder Groue for filberds straid,
Like to a new-strook Doe from out the bushes,
Lacing herselfe, and red with gamesome blushes
Made towards the greene,
Loth to be seene:
And after in the groue the goatheard met:
What saidst thou then? If this preuaile not, yet
I'le tell thee moe.
Not long agoe
Too long I lou'd her, and as thou dost now
Would sweare Diana was lesse chaste then she,
That Iupiter would court her, knew he how
To finde a shape might tempt such chastity:
And that her thoughts were pure, as new-falne snow
Or siluer swans that trace the bankes of Poe,
And free within
From spot of sin:
[Page] Yet like the flinte her lust-swolne breast conceal'd
A hidden fire; and thus it was reueal'd:
Cladon, the Lad
Who whilome had
The Garland giuen for throwing best the barre,
I know not by what chance or lucky star
Was chosen late
To bee the mate
Vnto our Lady of the gleesome May
And was the first that danc'd each holyday,
None would hee take but Phillis forth to dance,
Nor any could with Phillis dance but hee,
On Palinode shee then ceforth not a glance
Bestowes, but hates him and his pouerty,
Cladon had sheepe and lims for stronger lode
Then ere shee saw in simple Palinode,
Hee was the man
Must clip her than,
For him shee wreathes of flowers, and chaplets made
To strawberries inuites him in the shade,
In sheering time
And in the prime
Would helpe to clip his sheepe, and gard his lambs,
And at a need lend him her choicest rams,
And on each stocke
Worke such a clocke
With twisted couloured thred; as not a Swaine
On all these downes could shew the like againe.
But as it seemes, the Well grew dry at last,
Her fire vnquench'd; and shee hath Cladon left,
Nor was I sorry; nor do wish to taste
The flesh whereto so many flyes haue cleft.
Oh Hobbinoll! Canst thou imagine shee
That hath so oft beene tryde so oft misdone,
[Page] Can from all other men bee true to thee?
Thou knowst with mee, with Cladon, shee hath gone
Beyond the limites that a maiden may,
And can the name of wife those rouings stay?
Shee hath not ought
That's hid, vnsought,
These eyes, these hands, so much know of that woman
As more thou canst not; can that please that's cōmon?
No: should I wed,
My marriage bed
And all that it containes, should as my heart
Be knowne but to my selfe; if wee impart
What golden rings
The Fairie brings,
Wee loose the Iem nor will they giue vs more,
Wiues loose their value if once knowne before
Behold this Violet that cropped lyes,
I know not by what hand first from the stem,
With what I plucke my selfe shall I it prise?
I scorne the offals of a Diadem.
A Virgins bed hath millions of delights
If then good parents please shee know no more:
Nor hath her seruants nor her fauorites
That waite her husbands issuing at dore:
Shee that is free both from the act and eye
Onely deserues the due of Chastitie.
But Phillis is
As farre from this,
As are the Poles in distance from each other
Shee well beseemes the daughter of her mother.
Is there a brake
By Hill or Lake
In all our plaines that hath not guilty beene
In keeping close her stealths; the Paphian Queene
[Page] Ne're vs'd her skill
To win her will
Of yong Adonis, with more heart then shee
Hath her allurements spent to work on moe.
Leaue, leaue her Hobinol; shee is so ill
That any one is good that's nought of her,
Though she be faire, the ground which oft we till
Growes with his burden old and barrenner.
With much ado, and with no little paine
Haue I out-heard thy railing 'gainst my loue:
But it is common, what wee cannot gaine
Wee oft disualew; sooner shalt thou moue
Yond lofty Mountain from the place it stands,
Or count the Medowes flowers, or Isis sands
Then stirre one thought
In mee, that ought
Can be in Phillis which Diana faire
And all the Goddesses would not wish their.
Fond man then cease
To crosse that peace
Which Phillis vertue and this heart of mine
Haue well begun; and for those words of thine
I do forgiue
If thou wilt liue
Heereafter free from such reproaches moe,
[...]ince goodnesse neuer was without her foe.
[...]eleeue mee Hobinoll what I haue said
[...]as more in loue to thee then hate to her:
[Page] Thinke on thy liberty; let that bee weigh'd;
Great good may oft betide if wee deferre
And vse some short delayes ere marriage rites
Wedlocke hath daies of toile as ioysome nights.
Canst thou bee free
From iealousy?
Oh no: that plague will so infect thy braine
That onely death must worke thy peace againe.
Thou canst not dwell
One minute well
From whence thou leau'st her; locke on her thy gate
Yet will her minde bee still adulterate.
Not Argos eyes
Nor ten such spies
Can make her onely thine; for shee will do
With those, that, shall make thee mistrust them to [...].
Wilt thou not leaue to taint a virgines name [...]
A virgine' yes: as sure as is her mother.
Dost thou not heare her good report by fame?
Fame is a lyer and was neuer other.
Nay, if shee euer spoke true; now shee did:
And thou wilt once confesse what I foretold
The fire will bee discos'd that now lies hid,
Nor will thy thought of her thus long time hold.
Yet may shee (if that possible can fall)
Bee true to thee that hath beene false to all.
[Page] Hobbinoll.
So pierce the rockes
A Red-breasts knockes
As the beleefe of ought thou tell'st mee now.
Yet bee my guest to morrow.
Speed your plough.
I feare ere long
You'le sing a song
Like that was sung heereby not long ago.
Where there is carrion neuer wants a crow.
Ill tuto [...]'d Swaine,
If one the plaine
Thy sheep hence-forward come where mine do feed,
They shall bee sure to smart for thy misdeed.
Such are the thankes a friends fore-warning brings.
Now by the loue I euer bore thee, stay!
Meete not mishaps! themselues haue speedy wings.
It is in vaine. Farewell. I must away.
W. B.


LONDON Printed by N. O. for G. Norton. 1614.

To his much loued friend Mr W. Browne of the Inner Temple. D. D.

WIlly well met, now whiles thy flockes do feed
So dangerlesse, and free from any feare;
Lay by thy Hooke, and take thy pleasant Reed,
And with thy melody reblesse mine eare,
Which (vpon Lammas last) and on this plaine,
Thou plaidst so sweetly to thy skipping Traine.
I Cutty, then I plaid vnto my sheepe
Notes apt for them, but farre vnfit for thee;
How should my layes (alas) true measure keepe
With thy choyce eares, or make thee melodie:
For in thy straine thou do'st so farre exceede,
Thou canst not rellish such my homely Reede.
[Page] Cuttie.
Thy nicenesse shewes thy cunning, nothing more,
Yet since thou seem'st so lowly in thy thought;
(Who in thy Pastorall veine, and learned lore
Art so much prais'd; so farre and neere art sought.)
Lend me thine eares, and thou shalt heare me sing
In praise of Shepheards, and of thee their King.
MY loued WILLY, if there be a Man
That neuer heard of a browne colour'd Swan;
Whose tender Pinions scarcely fledg'd in show
Could make his way with whitest Swans in Poe;
Or if there be among the Spawne of earth,
That thinkes so vilely of a shepheards birth,
That though he tune his Reed in meanest key,
Yet in his braine holds not heauen, earth, and sea:
Then let him know, thou art that yong browne Swan,
That through the winding streames of Albion
Taking thy course dost seeme to make thy pace
With flockes full plum'd equall in loue and grace;
And thou art he (that though thy humble straines
Do moue delight to those that loue the plaines:)
Yet to thy selfe (as to thy sort) is giuen
A IACOBS staffe, to take the height of Heauen;
And with a naturall Cosmography,
To comprehend the earths rotunditie:
Besides the working plummet of thy braine,
Can sound the deepes, and secrets of the maine:
For if the Shepheard a true figure be
Of Contemplation (as the learn'd agree)
Which in his seeming rest, doth (restlesse) moue
About the Center, and to Heau'n aboue;
And in his thought is onely bounded there,
See's Natures chaine fastned to IOVES high Chaire,
[Page] Then thou (that art of PAN the sweetest Swaine
And farre transcending all his lowly traine)
In thy discoursiue thought, do'st range as farre
Nor canst thou erre; led by thine owne faire starre.
Thought hath no prison and the minde is free
Vnder the greatest King and tyrannie.
Though low thou seem'st thy Genius mounts the Hill
Where heauenly Nectar doth from Ioue distill;
Where Bayes still grows (by thunder not struck down)
The Victors-Garland; and the Poets-Crowne,
And vnderneath the Horse-foote-foun [...] doth flow,
Which giues Wit verdure, and makes learning grow.
To this faire Hill (from stormes and tempests free.)
Thou oft repair'st for Truthes discouery,
A prospect vpon all times wandring mazes
Displaying vanity; disclosing graces,
Nay in some cliffe it leades the eye beyond
The times horizon stripping sea and land.
And farther (not obscurely) doth deuine
All future times: Heere do the Muses shine,
Heere dignity with safety do combine,
Pleasure with merite make a louely twine.
Vitam vitalem they shall euer leade
That mount this hill and Learning's path do treade:
Heere admiration without enui's wonne,
All in the light, but in the heate sit none.
And to this Mount thou dost translate thine Essence
Although the plaines containe thy corporal presence,
Where though poore peoples misery thou shewe
That vnder g [...]iping Lords they vndergoe,
And what content they (that do lowest lye)
Receiue from Good-men; that do sit on hye.
And in each witty Ditty (that surpasses)
Dost (for thy loue) make strife'mongst Country lasses
[Page] Yet in thy humble straine; Fame makes thee rise
And strikes thy mounting forehead' [...]ainst the skies
Renowned friend; what Trophe may I raise
To memorize thy name; would I could praise
(In any meane) thy worth; strike enuy dumbe,
But I dye heere; thou liu'st in time to come;
States haue their Period statues lost with rust:
Soules to Elizium, Nature yeelds to dust,
All monuments of Armes and Power decay,
But that which liues to an Eternall day,
Letters preserue; Nay Gods, with mortall men
Do simpathize by vertue of the penne.
And so shalt thou: sweete Willy then proceede
And in eternall merite fame thy Reede.
PAN to thy fleeced numbers giue increase
And Pales to thy loue-thoughts giue true peace
Let faire Feronia (Goddesse of the woods)
Preserue thy yong Plants multiply thy buds.
And whiles thy Rams do Tup, thy Ewes do twyn
Do thou in peacefull shade (from mens rude dyn)
Adde Pinyons to thy Fame: whose actiue wit
With Hermes winged cap doth suite most fit.
Christopher Brooke.


ALEXIS if thy worth do not disdaine
The humble friendship of a meaner Swaine;
Or some more needfull businesse of the day
Vrge thee to bee too hasty on thy way;
Come (gentle shepheard) rest thee here by me
Vnder the shadow of this broad-leau'd tree:
For though I seeme a stranger, yet mine eye
Obserues in thee the markes of curtesie:
And if my iudgement erre not, noted too
More then in those that more would seeme to doe:
Such vertues thy rude modestie doth hide
Which by thy proper luster I espy'd;
And though long mask't in silence they haue beene,
I haue a wisedome through that silence seene:
Yea I haue learned knowledge from thy tongue,
And heard when thou hast in concealement sung:
[Page] Which me the bolder and more willing made
Thus to inuite thee to this homely shade.
And though (it may be) thou couldst neuer spye
Such worth in me to make me knowne thereby,
In thee I doe; for here my neigbouring sheepe
Vpon the border of these downes I keepe:
Where often thou at Pastorals and playes
Hast grac'd our Wakes on Sommer Holy-dayes:
And many a time with thee at this cold spring
Met I, to heare your learned shepherrds sing,
Saw them disporting in the shady groues,
And in chast Sonnets wooe their chaster loues:
When I endued with the meanest skill,
Mongst others haue been vrg'd to tune my quill,
Where (cause but little cunning I had got)
Perhaps thou saw'st me, though thou knew'st me [...]
Yes Thirsis I doe know thee and thy name,
Nor is my knowledge grounded all on fame,
Art not thou hee, that but this other yeare,
Scard'st all the Wolues and Foxes in the sheere?
And in a match at Foot-ball lately try'd
(Hauing scarce twenty Satyres on thy side)
Held'st play: and though assailed, kept'st thy stand
Gainst all the best-try'd Ruffians in the land:
Did'st thou not then in dolefull Sonnets [...]one,
When the beloued of great Pan was gone;
And at the wedding of faire THAME and RHYNE,
Sing of their glories to thy Valentine?
I know it, and I must confesse that long
In one thing I did doe thy nature wrong:
[Page] For till I markt the aime thy Satyrs had,
I thought them ouerbold and Thirsis mad,
But since I did more neerely on thee looke
[...] soone perceiu'd that I had all mistooke;
[...] saw that of a Cynicke thou madst show
[...]here since I find that thou were nothing so,
And thatof many thou much blame hadst go [...]
When as thy Innocence deseru'd it not.
But this too good opinion thou hast seem'd
To haue of mee (not so to bee esteem'd)
Preuailes not ought to stay him who doth feare
Hee rather should reproofes then praises heare
Tis true I found thee plaine and honest too
Which made mee like then loue, as now I do
And Thirsis though a stranger this I say
Where I do loue I am not coy to stay.
THankes gentle Swayne that dost so soone vnfold
What I to thee as gladly would haue told
And thus thy wonted curtesie exprest
[...]n kindly entertaining this request:
Sure I should iniury my owne content
Or wrong thy loue to stand on complement,
Who hast acquaintance in one word begunne
As well as I could in an age haue done:
Or by an ouer weaning slownesse marre
What thy more wisedome hath brought on so farre;
Then sit thou downe and I'le my minde declare
As frely, as if wee familiars were:
And if thou wilt but daigne to giue mee eare
Something thou maist for thy more profite heare.
[Page] Alexis.
Willingly Thirsis I thy wish obey.
Then know Alexis from that very day
When as I saw thee at that Shepheards Coare
Where each I thinke of other tooke first noate,
I meane that Pastor who by Tauies springs
Chaste Shepheards loues in sweetest numbers sings,
And with his Musicke (to his greater fame)
Hath are made proud the fairest Nimphes of Tham
E'ne then mee thought I did espy in thee
Some vnperceiu'd and hidden worth to bee
Which in thy more apparant vertnes shin'd
And among many I in thought deuin'd,
By something my conceit had vnderstood
That thou wert markt one of the Muses brood
That made mee loue thee: And that loue I beare
Begat a Pitty, and that Pitty Care:
Pitty I had to see good parts conceal'd,
Care I had how to haue that good reueal'd,
Since 'tis a fault admitteth no excuse
To possesse much and yet put nought in vse:
Heereon I vow'd (if wee two euer met)
The first request that I would striue to get
Should bee but this that thou wouldst shew thy skill,
How thou couldst tune thy verses to thy quill:
And teach thy Muse in some well framed song,
To shew the Art thou hast supprest so long:
Which if my new acquaintance m [...]y obtaine
Thirsis will euer honour this daies gaine.
[Page] Alexis.
Alas! my small experience scarce can tell
So much as where those Nymphes the Muses dw [...]ly
Nor (though my slow conceit still trauels on)
Shall I ere reach to drinke of Hellicon;
Or if I might so fauour'd be to taste
What those sweet streames but ouer-flow in waste,
And touch Parnassus where it low'st doth lye,
I feare my skill would hardly flagge so hye.
Despaire not Man the Gods haue prized nought
So deere that may not be with labour bought,
Nor need thy paine be great since Fate and Heauen
They (as a blessing) at thy birth haue giuen.
Why say they had.
Then vse their gifts thou must,
Or be vngratefull, and so be vniust:
For if it cannot truly be deny'd,
Ingratitude mens benefites do hide,
Then more vngratefull must he be by oddes
Who doth conceale the bounty of the Gods.
That's true indeed, but Enuy hateth those
Who seeeking fame their hidden skill disclose:
[Page] Where else they might (obscur'd) from her espying
Escape the blasts and danger of enuying:
Critickes will censure our best straines of Wit,
And purblinde Ignorance misconster it.
All which is bad: yet worse then this doth follow,
Most hate the Muses, and contemne APOLLO.
So let them; why should we their hate esteeme▪
Is't not enough we of our selues can deeme?
Tis more to their disgrace that we scorne them
Then vnto vs that they our Art contemne;
Can we haue better pastime then to see
Our grosse heads may so much deceiued bee,
As to allow those doings best, where wholly
We scoffe them to their face, and flout their folly;
Or to behold blacke Enuy in her prime
Die selfe-consum'd whilst we vie liues with time:
And in despight of her, more fame attaine
Then all her malice can wipe out againe,
Yea but if I apply'd me to those straines,
Who should driue forth my flockes vnto the plaines,
Which whilst the Muses rest, and leasure craue,
Must watering, folding and attendance haue.
For if I leaue with wonted care to cherish
Those tender heards: both I and they should perish.
[Page] Thirsis.
Alexis now I see thou dost mistake,
There is no meaning thou thy charge forsake,
Nor would I wish thee so thy selfe abuse
As to neglect thy calling for thy Muse:
But let these two so of each other borrow,
That they may season mirth, and lessen sorrow,
Thy flocke will helpe thy charges to defray,
Thy Muse to passe the long and tedious day.
Or whilst thou tun'st sweet measures to thy Reed
Thy sheep to listen will more neere thee feed,
The wolues will shun them, birds aboue thee sing,
And Lambkins dance about thee in a Ring;
Nay which is more: in this thy low estate
Thou in contentment shalt with Monarkes mate:
For mighty Pan, and Ceres to vs grants
Our fields and [...]lockes shall helpe our outward wants▪
The Muses teach vs songs to put off cares,
Grac'd with as rare and sweet conceits as theirs:
And we can thinke our lasses on the greenes
As faire, or fairer then the fairest Queenes;
[...]r what is more then most of them shall do,
Wee'le make their iuster fames last longer too,
[...]auing our Lines by greatest Princes grac'd
When both their name and memory's desac'd.
Therefore Alexis though that some disdaine
The heauenly musicke of the Rurall plaine,
What is't to vs, if they (or eseent) contemne
[...]he dainties which were nere ordain'd for them?
And though that there be other some enuy
The praises due to sacred Poesie,
Let them disdaine and frer till they are wearie,
[...]e in our selues haue that shall make vs merrie:
[Page] Which he that wants, and had the power to know it,
Would giue his life that he might dye a Poet.
Thou hast so well (yong Thirsis) plaid thy part
I am almost in loue with that sweet Art:
And if some power will but inspire my song,
Alexis will not be obscured long.
Enough kinde Pastor: But oh! yonder see
Two Shepheards, walking on the lay-banke be,
Cuttie and Willie, that so dearly loue,
Who are repairing vnto yonder groue:
Let's follow them: for neuer brauer Swaines
Made musicke to their flockes vpon these plaines.
They are more worthy, and can better tell
What rare contents do with a Poet dwell.
Then whiles our sheep the short sweet grasse do shere
And till the long shade of the hilles appeare,
Weele heare them sing: for though the one be young,
Neuer was any that more sweetly sung.
Geo. Wither.

An Eclogue between yong Willy the singer of his na­tiue Pastorals, and old WER­NOCKE his friend.

WILLY, why lig'st thou (man) so w [...]-be-gon?
What? been thy rather Lamkins ill-apaid?
Or, hath some drerie chance thy Pipe misdone?
Or, hast thou any sheep-cure mis-assaid?
Or, is some conteck 'twixt thy loue and thee?
Or, else some loue-warke arsie-varsie tane?
Or, fates lesse frolicke than they wont to be?
What gars my WILLY that he so doth wane?
If it be for thou hast mis-said, or done,
Take keepe of thine owne councell; and, thou art
As shoene and cleare fro both-twaine as the Sunne:
For, all Swaines laud thine hauiour, and thine Art.
Ma hap thine heart (that vnneath brooke neglect,
And iealous of thy fresh fame) liggs vpon
Thy rurall songs, which rarest Clarkes affect,
Dreading the descant that mote fall thereon.
[Page] Droope not for that (man) but vnpleate thy browes,
And blithly, so, fold enuies vp in pleats:
For, fro thy Makings milke, and mellie flowes
To feed the Songster-swaines with Arts soot-meats.
Now, sil [...]er (Wernocke) thou hast split the marke
Albe that I ne wot I han mis song:
But, for I am so yong, I dread my warke
Woll be misualued b [...]th of old and yong.
Wern [...]cke.
Is thilke the cause that thou been ligge so laid,
Who whilom no encheson could fore-haile;
And caitiue-courage nere made misapaid,
But with chiefe yongsters songsters bar'st thy saile?
As swoot as Swans thy straines make Thames to ring
Fro Coiswould where her sourse her course doth take,
To her wide mouth which vents thy carolling
Beyond the hether and the further lake.
Than vp (sad swaine) pull fro thy vailed cheeke
Hur prop, thy palme: and let thy Virilaies,
Kill enuious cunning swaines (whom all do seeke)
With enuy, at thine earned gaudy praise.
Vp lither lad, thou reck'st much of thy swinke,
When swinke ne swat thou shouldst ne reck for fame;
At Aganip than, lay thee downe to drinke
Vntill thy stomacke swell, to raise thy name.
What though time yet han not bedowld thy Chin?
Thy Dams deere wombe was Helicon to thee;
Where (like a Loach) thou drew'st thilke liquor in,
Which on thy heart-strings ran with musickes glee.
Than vp betimes, and make the sullen swaines
With thy shrill Reed such iolly-iovisance
[Page] That they (entranc'd) ma wonder at thy straines;
So, leaue of thee ne're ending souenance.
Ah Wernocke, Wernocke, so my sp'rits been steept
In dulnesse, through these duller times missawes
Of sik-like musicke (riming rudely cleept.)
That yer I pipe well, must be better cause.
Ah, who (with lauish draughts of Aganip)
Can swill their soule to frolick; so, their Muse,
Whan Courts and Camps, that erst the muse did clip,
Do now forlore her; nay, her most abuse?
Now, with their witlesse, causelesse surquedry
They been transpos'd fro what of yore they were,
That Swaines, who but to looser luxurie
Can shew the way, are now most cherisht there.
These times been crimefull (ah) and being so,
Bold Swaines (deft Songsters) sing them criminall;
So, make themselues oft gleefull in their woe:
For thy tho Songsters are misween'd of all.
Mecaen [...] woont in blonket liueries
Yelad sike chanters; but these miser times
Vncase hem quite, that all may hem despise,
As they don all their best embellisht Rimes.
And Haruest-queenes, of yore, would Chaplets make
To crowne their scalpes that couth most swootly sing,
And giue hem many a gaude at Ale or Wake,
But now ne recke they of soot carrolling.
Enaunter they should be as seeme they would,
Or songen lowdly for so deere desart;
Or else be peregall to Nymphes of old,
From which their beastl [...]hed now freely start.
Than must they latch the blowes of Fates too fell
With their too feeble clowches as they con:
[Page] For, none regards or guards hem for their spell,
Tho they, on point-deuice, empt Helicon!
There nis thilke chiuisance they whilome had
For piping swoote; sith, with an Heydeguies,
Pipt by Tom-piper, or a Lorrel-lad,
(So be he clawes hem) they idolatrize. (sale,
And those that should presse proper songs for
Bene, in their doomes, so dull; in skill, so crude;
That they had leauer printen Iacke a vale,
Or Cl [...]m ô Clough (alacke) they beene so rude!
And sith so few feate Songsters in an age
Bene founden; fo [...] do weigh hem as they been,
For, Swaines, that con no skill of holy-rage,
Bene foe-men to faire skils enlawrel'd Queen.
Enough is mee, for thy, that I ma vent
My wits spels to my selfe, or vnto thee
(Deer Wernock) which dost feel like miscontent
Sith thou, and all vnheeded, singt with mee.
Vartue it's sed (and is an old said-saw)
Is for hur selfe, to be for sought alone: (draw,
Then eftsoones fro their case thy shrill pipes
And make the welkin ringen with their tone.
Of world, ne worly men take thou no keepe,
What the one doth, or what the other say;
For should I so, I so, should Eyne out-weepe:
Than, with mee; Willy, ay sing care-away.
It's wood to be fore-pinde with wastefull carke
In many a noyfull stoute of willing bale
For vading toyes: But trim wits poorest wark
The vpper heau'n han hent fro nether Dale.
Thilks all our share of all the quelling heape
Of this worlds good: enough is vs to tell
[Page] How rude the rest bene, caduke, & how cheape;
But, laude for well-done warks, don all excell!
For thy we shoulden take keepe of our Race
That here wee reunen, and what here we doon
That whan wee wenden till an other place,
Our souenance may here, ay-gayly wonne.
For, time will vnderfong vs; and our voice
Woll woxen weake; and, our deuising lame;
For, life is briefe; and skils beene long, and choise:
Than, spend we Time, that Time may spare our Fame,
Look how breme Winter chamfers Earths blecke face;
So, corbed Eld accoyes youths surquedry;
And, in the front, deepe furrowes doon enchase,
Inueloped with falling snow a hy.
Then nought can be atchieu'd with witty shewes,
Sith griefe of [...]lde accloyen wimble wit;
Than, vs behonen, yer Elde sick accrewes,
Time to forelay, with spels retarding it.
I not what blisse is whelm'd with heau'ns coape
So b [...]e the pleasance of the Muse be none:
For, when thilk gleesome ioyes han hallowed scope
They beene as those that heau'ns-folke warble on.
I con my good; for, n [...]w my scalpe is frost
Yeelding to snow; the crow-feete neere mine Eyne
Beene markes of mickle preefe I haue, that most
Of all glees else alow, han suddaine fine.
O how it garres old Wernock swynck with glee
In that emprise that chiuen fearest fame,
It heats my heart aboue ability
To leaue parduring souenance of my name.
And whan mine Engine han heau'd hy my thought,
An that on point-deuice eftsooones y fell,
O! how my heart's ioy-rapt, as I had cought,
A Princedome to my share, of thilk Newell.
[Page] They beene of pleasances the alderbest:
Than, God to forne; I wol no mo but tho:
Tho beene the summe of all I louen best:
And for hem loue I life; else nold I so.
Driue on thy flocke than, to the motley plaines
Where by some prill, that 'mong the Pibbles plods,
Thou, with thyne Oaten reede, and queintest straines,
Maist rapt the senior Swaines, and minor Gods:
That as on Ida that mych-famed Mount,
A Shepheard Swaine; that sung lesse soote than tho [...],
By light loues Goddesse, had the grace to mount
To owe the sheenest Queene that Earth did owe:
So, thou maist, with thy past'rall Minstralsy
Beating the aire, atweene resounding Hils,
Draw to thee Bonibels as smirke, as hy,
And wrap hem in thy loue begrey their wils:
For (ah) had Phoebus Clarkes the meanes of some
Worse Clarkes (paravnter) so to sing at ease;
They soone would make high long-wing'd haggards
And vaile vnto their Lures: so, on hem seise. (come;
For, bright Nymphes bu xume Breastes do eas'ly ope
To let in thirling notes of noted laies:
For, deftly song they han a charming scope;
So, Nymphs themselues adore Brows girt with Bayes.
Than, Willy (ah for pitty of thine heart
That drouping yearnes, at misses of these times)
Take thou thy Pipe, and of glee take thy part;
Or cheere thy selfe with cordials of thy Rimes.
Before the worlds sterne face, the world backe-bite
So flyly that her parts ne'it perceiue:
Morall thy matter so, that, tho thou smite,
Thou maist with tickling her dull sence; deceiue.
Than hy thee, Willy, to the neighbour wasts
Where thou (as in another world alone)
[Page] Maist (while thy flocke do feede) blow bitter blast [...]
On thy loudst Pipe, to make il's pertly knowne.
For, sith the rude-crude world doon vs misplease
That well deseruen, tell wee hur hur owne;
And let her ken our cunning can, with ease,
Aye shend, or lend hur sempiterne renowne.
Ah Wernocke, so thy sawes mine heart downe thril
With loue of Muses skill in speciall,
That I ne wot, on mould what feater skill
Can bee yhugg'd in Lordings pectorall.
Ne would I it let-bee for all the store
In th'vncoth scope of both-twain hemispheres;
Ynough is mee, perdy, nor striue for more
But to be rich in hery for my leeres.
Ne would I sharen that soule-gladding glee
In th'euer gaudy Gardens of the blest
Not there to han the Muses companee,
Which, God to-fore, is of the best, the best.
Now, Wernock, shalt thou see (so more I thee)
That I nill vsen any skill so mytch
(Faire fall my swinck) as this so nice, and free,
In case I may my name to Heauen stitch.
For why; I am by kind so inly pulde
To these delices; that when I betake
My selfe to other lore I more am dul'd;
And therefro, keenely set, I fall to make.
But, well-away, thy nis the way to thriuen;
And, my neer kith, for that wol sore me shend:
Who little reck how I by kind am giuen;
But hur wold force to swinck for thriftier end.
[Page] Hence forward then I must assay, and con
My leere in leefull lore, to pleasen them
That, sib to mee, would my promotion,
And carke for that to prancke our common Stemme:
For, now (as wends the world) no skill to that
(Or rather but that) thriues; sith Swaines are now
So full of contecke, that they wot ne what
They would; so, if they could; they all would owe.
So fares it in calme seasons with curst men;
If frennes forbeare, at home, hem to inuade,
They wry their peace to noy each other then
By plees, till they decease, or fall, or fade.
So times beene keener now with common Swaynes
Than whan as forraigne foe-men with hem fought:
For, now they swyncke, but for flye Law-mens gaines
Or seld they should possessen what they ought.
But, what for this? to mee it little longs
To gab of sikliche notes of misery;
Ynough is mee to chaunten swoote my songs,
And blend hem with my rurall mynstrelsy.
But, ô (my Wernock) how am I to thee
Obligen, for thy keene reencouragements
To skill so mickle lou'd and sought of mee
As this of making with Arts Elements?
I not how I shall thriue therein; ne how
I shall be dempt of in these nicer times:
But how soere so thou my workes alow,
I nill bee ill-apaidon with my Rimes.
Thou nedst not, Willy; wretch were I to laude
Thee in thy misses: for, I so should bee
To th'adultries of thy wits-scapes, but a Baude
Ne, as a friend, in sentence, should bee free.
[Page] Than, wend thou fairely on, with thyne emprise;
Sing cleerely, Will, on mine encouragement,
And other Swaines, more able to deuise;
And, fixe thee for it, in the firmament.
Ynough is mee so I may beare a part
Aye in the Muses Quire with those and thee;
Il'e sing (at ease) aloud, with cheerefull hart,
No base ne meane but Tenor of best glee.
And I, with thee, woll chaunt each counter-verse
So shrilly that wee'l make thilk Quire to ring
As euer do the Angels; who rehearse
The loudest lauds of heau'ns-Lord whan they sing.
So, farewell, Wernock, mickle thankes to thee
For thy freedome, that canst so well deuise:
Phoebus now goes to glade; than now goe wee,
Vnto our sheddes to rest vs till he rise.
Agree'd deere, Willy, gent and debonaire,
Wee'l hence: for, rhumaticke now fares the Aire.
Io. Dauies.

To his better beloued, then knowne friend, Mr. BROVVNE.

SVch is the fate of some (write) now a daies
Thinking to win and weare, they breake the Bayes,
As a slow Foote-man striuing neere to come
A swifter that before him farre doth runne,
Puft with the hope of Honours gole to winne
Runnes out of Breath yet furthest of from him.
So do our most of Poets whose Muse flies
About for honour: catch poore Butterflies.
But thou faire freind not rankt shall be 'mongst those
That makes a Mountaine where a Mole-bill growes;
Thou whose sweete singing Pen such layes hath writ
That in an old way: teacheth vs new wit:
Thou that wert borne and bred to bee the man
To turne Apollo's glory into Pan,
And when thou lists of Shepheards leaue to write,
To great Apollo adde againe his light
For neuer yet, like Shepheards forth haue come
Whose Pipes so sweetely play as thine haue done.
Faire Muse of Browne, whose beauty is as pure
As women Browne that faire and long'st endure
Still mayst thou as thou dost a louer moue,
And as thou dost each mouer may thee loue,
Whilst I my selfe, in loue with thee must fall,
Brownes Muse the faire Browne woman still will call.
IOHN ONLET. Int. Temp.

[Page] AN OTHER ECLOGVE: BY Mr. George Wither. Dedicated to his truely louing and worthy friend, Mr W. BROVVNE.

LONDON, Printed for George Norton. 1614.

TO HIS TRVLY BELOVED louing friend Mr WILLIAM BROVVNE of the Inner Temple.

Roget. and Willie.
PRethee Willy tell me this,
What new thing late hapned is,
Thou (that wert the blythest lad)
Art become so wondrous sad?
And so carelesse of thy quill,
As if thou had'st had no skill.
Thou wert wont to charme thy Flockes,
And among these rudest rockes
Hast so cheer'd me with thy Song,
That I haue forgot my wrong.
Something hath thee surely crost,
That thy old wont thou hast lost,
But what is't? Haue I ought said
That hath made thee misapaid?
Hath some Churle done thee a spight?
Dost thou misse a Lambe to night?
Frownes thy fairest Shepheards Lasse?
Or how comes this ill to passe?
[Page] Is there any discontent
Worse then this my banishment?
Why, doth that so euill seeme,
That thou nothing worse dost deeme?
Shepheard, there full many be,
That would change Contents with thee.
Those that choose their walkes at will,
On the valley or the Hill.
Or those pleasures boast of can
Groues or fields may yeeld to man:
Neuer come to know the rest
Wherewithall thy minde is blest.
Many a one that oft resorts
To make vp the troope at sports,
And in company some while
Happens to straine forth a smile:
Feeles more want, more outward smart
And more inward griefe of hart,
Then this place can bring to thee,
While thy minde remaineth free.
Thou condemn'st my want of mirth,
But what find'st thou in this earth,
Wherein ought may bee beleeued,
Worth to make me ioy'd, or grieued?
And yet feele I (naithelesse)
Part of both I must confesse.
Sel'd, yet for such causes small:
But I grieue not not now at all.
[Page] Roget.
Why hath WILLY then so long,
Now forborne his wonted song?
Wherefore do [...] he now let fall,
His well-tuned Pastorall?
And my eares that Musicke barre,
Which I more long after farre
Then the liberty I want.
That were very much to grant,
But doth this hold alway lad,
Those that sing not must be sad?
Did'st thou euer that bird heare
Sing well, that sings all the yeare?
Tom the Piper doth not play
Till he weares his Pipe away:
Theres a time to slacke the string,
And a time to leaue to sing.
Yea, but no man now is still,
That can sing, or tune a quill.
Now to chant it, were but reason,
Song and Musicke are in season.
Now in this sweet iolly tide,
Is the earth in all her pride.
[Page] The faire Lady of the May
Trim'd vp in her best array
Hath inuited all the Swaines,
With the Lasses of the Plaines,
To attend vpon her sport
At the places of resort.
Corridon (with his bold Rout)
Hath already been about
For the elder Shepheards dole:
And fetcht in the Summer-Pole;
Whilst the rest haue built a Bower,
To defend them from a shower,
Seil'd so close with boughes all greene,
Tytan cannot pry betweene.
Now the Dayrie Wenches dreame
Of their Strawberries and Creame:
And each doth her selfe aduance
To be taken in, to dance.
Euery one that knowes to sing,
Fits him now for Carrolling:
So doe those that hope for meede,
Either by the Pipe or Reed,
And though I am kept away,
I doe heare (this very day)
Many learned Groomes doe wend,
For the Garlands to contend
Which a Nymph that hight Desart,
(Long a stranger in this part)
With her owne faire hands hath wrought
A rare worke (they say) past thought,
As appeareth by the name,
For she calles them Wreathes of Fame.
[Page] She hath set in their due place
Euery flower that may grace,
And among a thousand moe,
(Whereof some butse ne for show)
She hath woue in Daphnes tree,
That they may not blasted bee.
Which with Time she edg'd about,
That it might not shatter out.
And that they might wither neuer,
Intermixt it with Liue-euer.
These are to bee shar'd among
Those that do excell for song:
Or their passions can rehearse
In the smooth'st and sweetest verse.
Then for those amid the rest,
That can play and pipe the best,
There's a Kidling with the Damme,
A fat Weather, and a Lambe.
And for those that leapen farre,
Wrastle, Runne, and throw the Barre,
Ther's appointed guerdons too:
He that best the first can doe
Shall for his reward be paid,
With a Sheepe-hooke, fai [...]e in-laid
With fine bone, of a strange beast,
That men bring from out the west.
For the next, a Scrip of red,
Tassel'd with fine coloured thred.
Then for him that's quick'st of foote,
A Cup of a Maple-roote:
Whereupon the skilfull man
Hath ingrau'd the Loues of Pan.
[Page] And the last hath for his due,
A fine Napkin wrought with blew.
Then my Willy what moues thee,
Thus forgetfull now to be?
What mak'st thou here with a wight
That is shut vp from delight:
In a solitary den
As not fit to liue with men.
Go my Willy, get thee gone,
Leaue me in exile alone.
Hye thee to that merry throng,
And amaze them with thy Song.
Thou art yong, yet such a Lay
Neuer grac'd the month of May,
As (if they prouoke thy skill)
Thou canst fit vnto thy Quill.
I with wonder heard thee sing,
At our last yeares Reuelling.
Then I with the rest was free,
When vnknowne I noted thee:
And perceiu'd the ruder Swaines,
Enuie thy farre sweeter straines.
Yea I saw the Lasses cling
Round about thee in a Ring:
As if each one iealous were,
Any but herselfe should heare.
And I know they yet do long
For the res'due of thy song.
Haste thee then to sing it forth,
Take the benefit of worth.
And Desert will sure bequeath
Fames faire garland for thy wreath.
[Page] Hye thee Willy, hye away.
Roget rather let me stay,
And be desolare with thee,
Then at those their Reuels be.
Nought such is my skill I wis,
As indeed thou deem'st it is.
But what ere it be, I must
Be content, and shall I trust.
For a song I doe not passe,
Mong'st my friends, but what (alas)
Should I haue to doe with them
That my Musicke doe contemne?
Some there are, as well I wot,
That the same yet fauour not:
Yet I cannot well avow,
They my Carrols disallow.
But such malice I haue spid,
Tis as bad as if they did.
Willy, what may those men be,
Are so ill to malice thee,
Some are worthy-well esteem'd
Some without worth are so deem'd.
Others of so base a spirit,
They haue nor esteeme, nor merit.
[Page] Roget.
What's the wrong?
A slight offence,
Wherewithall I can dispence;
But hereafter for their sake,
To my selfe I'le musicke make.
What, because some Clowne offends,
Wilt thou punish all thy friends?
Honest Roget vnderstand me,
Those that loue me may command me,
But thou know'st I am but young,
And the Pastorall I sung,
Is by some suppos'd to bee
(By a straine) too high for me:
So they kindly let me gaine,
Not my labour, for my paine.
Trust me, I do wonder why
They should me my owne deny.
Though I'me yong, I scorne to flit
On the wings of borrowed wit.
[Page] I'le make my owne feathers reare me,
Whither others cannot beare me.
Yet I'le keepe my skill in store,
Till I'ue seene some Winters more.
But in earnest mean'st thou so?
Then thou art not wise, I trow.
Better shall aduise thee Pan,
For thou dost not rightly than:
That's the ready way to blot
All the credit thou hast got.
Rather in thy Ages prime,
Get another start of Time:
And make those that so fond be,
(Spight of their owne dulnesse) see
That the sacred Muses can
Make a child in yeares, a man.
It is knowne what thou canst do,
For it is not long agoe,
When that CVDDY, Thou, and I
Each the others skill to try,
At Saint Dunstanes charmed Well,
(As some present there can tell)
Sang vpon a sudden Th [...]ame,
Sitting by the Crimson streame.
Where, if thou didst well or no,
Yet remaines the song to show.
Much experience more I'ue had,
Of thy skill (thou happy Lad)
[Page] And would make the world to know it,
But that time will further show it.
Enuy makes their tongues now runne,
More then doubte of what is donne.
For that needs must be thy owne,
Or to be some others knowne:
But how then wilt suit vnto
What thou shalt hereafter do?
Or I wonder where is hee,
Would with that song part to thee:
Nay, were there so mad a swaine,
Could such glory sell for gaine;
Phoebus would not haue combin'd
That gift with so base a mind.
Neuer did the Nine impart
The sweet secrets of their Art
Vn to any that did scorne
To haue their faire Badge seen worne.
Therefore vnto those that say,
Were they pleas'd to sing a Lay,
They could doo't, and will not tho;
This I speake, for this I know:
None ere drunke the Thespian Spring,
And knew how, but he did sing.
For that one infus'd in man,
Makes him shew't, doe what he can,
Nay those that doe onely sip
Or but eu'n their fingers dip
In that sacred Fount (poore Elues)
Of that brood will shew themselues;
Yea, in hope to get them fame,
They will speake though to their shame
[Page] Let those then at thee repine,
That by their wits measure thine.
Needs those Songs must be thy owne,
And that one day will be knowne,
The same imputation to,
I my selfe doe vndergo:
But it will bee knowne ere long,
I'me abus'd, and thou hast wrong,
Who at twice ten hast song more
Then some will doe at fourescore.
Cheere thee (honest Willy) then,
And begin thy song agen.
Faine I would, but I doe feare
When againe my Lines they heare,
If they yeeld they are my Rimes,
They will finde some other Crimes.
And 'tis no safe ventring by,
Where we see Detraction lye.
For doe what I can, I doubt,
She will pick some quarrell out,
And I oft haue heard defended,
Little said, and soone amended.
See'st thou not in cleerest dayes
Oft thick fogges cloud Heauens rayes?
[Page] And the vapours that doe breath
From the earths grosse womb beneath,
Seeme they not with their blacke steatne [...],
To polute the Sunnes bright beames,
And yet vanish into aire,
Leauing them (vnblemisht) faire?
So (my Willy) shall it bee
With Detractions breath and thee.
It shall neuer rise so hye,
As to staine thy Poesie.
Like the Sunne shee oft exhales
Vapours from the rot'nest vales;
But so much her power can doo,
That she may dissolue them too.
If thy verse do brauely tower,
As she makes wing, she gets power.
But the higher she doth sore,
Shee's affronted still the more:
Till she to the high'st hath past,
Then she rests with fame at last.
Let nought therefore thee affright,
But make forward in thy flight:
For if I could match thy Rime,
To the very starres I'de clime.
There begin againe and flye
Till I reach'd Aeternity.
But (alas) my Muse is slow:
For thy pace she flagges too low.
Yea, the more' [...] her haplesse fate,
Her long wings were clipt of late.
And poore I, her fortune ruing,
Am my selfe put vp a muing.
[Page] But if I my Cage can rid,
I'le flye where I neuer did.
And though for her sake l'me crost,
Though my best hopes I haue lost,
And knew she would make my trouble,
Ten times more then ten times double,
I would loue and keepe her toe,
Spight of all the world could doe.
For though banisht from my flockes,
Aud confin'd within these rockes,
Here I waste away the light,
And consume the sullen Night,
She doth for my comfort stay,
And keepes many cares away.
Though I misse the flowry Fields,
With those sweetes the Spring-tide yeelds,
Though I may not see those Groues,
Where the shepheards chaunt their Loues,
And the Lasses more excell,
Then the sweet-voyc'd Philomel.
Though of all those pleasures past,
Nothing now remaines at last,
But Remembrance (poore reliefe)
That more makes, then mends my griefe.
She's my smind [...] companion still,
Maugre Enuies euill will.
Whence she should be driuen to,
Wert't in mortals power to do.
She doth tell me where to borrow
Comfort in the mid'st of sorrow;
Makes the desolatest place
To her presence be a grace;
[Page] And the blackest discontents
Be her fairest ornaments.
In my former dayes of blisse,
Her diuine thoughts taught me this,
That from euery thing I saw,
I could some inuention draw:
And raise pleasure to her hight,
Through the meanest obiects sight,
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least leaues rustling.
By a Dazie whose leaues spred
Shut when Tytan goes to bed,
Or a shady bush or tree,
She could more infuse in me,
Then all Natures beauties can,
In some other wiser man.
By her helpe I also now,
Make this churlish place allow
Somthings, that may sweeten gladnesse
In the very gall of sadnesse.
The dull loanesse, the blacke shade,
That these hanging vaults haue made,
The strange Musicke of the waues,
Beating on these hollow Caues.
This grim den which Rockes embosse,
Ouer-growne with eldest mosse.
The rude portals that giue light,
More to Terror then Delight.
This my Chamber of Neglect,
Wal'd about with Disrespect,
From all these, and this dull aire,
A fit obiect for Despaire,
[Page] Shee hath taught mee by her might
To draw comfort and delight.
Therefore thou best earthly blisse
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesy; thou sweet'st content
That ere Heau'n to mortals lent.
Though they as a trifle leaue thee
Whose dull thoughts can not conceiue thee
Though thou bee to them a scorne
That to nought but earth are borne:
Let my life no longer bee,
Then I am in loue with thee.
Though our wise ones call it madnesse
Let me neuer taste of gladnesse
If I loue not thy mad'st fits
Aboue all their greatest wits.
And though some too seeming holy
Do account thy raptures folly:
Thou dost teach mee to contemne
What makes Knaues and Fooles of them.
O high power that oft doth carry
Men aboue
Good Roget tarry
[...] do feare thou wilt begon
Quite aboue my reachanon,
The kind flames of Poesy
Haue now borne thy thoughts so high,
That they vp in Heauenbee
[Page] And haue quite forgotten mee,
Call thy selfe to minde againe
Are these Raptures for a Swaine,
That attends on lowly sheepe
And with simple heards doth keepe?
Thankes my Willy, I had runne
Till that Time had lodg'd the Sunne,
If thou had'st not made mee stay;
But thy pardon heare I pray.
Lou'd Apollo's sacred fire
Had rais'd vp my spirits higher
Through the loue of Poesy
Then indeed they vse to flye.
But as I said, I say still,
If that I had Willi's skill
Enuy nor Detractions [...]ongue,
Should ere make me leaue my song;
But I'd [...] sing it euery day
Till they pin'd themselues away.
Be [...] thou then aduis'd in this
Which both iust and [...]itting is,
Finish what thou hast begunne
Or at least still forward runne,
Haile and Thunder ill he'le beare
That a blast of wind do [...]h feare:
And if words will thus afray thee?
Prethee how will deeds dismay thee
Do not thinke so rathe a song
Can passe through the vulgar throng
[Page] And escape without a touch,
Or that they can hurt it much:
Frosts wee see do nip that thing
Which is forwardst in the Spring:
Yet at last for all such lets
Some what of the rest it gets:
And I'me sure that so maist thou;
Therefore my kind Willy now,
Since thy folding time drawes on
And I see thou must bee gon,
I no more of this will say
Till we meete next holiday.
Geor. Wither.

Imitatus est Moschi [...] Idyll. [...] & Meleagri Epi­gram. Antholog. lib. 7. I. S. olim inter Otia Rustica.

To his Melisa.
LOVD did Cytherea cry,
If you stragling Cupid spy,
And but bring the news to me,
Your reward a Kisse shall be:
You shall (if you him restore)
With a Kisse, haue something More.
Markes enough the Boy's known by,
Ti'ry Colour, Flamy Eie;
Subtill Heart; and sweetned Mouth,
Faining still, but Failing Truth;
Daring Visage, Armes but small;
Yet can Strike vs Gods and all.
Body Naked, Crafty Mind;
Winged as a Bird and blind;
Litle Bow, but wounding hearts;
Golden both, and Leaden darts.
Burning Taper; if you find him,
Without pity, look you Bind him.
[Page] Pity not his Teares or Smiles:
Both are false, both forged guile [...].
Fly it, if a Kisse He profer;
Lips inchanting hee will offer,
And his Quiuer, Bow, and Candle,
But none of them see you handle.
Poysoned they are, and such,
As my selfe I dare not touch:
Hurt no sight, yet peirce the Eie,
Thence vnto the Heart they flie.
Warned thus, Pray, take some paine,
Thelp mee to my Boy againe.
Thus while Cytherea cry'd him,
Sweet, within Thine Eys I spy'd him.
Thence he s [...]ly shot at Mine,
[...] My Heart and crept to Thine.
Pay you, Sweet, the promi'st Fee,
Him, Ile swear, I did not see.

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