IDEAS MIRROVR.
AMOVRS IN QVATORZAINS.
Che serue é tace assai domanda.
AT LONDON, Printed by Iames Roberts, for Nicholas Linge. Anno. 1594.
Gentle Reader correct these faults escaped in the printing.
AMour 13. lyne 13. for by Tempe, reade my Tempe.
Amour 16. line 3. for deluered, reade deliuered.
Amour 34. line 13. for forforne, read forlorne.
Amour 40. line 14. for Goe Bastard, read Goe bastard goe,
To the deere Chyld of the Muses, and his euer kind Mecaenas, Ma. Anthony Cooke, Esquire.
VOuchsafe to grace these rude vnpolish'd rymes,
Which long (deer friend) haue slept in sable night,
And come abroad now in these glorious tymes,
Can hardly brooke the purenes of the light.
But sith you see their desteny is such,
That in the world theyr fortune they must try,
Perhaps they better shall abide the tuch,
Wearing your name theyr gracious liuery.
Yet these mine owne, I wrong not other men,
Nor trafique further then thys happy Clyme,
Nor filch from Portes nor from Petrarchs pen,
A fault too common in thys latter tyme.
Diuine Syr Phillip, I auouch thy writ,
I am no Pickpurse of anothers wit.
Yours deuoted, M. Drayton.
ANkor tryumph, vpon whose blessed shore,
The sacred Muses solemnize thy name:
Where the Arcadian Swaines with rytes adore
Pandoras poesy, and her liuing fame.
Where first this iolly Sheepheard gan rehearse,
That heauenly worth, vpon his Oaten reede,
Of earths great Queene: in Nectar-dewed verse,
Which none so wise that rightly can areede.
Nowe in conceite of his ambitious loue,
He mounts his thoughts vnto the highest gate,
Straynd with some sacred spirit from aboue,
Bewraies his loue, his fayth, his life, his fate:
In this his myrror of Ideas praise,
On whom his thoughts, and fortunes all attend,
Tunes all his Ditties, and his Roundelaies,
How loue begun, how loue shal neuer end.
No wonder though his Muse then soare so hie,
Whose subiect is the Queene of Poesie.
Gorbo il fidele.
Amour. 1.
REade heere (sweet Mayd) the story of my wo,
The drery abstracts of my endles cares:
With my liues sorow enterlyned so,
Smok'd with my sighes, and blotted with my teares.
The sad memorials of my miseries,
Pend in the griefe of myne afflicted ghost:
My liues complaint in doleful Elegies,
With so pure loue as tyme could neuer boast.
Receaue the incense which I offer heere,
By my strong fayth ascending to thy fame,
My zeale, my hope, my vowes, my praise, my prayer,
My soules oblations to thy sacred name.
Which name my Muse to highest heauen shal raise,
By chast desire, true loue, and vertues praise.
Amour. 2.
My fayre, if thou wilt register my loue,
More then worlds volumes shall thereof arise,
Preserue my teares, and thou thy selfe shalt proue
A second flood downe rayning from mine eyes.
Note but my sighes, and thine eyes shal behold,
The Sun-beames smothered with immortall smoke:
And if by thee my prayers may be enrold,
They heauen and earth to pitty shall prouoke.
Looke thou into my breast, and thou shalt see
Chaste holy vowes for my soules sacrifice:
That soule (sweet Maide) which so hath honored thee,
Erecting Trophies to thy sacred eyes.
Those eyes to my hart shining euer bright,
When darknes hath obscur'd each other light.
Amour. 3.
My thoughts bred vp with Eagle-birds of loue,
And for their vertues I desierd to know,
Vpon the nest I set them, forth to proue,
If they were of the Eagles kinde or no.
But they no sooner saw my Sunne appeare,
But on her rayes with gazing eyes they stood,
Which proou'd my birds delighted in the ayre,
And that they came of this rare kinglie brood.
But now their plumes full sumd with sweet desire,
To shew their kinde, began to clime the skies:
Doe what I could my Eaglets would aspire,
Straight mounting vp to thy celestiall eyes.
And thus (my faire) my thoughts away be flowne,
And from my breast into thine eyes be gone.
Amour. 4.
My faire, had I not erst adornd my Lute,
With those sweet strings stolne frō thy golden hayre,
Vnto the world had all my ioyes been mute,
Nor had I learn'd to descant on my faire.
Had not mine eye seene thy Celestiall eye,
Nor my hart knowne the power of thy name,
My soule had ne'r felt thy Diuinitie,
Nor my Muse been the trumpet of thy fame.
But thy diuine perfections by their skill,
This miracle on my poore Muse haue tried:
And by inspiring, glorifide my quill,
And in my verse thy selfe art deified.
Thus from thy selfe the cause is thus deriued,
That by thy fame all fame shall be suruiued.
Amour. 5.
Since holy Vestall lawes haue been neglected,
The Gods pure fire hath been extinguisht quite:
No Virgine once attending on that light,
Nor yet those heauenly secrets once respected.
'Till thou alone to pay the heauens their dutie,
Within the Temple of thy sacred name,
With thine eyes kindling that Celestial flame,
By those reflecting Sun-beames of thy beautie.
Here Chastity that Vestall most diuine,
Attends that Lampe with eye which neuer sleepeth,
The volumes of Religions lawes shee keepeth,
Making thy breast that sacred reliques shryne,
Where blessed Angels singing day and night,
Praise him which made that fire, which lends that light.
Amour. 6.
In one whole world is but one Phoenix found,
A Phoenix thou, this Phoenix then alone,
By thy rare plume thy kind is easly knowne,
With heauenly colours dide, with natures wonder cround,
Heape thine own vertues seasoned by their sunne,
On heauenlie top of thy diuine desire:
Then with thy beautie set the same on fire,
So by thy death, thy life shall be begunne.
Thy selfe thus burned in this sacred flame,
With thine owne sweetnes al the heauens perfuming,
And stil increasing as thou art consuming,
Shalt spring againe from th'ashes of thy fame;
And mounting vp, shalt to the heauens ascend,
So maist thou liue, past world, past fame, past end.
Amour. 7.
Stay, stay, sweet Time, behold or ere thou passe
From world to world, thou long hast sought to see,
That wonder now wherein all wonders be,
Where heauen beholds her in a mortall glasse.
Nay, looke thee Time in this Celestiall glasse,
And thy youth past, in this faire mirror see:
Behold worlds Beautie in her infancie,
VVhat shee was then, and thou or ere shee was.
Now passe on Time, to after-worlds tell this,
Tell truelie Time what in thy time hath beene,
That they may tel more worlds what Time hath seene
And heauen may ioy to think on past worlds blisse.
Heere make a Period Time, and saie for mee,
She was, the like that neuer was, nor neuer more shalbe.
Amour. 8.
Vnto the World, to Learning, and to Heauen,
Three nines there are, to euerie one a nine,
One number of the earth, the other both diuine,
One wonder woman now makes 3. od nūbers euen.
Nine orders first of Angels be in heauen,
Nine Muses doe with learning still frequent:
These with the Gods are euer resident:
Nine worthy men vnto the world were giuen.
My Worthie, one to these nine Worthies, addeth,
And my faire Muse, one Muse vnto the nine:
And my good Angell in my soule diuine,
With one more order, these nine orders gladdeth.
My Muse, my Worthy, and my Angell then,
Makes euery one of these three nines a ten.
Amour. 9.
Beauty sometime in all her glory crowned,
Passing by that cleere fountaine of thine eye:
Her sun-shine face there chaunsing to espy,
Forgot herselfe, and thought she had been drowned.
And thus whilst Beautie on her beauty gazed,
Who then yet liuing, deemd she had been dying,
And yet in death, some hope of life espying,
At her own rare perfections so amazed;
Twixt ioy and griefe, yet with a smyling frowning,
The glorious sun-beames of her eyes bright shining,
And shee on her owne destiny diuining,
Threw in herselfe, to saue herselfe by drowning.
The Well of Nectar, pau'd with pearle and gold,
Where shee remaines for all eyes to behold.
Amour. 10.
Oft taking pen in hand, with words to cast my woes,
Beginning to account the sum of all my cares,
I well perceiue my griefe innumerable growes,
And styll in reckonings rise more millions of dispayres.
And thus deuiding of my fatall howres,
The payments of my loue I read, and reading crosse,
And in substracting, set my sweets vnto my sowres,
Th'arerage of my ioyes, directs me to my losse.
And thus mine eyes, a debtor to thine eye,
Who by extortion gaineth all theyr lookes,
My hart hath payd such grieuous vsury,
That all her wealth lyes in thy Beauties bookes.
And all is [...] which hath been due to mee,
And I a Banckrupt quite vndone by thee.
Amour. 11.
Thine eyes taught mee the Alphabet of loue,
To con my Cros-rowe ere I learn'd to spell:
For I was apt a scholler like to proue,
Gaue mee sweet lookes when as I learned well.
Vowes vvere my vowels when I then begun
At my first Lesson in thy sacred name,
My consonants the next when I had done,
Words consonant, and sounding to thy fame.
My liquids then were liquid christall teares,
My cares my mutes so mute to craue reliefe,
My dolefull Dypthongs were my liues dispaires,
Redoubling sighes the accents of my griefe:
My loues Schoole-mistris now hath taught me so,
That I can reade a story of my woe.
Amour. 12.
Some Athiest or vile Infidell in loue,
When I doe speake of thy diuinitie,
May blaspheme thus, and say, I flatter thee:
And onely write, my skill in verse to proue.
See myracles, yee vnbeleeuing see,
A dumbe-borne Muse made to expresse the mind,
A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind,
One by thy name, the other touching thee.
Blind were mine eyes, till they were seene of thine,
And mine eares deafe, by thy fame healed be,
My vices cur'd, by vertues sprung from thee,
My hopes reuiu'd which long in graue had lyne.
All vnclean thoughts, foule spirits cast out in mee,
By thy great power, and by strong fayth in thee.
Amour. 13.
Cleere Ankor, on whose siluer-sanded shore,
My soule-shrinde Saint, my faire Idea lyes:
O blessed Brooke, whose milk-white Swans adore
That christall streame refined by her eyes.
Where sweet Myrh-breathing Zephyre in the spring,
Gently distils his Nectar-dropping showers:
Where Nightingals in Arden sit and sing,
Amongst those dainty dew-empearled flowers.
Say thus fayre Brooke when thou shalt see thy Queene,
Loe, heere thy Shepheard spent his wandring yeeres:
And in these shades (deer Nimphe) he oft hath been,
And heere to thee he sacrifiz'd his teares.
Fayre Arden, thou by Tempe art alone
And thou sweet Ankor art my Helicon.
Amour. 14.
Looking into the glasse of my youths miseries,
I see the vgly face of my deformed cares,
With withered browes, all wrinckled with dispaires,
That for my mis-spent youth the tears fel frō my eyes.
Then in these teares, the mirrors of these eyes,
Thy fayrest youth and Beautie doe I see,
Imprinted in my teares by looking still on thee:
Thus midst a thousand woes, ten thousand ioyes arise.
Yet in these ioyes, the shadowes of my good,
In this fayre limmed ground as white as snow,
Paynted the blackest Image of my woe,
With murthering hands imbrud in mine own blood.
And in thys Image [...] darke clowdy eyes,
My life, my youth, my loue, I heere Anotamize.
Amour. 15.
Now Loue, if thou wilt proue a Conqueror,
Subdue thys Tyrant euer martyring mee,
And but appoint me for her Tormentor,
Then for a Monarch will I honour thee.
My hart shall be the prison for my fayre,
Ile fetter her in chaines of purest loue,
My sighes shall stop the passage of the ayre:
This punishment the pittilesse may moue.
With teares out of the Channels of mine eyes,
She'st quench her thirst as duly as they fall:
Kinde words vnkindest meate I can deuise,
My sweet, my faire, my good, my best of all.
Ile binde her then with my torne-tossed haire,
And racke her with a thousand holy wishes.
Then on a place prepared for her there,
Ile execute her with a thousand kisses.
Thus will I crucifie my cruell shee,
Thus Ile plague her which so hath plagued mee.
Amour. 16.
Vertues Idea in virginitie,
By inspiration, came conceau'd with thought:
The time is come deluered she must be,
Where first my Loue into the world was brought.
Vnhappy Borne, of all vnhappy day,
So luckles was my Babes natiuity:
Saturne chiefe Lord of the Ascendant lay,
The wandring Moone in earths triplicitie.
Now, or by chaunce, or heauens hie prouidence,
His Mother died, and by her Legacie,
(Fearing the stars presaged influence,)
Bequeath'd his wardship to my soueraignes eye;
There hunger star [...]en, wanting lookes to liue,
Still empty gorg'd, with cares consumption pynde,
Salt luke-warme teares shee for his drinke did giue,
And euer-more with sighes he supt and dynde.
And thus (poore Orphan) lying in distresse,
[...]yes in his pangs, God helpe the motherlesse.
Amour. 17.
If euer wonder could report a wonder,
Or tongue of wonder worth could tell a wonder thought,
Or euer ioy expresse, what perfect ioy hath taught,
Then wonder, tongue, then ioy, might wel report a wonder.
Could all conceite conclude, which past conceite admireth,
Or could mine eye but ayme, her obiects past perfection,
My words might imitate my deerest thoughts direction:
And my soule then obtaine which so my soule desireth.
VVere not Inuention stauld, treading Inuentions maze,
Or my swift-winged Muse tyred by too hie flying,
Did not perfection still on her perfection gaze,
VVhilst Loue (my Phoenix bird) in her own flame is dying,
Inuention and my Muse, perfection and her loue,
Should teach the world to know the wonder that I proue.
Amour. 18.
Some when in ryme they of their Loues doe tell,
With flames and lightning their exordiums paynt,
Some inuocate the Gods, some spirits of Hell,
And heauen, and earth, doe with their woes acquaint.
Elizia is too hie a seate for mee,
I wyll not come in Stixe nor Phlegiton,
The Muses nice, the Furies cruell be,
I lyke not Limbo, nor blacke Acheron,
Spightfull Errinis frights mee with her lookes,
My manhood dares not with foule Ate mell,
I quake to looke on Hecats charming bookes,
I styll feare bugbeares in Apollos Cell.
I passe not for Minerua nor Astraea,
But euer call vpon diuine Idea.
Amour. 19.
If those ten Regions registred by Fame,
By theyr ten Sibils haue the world controld,
Who prophecied of Christ or ere he came,
And of hys blessed birth before fore-told.
That man-god now of whom they dyd diuine,
This earth of those sweet Prophets hath bereft,
And since the world to iudgement doth declyne,
In steed of ten, one Sibil to vs left.
Thys, pure Idea, vertues right Idea,
Shee of whom Merlin long tyme did fore-tell,
Excelling her of Delphos or Cumaea,
Whose lyfe doth saue a thousand soules from hell:
That life (I meane) which doth Religion teach,
And by example, true repentance preach.
Amour. 20.
Reading sometyme, my sorrowes to beguile,
I find old Poets hylls and floods admire.
One, he doth wonder monster-breeding Nyle,
Another, meruailes Sulphure Aetnas fire.
Now broad-brymd Indus, then of Pindus height,
Pelion and Ossa, frosty Caucase old,
The Delian Cynthus, then Olympus weight,
Slow Arrer, frantick Gallus, Cydnus cold.
Some Ganges, Ister, and of Tagus tell,
Some whir-poole Po, and slyding Hypasis,
Some old Pernassus, where the Muses dwell,
Some Helycon, and some faire Simois,
A fooles thinke I, had you Idea seene,
Poore Brookes and Banks had no such wonders beene.
Amour. 21.
Letters and lynes we see are soone defaced,
Mettles doe waste, and fret with cankers rust,
The Diamond shall once consume to dust,
And freshest colours with foule staines disgraced.
Paper and yncke, can paynt but naked words,
To write with blood, of force offends the sight,
And if with teares, I find them all too light:
And sighes and signes a silly hope affoords.
O sweetest shadow, how thou seru'st my turne,
Which still shalt be as long as there is Sunne,
Nor whilst the world is, neuer shall be done,
Whilst Moone shall shyne by night, or any fire shall burne.
That euery thing whence shadow doth proceede,
May in his shadow my Loues story reade.
Amour. 22.
My hart imprisoned in a hopeles Ile,
Peopled with Armies of pale iealous eyes,
The shores beset with thousand secret spyes,
Must passe by ayre, or else dye in exile.
He framd him wings with feathers of his thought,
Which by theyr nature learn'd to mount the skye,
And with the same he practised to flye,
Till he himselfe thys Eagles art had taught.
Thus soring still, nor looking once below,
So neere thyne eyes celestiall sunne aspyred,
That with the rayes his wasting py [...]eons fired.
Thus was the wanton cause of hys owne woe.
Downe fell he in thy Beauties O [...]an drenched,
Yet there he burnes, in fire thats neuer quenched.
Amour. 23
Wonder of Heauen, glasse of diuinitie,
Rare beauty, Natures ioy, perfections Mother,
The worke of that vnited Trinitie,
VVherein each fayrest part excelleth other.
Loues Methridate, the purest of perfection,
Celestiall Image, Load-stone of desire,
The soules delight, the sences true direction,
Sunne of the world, thou hart reuyuing fire.
Why should'st thou place thy Trophies in those eyes,
Which scorne the honor that is done to thee,
Or make my pen her name imortalize,
Who in her pride sdaynes once to looke on mee.
It is thy heauen within her face to dwell,
And in thy heauen, there onely is my hell.
Amour. 24.
Our floods-Queene Thames, for shyps & Swans is crowned,
And stately Seuerne, for her shores is praised,
The christall Trent, for Foords & fishe renowned,
And Auons fame, to Albyons Cliues is raysed.
Carlegion Chester, vaunts her holy Dee,
Yorke, many wonders of her Ouse can tell,
The Peake her Doue, whose bancks so fertill bee,
And Kent will say, her Medway doth excell.
Cotswoold commends her Isis and her Tame,
Our Northern borders boast of Tweeds faire flood,
Our Westerne parts extoll theyr VVilys fame,
And old Legea brags of Danish blood:
Ardens sweet Ankor let thy glory be,
That fayre Idea shee doth liue by thee.
Amour. 25.
The glorious sunne went blushing to his bed,
When my soules sunne from her fayre Cabynet,
Her golden beames had now discouered,
Lightning the world, eclipsed by his set.
Some muz'd to see the earth enuy the ayre,
Which from her lyps exhald refined sweet,
A world to see, yet how he ioyd to heare
The dainty grasse make musicke with her feete.
But my most meruaile was when from the skyes,
So Comet-like each starre aduaunc'd her lyght,
As though the heauen had now awak'd her eyes,
And summond Angels to thys blessed sight.
No clowde was seene, but christaline the ayre,
Laughing for ioy vpon my louely fayre,
Amour. 26.
Cupid, dumbe Idoll, peeuish Saint of loue,
No more shalt thou nor Saint nor Idoll be,
No God art thou, a Goddesse shee doth proue,
Of all thine honour shee hath robbed thee.
Thy Bowe halfe broke, is peec'd with olde desire,
Her Bowe is beauty, with ten thousand strings,
Of purest gold, tempred with vertues fire:
The least able to kyll an hoste of Kings.
Thy shafts be spent, and shee (to warre appointed)
Hydes in those christall quiuers of her eyes,
More Arrowes with hart-piercing mettel poynted,
Then there be starres at midnight in the skyes.
With these, she steales mens harts for her reliefe,
Yet happy he thats robd of such a thiefe.
Amour. 27
My Loue makes hote the fire whose heat is spent,
The water, moysture from my teares deriueth:
And my strong sighes, the ayres weake force reuiueth
This loue, tears, sighes, maintaine each one his element
The fire, vnto my loue, compare a painted fire,
The water, to my teares, as drops to Oceans be,
The ayre, vnto my sighes, as Eagle to the fire,
The passions of dispaire, but ioyes to my desire.
Onely my loue is in the fire ingraued,
Onely my teares by Oceans may be gessed,
Onely my sighes are by the ayre expressed,
Yet fire, water, ayre, of nature not depriued.
Whilst fire, water, ayre, twixt heauen & earth shal be,
My loue, my teares, my sighes, extinguisht cannot be.
Amour. 28.
Some wits there be, which lyke my method well,
And say my verse runnes in a lofty vayne,
Some say I haue a passing pleasing straine,
Some say that in my humor I excell.
Some, who reach not the height of my conceite,
They say, (as Poets doe) I vse to fayne,
And in bare words paynt out my passions payne.
Thus sundry men, their sundry minds repeate.
I passe not I how men affected be,
Nor who commend or discommend my verse,
It pleaseth me if I my plaints rehearse,
And in my lynes if shee my loue may see.
I proue my verse autentique still in thys,
Who writes my Mistres praise, can neuer write amisse.
Amour. 29.
O eyes, behold your happy Hesperus,
That luckie Load-starre of eternall light,
Left as that sunne alone to comfort vs,
When our worlds sunne is vanisht out of sight.
O starre of starres, fayre Planet mildly moouing,
O Lampe of vertue, sun-bright, euer shyning,
O mine eyes Comet, so admyr'd by louing,
O cleerest day-starre, neuer more declyning.
O our worlds wonder, crowne of heauen aboue,
Thrice happy be those eyes which may behold thee,
Lou'd more then life, yet onely art his loue,
VVhose glorious hand immortall hath enrold thee.
O blessed fayre, now vaile those heauenly eyes,
That I may blesse mee at thy sweet arise.
Amour. 30.
Three sorts of Serpents doe resemble thee,
That daungerous eye-killing Cockatrice,
Th'inchaunting Syren, which doth so entice,
The weeping Crocodile: these vile pernicious three.
The Basiliske his nature takes from thee,
Who for my life in secrete waite do'st lye,
And to my hart send'st poyson from thine eye,
Thus do I feele the paine, the cause, yet cannot see.
Faire-mayd no more, but Mayr-maid be thy name,
Who with thy sweet aluring harmony
Hast playd the thiefe, and stolne my hart from me.
And like a Tyrant mak'st my griefe thy game.
Thou Crocodile, who when thou hast me slaine,
Lament'st my death, with teares of thy disdaine.
Amour. 31.
Sitting alone, loue bids me goe and write,
Reason plucks backe, commaunding me to stay,
Boasting that shee doth still direct the way,
Els senceles loue could neuer once endite.
Loue growing angry, vexed at the spleene,
And scorning Reasons maymed Argument,
Straight taxeth Reason, wanting to inuent,
Where shee with Loue conuersing hath not beene.
Reason reproched with this coy disdaine,
Dispighteth Loue, and laugheth at her folly,
And Loue contemning Reasons reason wholy,
Thought her in weight too light by many a graine
Reason put back, doth out of sight remoue,
And Loue alone finds reason in my loue.
Amour. 32.
Those teares which quench my hope, still kindle my desire,
Those sighes which coole my hart, are coles vnto my loue.
Disdayne Ice to my life, is to my soule a fire,
VVith teares, sighes, & disdaine, thys contrary I proue.
Quenchles desire, makes hope burne, dryes my teares,
Loue heats my hart, my hart-heat my sighes warmeth,
VVith my soules fire, my life disdaine out-weares,
Desire, my loue, my soule, my hope, hart, & life charmeth.
My hope becomes a friend to my desire,
My hart imbraceth Loue, Loue doth imbrace my hart,
My life a Phoenix is in my soules fire,
From thence (they vow) they neuer will depart.
Desire, my loue, my soule, my hope, my hart, my life,
VVith teares, sighes, and disdaine, shall haue immortal strife.
Amour. 33.
VVhilst thus mine eyes doe surfet with delight,
My wofull hart imprisond in my breast,
VVishing to be trans-formd into my sight,
To looke on her by whom mine eyes are blest.
But whilst mine eyes thus greedily doe gaze,
Behold, their obiects ouer-soone depart,
And treading in thys neuer-ending maze,
VVish now to be trans-formd into my hart.
My hart surcharg'd with thoughts, sighes in abundance raise,
My eyes made dim with lookes, poure down a flood of tears,
And whilst my hart and eye, enuy each others praise,
My dying lookes and thoughts are peiz'd in equall feares.
And thus whilst sighes and teares together doe contende,
Each one of these, doth ayde vnto the other lende.
Amour. 34.
My fayre, looke from those turrets of thine eyes,
Into the Ocean of a troubled minde,
Where my poore soule, the Barke of sorrow lyes,
Left to the mercy of the waues and winde.
See where shee flotes, laden with purest loue,
Which those fayre Ilands of thy lookes affoord,
Desiring yet a thousand deaths to proue,
Then so to cast her Ballase ouer boord.
See how her sayles be rent, her tacklings worne,
Her Cable broke, her surest Anchor lost,
Her Marryners doe leaue her all forforne,
Yet how shee bends towards that blessed Coast.
Loe where she drownes, in stormes of thy displeasure,
Whose worthy prize should haue enritcht thy treasure.
Amour. 35.
See chaste Diana, where my harmles hart,
Rouz'd from my breast, his sure and safest layre,
Nor chaste by hound, nor forc'd by Hunters arte,
Yet see how right he comes vnto my fayre.
See how my Deere comes to thy Beauties stand,
And there stands gazing on those darting eyes,
Whilst from theyr rayes by Cupids skilfull hand,
Into his hart the piercing Arrow flyes.
See how hee lookes vpon his bleeding wound,
Whilst thus he panteth for his latest breath,
And looking on thee, falls vpon the ground,
Smyling, as though he gloried in his death.
And wallowing in his blood, some lyfe yet laft,
His stone-cold lips doth kisse the blessed shaft.
Amour. 36.
Sweete sleepe so arm'd wth Beauties arrowes darting,
Sleepe in thy Beauty, Beauty in sleepe appeareth,
Sleepe lightning Beauty, Beauty sleepes darknes cleereth,
Sleepes wonder Beauty, wonders to worlds imparting.
Sleep watching Beauty, Beauty waking, sleepe guarding,
Beauty in sleepe, sleepe in Beauty charmed,
Sleepes aged coldnes, with Beauties fire warmed,
Sleepe with delight, Beauty with loue rewarding.
Seepe and Beauty, with equall forces stryuing,
Beauty her strength vnto sleepes weaknes lending,
Sleepe with Beauty, Beauty with sleepe contending,
Yet others force, the others force reuiuing:
And others foe, the others foe imbrace,
Myne eyes beheld thys conflict in thy face.
Amour. 37.
I euer loue, where neuer hope appeares,
Yet hope drawes on my neuer-hoping care,
And my liues hope would die but for dyspaire,
My neuer certaine ioy, breeds euer-certaine feares.
Vncertaine-dread, gyues wings vnto my hope,
Yet my hopes wings are loden so with feare,
As they cannot ascend to my hopes spheare,
Yet feare gyues them more then a heauenly scope:
Yet thys large roome is bounded with dyspaire,
So my loue is styll fettered with vaine hope,
And lyberty depriues hym of hys scope,
And thus am I imprisond in the ayre;
Then sweet Dispaire, awhile hold vp thy head,
Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.
Amour. 38.
If chaste and pure deuotion of my youth,
Or glorie of my Aprill-springing yeeres,
Vnfained loue, in naked simple truth,
A thousand vowes, a thousand sighes and teares:
Or if a world of faithfull seruice done,
Words, thoughts and deeds deuoted to her honor,
Or eyes that haue beheld her as theyr sunne,
With admiration, euer looking on her.
A lyfe, that neuer ioyd but in her loue,
A soule, that euer hath ador'd her name,
A fayth, that time nor fortune could not moue,
A Muse, that vnto heauen hath raisd her fame.
Though these, nor these deserue to be imbraced,
Yet faire vnkinde, too good to be disgraced.
Amour. 39.
Die, die, my soule, and neuer taste of ioy,
If sighes, nor teares, nor vowes, nor prayers can moue,
If fayth and zeale be but esteemd a toy,
And kindnes, be vnkindnes in my loue.
Then with vnkindnes, Loue reuenge thy wrong,
O sweet'st reuenge that ere the heauens gaue,
And with the Swan record thy dying song,
And praise her still to thy vntimely graue.
So in loues death shall loues perfection proue,
That loue diuine which I haue borne to you,
By doome concealed to the heauens aboue,
That yet the world vnworthy neuer knewe,
Whose pure Idea neuer tongue exprest,
I feele, you know, the heauens can tell the rest.
Amour. 40.
O thou vnkindest fayre, most fayrest shee,
In thine eyes tryumph murthering my poore hart,
Now doe I sweare by heauens, before we part,
My halfe-slaine hart shall take reuenge on thee.
Thy Mother dyd her lyfe to Death resigne,
And thou an Angell art, and from aboue,
Thy father was a man, that will I proue,
Yet thou a Goddesse art, and so diuine.
And thus if thou be not of humaine kinde,
A Bastard on both sides needes must thou be,
Our Lawes alow no Land to basterdy:
By natures Lawes we thee a Bastard finde.
Then hence to heauen vnkind, for thy childs part,
Goe Bastard, for sure of thence thou art.
Amour. 41.
Rare of-spring of my thoughts, my deerest Loue,
Begot by fancy, on sweet hope exhortiue,
In whom all purenes with perfection stroue,
Hurt in the Embryon, makes my ioyes abhortiue.
And you my sighes, Symtomas of my woe,
The dolefull Anthems of my endlesse care,
Lyke idle Ecchoes euer aunswering: so,
The mournfull accents of my loues dispayre.
And thou Conceite, the shadow of my blisse,
Declyning with the setting of my sunne,
Springing with that, and fading straight with this,
Now hast thou end, and now thou wast begun.
Now was thy pryme, and loe, now is thy waine,
Now wast thou borne, now in thy cradle slayne.
Amour. 42
Plac'd in the forlorne hope of all dispayre,
Against the Forte where Beauties Army lies,
Assayld with death, yet arm'd with gastly feare,
Loe thus my loue, my lyfe, my fortune tryes.
Wounded with Arrowes from thy lightning eyes,
My tongue in payne, my harts counsels bewraying,
My rebell thought for me in Ambushe lyes,
To my loues foe her Chieftaine still betraying.
Record my loue in Ocean waues (vnkind,)
Cast my desarts into the open ayre,
Commit my words vnto the fleeting wind,
Cancell my name, and blot it with dispayre,
So shall I be, as I had neuer beene,
Nor my disgraces to the world be seene.
Amour. 43.
Why doe I speake of ioy, or write of loue,
When my hart is the very Den of horror,
And in my soule the paynes of hell I proue,
With all his torments and infernall terror.
Myne eyes want teares thus to bewayle my woe,
My brayne is dry with weeping all too long,
My sighes be spent with griefe and sighing so,
And I want words for to expresse my wrong
But still distracted in loues Lunacy,
And Bedlam like thus rauing in my griefe,
Now rayle vpon her hayre, now on her eye,
Now call her Goddesse, then I call her thiefe,
Now I deny her, then I doe confesse her,
Now doe I curse her, then againe I blesse her.
Amour. 44.
My hart the Anuile where my thoughts doe beate,
My words the hammers, fashioning my desires,
My breast the forge, including all the heate,
Loue is the fuell which maintaines the fire.
My sighes, the bellowes which the flame increaseth,
Filling myne eares with noyse and nightly groning,
Toyling with paine, my labour neuer ceaseth,
In greevous passions my woes styll bemoning.
Myne eyes with teares against the fire stryuing,
With scorching gleed my hart to cynders turneth:
But with those drops the coles againe reuyuing,
Still more and more vnto my torment burneth.
With Sisiphus thus doe I role the stone,
And turne the wheele with damned Ixion.
Amour. 45
Blacke pytchy Night, companyon of my woe,
The Inne of care, the Nurse of drery sorrow,
Why lengthnest thou thy darkest howres so,
Still to prolong my long tyme lookt-for morrow?
Thou Sable shadow, Image of dispayre
Portraite of hell, the ayres black mourning weed,
Recorder of reuenge, remembrancer of care,
The shadow and the vaile of euery sinfull deed.
Death like to thee, so lyue thou still in death,
The graue of ioy, pryson of dayes delight,
Let heauens withdraw their sweet Ambrozian breath,
Nor Moone nor stars lend thee their shining light.
For thou alone renew'st that olde desire,
Which still torments me in dayes burning fire.
Amour. 46.
Sweet secrecie, what tongue can tell thy worth?
What mortall pen suffyciently can prayse thee?
What curious Pensill serues to lim thee forth?
What Muse hath power, aboue thy height to raise thee?
Strong locke of kindnesse, Closet of loues store,
Harts Methridate, the soules preseruatiue,
O vertue, which all vertues doe adore,
Cheefe good, from whom all good things we deriue.
O rare effect, true bond of friendships measure,
Conceite of Angels, which all wisdom teachest,
O richest Casket of all heauenly treasure,
In secret silence, which such wonders preachest,
O purest merror, wherein men may see
The liuely Image of Diuinitie.
Amour. 47.
The golden Sunne vpon his fiery wheeles,
The horned Ram doth in his course awake:
And of iust length our night and day doth make,
Flinging the Fishes backward with his heeles.
Then to the Tropicke takes his full Careere,
Trotting his sun-steeds till the Palfrays sweat,
Bayting the Lyon in his furious heat,
Till Virgins smyles doe sound his sweet reteere.
But my faire Planet, who directs me still,
Vnkindly, such distemprature doth bring,
Makes Summer Winter, Autumne in the Spring,
Crossing sweet nature by vnruly will.
Such is the sunne, who guides my youthfull season,
Whose thwarting course, depriues the world of reason.
Amour. 48.
Who list to praise the dayes delicious lyght,
Let him compare it to her heauenly eye:
The sun-beames to that lustre of her sight,
So may the learned like the similie.
The mornings Crimson, to her lyps alike,
The sweet of Eden, to her breathes perfume,
The fayre Elizia, to her fayrer cheeke,
Vnto her veynes, the onely Phoenix plume.
The Angels tresses, to her tressed hayre,
The Galixia, to her more then white:
Praysing the fayrest, compare it to my faire,
Still naming her, in naming all delight.
So may he grace all these in her alone,
Superlatiue in all comparison.
Amour. 49.
Define my loue, and tell the ioyes of heauen,
Expresse my woes, and shew the paynes of hell,
Declare what fate vnlucky starres haue giuen,
And aske a world vpon my life to dwell.
Make knowne that fayth, vnkindnes could not moue,
Compare my worth with others base desert,
Let vertue be the tuch-stone of my loue,
So may the heauens reade wonders in my hart.
Behold the Clowdes which haue eclips'd my sunne,
And view the crosses which my course doth let,
Till mee, if euer since the world begunne,
So faire a Morning had so foule a set?
And by all meanes, let black vnkindnes proue,
The patience of so rare diuine a loue.
Amour. 50.
When first I ended, then I first began,
The more I trauell, further from my rest,
Where most I lost, there most of all I wan,
Pyned with hunger, rysing from a feast.
Mee thinks I flee, yet want I legs to goe,
Wise in conceite, in acte a very sot,
Rauisht with ioy, amidst a hell of woe,
What most I seeme, that surest am I not.
I build my hopes, a world aboue the skye,
Yet with the Mole, I creepe into the earth,
In plenty, am I staru'd with penury,
And yet I surfet in the greatest dearth.
I haue, I want, dispayre, and yet desire,
Burn'd in a Sea of Ice, & drown'd amidst a fire.
Amour. 51.
Goe you my lynes, Embassadors of loue,
With my harts trybute to her conquering eyes,
From whence, if you one teare of pitty moue
For all my woes, that onely shall suffise.
When you Minerua in the sunne behold,
At her perfection stand you then and gaze,
Where, in the compasse of a Marygold,
Meridianis sits within a maze.
And let Inuention of her beauty vaunt,
When Dorus sings his sweet Pamelas loue,
And tell the Gods, Mars is predominant.
Seated with Sol, and weares Mineruas gloue.
And tell the world, that in the world there is
A heauen on earth, on earth no heauen but this.
FINIS.
THE EIGHTH EGLOG.
Good Gorbo of the golden world,
and Saturns raigne doth tell,
And afterward doth make reporte,
of bonnie Dovvsabell.
Motto.
SHepheard why creepe we in this lowly vaine,
as though our muse no store at all affordes,
Whilst others vaunt it with the frolicke swayne,
and strut the stage with reperfumed wordes.
See how these yonkers raue it out in rime,
who make a traffique of their rarest wits,
And in Bellonas buskin tread it fine,
like Bacchus priests raging in franticke fits.
Those mirtle Groues decay'd, done growe againe,
their rootes refresht with Heliconas spring,
Whose pleasant shade inuites the homely swayne,
to sit him dovvne and heare the Muses sing.
Then if thy Muse hath spent her wonted zeale,
with Iuie twist thy temples shall be crownd,
Or if she dares hoyse vp top-gallant sayle,
Amongst the rest, then may she be renownd.
Gorbo.
My boy, these yonkers reachen after fame,
and so done presse into the learned troupe,
With filed quill to glorifie their name,
which otherwise were pend in shamefull coupe.
But this hie obiect hath abiected me,
and I must pipe amongst the lowly sorte,
Those little heard-groomes who admir'd to see,
when I by Moone-shine made the fayries sporte.
Who dares describe the toyles of Hercules,
and puts his hand to fames eternall penne,
Must inuocate the soule of Hercules,
attended with the troupes of conquered men.
Who vvrites of thrice renovvmed Theseus,
a monster-tamers rare description,
Trophies the iavves of vglie Cerberus,
and paynts out Styx, and fiery Acheron.
My Muse may not affect night-charming spels,
vvhose force effects th'Olympicke vault to quake,
Nor call those grysly Goblins from their Cels,
the euer-damned frye of Limbo lake.
And who erects the braue Pyramides,
of Monarches or renowned warriours,
Neede bath his quill for such attempts as these,
in flowing streames of learned Maros showres
For when the great worlds conquerer began,
to proue his helmet and his habergeon,
The sweat that from the Poets-God Orpheus ran,
foretold his Prophets had to play vpon.
When Pens and Launces sawe the Olympiad prize,
those chariot triumphes with the Lawrell crowne,
Then gan the worthies glorie first to rise,
and plumes were vayled to the purple gowne.
The grauest Censor, sagest Senator,
with wings of Iustice and Religion,
Mounted the top of Nimrods statelie Tower,
soring vnto that hie celestiall throne:
Where blessed Angels in their heauenly queares,
chaunt Anthemes with shrill Syren harmonie,
Tun'd to the sound of those aye-crouding sphears,
Which herien their makers eternitie.
Those who foretell the times of vnborne men,
and future things in foretime augured,
Haue slumbred in that spell-gods darkest den,
which first inspir'd his prophesiyng head.
Sooth-saying Sibels sleepen long agone,
we haue their reede, but few haue cond their Arte,
Welch-wisard Merlyn, cleueth to a stone,
no Oracle more wonders may impart.
The Infant age could deftly caroll loue,
till greedy thirst of that ambitious honor,
Drew Poets pen, from his sweete lasses gloue,
to chaunt of slaughtering broiles & bloody horror.
Then Ioues loue-theft was priuily discri'd,
how he playd false play in Amphitrios bed,
And how Apollo in the mount of Ide,
gaue Oenon phisick for her maydenhead.
The tender grasse was then the softest bed,
the pleasant'st shades were deem'd the statelyest hals,
No belly-god with Bacchus banqueted,
nor paynted ragges then couered rotten wals.
Then simple loue with simple vertue way'd,
flowers the fauours which true fayth reuayled,
Kindnes with kindnes was againe repay'd,
with sweetest kisses couenants were sealed.
Then beauties selfe with her selfe beautified,
scornd payntings pergit, and the borrowed hayre,
Nor monstrous formes deformities did hide,
nor foule was vernisht with compounded fayre.
The purest fleece then couered purest skin,
for pride as then with Lucifer remaynd:
Deformed fashions now were to begin,
nor clothes were yet with poysned liquor staynd.
But when the bowels of the earth were sought,
and men her golden intrayles did espie,
This mischiefe then into the world was brought,
this fram'd the mint which coynd our miserie.
Then lofty Pines were by ambition hewne,
and men sea-monsters swamme the brackish flood,
In waynscot tubs, to seeke out worlds vnknowne,
for certain ill to leaue assured good.
The starteling steede is manag'd from the field,
and serues a subiect to the riders lawes,
He whom the churlish bit did neuer weeld,
now feels the courb controll his angrie iawes.
The hammering Vulcane spent his wasting fire,
till he the vse of tempred mettals found,
His anuile wrought the steeled cotes attire,
and forged tooles to carue the foe-mans wound.
The Citie builder then intrencht his towres,
and wald his wealth within the fenced towne,
Which afterward in bloudy stormy stours,
kindled that flame which burnt his Bulwarks downe.
And thus began th' Exordium of our woes,
the fatall dumbe shewe of our miserie:
Here sprang the tree on which our mischiefe growes,
the drery subiect of worlds tragedie.
Motto.
Well, shepheard well, the golden age is gone,
wishes may not reuoke that which is past:
It were no wit to make two griefes of one,
our prouerb sayth, Nothing can alwayes last.
Listen to me my louely shepheards ioye,
and thou shalt heare with mirth and mickle glee,
A pretie Tale, which when I was a boy,
my toothles Grandame oft hath tolde to me.
Motto.
Farre in the countrey of Arden,
There wond a knight hight Cassemen,
as bolde as Isenbras:
Fell was he and eger bent,
In battell and in Tournament,
as was the good sir Topas.
He had as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleaped Dowsabell,
a mayden fayre and free:
And for she was her fathers heire,
Full well she was ycond the leyre,
of mickle curtesie.
The silke wel couth she twist and twine,
And make the fine Marchpine,
and with the needle werke,
And she couth helpe the priest to say
His Mattens on a holyday,
and sing a Psalme in Kirke.
She ware a frock of frolicke greene,
Might well be seeme a mayden Queene,
which seemly was to see.
[Page 61]A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like the colombine,
y wrought full featuously.
Her feature all as fresh aboue,
As is the grasse that growes by Doue,
as lyth as lasse of Kent:
Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,
As white as snow on peakish hull,
or Swanne that swims in Trent.
This mayden in a morne betime,
VVent forth when May was in her prime,
to get sweete Ce [...]ywall,
The hony-suckle, the Harlocke,
The Lilly and the Lady-smocke,
to deck her summer hall.
Thus as she wandred here and there,
Y picking of the bloomed Breere,
she chanced to espie
A shepheard sitting on a bancke,
Like Chanteclere he crowed crancke,
and pip'd with merrie glee:
He leard his sheepe as he him list,
VVhen he would whistle in his fist,
to feede about him round:
VVhilst he full many a caroll sung,
Vntill the fields and medowes rung,
and that the woods did sound:
[Page 62]In fauour this same shepheards swayne,
was like the bedlam Tamburlayne,
which helde prowd Kings in awe:
But meeke he was as Lamb mought be,
Y like that gentle Abel he,
whom his lewd brother slaw.
This shepheard ware a sheepe gray cloke,
which was of the finest loke,
that could be cut with sheere,
His mittens were of Bauzens skinne,
His cockers were of Cordiwin,
his hood of Meniueere.
His aule and lingell in a thong,
His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong,
his breech of Coyntrie blew:
Full crispe and curled were his lockes,
His browes as white as Albion rocks,
so like a louer true.
And pyping still he spent the day,
So mery as the Popingay:
which liked Dowsabell,
That would she ought or would she nought,
This lad would neuer from her thought:
she in loue-longing fell,
At length she tucked vp her frocke,
VVhite as the Lilly was her smocke,
she drew the shepheard nie,
[Page 63]But then the shepheard pyp'd a good,
That all his sheepe forsooke their foode,
to heare his melodie.
Thy sheepe quoth she cannot be leane,
That haue a iolly shepheards swayne,
the which can pipe so well.
Yea but (sayth he) their shepheard may,
If pyping thus he pine away,
in loue of Dowsabell.
Of loue fond boy take thou no keepe,
Quoth she, looke well vnto thy sheepe,
lest they should hap to stray.
Quoth he, so had I done full well,
Had I not seene fayre Dowsabell,
come forth to gather Maye.
VVith that she gan to vaile her head,
Her cheekes were like the Roses red,
but not a word she sayd.
VVith that the shepheard gan to frowne,
He threw his pretie pypes adowne,
and on the ground him layd.
Sayth she, I may not stay till night,
And leaue my summer hall vndight,
and all for long of thee.
My Coate sayth he, nor yet my foulde,
Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould,
except thou fauour me.
[Page 64]Sayth she yet leuer I were dead,
Then I should lose my maydenhead,
and all for loue of men:
Sayth he yet are you too vnkind,
If in your heart you cannot finde,
to loue vs now and then:
And I to thee will be as kinde,
As Colin was to Rosalinde,
of curtesie the flower:
Then will I be as true quoth she,
As euer mayden yet might be,
vnto her Paramour:
VVith that she bent her snow-white knee,
Downe by the shepheard kneeled shee,
and him she sweetely kist.
VVith that the shepheard whoop'd for ioy,
Quoth he, ther's neuer shepheards boy,
that euer was so blist.
Gorbo.
Now by my sheep-hooke here's a tale alone,
Learne me the same and I will giue thee hier,
This were as good as curds for our Ione,
When at a night we sitten by the fire.
Motto.
Why gentle hodge I will not sticke for that,
when we two meeten here another day,
But see whilst we haue set vs downe to chat,
yon tikes of mine begin to steale away.
And if thou wilt but come vnto our greene,
on Lammas day when as we haue our feast,
Thou shalt sit next vnto our summer Queene,
and thou shalt be the onely welcome guest.
THE NINTH EGLOG.
VVhen cole-blacke night with sable vaile
eclipsd the gladsome light,
Rowland in darkesome shade alone,
bemoanes his wofull plight.
WHat time the wetherbeaten flockes,
forsooke the fields to shrowd them in the folde,
The groues dispoyl'd of their fayre summer lockes,
the leaueles branches nipt with frostie colde,
The drouping trees their gaynesse all agone,
In mossie mantles doe expresse their moane.
When Phoebus from his Lemmans louely bower,
throughout the sphere had ierckt his angry Iades,
His Carre now pass'd the heauens hie welked Tower,
gan dragge adowne the occidentall slades,
In silent shade of desart all alone,
Thus to the night, Rowland bewrayes his moane.
Oh blessed starres which lend the darknes light,
the glorious paynting of that circled throane,
You eyes of heauen, you lanthornes of the night,
to you bright starres, to you I make my moane,
Or end my dayes, or ease me of my griefe,
The earth is frayle, and yeelds me no reliefe.
And thou fayre Phebe, cleerer to my sight,
then Tytan is when brightest he hath shone,
Why shouldst thou now shut vp thy blessed light,
and sdayne to looke on thy Endymion?
Perhaps the heauens me thus despight haue done,
Because I durst compare thee with their sunne.
If drery sighes the tempests of my brest,
or streames of teares from floods of weeping eyes,
If downe-cast lookes with darksome cloudes opprest,
or words which with sad accents fall and rise,
If these, nor her, nor you, to pittie moue,
There's neither helpe in you, nor hope in loue.
Oh fayr'st that liues, yet most vnkindest mayd,
ô whilome thou the ioy of all my flocke,
Why haue thine eyes these eyes of mine betrayd,
Vnto thy hart more hard then flintie rocke,
And lastly thus depriu'd me of their sight,
From whome my loue deriues both life and light.
Those dapper ditties pend vnto her prayse,
and those sweete straynes of tunefull pastorall,
She scorneth as the Lourdayns clownish layes,
and recketh as the rustick madrigall,
Her lippes prophane Ideas sacred name,
And sdayne to read the annals of her fame.
Those gorgeous garlands and those goodly flowers,
wherewith I crown'd her tresses in the prime,
She most abhors, and shuns those pleasant bowers,
made to disport her in the summer time:
She hates the sports and pastimes I inuent,
And as the toade, flies all my meriment.
With holy verses heryed I her gloue,
and dew'd her cheekes with fountaines of my teares,
And carold her full many a lay of loue,
twisting sweete Roses in her golden hayres.
Her wandring sheepe full safely haue I kept,
And watch'd her flocke full oft when she hath slept.
Oenon neuer vpon Ida hill,
so oft hath cald on Alexanders name,
As hath poore Rowland with an Angels quill,
erected trophies of Ideas fame:
Yet that false shepheard Oenon fled from thee,
I follow her that euer flies from me.
Ther's not a groue that wonders not my woe,
there's not a riuer weepes not at my tale:
I heare the ecchoes (wandring too and froe)
resound my griefe in euery hill and dale,
The beasts in field, with many a wofull groane,
The birds in ayre help to expresse my moane.
Where been those lines? the heraulds of my heart,
my plaints, my tears, my vowes, my sighes, my prayers?
ô what auayleth fayth, or what my Artes?
ô loue, ô hope, quite turn'd into despayres:
She stops her eares as Adder to the charmes,
And lets me lye and languish in my harmes.
All is agone, such is my endles griefe,
And my mishaps amended naught with moane,
I see the heauens will yeeld me no reliefe:
what helpeth care, when cure is past and gone,
And teares I see, doe me auayle no good,
But as great showres increase the rising flood.
With folded armes, thus hanging downe his head,
he gaue a groane as though his heart had broke,
Then looking pale and wan as he were dead,
he fetch'd a sigh, but neuer a word he spoke:
For now his heart wax'd cold as any stone,
Was neuer man aliue so woe begone.
With that fayre Cinthya stoups her glittering vayle,
and diues adowne into the Ocean flood,
The easterne brow which erst was wan and pale,
now in the dawning blusheth red as blood:
The whistling Larke ymounted on her wings,
To the gray morrow, her good morrow sings.
When this poore shepheard Rowland of the Rocke,
whose faynting legges his body scarse vpheld,
Each shepheard now returning to his flocke,
alone poore Rowland fled the pleasant field,
And in his Coate got to a vechie bed:
Was neuer man aliue so hard bested.
Imprinted at London for Thomas VVoodcock, dwelling in Pauls Church-yarde, at the signe of the black Beare. 1593.