The Affectionate Shepherd. Containing the Complaint of Daphnis for the love of Ganymede.  
Amor plus mellis, quam fellis, est.  
LONDON, Printed by john Danter for T. G. and E. N. and are to be sold in Saint Dunston's Churchyard in Fleetstreet. 1594.   

To the Right Excellent and most beautiful Lady, the Lady PENELOPE rich.  

Fair lovely Lady, whose Angelique eyes  
Are Vestal Candles of sweet Beauty's Treasure,  
Whose speech is able to enchant the wise,  
Converting joy to Pain, and Pain to Pleasure;  
Accept this simple Toy of my Souls Duty,  
Which I present unto thy matchless Beauty.   

And albeit the gift be all too mean,  
Too mean an Offering for thine ivory Shrine;  
Yet must thy Beauty my just blame susteane,  
Since it is mortal, but thyself divine.  
Then (Noble Lady) take in gentle worth,  
This new-born Babe which here my Muse brings forth.   
Your Honour's most affectionate and perpetually devoted Shepherd: DAPHNIS.   

The Tears of an affectionate Shepherd sick for love. OR The Complaint of Daphnis for the Love of Ganymede▪  

SCarce had the morning Star hid from the light  
Heavens crimson Canopy with stars bespangled,  
But I began to rue th'unhappy sight  
Of that fair Boy that had my heart entangled;  
Cursing the Time, the Place, the sense, the sin;  
I came, I saw, I viewed, I slipped in.   

If it be sin to love a sweet-faced Boy,  
(Whoseamber locks trust up in golden trammels  
Dangle adown his lovely cheeks with joy,  
When pearl and flowers his fair hair enamels)  
If it be sin to love a lovely Lad;  
Oh then sin I, for whom my soul is sad.   

His juory-white and Alabaster skin  
Is stained throughout with rare vermilion red,  
Whose twinkling starry lights do never blind  
To shine on lovely Venus (Beauty's bed:)  
But as the Lily and the blushing Rose,  
So white and red on him in order grows.   

Upon a time the Nymphs bestirred themselves  
To try who could his beauty soon win:  
But he accounted them but all as Elves,  
Except it were the saire Queen Gwendolyn,  
Her he embraced, of her was beloved,  
With plaints he proved, and with tears he moved.   

But her an Old-Man had been suitor too,  
That in his age began to dote again;  
Her would he often pray, and often woe,  
When through old-age enfeebled was his Brain:  
But she before had loved a lusty youth  
That now was dead, the cause of all her ruth.   

And thus it happened, Death and Cupid met  
Upon a time at swilling Bacchus' house,  
Where dainty cates upon the Board were set,  
And Goblets full of wine to drink carouse:  
Where Love and Death did love the liquor so,  
That out they fall and to the fray they go.   

And having both their Quivers at their back  
●ild full of Arrows; Th'one of fatal steel;  
The other all of gold; Death's shaft was black,  
But Loves was yellow: Fortune turned her wheel;  
And from Death's Quiver fell a fatal shaft,  
That under Cupid by the wind was waft.   

And at the same time by ill hap there fell  
Another Arrow out of Cupid's Quiver;  
The which was carried by the wind at will,  
And under Death the amorous shaft did shiver:  
They being parted, Love took up Death's dart,  
And Death took up loves Arrow (for his part.)   

Thus as they wandered both about the world,  
At last Death met with one of feeble age:  
Wherewith he drew a shaft and at him hurled  
The unknown Arrow; (with a furious rage)  
Thinking to strike him dead with Death's black dart,  
But he (alas) with Love did wound his heart.   

This was the doting fool, this was the man  
That loved fair Guendolena Queen of Beauty;  
She cannot shake him off, do what she can,  
For he hath vowed to her his souls last duty:  
Making him trim upon the holidays;  
And crowns his Love with Garlands made of bay.   

Now doth he struck his Beard; and now (again)  
He wipes the drivel from his filthy chin;  
Now offers he a kiss; but high Disdain  
Will not permit her heart to pity him:  
Her heart more hard than Adamant or steel,  
Her heart more changeable than Fortune's wheel.   

But leave we him in love (up to the ears)  
And tell how Love behaved himself abroad;  
Who seeing one that mourned still in tears  
(a youngman groaning under loves great Load)  
Thinking to ease his Burden, rid his pains:  
For men have grief as long as life remains.   

Alas (the while) that unawares he drew  
The fatal shaft that Death had dropped before;  
By which deceit great harm did then ensue,  
Staining his face with blood and filthy gore.  
His face, that was to Gwendolyn more dear  
Than love of Lords, or any lordly Peer.   

This was that fair and beautiful youngman,  
Whom Guendolena so lamented for;  
This is that Love whom she doth curse and ban,  
Because she doth that dismal chance abhor:  
And if it were not for his Mother's sake,  
Even Ganymede himself she would forsake.   

Oh would she would forsake my Ganymede,  
Whose sugared love is full of sweet delight,  
Upon whose forehead you may plainly read  
loves Pleasure, graved in ivory Tables bright:  
In whose fair eyeballs you may clearly see  
Base Love still stained with foul indignity.   

O would to God he would but pity me,  
That love him more than any mortal wight;  
Then he and I with love would soon agree,  
That now cannot abide his Suitors sight.  
O would to God (so I might have my fee)  
My lips were honey, and thy mouth a Bee.   

Then shouldst thou suck my sweet and my fair flower  
That now is ripe, and full of honey-berries:  
Then would I lead thee to my pleasant Bower  
Filled full of Grapes, of Mulberries, and Cherries;  
Then shouldst thou be my Wasp or else my Bee,  
I would thy hive, and thou my honey be.   

I would put amber Bracelets on thy wrists,  
Crownets of Pearl about thy naked Arms:  
And when thou sit'st at swilling Bacchus feasts  
My lips with charms should save thee from all harms:  
And when in sleep thou tookst thy chiefest Pleasure,  
Mine eyes should gaze upon thine eyelids Treasure.   

And every Morn by dawning of the day,  
When Phoebus riseth with a blushing face,  
Silvanus' Chappel-Clarkes shall chant a Lay,  
And play thee hunts-up in thy resting place:  
My Coote thy Chamber, my bosom thy Bed;  
Shall be appointed for thy sleepy head.   

And when it pleaseth thee to walk abroad,  
(Abroad into the fields to take fresh air:)  
The Meads with Flora's treasure should be strewed,  
(The mantled meadows, and the fields so fair.)  
And by a silver Well (with golden sands)  
I'll sit me down, and wash thine ivory hands.   

And in the sweltering heat of summer time,  
I would make Cabinets for thee (my Love:)  
Sweet-smelling Arbours made of Eglantine  
Should be thy shrine, and I would be thy Dove.  
Cool Cabinets of fresh green Laurel boughs  
Should shadow us, ore-set with thicke-set Eughes.   

Or if thou list to bathe thy naked limbs,  
Within the Crystal of a Pearle-bright brook,  
Paved with dainty pebbles to the brims;  
Or clear, wherein thyself thy self mayst look;  
we'll go to Ladon, whose still trickling noise,  
Will lull thee fast asleep amids thy joys.   

Or if thou'lt go unto the River side,  
To angle for the sweet freshwater fish:  
Armed with thy implements that will abide  
(Thy rod, hook, line) to take a dainty dish;  
Thy rods shall be of cane, thy lines of silk,  
Thy hooks of silver, and thy baits of milk.   

Or if thou lov'st to hear sweet Melody,  
Or pipe a Round upon an Oaten Reed,  
Or make thyself glad with some mirthful glee,  
Or play them Music whilst thy flock doth feed;  
To Pans own Pipe I'll help my lovely Lad,  
(Pan's golden Pipe) which he of Syrinx had.   

Or if thou darest to climb the highest Trees  
For Apples, Cherries, Medlars, Pears, or Plumbs,  
Nuts, Walnuts, Filbeards, Chest-nuts, Ceruices,  
The hoary Peach, when snowy winter comes;  
I have fine Orchards full of mellowed fruit;  
Which I will give thee to obtain my suit.   

Not proud Alcynous himself can vaunt,  
Of goodlier Orchards or of braver Trees  
Than I have planted; yet thou wilt not grant  
My simple suit; but like the honey Bees  
Thou suckest the flower till all the sweet be gone;  
And lov'st me for my Coin till I have none.   

Leave Gwendolyn (sweet heart) though she be fair  
Yet is she light; not light in virtue shining:  
But light in her behaviour, to impair  
Her honour in her Chastities declining;  
Trust not her tears, for they can wantonnize,  
When tears in pearl are trickling from her eyes.   

If thou wilt come and dwell with me at home;  
My sheepcote shall be strewed with new green rushes:  
we'll haunt the trembling Prickets as they room  
About the fields, along the hawthorn bushes;  
I have a piebald Cur to hunt the Hare:  
So we will live with dainty forest fare.   

Nay more than this, I have a Garden-plot,  
Wherein there wants nor herbs, nor roots, nor flowers;  
(Flowers to smell, roots to eat, herbs for the pot,)  
And dainty Shelters when the Welkin lours:  
Sweet-smelling Beds of Lilies and of Roses,  
Which Rosemary banks and Lavender encloses.   

There grows the Gilliflowre, the Mint, the Dayzie  
(Both red and white,) the blew-veynd-Violet:  
The purple Hyacinth, the spike to please thee,  
The scarlet died Carnation bleeding yet;  
The Sage, the savoury, and sweet Margerum,  
Isop, Time, & eyebright, good for the blind & dumb.   

The Pink, the Primrose, Cowslip and Daffodil,  
The Harebell blue, the crimson Cullumbine,  
Sage, Lettuce, Parsley, and the milk-white Lily,  
The Rose, and speckled flower called Sops in wine,  
Fine pretty Kingcups, and the yellow Boots,  
That grows by Rivers, and by shallow Brooks.   

And many thousand more (I cannot name)  
Of herbs and flowers that in gardens grow,  
I have for thee; and Coneys that be tame,  
Young Rabbits, white as Swan, and black as Crow,  
Some speckled here and there with dainty spots:  
And more I have two mylch and milk-white Goats.   

All these, and more, I'll give thee for thy love;  
If these, and more, may tycethy love away:  
I have a Pidgeon-house, in it a Dove,  
Which I love more than mortal tongue can say:  
And last of all, I'll give thee a little Lamb  
To play withal, new weaned from her Dam.   

But if thou wilt not pity my Complaint,  
My Tears, nor Vows, nor Oaths, made to thy Beauty;  
What shall I do? But languish, die, or saint,  
Since thou dost scorn my Tears, and my Souls Duty:  
And Tears contemned, Vows and Oaths must fail;  
For where Tears cannot, nothing can prevail.   

Compare the love of fair Queen Gwendolyn  
With mine, and thou shalt ee how she doth love thee:  
I love thee for thy qualities divine,  
But She doth love another Swain above thee:  
I love thee for thy gifts, She for her pleasure;  
I for thy Virtue, She for Beauty's treasure.   

And always (I am sure) it cannot last,  
But sometime Nature will deny those dimples:  
In steed of Beauty (when thy Blossom's past)  
Thy face will be deformed, full of wrinkles:  
Then She that loved thee for thy Beauty's sake,  
When Age draws on, thy love will soon forsake.   

But I that loved thee for thy gifts divine,  
In the December of thy Beauties waning,  
Will still admire (with joy) those lovely eine,  
That now behold me with their beauty's baning:  
Though januarie will never come again,  
Yet Aprill years will come in showers of rain.   

When will my May come, that I may embrace thee?  
When will the hour be of my souls joying?  
Why dost thou seek in mirth still to disgrace me?  
Whose mirth's my health, whose grief's my hearts annoying.  
Thy bane my bale, thy bliss my blessedness,  
Thy ill my hell, thy weal my welfare is.   

Thus do I honour thee that love thee so,  
And love thee so, that so do honour thee,  
Much more than any mortal man doth know,  
Or can discern by Love or jealousy:  
But if that thou disdainest my loving ever;  
Oh happy I, if I had loved never.   
Finis.  Plus fellis quam mellis Amor.  

The second days Lamentation of the Affectionate Shepherd.  

NExt Morning when the golden Sun was risen,  
And new had bid good morrow to the Mountains;  
When Night her silver light had locked in prison,  
Which gave a glimmering on the crystal Fountains:  
Then ended sleep: and then my cares began,  
Even with the uprising of the silver Swan.   

Oh glorious Sun quoth I, (viewing the Sun)  
That lightenst every thing but me alone:  
Why is my Summer season almost done?  
My Spring-time past, and Ages Autumn gone?  
My Haruest's come, and yet I reaped no corn:  
My love is great, and yet I am forlorn.   

Witness these watery eyes my sad lament,  
(Receiving cisterns of my ceafeles tears)  
Witness my bleeding heart my soul's intent,  
Witness the weight distressed Daphnis bears:  
Sweet Love, come ease me of thy burdens pain;  
Or else I die, or else my heart is slain.   

And thou love-scorning Boy, cruel, unkind;  
Oh let me once again entreat some pity:  
May be thou wilt relent thy marble mind,  
And lend thine ears unto my doleful Ditty:  
Oh pity him, that pity craves so sweetly;  
Or else thou shalt be never named meekly.   

If thou wilt love me, thou shalt be my Boy,  
My sweet Delight, the Comfort of my mind,  
My Love, my Dove, my Solace, and my joy;  
But if I can no grace nor mercy find,  
I'll go to Caucasus to ease my smart,  
And let a Vulture gnaw upon my heart.   

Yet if thou wilt but show me one kind look,  
(A small reward for my so great affection)  
I'll grave thy name in Beauties golden Book,  
And shroud thee under Hellicons protection;  
Making the Muses chant thy lovely praise:  
(For they delight in Shepherds lowly lays.)   

And when thou'rt weary of thy keeping Sheep  
Upon a lovely Down, (to please thy mind).  
I'll give thee fine rough-footed Doves to keep,  
And pretty Pigeons of another kind:  
A Robbin-red-brest shall thy Minstrel be,  
Chirping thee sweet, and pleasant Melody.   

Or if thou wilt go shoot at little Birds  
With bow and boult, (the Thrustle-cocke and Sparrow)  
Such as our Country hedges can affords;  
I have a fine bow, and an ivory arrow:  
And if thou miss, yet meat thou shalt lack,  
I'll hang a bag and bottle at thy back.   

Wilt thou set springs in a frosty Night,  
To catch the long-billd Woodcock and the snipe?  
(By the bright glimmering of the Starry light)  
The Partridge, Phaesant, or the greedy Crype?  
I'll lend thee lime-twigs, and fine sparrow calls,  
Wherewith the Fowler silly Birds enthralls.   

Or in a misty morning if thou wilt  
Make pitfalls for the Lark and Pheldifare;  
Thy prop and sweake shall be both over-guilt:  
With Cyparissus self thou shalt compare  
For gins and wiles, the Oozels' to beguile;  
Whilst thou under a bush shalt sit and smile.   

Or with Harepypes (set in a muset hole)  
Wilt thou deceive the deep-earth-deluing Coney?  
Or wilt thou in a yellow Boxes bowl  
Taste with a wooden splint the sweet lieth honey?  
Clusters of crimson Grapes I'll pull thee down;  
And with Vine-leaves make thee a lovely Crown.   

Or wilt thou drink a cup of new-made Wine  
Froathing at top, mixed with a dish of Cream;  
And Strawberries, or Bil-berries in their prime,  
Bathed in a melting Sugar-Candie stream:  
Bunnell and Perry I have for thee (alone)  
When wines are dead, and all the Grapes are gone.   

I have a pleasant noted Nightingale,  
(That sings as sweetly as the silver Swan)  
Kept in a Cage of bone; as white as Whale,  
Which I with singing of Philemon wan:  
Her shalt thou have, and all I have beside;  
If thou wilt be my Boy, or else my Bride.   

Then will I lay out all my Lardarie  
(Of Cheese, of Cracknells, Curds and Clowted-creame)  
Before thy malcontent ill-pleasing eye:  
But why do I of such great folly's dream?  
Alas, he will not see my simple Coat;  
For all my speckled Lamb, nor milk-white Goat.   

Against my Birthday thou shalt be my guest:  
we'll have Greene-cheeses, and fine Silly-bubs;  
And thou shalt be the chief of all my feast.  
And I will give thee two fine pretty Cubs,  
With two young Whelps, to make thee sport withal,  
A golden Racket, and a Tennis-ball.   

A guilded Nutmeg, and a race of Ginger,  
A silken Girdle, and a drawn-work Band,  
Cuffs for thy wrists, a gold Ring for thy finger,  
And sweet Rose-water for thy Lily-white hand,  
A Purse of silk, bespangd with spots of gold,  
As brave a one as ere thou didst behold.   

A pair of Knives, a green Hat and a Feather,  
New Gloves to put upon thy milk-white hand  
I'll give thee, for to keep thee from the weather;  
With Phoenix feathers shall thy Face be found,  
Cooling those Cheeks, that being cooled wax red,  
Like lilies in a bed of Roses shed.   

Why do thy Coral Lips disdain to kiss,  
And suck that Sweet, which many have desired?  
That Balm my Bane, that means would mend my miss:  
Oh let me then with thy sweet Lips b'inspired;  
When thy Lips touch my Lips, my Lips will turn  
To Coral too, and being cold ice will burn.   

Why should thy sweet Love-locke hang dangling down,  
Kissing thy girdle-steed with falling pride?  
Although thy Skin be white, thy hair is brown:  
Oh let not then thy hair thy beauty hide;  
〈◊〉 thy Lock, and sell it for gold wire:  
(The purest gold is tried in hottest fire).   

Faire-long-haire-wearing Absalon was killed,  
Because he wore it in a bravery:  
So that which graced his Beauty, Beauty spilled,  
Making him subject to vile slavery,  
In being hanged: a death for him too good,  
That sought his own shame, and his Father's blood.   

Again, we read of old King Priamus,  
(The hapless sire of valiant Hector slain)  
That his hair was so long and odious  
In youth, that in his age it bred his pain:  
For if his hair had not been half so long,  
His life had been, and he had had no wrong.   

For when his stately City was destroyed,  
(That Monument of great Antiquity)  
When his poor heart (with grief and sorrow cloyed)  
Fled to his Wise (last hope in misery;)  
Pyrrhus (more hard than Adamantine rocks)  
Held him and hauled him by his aged locks.   

These two examples by the way I show,  
To prove th'indecency of men's long hair:  
Though I could tell thee of a thousand more,  
Let these suffice for thee (my lovely Fair)  
Whose eye's my star; whose smiling is my Sun;  
Whose love did end before my joys begun.   

Fond Love is blind, and so art thou (my Dear)  
For thou seest not my Love, and great desert;  
Blind Love is fond, and so thou dost appear;  
For fond, and blind, thou griev'st my grieving heart:  
Be thou fond-blinde, blinde-fond, or one, or all;  
Thou art my Love, and I must be thy thrall.   

Oh lend thine ivory forehead for loves Book,  
Thine eyes for candles to behold the same;  
That when dim-sighted ones therein shall look  
They may discern that proud disdainful Dame;  
Yet clasp that Book, and shut that Casement light;  
Lest th'one obscured, the other shine too bright.   

Sell thy sweet breath to'th'daintie Musk-ball-makers;  
Yet sell it so as thou mayst soon redeem it:  
Let others of thy beauty be partakers;  
Else none but Daphnis will so well esteem it:  
For what is Beauty except it be well known?  
And how can it be known, except first shown?   

Learn of the Gentlewomen of this Age,  
That set their Beauties to the open view,  
Making Disdain their Lord, true Love their Page;  
A Custom Zeal doth hate, Desert doth rue:  
Learn to look red, anon wax pale and wan;  
Making a mock of Love, ascorn of man.   

A candle light, and covered with a vail,  
Doth no man good, because it gives no light;  
So Beauty of her beauty seems to fail,  
When being not seen it cannot shine so bright.  
Then show thyself and know thyself withal,  
Lest climbing high thou catch too great a fall.   

Oh foul Eclipser of that fair sunshine,  
Which is entitled Beauty in the best;  
Making that mortal, which is else divine;  
That stains the fair which Women steam not lest:  
Get thee to Hell again (from whence thou art)  
And leave the Centre of a Woman's heart.   

Ah be not stained (sweet Boy) with this wild spot,  
Indulgence Daughter, Mother of mischance;  
A blemish that doth every beauty blot;  
That makes them loathed, but never doth advance  
Her Clients, fautors, friends; or them that love her;  
And hates them most of all, that most reprove her.   

Remember Age and thou canst not be proud,  
For age pulls down the pride of every man;  
In youthful years by Nature 'tis allowed  
To have self-will, do Nurture what she can;  
Nature and Nurture once together met,  
The Soul and shape in decent order set.   

Pride looks aloft, still staring on the stars,  
Humility looks lowly on the ground;  
Th'one menaceth the Gods with civil wars,  
The other toils till he have Virtue found:  
His thoughts are humble, not aspiring high;  
But Pride looks haughtily with scornful eye.   

Humility is clad in modest weeds,  
But Pride is brave and glorious to the show;  
Humility his friends with kindness feeds,  
But Pride his friends (in need) will never know:  
Supplying not their wants, but them disdaining;  
Whilst they to pity never need complaining.   

Humility in misery is relieved,  
But Pride in need of no man is regarded;  
Pity and Mercy weep to see him grieved  
That in distress had them so well rewarded:  
But Pride is scorned, contemned, disdained, derided,  
Whilst Humbleness of all things is provided.   

Oh then be humble, gentle, meek, and mild;  
So shalt thou be of every mouth commended;  
Be not disdainful, cruel, proud, (sweet child)  
So shalt thou be of no man much condemned;  
Care not for them that Virtue do despise;  
Virtue is loathed of fools; loud of the wise.   

O fair Boy trust not to thy Beauty's wings,  
They cannot carry thee above the Sun:  
Beauty and wealth are transitory things,  
(For all must end that ever was begun)  
But Fame and Virtue never shall decay;  
For Fame is toombles, Virtue lives for aye.   

The snow is white, and yet the pepper's black,  
The one is bought, the other is contemned:  
Pebbles we have, but store of jet we lack;  
So white compared to black is much condemned:  
We do not praise the Swan because she's white,  
But for she doth in Music much delight.   

And yet the siluer-noted Nightingale,  
Though she be not so white is more esteemed;  
Sturgeon is dun of hue, white is the Whale,  
Yet for the daintier Dish the first is deemed;  
What thing is whiter than the milke-bred Lily?  
That knows it not for nought, what man so silly?   

Yea what more noysomer unto the smell  
Than Lilies are? what's sweeter than the Sage?  
Yet for pure white the Lily bears the Bell  
Till it be faded through decaying Age;  
House-doves are white, and Oozels' Blackbirds be;  
Yet what a difference in the taste, we see?   

Compare the Cow and Calf, with Ewe and Lamb;  
Rough hairy Hides, with softest downy Fell;  
Hecfar and Bull, with Wether and with Ram,  
And you shall see how far they do excel;  
White Kine with black; black Coney-skins with grey,  
Kine, nesh and strong; skins, dear and cheap always.   

The whitest silver is not always best,  
Led, Tin, and Pewter are of base esteem;  
The yellow burnished gold, that comes from th'East,  
And West (of late invented) may beseem  
The world's rich Treasury, or Midas eye;  
(The Rich man's God, poor man's felicity.)   

Bugle and jet, with snow and Alabaster  
I will compare: White Dammasin with black;  
Bullas and wheaten Plumbs, (to a good Taster,)  
The ripe red Cherries have the sweetest smack;  
When they be green and young, theyare sour & nought;  
But being ripe, with eagerness theyare baught.   

Compare the Wyld-cat to the brownish Beaver,  
Running for life, with hounds pursued sore;  
When Huntsmen of her pretions Stones bereaveher,  
(Which with her teeth sh'had bitten off before):  
Restoratives, and costly curious Felts  
Are made of them, and rich embroidered Belts.   

To what use serves a piece of crimbling Chalk?  
The Agate stone is white, yet good for nothing:  
Fie, fie, I am ashamed to hear thee talk;  
Be not so much of thine own Image doting:  
So fair Narcissus lost his love and life.  
(Beauty is often with itself at strife).   

Right Diamonds are of a russet hieu,  
The brightsome Carbuncles are red to see too,  
The Sapphire stone is of a watchet blue,  
(To this thou canst not choose but soon agree too):  
Pearls are not white but grey, Rubies are red:  
In praise of Black, what can be better said?   

For if we do consider of each thing  
That flies in welkin, or in water swims,  
How every thing increaseth with the Spring,  
And how the blacker still the brighter dims:  
We cannot choose, but needs we must confess,  
Sable excels milk-white in more or less.   

As for example, in the crystal clear  
Of a sweet stream, or pleasant running River,  
Where thousand forms of fishes will appear,  
(Whose names to thee I cannot now deliver:  
The blacker still the brighter have disgraced,  
For pleasant profit, and delicious taste.   

Salmon and Trout are of a ruddy colour,  
Whiteing and Dare is of a milk-white hue:  
Nature by them (perhaps) is made the fuller,  
Little they nourish, be they old or new:  
Carp, Loach, Tench, eels (though black & bred in mud)  
Delight the tooth with taste, and breed good blood.   

Innumerable be the kinds, if I constituted name them;  
But I a Shepherd, and no Fisher am:  
Little it skills whether I praise or blame them,  
I only meddle with my Ewe and Lamb:  
Yet this I say, that black the better is,  
In birds, beasts, fruit, stones, flowers, herbs, metals, fish.   

And last of all, in black there doth appear  
Such qualities, as not in ivory;  
Black cannot blush for shame, look pale for fear,  
Scorning to wear another livery:  
Black is the badge of sober Modesty,  
The wont wear of ancient Gravetie.   

The learned Sister's suit themselves in black,  
Learning abandons white, and lighter hues:  
Pleasure and Pride light colours never lack;  
But true Religion doth such Toys refuse:  
Virtue and Gravity are sisters grown,  
Since black by both, and both by black are known.   

White is the colour of each paltry Miller,  
White is the Ensign of each common Woman;  
White, is white Virtues for black Vices Pillar;  
White makes proud fools inferior unto no man:  
White, is the white of Body, black of Mind,  
(Virtue we seldom in white Habit find.)   

Oh then be not so proud because thou'rt fair,  
Virtue is only the rich gift of God:  
Let not selfe-pride selfe-pride thy virtues name impair,  
Beat not green youth with sharp Repentance Rod:  
(A Fiend, a Monster, a misshapen Devil;  
Virtues foe, vices friend, the root of evil.)   

Apply thy mind to be a virtuous man,  
Auoydill company (the spoil of youth;)  
To follow virtues Lore do what thou can,  
(Whereby great profit unto thee ensueth:)  
Read Books, hate Ignorance; (the Foe to Art,  
The Dam of Error, Envy of the heart.)   

Serve jove (upon thy knees) both day and night,  
Adore his Name above all things on Earth:  
So shall thy vows be gracious in his sight,  
So little Babes are blessed in their Birth:  
Think on no worldly woe, lament thy sin;  
(For lesser cease, when greater griefs begin).   

Swear no vain oaths; hear much, but little say;  
Speak ill of no man, tend thine own affairs,  
Bridle thy wrath, thine angry mood delay;  
(So shall thy mind be seldom cloyed with cares:)  
Be mild and gentle in thy speech to all,  
Refuse no honest gain when it doth fall.   

Be not beguiled with words, prove not ungrateful,  
Relieve thy Neighbour in his greatést need,  
Commit no action that to all is hateful,  
Their want with wealth, the poor with plenty feed:  
Twit no man in the teeth with what thoust done;  
Remember flesh is frail, and hatred shun.   

Leave wicked things, which Men to mischief move,  
(Lest cross mishap may thee in danger bring,)  
Crave no preferment of thy heavenly jove,  
Nor any honour of thy earthly King:  
Boast not thyself before th'Almighties sight,  
(Who knows thy heart, and any wicked wight).   

Be not offensive to the people's eye,  
See that thy prayers hearts true zeal affords,  
Scorn not a man that's fallen in misery,  
Esteem no tattling tales, nor babbling words;  
That reason is exiled always think,  
When as a drunkard rails amidst his drink.   

Use not thy lovely lips to loathsome lies,  
By crafty means increase no worldly wealth;  
Strive not with mighty Men (whose fortune flies)  
With temperate diet nourish wholesome health:  
Place well thy words, leave not thy friend for gold;  
First try, then trust; in venturing be not bold.   

In Pan repose thy trust; extol his praise  
(That never shall decay, but ever lives):  
Honour thy Parents (to prolong thy days),  
Let not thy left hand know what right hand gives:  
From needy men turn not thy face away,  
(Though Charity be now clad in clay).   

Hear Shepherds oft (thereby great wisdom grows),  
With good advice a sober answer make:  
Be not removed with every wind that blows,  
(That course do only sinful sinners take).  
Thy talk will show thy fame or else thy shame;  
(A prattling tongue doth often purchase blame).   

Obtain a faithful friend that will not fail thee,  
Think on thy Mother's pain in her childbearing,  
Make no debate, least quickly thou bewail thee,  
Visit the sick with comfortable cheering:  
Pity the prisoner, help the fatherless,  
Revenge the widows wrongs in her distress.   

Think on thy grave, remember still thy end,  
Let not thy winding-sheet be stained with guilt,  
Trust not a feigned reconciled friend,  
More than an open foe (that blood hath spilled)  
(Who toucheth pitch, with pitch shallbe defiled)  
Be not with wanton company beguiled.   

Take not a flattering woman to thy wife,  
A shameless creature, full of wanton words,  
(Whose bad, thy good; whose lust will end thy life,  
Cutting thy heart with sharp two edged swords:)  
Cast not thy mind on her whose looks allure,  
But she that shines in Truth and Virtue pure.   

Praise not thyself, let other men commend thee,  
Bear not a flattering tongue to glaver any,  
Let Parents due correction not offend thee:  
Rob not thy neighbour, seek the love of many;  
Hate not to hear good Counsel given thee,  
Lay not thy money unto Usury.   

Restrain thy steps from too much liberty,  
Fulfil not th'envious man's malicious mind;  
Embrace thy Wife, live not in lechery;  
Content thyself with what Fates have assigned:  
Be ruled by Reason, Warning dangers save;  
True Age is reverend worship to thy grave.   

Be patiented in extreme Adversity,  
(Man's chiefest credit grows by doing well,)  
Be not highminded in Prosperity;  
Falsehood abhor, no lying fable tell.  
Give not thyself to Sloth (the sink of Shame,  
The moth of Time, the enemy to Fame.)   

This lere I learned of a Beldame Trot,  
(When I was young and wild as now thou art):  
But her good counsel I regarded not;  
I marked it with my ears, not with my heart:  
But now I find it tootoo true (my Son)  
When my Age-withered Spring is almost done.   

Behold my grey head, full of silver hairs,  
My wrinkled skin, deepefurrowes in my face:  
Cares bring Old-Age, Old-Age increaseth cares;  
My Time is come, and I have run my Race:  
Winter hath snowed upon my hoary head,  
And with my Winter all my joys are dead.   

And thou love-hating Boy, (whom once I loved)  
Farewell, a thousand-thousand times farewell;  
My Tears the Marble Stones to ruth have moved;  
My sad Complaints the babbling Echoes tell:  
And yet thou wouldst take no compassion on me,  
Scorning that cross which Love hath laid upon me.   

The hardest steel with fire doth mend his miss,  
Marble is mollifyde with drops of Rain;  
But thou (more hard than Steel or Marble is)  
Dost scorn my Tears, and my true love disdain;  
Which for thy sake shall everlasting be,  
Wrote in the Annals of Eternity.   

By this, the Night (with darkness overspread)  
Had drawn the curtains of her coal-black bed;  
And Cynthia muffling her face with a cloud,  
(Lest all the world of her should be too proud)  
Had taken Congee of the sable Night,  
(That wanting her cannot be half so bright;)   

When I poor forlorn man and outcast creature  
(Despairing of my Love, despised of Beauty)  
Grew malcontent, scorning his lovely feature,  
That had disdained my ever-zealous duty:  
I hied me homeward by the Moonshine light;  
Forswearing Love, and all his fond delight.   
FINIS.   

The shepherds Content. OR The happiness of a harmless life. Written upon Occasion of the former Subject.  

OF all the kinds of common Country life,  
Me thinks a shepherds life is most Content;  
His State is quiet Peace, devoid of strife;  
His thoughts are pure from all impure intent,  
His Pleasure's rate sits at an easy rent:  
He bears no malice in his harmless heart,  
Malicious meaning hath in him no part.   

He is not troubled with th'afflicted mind,  
His cares are only over silly Sheep;  
He is not unto jealousy inclined,  
(Thrice happy Man) he knows not how to weep;  
Whilst I the Triple in deep sorrows keep:  
I cannot keep the Mean; for why (alas)  
Griefs have no mean, though I for mean do pass.   

No Briefs nor Semibriefes are in my Songs,  
Because (alas) my grief is seldom short;  
My Prick-Song's always full of Largues and Longs,  
(Because I never can obtain the Port  
Of my desires: Hope is a happy Fort.)  
Pricksong (indeed) because it pricks my heart;  
And Song, because sometimes I ease my smart.   

The mighty Monarch of a royal Realm,  
Swaying his Sceptre with a Princely pomp;  
Of his desires cannot so steer the Helm,  
But sometime falls into a deadly dump,  
When as he hears the shrilly-sounding Trump  
Of foreign Enemies, or homebred Foes;  
His mind of grief, his heart is full of woes.   

Or when bad subjects 'gainst their Sovereign  
(Like hollow hearts) unnaturally rebel,  
How careful is he to suppress again  
Their desperate forces, and their powers to quell  
With loyal hearts, till all (again be well:  
When (being subdued) his care is rather more  
To keep them under, than it was before.   

Thus is he never full of sweet Content,  
But either this or that his joy debars:  
Now Noblemen 'gainst Noblemen are bend,  
Now Gentlemen and others fall at jars:  
Thus is his Country full of civil wars;  
He still in danger sits, still fearing Death:  
For Traitors seek to stop their Prince's breath.   

The whilst the other hath no enemy,  
Without it be the Wolf, and cruel Fates  
(Which no man spare): when as his disagree  
He with his sheephook knaps them on the pates,  
Schooling his tender Lambs from wanton gates:  
Beasts are more kind than Men, Sheep seek not blood  
But country caitiffs kill their countries good.   

The Courtier he fawn's for his Prince's favour,  
In hope to get a Princely rich Reward;  
His tongue is tipped with honey for to glaver;  
Pride deals the Deck whilst Chance doth choose the Card,  
Then comes another and his Game hath marred;  
Sitting betwixt him, and the morning Sun:  
Thus Night is come before the Day is done.   

Some Courtiers careful of their Prince's health,  
Attend his Person with all diligence  
Whose hand's their heart; whose welfare is their wealth,  
Whose safe Protection is their sure Defence,  
For pure affection, not for hope of pence:  
Such is the faithful heart, such is the mind,  
Of him that is to Virtue still inclined.   

The skilful Scholar, and brave man at Arms,  
First plies his Book, last fights for Country's Peace;  
Th'one fears Oblivion, th'other fresh Alarms:  
His pains near end, his travails never cease;  
His with the Day, his with the Night increase:  
He studies how to get eternal Fame;  
The Soldier fights to win a glorious Name.   

The Knight, the Squire, the Gentleman, the Clown,  
Are full of crosses and calamities;  
Lest fickle Fortune should begin to frown,  
And turn their mirth to extreme miseries:  
Nothing more certain than incertainties;  
Fortune is full of fresh variety:  
Constant in nothing but inconstancy.   

The wealthy Merchant that doth cross the Seas,  
To Denmark, Poland, Spain, and Barbary;  
For all his riches, lives not still at ease;  
Sometimes he fears ship-spoyling Piracy,  
Another while deceit and treachery  
Of his own Factors in a foreign Land:  
Thus doth he still in dread and danger stand.   

Well is he termed a Merchant-Venturer,  
Since he doth venture lands, and goods, and all:  
When he doth travel for his Traffic far,  
Little he knows what fortune may befall,  
Or rather what misfortune happen shall:  
Sometimes he splits his Ship against a rock;  
Losing his men, his goods, his wealth, his stock.   

And if he so escape with life away,  
He counts himself a man most fortunate,  
Because the waves their rigorous rage did stay,  
(When being within their cruel powers of late,  
The Seas did seem to pity his estate)  
But yet he never can recover health,  
Because his joy was drowned with his wealth.   

The painful Plough-swain and the Husbandman  
Rise up each morning by the break of day,  
Taking what toil and drudging pains they can,  
And all is for to get a little stay;  
And yet they cannot put their care away:  
When Night is come, their cares begin afresh,  
Thinking upon their morrows business.   

Thus every man is troubled with unrest,  
From rich to poor, from high to low degree:  
Therefore I think that man is truly blest,  
That neither cares for wealth nor poverty,  
But laughs at Fortune and her foolery;  
That gives rich Churls great store of gold and fee,  
And lets poor Scholars live in misery,   

O fading Branches of decaying Bays  
Who now will water your dry-withered Arms?  
Or where is he that sung the lovely Lays  
Of simple Shepherds in their Country Farms?  
Ah he is dead the cause of all our harms:  
And with him died my joy and sweet delight;  
The clear to Clouds, the Day is turned to Night.   

SIDNEY, The Siren of this latter Age;  
SIDNEY, The Blasing-starre of England's glory;  
SIDNEY, The Wonder of the wise and sage;  
SIDNEY, The Subject of true virtues story:  
This Siren, Star, this Wonder, and this Subject;  
Is dumb, dim, gone, and marred by Fortune's Object.   

And thou my sweet Amintas virtuous mind,  
Should I forgetthy Learning or thy Love;  
Well might I be accounted but unkind,  
Whose pure affection I so oft did prove:  
Might my poor Plaints hard stones to pity move;  
His loss should be lamented of each Creature,  
So great his Name, so gentle was his Nature.   

But sleep his soul in sweet Elysium,  
(The happy Haven of eternal rest:)  
And let me to my former matter come,  
Proving by Reason, shepherds life is best,  
Because he harbours Virtue in his Breast;  
And is content (the chiefest thing of all)  
With any fortune that shall him befall.   

He sits all Day lowd-piping on a Hill,  
The whilst his flock about him dance apace,  
His heart with joy, his ears with Music fill:  
Anon a bleating Wether bears the Base,  
A Lamb the Triple; and to his disgrace  
Another answers like a middle Mean:  
Thus every one to bear a Part are feign.   

Like a great King he rules a little Land,  
Still making Statutes, and ordaining Laws;  
Which if they break, he beats them with his Wand:  
He doth defend them from the greedy jaws  
Of ravening Wolves, and Lions bloody Paws.  
His Field, his Realm; his Subjects are his Sheep;  
Which he doth still in due obedience keep.   

First he ordains by Act of Parliament,  
(Holden by custom in each Country Town)  
That if a sheep (with any bad intent)  
Presume to break the neighbour Hedges down,  
Or haunt strange Pastures that be not his own;  
He shall be pounded for his lustiness,  
Until his Master find out some redress.   

Also if any prove a Strageller  
From his own fellows in a foreign field,  
He shall be taken for a wanderer,  
And forced himself immediately to yield,  
Or with a wydemouthed Mastiff Currre be killed.  
And if not claimed within a twelvemonth's space,  
He shall remain with Landlord of the place.   

Or if one stray to feed far from the rest,  
He shall be pinched by his swift piebald Cur;  
If any by his fellows be oppressed,  
The wronger (for he doth all wrong abhor)  
Shall be well bangd so long as he can stir.  
Because he did annoy his harmless Brother,  
That meant not harm to him nor any other.   

And last of all, if any wanton Wether,  
With briars and brambles tear his fleece in twain,  
He shall beforced t'abide could frosty weather,  
And pouring showers of rattling storms of rain,  
Till his new fleece gins to grow again:  
And for his rashness he is doomed to go,  
without a new Coat all the Winter throw.   

Thus doth he keep them still in awful fear,  
And yet allows them liberty enough;  
So dear to him their welfare doth appear,  
That when their fleeces gi'en to waxed rough,  
He combs and trims them with a Rampicke bough,  
Washing them in the streams of silver Ladon,  
To cleanse their skins from all corruption.   

Another while he woos his Country Wench  
(With Chaplets crowned, and gaudy garlands dight)  
Whose burning Lust her modest eye doth quench,  
Standing amazed at her heavenly sight,  
(Beauty doth ravish Sense with sweet Delight)  
Clearing Arcadia with a smoothed Brow  
When Sun-bright smiles melts flakes of driven snow.   

Thus doth he frolic it each day by day,  
And when Night comes draws homeward to his Coat,  
Singing a Ijgge or merry Roundelay;  
(For who sings commonly so merry a Note,  
As he that cannot chop or change a groat.)  
And in the winter Nights (his chief desire)  
He turns a Crab or Cracknell in the fire.   

He leads his Wench a Country Hornpipe Round,  
About a Maypole on a Holiday;  
Kissing his lovely Lass (with Garlands Crowned)  
With whoopping heigh-ho singing Care away;  
Thus doth he pass the merry month of May:  
And all th'year after in delight and joy,  
(Scorning a King) he cares for no annoy.   

What though with simple cheer he homely sares?  
He lives content, a King can do no more;  
Nay not so much, for Kings have many cares:  
But he hath none; except it be that sore  
Which young and old, which vexeth rich and poor,  
The pangs of love. O! who can vanquish Love,  
That conquers Kingdoms, and the Gods above?   

Deepe-wounding Arrow, hart-consuming Fire;  
Ruler of Reason, slave to tyrant Beauty;  
Monarch of hearts, Fuel of fond desire,  
Apprentice to Folly, foe to feigned Duty,  
Pledge of true Zeal, Affections moiety;  
If thou kill'st where thou wilt, and whom it list thee,  
(Alas) how can a silly Soul resist thee?   

By thee great Collen lost his liberty,  
By thee sweet Astrophel forewent his joy.  
By thee Amyntas wept incessantly,  
By thee good Rowland lived in great annoy;  
O cruel, peevish, vild, blind-seeing Boy:  
How canst thou hit their hearts, and yet not see?  
(If thou be blind, as thou art feigned to be).   

A Shepherd loves no ill, but only thee;  
He hath no care, but only by thy causing:  
Why dost thou shoot thy cruel shafts at me?  
Give me some respite, some short time of pausing:  
Still my sweet Love with bitter luck thou'rt saucing:  
Oh, if thou hast a mind to show thy might;  
Kill mighty Kings, and not a wretched wight.   

Yet (O Enthraller of enfranchised hearts)  
At my poor heart if thou wilt needs be aiming,  
Do me this favour show me both thy Darts,  
That I may choose the best for my hearts maiming,  
(A free consent is privileged from blaming:  
Then pierce his hard heart with thy golden Arrow,  
That thou my wrong, that he may rue my sorrow.   

But let me feel the force of thy lead Pyle,  
What should I do with love when I am old?  
I know not how to flatter, fawn, or smile;  
Then stay thy hand, O cruel Bowman hold:  
For if thou strik'ft me with thy dart of gold,  
I swear to thee (by Ioues immortal curse)  
I have more in my heart, than in my purse.   

The more I weep, the more he bends his Brow;  
For in my heart a golden Shaft I find:  
(Cruel, unkind) and wilt thou leave me so?  
Can no remorse nor pity move thy mind?  
Is Mercy in the Heavens so hard to find?  
Oh, than it is no marvel that on earth,  
Of kind Remorse there is so great a dearth,   

How happy were a harmless shepherds life,  
If he had never known what Love did mean:  
But now fond Love in every place is rife,  
Staining the purest Soul with spots unclean,  
Making thick purses, thin; fat bodies, lean:  
Love is a fiend, a fire, a heaven, a hell;  
Where pleasure, pain, and sad repentance dwell.   

There are so many Danae's now a days,  
That love for lucre; pain for gain is sold:  
No true affection can their fancy please,  
Except it be a jove to rain down gold  
Into their laps, which they wide open hold:  
If legempone comes, he is received,  
When Uix haud habeo is of hope bereaved.   

Thus have I showed in my Country vain  
The sweet Content that Shepherds still enjoy;  
The much pleasure, and the little pain  
That ever doth await the shepherds Boy:  
His heart is never troubled with annoy.  
He is a King, for he commands his Sheep;  
He knows no woe, for he doth seldom weep.   

He is a Courtier, for he courts his Love;  
He is a Scholar, for he sings sweet Ditties;  
He is a Soldier, for he wounds doth prove;  
He is the same of Towns, the shame of Cities:  
He scorns false Fortune, but true Virtue pities.  
He is a Gentleman, because his nature  
Is kind and affable to every Creature.   

Who would not then a simple Shepherd be,  
Rather than be a mighty Monarch made?  
Since he enjoys such perfect liberty,  
As never can decay, nor never fade:  
He seldom sits in doleful Cypress shade,  
But lives in hope, in joy, in peace, in bliss:  
joying all joy with this content of his.   

But now good-fortune lands my little Boat  
Upon the shore of his desired rest:  
Now must I leave (awhile) my rural note,  
To think on him whom my soul loveth best;  
He that can make the most unhappy, blest:  
In whose sweet lap I'll lay me down to sleep,  
And never wake till Marble-stones shall weep.   
FINIS.   

SONNET.  

Lo here behold these tributary Tears,  
Paid to thy fair, but cruel tyrant Eyes;  
Lo here the blossom of my youthful years,  
Nipped with the fresh of thy Wraths winter, dies,   

Here on loves Altar I do offer up  
This burning heart for my Souls sacrifice;  
Here I receive this deadly-poysned Cuckoe,  
Of Circe charmed; wherein deep Magickelyes'.   

Then Tears (if you be happy Tears indeed),  
And heart (if thou be lodged in his breast),  
And Cup (if thou canst help despair with speed);  
Tears, heart, and Cup conjoin to make me blest:  
Tears move, heart win, Cup cause, ruth, love, desire,  
In word, in deed, by moan by zeal, by fire.   
FINIS.   

THE COMPLAINT OF CHASTITY. Briefly touching the cause of the death of Matilda Fitzwalters an English Lady; sometime loved of King john, after poisoned. The Story is at large written by Michael Dreyton.  

YOU modest Dames, enriched with Chastity.  
Mask your bright eyes with Vesta's sable vail,  
Since few are left so fair or chaste as she;  
(Matter for me to weep you to bewail):  
For many seeming so, of Virtue fail;  
Whose lovely Cheeks (with rare vermilion tainted)  
Can never blush because their fair is painted.   

O faire-foule Tincture, stain of Womankind,  
Mother of Mischief, Daughter of deceit,  
False traitor to the Soul, blot to the Mind,  
Usurping Tyrant of true Beauty's seat,  
Right Cozener of the eye, lewd Follies bait,  
The flag of filthiness, the sink of shame,  
The devils dye, dishonour of thy name.   

Monster of Art, Bastard of bad Desire,  
Il-worshipt Idol, false Imagery,  
Ensign of Vice, to thine own self a liar,  
Silent enchanter, minds Anatomy,  
Sly Bawd to Lust, Pander to Infamy,  
Slander of Truth, Truth of Difsimulation;  
Staining our Climate more than any Nation.   

What shall I say to thee? thou scorn of Nature,  
Black spot of sin, vild lure of lechery;  
Injurious Blame to every faemale creature,  
Wronger of time, Broker of treachery,  
Trap of green youth, false women's witchery,  
Handmaid of pride, highway to wickedness;  
Yet pathway to Repentance, ne'ertheless.   

Thou dost entice the mind to doing evil,  
Thou setst dissension twixt the man and wife;  
A Saint in show, and yet indeed a devil:  
Thou art the cause of every common strife;  
Thou art the life of Death, the death of Life;  
Thou dost betray thyself to Infamy,  
When thou art once discerned by the eye.   

Ah, little knew Matilda of thy being,  
Those Times were pure from all impure complexion;  
Then Love came of Desert, Desire of seeing,  
Then Virtue was the mother of Affection;  
(But Beauty now is under no subjection)  
Than women were the same that men did deem,  
But now they are the same they do not seem.   

What faemale now entreated of a King  
With gold and jewels, pearls and precious stones,  
Would willingly refuse so sweet a thing?  
Only for a little show of Virtue ones:  
Women have kindness grafted in their bones.  
Gold is a deepe-perswading Orator,  
Especially where few the fault abhor.   

But yet she rather deadly poison chose,  
(Oh cruel Bane of most accursed Clime;)  
Than stain that milk-white Mayden-virgin Rose,  
Which she had kept unspotted till that time:  
And not corrupted with this earthly slime,  
Her soul shall live: enclosed eternally,  
In that pure shrine of Immortality.   

This is my Doom: and this shall come to pass;  
For what are Pleasures but still-vading joys?  
Fading as flowers, brittle as a glass,  
Or Potter's Clay, crossed with the least annoys;  
All things in this life are but trifling Toys:  
But Fame and Virtue never shall decay,  
For Fame is Toomblesse, Virtue lives for aye.   
FINIS.   

Helen's Rape. OR A light Lantern for light Ladies. Written in English Hexameters.  

lovely a Lass, so love da Lass, and (alas) such a loving (Lass  
Lass, for a while (but a while) was none such a sweet bonny Love-  
As Helen, Maenelaus loving, loved, lovely, a love-lasse,  
Till spite full Fortune from a love-lasse made her a love-lesse  
Wife. From a wise woman to a witless want on abandoned,  
When her mate (unawares) made wars in Peloponessus,  
Adulterous Paris (than a Boy) kept sheep as a shepherd  
On Ida Mountain, unknown to the King for a Keeper  
Of sheep, on Ida Mountain, as a Boy, as a shepherd:  
Yet such sheep he kept, and was so seemly a shepherd,  
Seemly a Boy, so seemly a youth, so seemly a Younker,  
That on Ide was not such a Boy, such a youth, such a Younker.  
Son now reconciled to the Father, feigned a letter  
Sent him by jupiter (the greatest God in Olympus)  
For to repair with speed to the bravest Grecian Haven,  
And to redeem again Hesyone lately revolted  
From Troy by Ayax, whom she had newly betrothed.  
Well, so well he told his tale to his Aunt Amaryllis  
That A maryllis, (his Aunt,) obtained of his aged  
Sire, that he sent him a ship, and made him Captain of Argus.  
Great store went to Greece with lust-bewitched Alexis,  
Telamour, and Tydias: with these he sliceth the salt seas,  
The salt seas slicing, at length be comes to the firm land,  
Firm land, an ancient Island called old Lacedaemon.  
Argus (eye full Earl) when first the ken of a Castle  
He had spied, bespoke: (to the Mate, to the men, to the Mates-man)  
Lo behold of Greece (quoth he) the great Cytadella,  
(Ycleaped Menelaus) so termed of Delia's Husband:  
Happy Helen, women's most wonder, beautiful Helen.  
Oh would God (quoth he) with a flattering Tongue he repeated:  
Oh would God (quoth he) that I might deserve to be husband  
To such a happy housewife, to such a beautiful Helen.  
This he spoke to entice the mind of a lecherous youngman:  
But what spurs neednow, for an untamed Titt to be trotting:  
Or to add old Oil to the flame, new flax to the fire.  
Paris heard him hard, and gave good ear to his hearkening.  
And then his love to a lust, his lust was turned to a fire,  
Fire was turned to a flame, and flame was turned to a burning  
Brand: and mother's Dream was then most truly resolved.  
Well so far theyare come, that now theyare come to the Castle,  
Castle all of stone, yet every stone was a Castle:  
Every foot had a Fort, and every Fort had a fountain,  
Every fountain a spring, and every spring had a spurting  
Stream: so strong without, within, so stately a building,  
Never afore was seen: If never afore Polyphoebe  
Was seen: was to be seen, if near to be seen was Olympus.  
Flowers were framed of flints, Walls Rubies, Rafters of Argent:  
Pavements of chrysolite, Windows contrived of a Crystal:  
Vessels were of gold, with gold was each thing adorned:  
Golden Webs more worth than a wealth soldan of Egypt,  
And herself more worth than a wealthy soldan of Egypt:  
And herself more worth than all the wealth she possessed;  
Self? indeed such a self, as thundering jove in Olympus,  
Though he were father could find in his heart to be husband.  
Embassage ended, to the Queen of fair Lacedaemon;  
(Happy King of a Queen so fair, of a Country so famous)  
Embassage ended, a Banquet brave was appointed:  
Sweet Repast for a Prince, fine junkets fit for a King's son.  
Biscuits and Caraways, Comfits, Tart, Plate, jelly, Ginge-bread,  
Lemons and Medlars: and Dishes more by a thousand.  
First they fell to the feast, and after fall to a Dancing,  
And from a Dance to a Trance, from a Trance they fell to a falling  
Either in others arms, and either in arms of another.  
Pastime overpast, and Banquet duly prepared,  
Devoutly pared: Each one hies home to his own home,  
Save Lord and Lady: Young Lad, but yet such an old Lad,  
In such a Lady's lap, at such a slippery by-blow,  
That in a world so wide, could not be found such a wily  
Lad: in an Age so old, could not be found such an old lad:  
Old lad, and bold lad, such a Boy, such a lusty juventus.  
Well to their work they go, and both they jumble in one Bed:  
Work so well they like, that they still like to be working:  
For Aurora mounts before he leaves to be mounting:  
And Astraea fades before she faints to be falling:  
(Helen a light housewife, now a light some star in Olympus.)   
FINIS.