THREE PASTORAL ELEGIES; of Anander, Anetor, and Muridella.  
Printed by V. S. for I. B. and are to be sold at his shop in Fleetstreet, at the sign of the great Turk's head. 1602.   

To the Honourable and Virtuous Lady, the Lady Tasburgh.  
IF your Ladyship hath not before this time very justly expected the best office of my Muse, it is now time for me to be voluntarily ashamed, that you should so long forbear the use of so many honourable encouragements. But (alas) finding my ability too little to make the meanest satisfaction of so great a Principal as is due to so many favourable courtesies, I am bold to tender your 〈◊〉 this unworthy Interest, wherewithal I will put in good security, that assoon as Time shall relieve the necessity of my young invention, I will disburse my Muse to the uttermost mite of my power, to make some more acceptable composition with your bounty: In the mean space, living without hope to be ever sufficient enough to yield your Worthiness the smallest half of your due, I do only desire to leave your Ladyship in 〈◊〉▪  
That when increase of Age and Learning, sets  
My Monde in wealthi'r state then now it is,  
〈◊〉 pay a greater portion of my debts,  
O● mortgage you a better Muse than this,  
〈◊〉 then, no kind for bearance is amiss,  
While, though I owe more than I can make good,  
〈◊〉 is enough, to thew how fame I wooed.  Your Ladyships in all humbleness, Willam Bas.  

To the Reader.  
Read one, and say, 'tis good: I bear the name:  
Read one, and say, 'tis ill, I bear the shame:  
If thou sayst, good, and think'st it too in heart,  
Sweetly farewell, no matter who thou art:  
If thou sayst, mean, thou judgest like a friend,  
I would be so, because I mean to mend:  
If thou sayst, ill, and dost in heart dispraise it,  
I yield not till I know a Wiseman says it.  
Thus quit me, or condemn me, I'll not grudge,  
So that I know a fool be not my judge.  Yours, William bas.  

A shepherds youth dwelled on the plains,  
That passi the common sort of Swains,  
By how much had himself before  
Been nursed up in Colin's lore,  
Who, while his flock ybent to stray,  
Glad of the Sunshine of the day,  
Wandered the field, and were abroad 〈◊〉  
He took his Pipe and sat him do●ne 〈…〉   

Elegy I  

Anander lets Anetor wot,  
His Love, his Lady, and his Lot.   

A Civil Youth, whose life was led in Court,  
In Court, the place of all Civility;  
Who loved no riot, though delighted sport,  
Such sport as with such place might well agreed  
To give him credit, by a true report:  
The only glory of his time was he:  
For (mote I swear,) the gentry of his kind,  
Was fairly matched with gentleness of mind.   

His parsonage, a thing for Gods to tell,  
Whose wits can reach, beyond the reach of Muse;  
Divine proportion in his limbs did dwell,  
Eye-wondered feature did his visage use:  
He was (as may the wiser tell,)  
For Lady's choice (if Ladies list to choose:)  
If not, what help? the weaker his success,  
Though his perfections be nothing less.   

His birth was great, his blood the nobler then,  
His thoughts (no doubt) the worthier by his blood;  
And his desires, though somewhat like to men,  
Yet as his thoughts (I guess) were fair and good:  
And for his loves, none knew them but him sen,  
And that fair she, on whom their fortune stood:  
Yet did he often plain of ill succeed,  
The hotter love, sometime the colder speed.   

And in his passions, (for I must needs break  
Into some speech of him, and his mis-lo●;)  
He unto me, as whom he loved, did speak  
The clear discou'rie of his eager plot  
In graceful terms, and yet the best too weak,  
To tell his thoughts sufficiently (God wot:)  
That I should often stand and weep to see,  
His griefs more copious, than his language be.   

First did he lay his fine unswarfed hand  
Upon my shoulder, close unto my neck;  
And then for twenty minutes did he stand,  
As one that spared to speak, in fear of check:  
Then sighs, then speaks, but speaks words three times s●and,  
As if he durst not trust his tongues defect:  
Lest in his woes, his woes might seem to bite,  
Th'unfriendly dealings of his heart's delight.   

Shepherd (quoth he) and gives me one faint smile,  
That signifi'de a long-sustained wrong;  
Suffer a Courtier to record a style,  
More zealous than the Thracian widow's song:  
When he in his immortal musics guile,  
Besought the freedom of his wife so long:  
With pity mark the treatise of my ruth,  
The like hereafter may befall thy youth.   

Mean while, the childhood of thy younger wit,  
That never did more than thy flocks regard;  
Shall have a stronger cause to wonder it.  
Then those that like my hapless self hath cared:  
While 〈◊〉 ne vows, he circumstance omit  
Of those mishaps, wherein I have been snared:  
Under the leave (sweet boy) of thy forbearing.  
An elders grief profits a youngers hearing.   

Wooed thou hadst had in Court but half that skill,  
As here thou hast with thy obezant sheep;  
T have seen, the strictness of a Ladies will,  
And how unmoved she doth her favour keep:  
T have known the hardship of a lovers ill,  
And what a wretchedness it is to weep:  
And I had kept thy pastures as mine own,  
No life too base where better is unknown.   

Then hadst thou seen fair muridella's eyes,  
The dangerous planets of my ripening youth;  
Thou shouldst have known how beautiful, how wise  
My Lady was: Perhaps unto thy ruth  
Thou shouldst ha'knowne, more than thou canst devise  
Of that dear Girl, and yet no more than truth:  
For he that mounts the highest degree of high,  
In praising of her Beauty, cannot lie.   

But he that says the mercy of her mind,  
Is like the grace of her admired blee;  
He might do well to bridle in that wind,  
Until his fortune were to speak with me:  
Less it be one, to whom sh'ha's been more kind,  
Then to my true affection she could be:  
And then I thank him to commend her heart,  
For the best Love deserves the best report.   

Yet shalt thou think, that that dear truth I bear,  
To that fair Sight that first subdued mine eye,  
Shall say the best, although she be not here,  
To see how woe how discontent am I,  
That when henceforth it comes unto her ear,  
That I speak wonders of her Courtesy:  
She may recall me with a gracious mind,  
For praising of her when she was unkind.   

And if it ever be thy hap to view  
Her on this green, where thou inhabitest,  
●ust, for my sake, salute her to the shoe,  
And tell her with so solemn a protest.  
That her poor servant, and hur only true,  
Doth live that life, that she with hate disblest:  
H●w, where, and in what sorrow, let her know,  
She loves to hear, though not to help my woe.   

Shalt know her by that bright and curious brow,  
Where Love in his eternal triumph sits  
Chastising with the warfare of his bow,  
The rumour of desires, the force of wits,  
And by her eyes, and other glories more,  
That first in me wrought these rebellious sits:  
But (to be short) if thou a thousand see,  
Look which is fairest, and be sure that's she.   

Her hand (if thou her hand canst naked see  
From those blessed musses that guard their blissful whiteness,  
Is like that gripe that Alpheus mazed to see,  
Place A●ethu●a in perpetual brightness,  
And by her foot these plains shall blessed be,  
Unless the ground relent not at her lightness:  
Her substance is so gi●t in slender fineness,  
That nothing's heavy, but her own unkindness.   

●ut that thou mayst believe she is a creature,  
As hardly else thou mout'st conceive the same,  
I tell thee shall: when that Creatres nature  
Once set a Princely web into her frame,  
And was about to loom her sacred feature,  
T●is sed, that in the while Minerva came,  
Who by inquiry fain would understand,  
What blessed body now she had in hand.   

Nature, forth● n, no otherwise inclined,  
In thought but to obe●ant courtesy,  
Freely acquaint, the gods of her mind,  
And humbly craves her gracious remedy,  
In such defects, as may her wisdom find  
In this new portion of her housewifery,  
Or if at least there might no fault be had,  
Yet, that she would some more perfection add.   

For truth she said, that whensoe'er she might  
Once bring to good this Idol that she wrought,  
She would present it to the gracious sight  
Of her own self, (for so she had bethought)  
And since her coming now fell out so right,  
The larger was her hope, that she had brought  
Some ornamental grace, whose large infusing  
Might make it fit the gift, and worth the choosing.   

Then Pallas took into her own embrace,  
This curious Plot that Nature was about,  
Having no means to work into her face,  
This blood that glorifies her shape without,  
Nor could of Venus borrow any grace,  
'Cause they o'late had sharply fallen out,  
Therefore bids Nature for some beauty go:  
High hearts disdain the kindness of the foe.   

Mean while from th● issue of that sacred vain,  
That her whole self with wits abundance fills,  
She freely powers into this Infant's brain,  
By ho●y drops, and plentiful distilleth  
That 〈◊〉 conceit that now doth reign  
Over herself, her Love, her lovers ills:  
Yet by this gift herself no less could have,  
She gave herself what to her own she gave.   

Two silver cups than drew she from her breast,  
The one of Spirit and haughty influence,  
The other filled with maidenly Pretest  
Of Chastities divinest conunence,  
Some drops whereof she in this heart impressed,  
Therein to double Nature's excellence:  
But chiefly in these heavenly honours three,  
Of Wisdom, Puissance, and Chastity.   

Yet hast thou leave to think, and so do I,  
(Unless my thoughts should sin in thinking so,)  
That loves wise daughter did not mean hereby,  
That both these gifts should be alike in show:  
For if her Chasteness live perpetually,  
As does her spirit, anander's cake were dough,  
Though never gift descended from above,  
Of greater honesty then honest love.   

Then neither is her labour vainly spent,  
Nor yet her gifts in idleness defrayed,  
If Muridella with true love content  
Anander, in increasing Loves decayed,  
For why doth civil courtesy consent  
The married wife to go above the maid?  
Because the Life by Love is doubly grac'de,  
And to be wed, is more than to be chaste.   

This, while the busy dame in eager post,  
Comes home to see how fair her work went on,  
And from an ivory box of wonders cost,  
That friendly 〈◊〉 had bestowed upon  
Her, for her Infant sake, began to cast,  
With greater art than was in 〈◊〉 son,  
That red and white: thus in her beauties making,  
Nature and heau●ns themselves were all partaking.   

And this is it that holds in Love and Muse,  
The two black circles of my conquered sight,  
What wondrous cunning Nature seemed to use,  
In placing of this mingled 〈◊〉 so right,  
And what a skill she showed when she did choose  
So red a crimson, and so white a white,  
O heavens (said I) what gifts were Beauties Peers,  
If it might never been yclad in years?   

Thus, or as like to thus, as I can say,  
The youth concluding his teare-liquored vain,  
Leaves my unlettered thoughts to bear away,  
Both what he said, and what he wood ha' sane,  
And though I want his grief, yet sure I may  
Well ground upon his passionate complain,  
His Love was fair, and blest in every limb,  
With no default, but that she loved not him.   

My youngling wit amused at the hearing  
Of that her days had no conversement in,  
Like a new-fielded souldrer, wanting cheering,  
Stands all astonished, two conceits betwin,  
Whether I mo●e with small or no for bearing,  
Burden some disobedience upon him.  
Or should an verdict of dispraises tuch  
Her whom himself durst dispraise too much.   

If you quoth I have never yet misdone,  
To then sane 〈◊〉 Lady more than I can deem  
In these your words: By heaven, and by this Sun,  
Your 〈◊〉 should deserve a more esteem.  
〈◊〉 alas 〈…〉 have overrun  
In things to her that mote ungrateful seem,  
G●udge not a sharp rewardance of the same,  
Men ●ust do well that would enjoy good name.   

With this, about to ask him somewhat more,  
With hasty answer, and a hearty oath,  
He 〈◊〉 my speech: and said, and vowed, and swore,  
No spot of guilt in his attaintles ●●oth:  
But ●s 'tis now, so ever heretofore:  
Quoth I, the better, for I would be loath:  
Though now I ask you as f●s sit he should,  
Well know your ill, that must procure your good.   

Yet did my soul within itself y● doubt,  
No undeserving in his noble heart,  
Though I (for reasons sake,) moat go about,  
To show him that I feared some undesart:  
He mought ha' thought me, else, some soothing lout,  
Ylearned in neither judgement, nor good part,  
To discommend her thoughts, and mourn his fall,  
Without examining the cause of all.   

Yet speak no further of thy chance, said I,  
A single cause would have a single telling,  
But 〈◊〉 discourse, hopes mortal enemy,  
Tats 〈◊〉 prevailing in his oft revealing,  
O give me leave, saith he, to balm mine eye,  
And let those tears that hurt it give it healing!  
For since her loves are not disposed to granting,  
Poor helps are welcome, when the best are wanting.   

These tears shall witness (when he wept indeed,)  
How near unto my soul her envy crept;  
How much my heart doth her own substance bleed,  
In fresh remembrance of what vows I kept.  
And in what hate that Lady did exceed,  
That threw me down to this (and still he wept)  
O thing for ever to be unforgot,  
Until she loves me, as she loves me not   

My ●locks this while that saw their masters eye,  
Perused in things, vntut●hing their estate,  
Ywended to a neighbours several me,  
That for fair feed was mounded in o'late:  
Where left they should too much offendingly,  
Ore-ramp the grass, and get the owner's hate:  
I craved his name, and leave away to go,  
No shame to part, when need compelles thereto.   

My name though now it may a causer be,  
Of too long memory of a man forlorn;  
Is called Anander of the Court (quoth he)  
Though never Countryman abide more scorn:  
Yet keep it as thy heardlam close to thee,  
That no day hear it, but that blessed morn,  
Wherein that angel of my good and ill,  
Salutes thy stocks, and thee, upon this hill.   

Then tell her when she gives thee her good morrow,  
That thou o'late didst see Anander here;  
And then speak tears of my unfeigned sorrow,  
Or speak unfeigned sorrow of my tears:  
And when she doth some light occasion borrow,  
Of other reasons to employ her ears:  
Seem thou as if thou didst not understand her,  
And mix thy speeches with distressed Anander.   

If she dispraise or praise thy wanton flock,  
Tell thou her that Anander did so too;  
If broad the ●ield, she for some mate doth look,  
Anander, (tell her,) thus did look for you,  
And let remembrance work some better luck,  
For sure I am, more harm it cannot do,  
And sometimes absence do●s engender Passion,  
By giving leisure to consideration.   

So hie thee to thy sheep (good Shepherd boy:)  
But stay (O) first enrich me with thy name;  
Anetor of the Field, (Sir) did I say,  
Though (understand ye) I am not the same:  
That in amendall of the wolves annoy,  
That mighty voyage unto Peleus came:  
Anetor he, and I Anetor am,  
But he served Peleus, I as good a man.   

Discourses ended: t' was now time a day  
For him to ride, and for myself to wander;  
Such causes call us both, we cannot stay,  
His dear's at Court, and my dear flocks be yonder:  
And all our part no more but this to say,  
Farewell Anetor, and farewell Anander:  
Save that in our farewelles, this wish we move,  
Me to recall my Flocks, and he his love.    

Elegy II.  

Anetor seeing, seems to tell  
The beauty of fair Muridell,  
And in the end, he lets her know  
anander's plaint, his l●ue, his woe.   

WHen janivere in's one and thirtieth age,  
Had late embraced the wintering Feverill,  
And March departed with his windy rage,  
Presented time with honeyed April,  
And Shepherds to their lasses laid to gauge  
The yellow Cowslip, and the Daffodil:  
Wh●n flocks 'gan to be lusty, lambs to skip,  
That joyed the well yscape of Winter's nip.   

The days were wealthy in a greater store,  
Of temperate minutes, and of calmer weather,  
The Welkin blast was milder than before,  
The wind and Sun was blended so together,  
The spready Beech, and dangling Sycomores  
Were clad in tender leaves and shady shiver,  
Where was by shepherds toil, and shepherds wit,  
Banks under-set, for Nymphs to under-sit.   

Morne-walking Feiries, half gods of the woods,  
Trip through the plenty of our flowery plots,  
Gracing our Meadows, hallowing our floods,  
With wholesome blessings to our gladsome flocks:  
Cheering their colours, cheering of their bloods,  
Their milky udders, and their milk-white locks,  
All joy the lib●rall sweetness of the air,  
Beauty's renewed, and all things now look fair.   

Now Proserpina besets her com●ly locks,  
With such perfumes as Aetna's woods can yield,  
And Ceres with her roll and weeding hooks,  
〈◊〉 the infant housewifery of her field,  
And Ocean calls in his immounded brooks;  
From spoiling where Tr●ptolemus hath tiled,  
Our master ●an seeks Syrinx in the reeds,  
Points out our Pastures, and divides our feeds.   

This sacred Time invited to the hill,  
This hill where I my loving Lambs do feed,  
That comely mistress of unhappy will,  
In whom that Court'ers comforts first did breed,  
Though with unkind succession of that ill,  
That wrought by her: in him did more exceed:  
The Infant Spring breathed out his youthful air,  
A grateful thing to Ladies young and fair.   

Now as mine eyes did stretch their curious look,  
Over the spreading heardlam of my worth,  
e'en from that king the foremost of my troop,  
That bears the ringing triumph of their mirth,  
Unto that poorest Lamb that seems to droop  
Through weakness, youth, and latternes of birth,  
With many blessings to my wandering ●locke,  
And wishes of amendance to their flock.   

I might afar discern a princely crew,  
Of twenty ●adies, (pera adventure more)  
A high on yonder green where da●ses grew,  
And summers mistress kept her flowers in store,  
Too heavenly prospect for so poor a view,  
And yet a case in vulg●r●ence forbore,  
The eyes themselves have ever been thus free,  
What things must needs be seen, they must needs see.   

No man at all to guard this lovely train,  
Where Peers and Princes might have guardants been,  
Save one fair youth of a pure modest grain,  
That never yet desirous days had seen,  
Nor never greater thoughts besieged his brain,  
Than what belongs to one of seventeen,  
Brought up a purpose for this maiden task,  
One that would shame to love, and blush to ask.   

And by his novice looks, and childish grace,  
Cast on himself wherein was all his glory,  
I saw he made a poorer use on's place  
Then would that worthy causer of my Story:  
That sober sad Anander, if in case  
His Muridella were not peremptory:  
Who now that grace, that favour, and that joy,  
That longs unto her man, she gives her boy.   

This feat young stripling, guided by the will  
And wandering finger of his Lady's hand,  
Thus leads his blessed Army o'er the hill,  
Yet not where he list, but where they command,  
A thing that taught me one fair point of skill,  
That my rude days yet did not understand,  
The last may have the first in servile dread,  
And some are led, although they seem to lead.   

And as they stood aloof beyond my herd,  
Marking the homely joys of them and me,  
With many courteous smiles, and much good word,  
To their increase, and my prosperity:  
To quittance all the graces they afford,  
I wend aside, where I unseen may see  
These walking Saints, and give them secret praise,  
Since 'tis not good to stand in sight and gaze.   

And as I note their faces, judge their years,  
Compare their Beauties to discern the best;  
One saw I gone, betwixt two women pears,  
Two gentles, Ladylike and maids professed:  
Who, by your leave, if she had not been there,  
That for her state their services possessed:  
For comeliness and beauty might have got,  
The undissembled verdict of my thought.   

But she, whose Arms were folded up in theirs,  
(Three graceful fathoms twisted all in one;  
Like Pallas led twixt junos' hand and Ceres,  
Where nothing but the midst is looked upon:  
So rich yclad in beauty's pomp appears,  
Besides the wonders cost she had put on:  
That when I looked upon no more but she,  
I could ha' wished, there had been no more to see.   

But O! what eye can be contented in  
So strait a compass, or so small a round?  
But that some sparkle of his sight, shall sin,  
In glancing here, or there, or up, or down:  
So did these dazzled circles never linne  
To look on all, till they the fairest found:  
Then fix themselves, still to behold the best,  
Some peevish light would serve and see the rest.   

On cloudy sullen implement of black,  
Yield a mask, or some such hideous name;  
Upon her face: whether it was for lack  
Of things more fit, more graceful than the same:  
Or whether careless might she be to take  
A vesture that the place so ill became,  
I wot not: But in conscience, God forbid,  
That things so worthy sight should e'er be hid.   

This envious vizard; glories needles jail,  
Deformed enemy of Beauty's praise;  
This new-inuented Night, that so doth vail,  
The mingled looks of Nature's holidays:  
This artificial Morphew, that assails  
The seemly object of our mortal joys:  
This cloud, this face-case, this attire of Chance,  
This ugly outside of a countenance.   

Did thus, as in despiteful bondage hold,  
The wondrous feature of so blest a look,  
Till beauty snuffing to be so controlled,  
Nor would her slave to be her mistres●e brook:  
This strange garment above her brow did fold,  
And thereby her deserved freedom took,  
And as in task I kept mine eyes to see,  
If she so beauteous might as comely be.   

Like to Queen Morning when she fresh appeared,  
To Shafalus upon th' Hymetian hill,  
Or Wisdom, when she looked from sky, and reared,  
The barb ●rous kin that did each other kill:  
Or smiling Love, when in her arms she cheered,  
That beauteous youngling that the Boar did kill:  
So looked she out to give her eyes such scope,  
As Appias does when heavens windows open.   

How blessed are you ●locks and fields (quoth I)  
To be perused with such Immortal view?  
How can thou but excel in jollity,  
When fairer sight than heaven doth visit you?  
Yet did I speak these words but whispringly,  
As one that had not mate to tell them to:  
With eager grief that I had none with me,  
To soothe me in the praise of that I see.   

Like to some bank, whose grounds of Lilies white  
Was here and there with rolls inter-set;  
Impaled in with flowers of fair delight,  
As if Cibele were in Floracs' debt:  
And to incur more wonder to the sight,  
Fronted with veins of Azure violet:  
So did she seem if I may like a face  
So excellent, unto a thing so base.   

But how much do I weaken and deprive,  
Those honours great that in her greatness are,  
When like myself, fond shepherd, I do strive  
To bring such beauty into rude compare:  
Knowing full well, that nothing is alive  
That mought be reckoned like to one so fair:  
Yet pardon Beauty, me unskilful wight,  
That wrong thee, in desire to do thee right.   

So long bewitched with this mateles hue,  
Ofth unbeguiling beauty of her face,  
Mine earnest eyes with tears at length withdrew,  
And wandering, wonder at another grace,  
That in her neck and bosom was to view,  
That joined plot, that admirable place:  
And while to maze at that I had desire,  
Contentles sight wooed still be gazing hire.   

So long as yet I have the keeper been,  
Of these fair meads (stars be my witness true;)  
No Winters snow that ever fell therein,  
Or summer's Assodill that ever grew:  
Passed the Native whiteness of her skin,  
So mixed with bashful red and vaynie blue:  
Yet dare I brag, that never shepherd more,  
Saw fairer flowers than I, or whiter snow.   

O creature blessed mot'st thou never die,  
For if thou shouldst with mortals breath thy last,  
Where find we Pearl to fashion such an eye,  
Or whither shall we send for Aliblast',  
Or seek for ivory of so white a die?  
Wherein thy Bosom's Picture may be cast,  
When thy names highness, and thy beauty's newness,  
Should be sepulchred in the truest trueness.   

This Bosom is loves own delightful walk,  
When coming from her eye, his princely nest,  
He wanders down to dally and to talk  
With Chastity that dwelleth in her breast:  
Where, like a Lamb upon a bed of chalk,  
Lies down, and whites himself and takes his rest,  
The journey is so delicate, upon  
The way twixt his, and her pavilion.   

Then comes he to that double-fronted place,  
The temple of a chaste and prudent fear,  
In whose bright outside he beholds her face,  
As if Love asked here, and answered there,  
But the beguiled boy's in no such grace,  
As for anander's sake I wish he were:  
Thomas leave him there, and I the while be telling  
This breast, of Chastity the sumptuous dwelling.   

It is as clear as is the finest glass,  
And men would think it easy to be broken,  
But when the violence of entreat would pass,  
The substance doth no brittleness betoken:  
But still it stands as close and firm as brass,  
Yet is so pure, that one would judge it open,  
And by this day (forgive me heau●ns to swear,)  
Those that disdain to love, why are they fair?   

Anander (oh) that thou were't Porter here,  
To walk the entrance of this Castle door;  
And I the Vicar of thine office were,  
When thou be'st feeble, and can toil no more:  
But let me blush, I was too saucy there,  
Yet in thy quarraile, dare I say therefore:  
Fair is the portal, but the house is hate,  
Poorest the Alms, though purest is the gate.   

Before this gate there are two fountains built,  
Of icy Crystal and of Diamond,  
Whose Cisterns silver be, whose Conduits gilded,  
And in them sweeter wines than Nectar stand:  
Yet never was (they say) one spoonful spilled,  
Nor never any drop that from them ruined:  
Nor never shall, till theyare unlocked below,  
But who doth keep the key thereof, God know.   

Oft hath Anander in loves likeness shot  
His hardy shafts against this Castle great,  
Where, though he made frank war and battery hot,  
The end of all was ever mere retreat:  
That I say this in jesting think ye not,  
far is from me the wanton of conceit,  
Punish me heavens, if I mean nought,  
More than his earnest love, and her chaste thought.   

Next to her breast, that fair and beauteous strand,  
(Describe I now by guess, and not by sight)  
That white impaled walk, that spacy land,  
That smooth, and milky highway of delight,  
Where the same Love walks at his own command  
To make experience lower of his might:  
Whenas himself unworthily hath borne,  
From her hard breast, this great repulse of scorn.   

But in the midst, or near the lower end  
Of this 〈◊〉 belly-walke▪ a mark is set,  
And further than the same he may not wend,  
Where want of liberty doth make him fret,  
And where he may not come▪ his shaft doth send;  
But where they light was never heard on yet,  
For if they did, 'twould quickly be appearant,  
For where Love woundeth, Love is like to hear on't.   

Nature herself did set that limit there,  
To curb young Cupid's freakish Infancy,  
As often as his boyship durst come near,  
Or enter his assault so saucily,  
Upon the hidden bliss of that place, where  
Himself doth live in secret secrecy,  
And yet there is no doubt, but Love shall dwell  
Hereafter there, if he please Nature well.   

Now sober thought sha●l silently pass o'er,  
Without rude language or immodest wrong,  
The things that reason ever hath forbore,  
'Cause they surpass the eloquence of tongue:  
While I pursue the meaner dainties lower,  
And so in fair Content I pass along:  
For where the eye doth lead, the lips are bold,  
But what was never seen, must not be told.   

When I have then bethought her veinie thighne,  
Her smooth and dainty leg, her handsome knee,  
The pillars of this everworthy shrine,  
Where Chasteness, Beauty, Wit enrooded Bee,  
Who can persuade me, that her foot's not fine,  
When these adoring eyes the shoe did see,  
That for his length, might of the six be,  
But sure for breadth, it could be but the three.   

To tell how ●aire and strait this underpart,  
Held up the rest so bright, and goodly high;  
Would make the heau● n-supporting Atlas' start,  
And in a rage let fall the mighty sky:  
And whisper to himself within his heart,  
How base and ever lasting slave am I,  
Whom this eternal drudgery contents,  
While meaner props bear fairer elements.   

How comely Lord, (me thinks) her back was made,  
How right her shoulders to the same were knit;  
How excellently both her sides were laid,  
How strait, how long her arms were, and how fit:  
How white her hand was, and how undecayed,  
And what fair fingers joined were to it:  
How delicately every limb was placed,  
And every member by another graced.   

No painter that did ever pencil dip,  
In orient Russet or in sable die;  
Has power to match the redness of her lip,  
Or the thr●e-colour'd harts-case of her eye:  
Pygmalion at her cheeks and chin would trip,  
And at her brows would blush and look awry:  
And for her Nose, Nature would do as much,  
For heaven and earth yields not another such.   

A wounden wreath she had of bay and Fir,  
That had y'clipt her foremost locks in green;  
Whose trembling Leaf the mildest blast would stir,  
Unless the wind had much forbearefull been:  
And for her hair except you look on her,  
I'm sure there is no more such to be seen:  
And all her head was dressed in that hair,  
So might it best, no dressing is so fair.   

Her band about her neck was plainey' spread,  
Withouten doubles, sets, but falling flat;  
And all upon it, wrought in golden thread,  
Roses, vines, pansies, and I wot not what:  
A curled lock descending from her head,  
Hung on her shoulder, partly hiding that:  
On her left shoulder: Shoulders that do bear,  
Something: what? Nothing, but the things they wear.   

She wore withal a Tyrian mantle, made  
Of silken yearn, with strip of silver mixed;  
Of the same web that young Apollo had;  
For certainly went but the shears betwixt:  
Her vpper● part was in a Doublet clad,  
Wrought over with clouds, and golden planets fixed:  
And skirted like a man, but that before  
Her buttons, and her girdle, came much lower.   

Her buttons were great store, and very small,  
In colours like unto her doublet wrought;  
Her Belt was finer gear, but yet withal,  
As semblant to the rest as might be thought:  
Save that it was with pearl as round as ball,  
With aggets, and with glimsy sapphires fraught:  
And all was like her doublet to her hand,  
Saving her cuffs, and they were like her band.   

Her kirtle was an equal minglement,  
Of divers silks in divers beauties died;  
And with a tuck it was, that as she went,  
Her middle-leg the fringe did scarcely hide:  
And to this tuck, broad Lace in order spent,  
One from another not a finger wide:  
And from her ankle to her knee did rise,  
gamasha's of the best of jasons prize.   

Of silken green her neither stocks were knit,  
One of her garters could I hardly see,  
For she above the joint had twisted it,  
Yet seemed it like to that below the knee,  
Because I saw the ends were sembled fit,  
With broydery as like as like might be:  
H●● shoe was low, because she did defy,  
Any additions to make her high.   

As I a while was standen in a wear,  
In ill conceit of my unworthy state,  
Whether I moat presume to let her hear  
What of herself was told to me so late,  
I suddenly might see approaching near,  
A handsome bonny Virgin that did wait  
Upon this Lady: and in hand she led  
A milk-white Steed, and richly furnished.   

Withouten bashful dread, or further thought,  
I crossed aloof unto this comely Maid,  
And having bid her welcome, as I ought,  
And broke into a homely speech, and said,  
Fair Mistress you are she that I have sought,  
But certes for no harm, be not afraid  
If you a maid to Muridel●a be,  
Pray tell me, is she here, and which is she?   

This Damsel seeming proud and angry too,  
Snuffs at my plainness, flouts, and walks awry,  
I follow on, and for an answer woo,  
●ut for my heart I could have no reply,  
What shall it boot me then in vain to sue,  
If thou be thus, what is thy Dame? thought I,  
Or mayst thou be, as ancient tales express,  
A Maid more dainty than thy Misteresse.   

But (yet anon) because she would not stay,  
Nor I think of her any worse than well,  
She threw this mincing Answer in my way,  
I am: she's here: that's she, and so farewell.  
But which (quoth I) is that you mean I pray,  
Who then (she saith) go look, I will not tell.  
With this we part, and both our ways we keep,  
And she leads on her Horse, and I my sheep.   

And well I was that I so much could know,  
And for the same I gave her fair God-speed,  
And after that prepared myself to go  
To meet with her whom I should meet indeed,  
I mean the ●ady that I praised so,  
The Mistress of the Maid and of the Steed?  
〈◊〉 gods and his love for aye,  
My gods and my Mistress for to day.   

Now looked I on myself what must be done,  
And ●ub●d my garments clean in every seam,  
My face that long had basked in the Sun,  
I made it handsome in the gentle stream,  
I combed my bustled locks, and wiped my shoes,  
And made myself as trick as Polypheme,  
When he first kept his heardlam near the Sea,  
For love and sake of constant Galate.   

The gentle Ladies when they did behold  
My 〈◊〉 approach, anon began to fleer,  
Ether th● occasion was to see me bold,  
To vent● 〈◊〉 in a Swaynish guise so near,  
Or else they highly wondered what I would,  
Or what might be the business I had there,  
Yet feared not, for they full well did know,  
The Country to the Court was never foe.   

The princock youth, (as I o'late did tell,)  
That manned this goodly so●t along the hill;  
In his pure wisdom thought I did not well,  
(Though I had sworn in thought to do no ill:)  
And therefore meets me with a countenance fell,  
And this disdainful question: What's your will?  
No harm sweet master (said I) but to see,  
My Landlady, if any here be she.   

These are the Ladies of the court (quoth he,)  
Whose pleasure is to walk upon this green;  
Whose honour des●ices and high degree,  
Is daily waiting on our Sovereign Queen;  
(And with that word his head uncovered he),  
And all his youthful yellow locks were seen:  
And I kneeled down and cried, O heavens so dear  
Preserve her grace and all her Ladies here.   

With that on gentle Lady 'mong them all,  
Partly resolved I had some tale to 〈◊〉;  
With becking hand the Image of a call,  
Examines what I would, and where I dwell:  
Quoth I, my woning is in yonder stall,  
And I would speak with beauteous M●ridell:  
All honour be to every one of you,  
But she is whom my message longs unto.   

Whose fair respect in such abundance wrought,  
And courtesy did in such sort supply;  
That every grace, and every gentle thought,  
Did seem to be assembled in her eye:  
When with a piercing smiling glance it sought,  
The errand of the homely slander by:  
And did inspire the moving lips to say,  
What news to Muridella, (shepherds boy.)   

If shepherds then may dare to be so bold  
With such estates as yours, I 'gan to'say,  
Or if loves Message may be rudely told,  
(As better know my betters what it may)  
Duty and promise urge me to unfold,  
That on this green I met upon a day  
Youthful Anander, that in Court doth dwell,  
As you well know, if you be Muridell.   

And that above the world he loves you dear,  
If be to you unthought of, or unknown,  
Once trust my oath upon it (if I swear)  
Where in I yet have been untrue to none:  
If ever Loves did by the looks appear,  
Or ever miseries were declared by moan,  
Anander is as far in love with you,  
As he on this side death, has power to go.   

But are you sure (she saith) it is to me?  
As sure as I am sure y'are Muridell:  
But are you sure (she saith) that that was he,  
As sure as I am sure, he loves you well:  
But are you sure (she saith) that I am she,  
That is (quoth I) the thing I least can tell,  
But that's the name I'm sure he does adore,  
And she that owes that name, he honours more.   

Belike (she saith) your message doth pertain  
To Muridell: and that's I indeed,  
But that those loves and honours that you sane,  
And those high thoughts that from his heart proceed  
Are● one to me it is a lest but vain,  
And let it be no member of your creed:  
'Twas he, I know 't: he loves, I know it too,  
But whom he loves, he knows, not I, nor you.   

For thee to swear what thou hast heard him vow,  
Is but the childish error of thy youth;  
For me to trust things sworn I wot not how,  
Might arg●e fondness, lightness, and untruth:  
And therefore, (Shepherd) what a fool art thou,  
To think that every tear proceeds of ruth,  
When men that other causes do lament,  
Will burden love with all their Discontent?   

Be thou not then so lightly borne away,  
With every idle tale that men profess;  
And look how much the more of Loves they say,  
Be wise enough to credit them the less:  
For if in sooth they are inclined that way,  
Thy pity does but add to their distress:  
But if they do not mean the things they say,  
What fool are you, and what dissemblers they?   

Down halts the beggar when he seeks to move,  
The mistress of the alms-house to be kind;  
And craft is sickly when he means to prove,  
The liberal pity, of the innocent mind,  
And light belief is but the Ass of Love,  
That bears his oaths before, his mocks behind:  
And never travels with an empty poke,  
Until all mocks be spent, all oaths be broke.   

men's vows to us have been of small import,  
Since love put on Diana's moony cap,  
And in the lo●ely woods of chaste disport,  
Oppressed Cal●sto with a dire mishap,  
Since 〈◊〉 outlaws came to Carthage Court,  
And ●alse julus played in Dido's lap,  
No why loves into our hearts shall creep,  
(O word full ill to speak, full hard to keep▪)   

All shamefaced as I stood at this defence,  
With all my wits astounded in a muse;  
I had a sudden hap to call to sense,  
Anander told me how she would excuse  
Her dreary hardness, and unkind offence,  
A thing she so familarly did use,  
That to a mean and single understander,  
The fault of Love seemed rather in Anander.   

Herewith the gentle silence of her tongue,  
Gives more tune to my message and his cause;  
This feeble answer, from affection strong,  
Filled up the empty minutes of that pause:  
Fair Lady, more it please you, do no wrong,  
Though for his Love you guiden all the Laws:  
Nor him of feigning, or false oaths condemn,  
For sure that heart did never harbour them.   

To count those vows before me he did take,  
To tell the tears that he did lavish here;  
To call to mind the praises he did make  
Of you his Muridella, you his dear:  
What griefs, what thoughts, what labours for your sake,  
What discontent, what fury he did bear,  
Would make me (Lady) more distraught to tell,  
Then is the maddest Eumenis of hell.   

But since the Evening hastes, let all things rest,  
Till please it you to meet him on this hill;  
That ha●●y heavens may make your heart possessed,  
With 〈◊〉 pity of Anander's ill:  
A 〈◊〉 wished change restore him blest,  
With muridella's gentles and goodwill:  
And if that then the fault in him shallbe,  
Let me cu●se him, and you abandon me.   

To this request her greatness mildly spoke,  
Much is the Love Anander might have won,  
If other courses he had pleased to take,  
Then thus abroad have cried himself undone,  
And by his open blames, a Tyrant make  
Of me, that wished him as I would my son,  
Though I confess the loves he would have had,  
I did deny, but not to make him mad.   

For let our weakness as it well hath need,  
Resolve itself upon profound advise,  
For when consent is made with too much speed,  
Entreating Love esteems it of no price:  
Such weighty bargains are not soon agreed:  
A substance is too much to play at twice,  
The love's but small that is too young to know,  
That all the hope's not past when we say no.   

But on the day that I him here shall meet,  
(The fairest day of all the fairest days)  
I learn him shall, how to be more discreet  
And courteous, in the bruit of my dispraise:  
And then (if heavens ordain it not unmeet)  
Unarmed Love shall part our lingering frays,  
And where the most unkindness than shall be,  
There the just sentence shall be given by thee.   

For I do know An●nder young and fair,  
And much I think, and much I would do for him,  
And that it is my everlasting care,  
That disconsent of love should never mar him:  
Witness thyself (young shepherd boy) that are  
The only judge to whom I shall refer him,  
And so I must be gone the night is near,  
Time stays no longer at the Court then here.   

With that the lightness of her nimble foot  
Withdrew itself into a silent trace,  
And all her veiny limbs consenting to't,  
Made a fair turn, and vanished hence apace,  
With all the comely troop, leaving me mute,  
And languished in the losing of her face,  
While does the air into mine ears infuse  
The message of her musical adewes.    

Elegy III.  

Anander sick with loves disdain  
Doth change himself into a Swain,  
While does the youthful shepherd show him  
His muridella's answer to him.   

THe Sun that had himself a Courtier been,  
And for his beauty loved of Ladies fair,  
Spread forth his yellow beams upon the green,  
And with attentive eye, and Courtly care,  
Flourished his wandering torch, till he had seen  
This troop arrive the place where now they are:  
Which done, he hies him thence, and takes his rest  
Behind the furthest Mountains of the West.   

Blind drowsy night, all clad in misty ray,  
Began to ride along the welkin's round,  
Hangs out his gazing Lanterns by the way,  
And makes the outside of the world his bound,  
The Queen of stars in envy of the day,  
Throws the cold shadow of her eyes to ground,  
And supple grass oppressed with heavy dew,  
Doth wet the Sheep, and lick the shepherds shoe.   

There as I dwelled there dwelled all my sheep,  
And home we went together, flocks and I,  
As even where I rest, and take my sleep,  
There are my flocks asleep and resting by,  
And when I rise to go to field and keep,  
So will my flocks, that can no longer he:  
Thus in the Sheep is all the shepherds care,  
And in the Shepherd is the ●locks welfare.   

W●ile did the year let slip his tender Spring,  
And merry Moons went merrily away,  
I with this happy flock alone did sing,  
And pipe the oaten galhard every day,  
As well content as Pan himself our King,  
With a new Carol or a Roundelay,  
For he (as good a Minstrel as he is)  
Couth never tune a better Lay then this.   

When Shepherds sit upon the hills,  
Nursed in their Swainish wills,  
Young, and in desires unripe,  
Curious of the flock and pipe,  
Then is Swaynish life the best,  
And he that cares, and loves the jest,  
Thinks he fares above the rest.   

Then our joys beguile our ruthes,  
shepherds boys, be merry youths,  
Loves do dwell in Couri'rs beds,  
Peace doth ●well in shepherds heads,  
●usts are like our flocks ypent,  
Want of age doth bar consent,  
Youth doth flourish with content.   

But when elder days shall show,  
Whether Swains be men or no,  
Love shall rule in shepherds brains,  
Gravity shall guide the swains.  
Wanton thoughts shall then be checked,  
Shepherds shall no plays respect,  
Age shall conquer youth's defect.   

Sing I then, heigh ho for joy,  
'Cause I yet am but a boy,  
But when shepherds boys be men,  
Ho my heart, what sing I then?  
Heigh-ho, sorrow, joys away,  
Conquering Love has won the Day,  
This is all my Roundelay.   

Whilom when I was Colli●s loved boy,  
(Ah Collen, for thee Collen, weep I now,)  
For thou art dead, ah, that to me didst joy,  
As Coridon did to Alexis vow.  
But (as I said,) when I was Col●ns boy,  
This dear young boy, and yet of years enough,  
To lead his willing heard along the plain,  
● on his pipe did learn this singing vain.   

And oh, (well moat he now take rest therefore,)  
How oft in prayers and songs he prayed and sung,  
That I (as had himself full long before,)  
Mought live a happy shepherd and a young;  
And many vows, and many wishes more,  
When he his Pipe into my bosom ●lung:  
And said, though Col●in ne'er shall be surpassed,  
Be while thou hu●st, as like him as thou mayst.   

Much was my dear therefore when Collen died,  
When we (alack) were both agreed in grief:  
He for his infant swain that me a●●ide,  
Yet happened not to hue t● see my proof.  
And I t●at to his governance had tie  
My bounden youth, in losing such a chief:  
Ah how wou●d he have sung, and with what grace?  
anander's Love, and muridella's Face.   

He would have blazed in eternal note,  
Anan●ers Love and worthy Manliness;  
And then recorded with a wondrous throat,  
His muridella's lovely worthiness,  
And by those witching tunes he had by wrote,  
Cured his loves grief with his desires success:  
And by his lofty pipe, and pleasing ditty,  
Molted her heart's hardness with her loves pity.   

Then mought full well these hills of Shepherds feed,  
Been privy to loves secret discontent,  
And all these quarrels might ha' been agreed  
And ended, by a judge so reverent:  
For he was lettered well, and well couth reed,  
And was a swain profound and eloquent,  
But now is left of him but bare report,  
And I m fields, must sing the Loves in Court.   

Anan●ier now whose loves did wax in age,  
So as they did in greatness and in wait,  
Sometimes bursts out into disbounded rage.  
And ●oy's his eager heart on Passions bait:  
Sometimes the swelling mind begins to suage,  
And slender hopes appear, but vanish straight,  
And Grief draws out the Antics of his care,  
Upon his face, his bosom, and his hair.   

Poor gentle youth▪ as yet a man unwitting,  
With that true truth, his errand I had said,  
And with what mild respect, and hopeful pitying,  
The answers of his love were answered:  
lives wide from sumptuous Court, as one more sitting,  
To shroud pale sickness in a country bed:  
And sometimes (though the space was far between)  
Casts his long looks, where his long Loves had been,   

At length, what forced by Love, what by goodwill,  
Love that he bore to her, goodwill to me;  
It pleased him once more to salute this hill,  
And me, and these my flocks that weakened be  
For want of care and shepherds wary skill,  
That for this while couth never well o'ersee  
Their ●ickle state, so greatly did me stir,  
The woe for him, the wondering at her.   

A weeping face (at first) I durst not show him,  
Lest he should swoon in weening ill success;  
Nor would I smile when I at first did view him,  
Lest he should dream of greatest happiness:  
But looked as I looked when first I knew him,  
Withouten change of feature, more or less:  
So that my Countenance could him not disclose,  
Great cause of joys, or greater means of woes.   

Now while the action of his hand and foot,  
Danced out the measures of his courtly greeting;  
And I in silent bows, and gross salute,  
Doubled the courteous Congees of our meeting:  
His gentle heart fed with no other fruit,  
But griefs sour Plum, and Passions bitter-sweeting:  
Sends to the mouth the sighs that she had broken,  
Where being shaped in words, they were thus spoken.   

Sith is no doubt (young courteous boy) but thou,  
Hast seen my Love upon this gladsome plain;  
Therefore declare my doom unto me now,  
Declare thou happy, or unhappy swain:  
Tell me what Muridella said, and how  
Thou lik'st her speech, her beauty, and her train:  
power out her praise to me with such a tongue,  
As unto her thou didst my love and wrong.   

Say, what she said to thee, what to thy flock,  
What unto me, and what unto my Love,  
Say: did she pity me, or did she mock,  
Or challenge witness of the heavens above?  
At what time came she, and at what a clock  
Went she away? for love of mighty jove  
Tell me dear youth▪ and if my hopes succeed,  
I'll crown thy kindness with a liberal deed.   

For now my life stands on the crazy point  
Of tottering hope, and feeble expectation:  
Doubt trembles Agew-like in every joint,  
And fear assaults with threats of desolation:  
And now, unless the balms of comfort 'noint,  
I die the luckelest man of all our nation:  
Therefore discourse the fortunes of that day,  
And at that word I thus began to say.   

That I this Lady fair have seen and met,  
Know well mine eyes that were my errands guide,  
Out of whose circles is not vanished yet  
The Image of that beauty that they eyed,  
And that I told your loves and passions great  
Shall by the judgement of yourself be tried,  
When lips unlearned motion shall present you,  
With such a lukewarm answer as she sent you.   

But first if you were not so far in dote,  
As that (O stars) you could not jealous be,  
Wonder would make me digress, and quote  
Your answer, with the praise of blessed she:  
But at more leisure will I sing that note,  
When in the valleys I alone shall be.  
Mean while (fair Knight) I will declare together,  
Your Lady's speech and my adventure with her.   

At first▪ a comely Virgin groom that met me,  
For favour to my tale I did beseech,  
Who for a rude young Shepherd did outset me,  
And with an answer of short careless speech  
Run from my earnest plaint; and scarce would let me  
Take knowledge, who was Muridell, and which:  
And seeing then so little vex her maid,  
I thought that nothing might to her be said.   

At length a youth that led them o'er the plain,  
A fair young boy, of modest age and look,  
Clad in a silken garment died in grain,  
As green of hue as Neptune's tidy brook,  
And a green velvet cap of the same stain,  
Wherein a plume of curled feathers stuck,  
And round about his skirt, in seemly grace,  
Thirteen bright circles made of silver lace.   

As it befell: this white-cheeked youth and I,  
Instead of bearding, chined at one another;  
He, like a haughty spirit, observingly  
Would needs know what I go about, and whother,  
ay, in pure meekness, and in simplicy,  
Legged him a fair excuse (sir) and no other,  
While thus we both our wordey combat break,  
She gently heard me, and she bade me speak.   

And what I said full well to you is known.  
Whose love did lesson it to me before:  
Unless your thoughts cannot contain their own,  
Or memory let fall her chiefest store,  
That is; the tears, the prayers, the praise, the moan,  
That your great grief upon my lips did score,  
And therefore read she half my message there,  
And from my mouth the other half did bear.   

She in mild terms replied, she wondered much  
That that fair knight should been so lovely ill,  
Sith she ne'er knew that his desires were such  
As to complain the stiffness of her will.  
And to be plain, and give the nearest tuch,  
Of that she uttered here upon this hill,  
She said, some beauty had your loves ywon,  
But loves to her were neither meant nor done.   

Sometimes in sooth, (she couth it not deny▪)  
You would in courtly dalliance, and in jest,  
Discourse of your own loves full amorously,  
With much fair promises, and large protest,  
And she herself in sober contrary,  
Would answer as you ask, and bid you rest:  
But that for her, you did so dearly pine,  
She never thought it, by that Sun that shine.   

Thou know'st (saith he) if youth debar thee not,  
That not in man can such dissemblance live,  
As feign himself unsufferably hot,  
Whenas his hands like melting y●e forgive,  
Nor can yshroud himself in careless blot,  
When in his thoughts the pangs of sorrows grieve,  
And that my Loves have had time and appearing,  
Be iu●ge thy youth, that gives me gentle hearing.   

When first my youth was in that age's oddness,  
That lacks the three bare twelve months of a score,  
Love was a suckling then in infant gladness,  
And only lived on dalliance, and no more,  
The eighteenth was the first year of his madness,  
And greater were his random then before:  
The nineteenth year he silently befell  
In single choice of beauteous Muridell.   

The twentieth did I waste away in uttering,  
All that the yea●e before I had forethought,  
And this last twelvemonth is near gone in suffering,  
The hard succeedings that my utterance wrought;  
If the next yield the like discomforting,  
In such defects as sufferance hath brought:  
The next to that is like to end in me,  
loves long six years with Life's short twentythree.   

Mean while, if thou fearest not the fellowship  
Of lingering Loves infectious languishment,  
In these delicious meads I will o●re-ship,  
The wearisome discourse of discontent:  
And in a shepherds humble outside, clip  
My drouped Nobleness, and live unkent:  
And unrespected on the lonely hills,  
Till either Love or Death conclude my ills.   

My dear unkind, that in the wanton Court  
This while doth live, admired and obeyed,  
Shall bide the blame of desperate report,  
From the grieved Nemesis of a mind decayed:  
Where let her live to dally and disport▪  
In self loves river with hi● beauty's shade:  
Until the lovely Lily of her look,  
Become the lowly Lily of the brook.   

And those young Lordings that with envious eyes,  
took secret watch of my affection to her,  
Shall now have time and liberty to guise  
Their bounteous thoughts and gentle lips to woe her:  
And tyre out their desires unsuffice,  
As I the first, first did▪ when I first knew her:  
Till some more gallants suffer with Anander,  
The mastery of a feminine commander.   

The ears of jove shall then be sick to hear  
The miserous complaint of courtly lovers,  
Old care shall cloth young love as grey as friar,  
When him with eye deceiving Antics covers:  
And men of Court shall dwell with shepherds here,  
And Palace hawks shall feast with Meadow plovers,  
For thus none-spa●ing Love did vanquish me,  
That thought myself as strong as others be.   

Though once I could, when I was weak and young,  
(Is't not a wonder worthy three days weeping)  
Contend in any game and be too strong  
For Love▪ that now hath all my strength in keeping:  
Since in the Flower of Age, I fall along,  
Like unto him that whilo●●e at a meeting  
Recoiled rash wounding Death himself upon,  
When he with Sol durst throw the weighty stone.   

O 〈◊〉, how like thy case is mine?  
Then f●om thy venturous soul that ●●owrs didst bleed  
When proudly that presumptuous arm of thine  
Attempted so unpossible a deed.  
ay▪ 〈◊〉 with Love do in like combat join,  
My courtly wanton turns a meadow weed:  
And shepherd's servants prove we both by that,  
I grace his field, and thou dost deck his hat.   

So shall this bo●e, whose eyes ne'er looked into  
The fat●ll change of our Imperious state:  
Be governor of those unhappy two,  
That in their glo●y, found their glories date:  
He th●t into a clowre died long ago,  
He that into a weed changed now o'late:  
He that by 〈◊〉 died, by him survives:  
He that by 〈◊〉 lived, and by her dies.   

And with this speech, and those dumb sighs beside,  
Wherewith his lights shut up his woes discourse:  
His comely furnishments of courtly pride,  
He covers in a shape mo●e homely worse:  
And in a swainish Counterfeit doth hide  
His noble limbs: the ruins of loves force:  
And (O) it was to see a wondrous grace,  
So dear a jewel in so cheap a case.   

I mean, saith he, a shepherds life to lead,  
So long as God's my Life a leading give,  
Or till that Lady shall salute this mead,  
For whose dear hate I thus am bound to live:  
This wilful penance put I on my head,  
Which none but Muridella shall forgive:  
Till when, I live that life in hope to mend it,  
Or else in good-assurance ne'er to end it.   

If she prove kind, as she was never yet,  
(Though she in virtue else was blest)  
Then shallbe void the Covenants of this ●it,  
And joys shall lose the knot of strict Protest:  
If still she in the like contempt doth sit,  
My vow continues as it is 〈◊〉 priest:  
Thus I am bound, though she the debt must pay,  
And I must forfeit, though she break the day.   

Herewith the youthful noble-seeming swain,  
Adown and set himself besiden me:  
All in th● midst of the lightsome plain,  
Where all around we might our heardlams see▪  
Withouten sign or show of nice disdain,  
The Shop-book in that hand received ●●e  
That was wont to bear the warlike lance,  
And lead the Ladies many a courtly dance.   

Thou ensign of poor Life, badge of content,  
Staff of my cares, yet pillar of my bliske,  
Cheap relic of that ●oie that is dispent,  
And chief foundation of that joy that is,  
True watchman of those smiles that hopes present,  
Strong porter of those griefs that hatred gi's:  
Witness of woes, my hook, my hope as much,  
The shepherds weapon, and the lovers crutch.   

I do embrace thee, as I once embraced  
(Saith he) that virtuous mistress that I had,  
When on the easy measure of her waste,  
I in this sort desiringly fell mad.  
Though unto me thou yieldest not such repast,  
Nor art so fair, nor art so gaily clad:  
Yet look how much her beauties pass thy state,  
So much thy Company excels her hate.   

Thus did the spirit of anander's eye,  
(Whose brightness care had masked in a dim,)  
Partake with me the life of shepheardie,  
As I both Life and Love partook with him.  
And until she relents, or till we die,  
No second fortunes can in us begin.  
All liberties as thankless offers be,  
Till Love that tide him up, do set him free.   

Till heavens above ordain one pleasing day,  
Wherein that Angel of their jealous care,  
That Muridella please to come this way,  
And with her foot steps lighter then●the air,  
Trip through the dwellings of her amorous boy,  
And cheered his drouped li●●mes with embracings fair,  
Anetor hath anander's loves in keep,  
And fair Anander hath Anetors sheep.   

Till then, ye Gods ordain us both good speed,  
In Loves and flocks presented to your care,  
And when your grace shall stand us in such steed,  
To end a loves grief, and do a happy char:  
I'll sacrifice the fairest lamb I feed,  
And tun● my pipe again: and then prepare  
One Ditty more, wherein the world shall view,  
How much you favour us, we honour you.   
FINIS.   

— Quando vacat, quando est, jucunda relatu,  
historiam prima repetens ab origine pandam.