ENGLAND'S HELICON.  

Casta placent superis,  
pura cum vest venite,  
Et manibus puris  
sumite fontis aquam.   
AT LONDON Printed by I. R. for john Flasket, and are to be sold in Paul's Churchyard, at the sign of the Bear. 1600.   

TO HIS LOVING KIND FRIEND, Master john Bodenham.  
wit's Commonwealth, the first fruits of thy pains,  
Drew on Wit's Theatre, thy second Son:  
By both of which; I cannot count the gains,  
And wondrous profit that the world hath won.  
Next, in the Muse's Garden, gathering flowers,  
Thou mad'st a Nosegay, as was never sweeter:  
Whose sent will savour to Time's latest hours,  
And for the greatest Prince no Poesy meeter.  
Now comes thy Helicon, to make complete  
And furnish up thy last imposed design:  
My pains herein, I cannot term it great,  
But whatsoever, my love (and all) is thine.  
Take love, take pains, take all remains in me:  
And where thou art, my heart still lives with thee.   

To his very loving friends, M. Nicholas Wanton, and M. George Faucet. (⸫)  
THough many miles (but more occasions) do sunder us (kind Gentlemen) yet apromise at parting, doth in justice claim performance, and assurance of gentle acceptance, would mightily condemn me if I should neglect it. Helicon, though not as I could wish, yet in such good sort as time would permit, having past the pikes of the Press, comes now to York to salute her rightful Patron first, and next (as his dear friends and kinsmen) to offer you her kind service. If she speed well there, it is all she requires, if they frown at her beer, she greatly not cares: for the wise (she knows) will never be other than themselves, as for such then as would seem so, but neither are, nor ever will be, she holds this as a main principle; that their malice need as little be feared, as their favour or friendship is to be desired. So hoping you will not forget us there, as we continually shall be mindful of you here. I leave you to the delight of England's Helicon.  
Yours in all he may, A. B.   

To the Reader, if indifferent.  
MAny honoured names have heretofore (in their particular interest,) patronized some part of these inventions: many here be, that only these Collections have brought to light, & not inferior (in the best opinions) to any before published. The travail that hath been taken in gathering them from so many hands, hath wearied some hours, which severed, might in part have perished, digested into this mean volume, may in the opinion of some not be altogether unworthy the labour. If any man hath been defrauded of any thing by him composed, by another man's title put to the same, he hath this benefit by this collection, freely to challenge his own in public, where else he might be robbed of his proper due. No one thing being here placed by the Collector of the same under any man's name, either at large, or in letters, but as it was delivered by some especial copy coming to his hands. No one man, that shall take offence that his name is published to any invention of his, but he shall within the reading of a leaf or two, meet with another in reputation every way equal with himself, whose name hath been before printed to his Poem, which now taken away were more than theft: which may satisfy him that would fain seem curious or be entreated for his fame.  
Now, if any Stationer shall find fault, that his Copies are robbed by any thing in this Collection, let me ask him this question, Why more in this, then in any Divine or humane Author: From whence a man (writing of that argument) shall gather any saying, sentence, simile, or example, his name put to it who is the Author of the same. This is the simplest of many reasons that I could urdge, though perhaps the nearest his capacity, but that I would be loath to trouble myself, to satisfy him. Further, if any man whatsoever, in prising of his own birth or fortune, shall take in scorn, that a far meaner man in the eye of the world, shall be placed by him: I tell him plainly whatsoever so excepting, that, that man's wit is set by his, not that man by him. In which degree, the names of Poets (all fear and duty ascribed to her great and sacred Name) have been placed with the names of the greatest Princes of the world, by the most authentic and worthiest judgements, without disparagement to their sovereign titles: which if any man taking exception thereat, in ignorance know not, I hold him unworthy to be placed by the meanest that is but graced with the title of a Poet. Thus gentle Reader I wish thee all happiness.  
L. N.   

ENGLAND'S HELICON.  
¶ The Shepherd to his chosen Nimph.  

Only joy, now here you are,  
Fit to hear and ease my care:  
Let my whispering voice obtain,  
Sweet reward for sharpest pain.  
Take me to thee, and thee to me,  
No, no, no, no, my Deer, let be.   

Night hath closed all in her cloak,  
Twinkling stars Love-thoughts provoke,  
Danger hence good care doth keep  
jealousy itself doth sleep.  
Take me to thee, and thee to me:  
No, no, no, no, my Deer, let be.   

Better place no wit can find,  
Cupid's yoke to lose or bind,  
These sweet flowers on fine bed too,  
Us in their best language woe,  
Take me to thee, and thee to me:  
No, no, no, no, my Deer, let be.   

This small light the Moon bestows,  
Serves thy beams but to enclose,  
So to raise my hap more high,  
Fear not else, none can us spy.  
Take me to thee, and thee to me:  
No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be.   

That you heard was but a Mouse,  
Dumb sleep holdeth all the house,  
Yet asleep me thinks they say,  
Young folks, take time while you may.  
Take me to thee, and thee to me:  
No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be.   

Niggard Time threats, if we miss  
This large offer of our blisle,  
Long stay, ere he grant the same,  
(Sweet then) while each thing doth frame,  
Take me to thee, and thee to me:  
No, no, no, no, my Deer, let be.   

Your fair Mother is a bed,  
Candles out, and Curtains spread,  
She thinks you do Letters write,  
Write, but let me first indite.  
Take me to thee, and thee to me,  
No, no, no, no, my Deer, let be.   

Sweet (alas) why sane you thus?  
Concord better fitteth us.  
Leave to Mars the force of hands,  
Your power in your beauty stands.  
Take me to thee, and thee to me:  
No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be.   

Woe to me, and you do swear  
Me to hate, but I forbear,  
Cursed be my destinies all,  
That brought me to so high a fall.  
Soon with my death I will please thee:  
No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be.   
S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

THEORELLO.  
¶ A shepherds Edillion.  

YOu Shepherds which on hillocks sit,  
like Princes in their thrones:  
And guide your flocks, which else would flit  
your flocks of little ones:  
Good Kings have not disdained it,  
but Shepherds have been named:  
A sheephook is a Sceptre fit,  
for people well reclaimed.  
The shepherds life so honoured is and praised:  
That Kings less happy seem, though higher raised.   

The Summer Sun hath guilded fair,  
with morning rays the mountains:  
The birds do carol in the air,  
and naked Nymphs in Fountains.  
The Siluanes in their shagged hair,  
with Hamadryads trace:  
The shady Satyrs make a Choir,  
which rocks with echoes grace.  
All breath delight, all solace in the season:  
Not now to sing, were enemy to reason.   

Cosma my Love, and more than so,  
the life of mine affections:  
Nor life alone, but Lady too,  
and Queen of their directions.  
Cosma my Love, is fair you know,  
and which you Shepherds know not:  
Is (Sophi said) thence called so,  
but names her beauty show not,  
Yet hath the world no better name than she:  
And then the world, no fairer thing can be.   

The Sun upon her forehead stands,  
(or jewel sun-like glorious,)  
Her forehead wrought with Ioues own hands,  
for heavenly white notorious.  
Her golden locks like Hermus' sands,  
(or then bright Hermus' brighter:)  
A spangled Cavil binds in with bands,  
than silver morning lighter.  
And if the Planets are the chief in skies:  
No other stars than Planets are her eyes.   

Her cheek, her lip; fresh cheek, more fresh,  
then selfe-blowne buds of Roses:  
Rare lip, more red than those of flesh,  
which thousand sweets encloses:  
Sweet breath, which all things doth refresh,  
and words than breath far sweeter:  
Cheek firm, lip firm, not frail nor nesh,  
as substance which is fleeter.  
In praise do not surmount, although in placing:  
Her crystal neck, round breast, and arms embracing.   

The thorough-shining air I ween,  
is not so perfect clear:  
As is the sky of her fair skin,  
whereon no spots appear.  
The parts which ought not be seen,  
for sovereign worth excel:  
Her thighs with Azure branched been,  
and all in her are well.  
Long ivory hands, legs straighter than the Pine:  
Well shapen feet, but virtue most divine.   

Nor clothed like a Shepherdess,  
but rather like a Queen:  
Her mantle doth the forms express,  
of all which may be seen.  
Robe fitter for an Empress,  
then for a shepherds love:  
Robe fit alone for such a Lass,  
as Emperors doth move.  
Robe which heavens Queen, the bride of her own brother,  
Would grace herself with, or with such another.   

Who ever (and who else but jove)  
embroidered the same:  
He knew the world, and what did move,  
in all the mighty frame.  
So well (belike his skill to prove)  
the counterfeits he wrought:  
Of wood-Gods, and of every grove,  
and all which else was aught.  
Is there a beast, a bird, a fish worth note?  
Then that he drew, and pictured in her coat.   

A vail of Lawn like vapour thin  
unto her ankle trails:  
Through which the shapes discerned been,  
as too and fro it sails.  
Shapes both of men, who never lin  
to search her wonders out:  
Of monsters and of Gods a kin,  
which her impale about.  
A little world her flowing garment seems:  
And who but as a wonder thereof deems?   

For here and there appear forth towers,  
among the chalky downs:  
Cities among the Country bowers,  
which smiling Sunshine crowns.  
Her metal buskins decked with flowers,  
as th' earth when frosts are gone:  
Besprinkled are with Orient showers  
of hail and pebble stone.  
Her feature peerless, peerless her attire,  
I can but love her love, with zeal entire.   

O who can sing her beauties best,  
or that remains unsung?  
Do thou Apollo tune the rest,  
unworthy is my tongue.  
To gaze on her, is to be blest,  
so wondrous fair her face is;  
Her fairness cannot be expressed,  
in Goddesses nor Graces.  
I love my love, the goodly work of Nature:  
Admire her face, but more admire her stature.   

On thee (o Cosma) will I gaze,  
and read thy beauties ever:  
Delighting in the blessed maze,  
which can be ended never.  
For in the lustre of thy rays,  
appears thy parent's brightness:  
Who himself infinite displays  
in thee his proper greatness.  
My song must end, but never my desire:  
For Cosmas face is Theorellos fire.   
E. B.  
FINIS.   

astrophel's Love is dead.  

RIng out your bells, let mourning shows be spread,  
For Love is dead.  
All love is dead infected  
With plague of deep disdain:  
Worth as nought worth rejected,  
And faith fair scorn doth gain.  
From so ungrateful fancy,  
From such a female frenzy,  
From them that use men thus:  
Good Lord deliver us.   

Weep neighbours weep, do you not hear it said  
That Love is dead?  
His deathbed Peacock's folly,  
His winding sheet is shame:  
His will false, seeming holy,  
His sole exectour blame.  
From so ungrateful fancy,  
From such a female frenzy,  
From them that use men thus:  
Good Lord deliver us.   

Let Dirge be sung, and Trentals richly read,  
For Love is dead.  
And wrong his Tomb ordaineth,  
My Mistress marble heart:  
Which Epitaph containeth,  
Her eyes were once his Dart.  
From so ungrateful fancy,  
From such a female frenzy,  
From them that use men thus:  
Good Lord deliver us.   

Alas, I lie, rage hath this error bred,  
Love is not dead.  
Love is not dead, but sleepeth  
In her unmatched mind:  
Where she his counsel keepeth,  
Till due desert she find.  
Therefore from so vile fancy,  
To call such wit a frenzy,  
Who love can temper thus:  
Good Lord deliver us.   
Sir. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ A Palinode.  

AS withereth the Primrose by the river,  
As fadeth Sommers-sunne from gliding fountains;  
As vanisheth the light blown bubble ever,  
As melteth snow upon the mossy Mountains.  
So melts, so vanisheth, so fades, so withers,  
The Rose, the shine, the bubble and the snow,  
Of praise, pomp, glory, joy (which short life gathers,)  
Fair praise, vain pomp, sweet glory, brittle joy.  
The withered Primrose by the mourning river,  
The faded Sommers-sunne from weeping fountains:  
The light-blowne bubble, vanished for ever,  
The molten snow upon the naked mountains,  
Are Emblems that the treasures we up-lay,  
Soon whither, vanish, fade, and melt away.   

For as the snow, whose lawn did overspread  
Th' ambitious hills, which Giantlike did threat  
To pierce the heaven with their aspiring head,  
Naked and bare doth leave their craggy seat.  
When as the bubble, which did empty fly  
The dalliance of the undiscerned wind:  
On whose calm rolling waves it did rely,  
Hath shipwreck made, where it did dalliance find:  
And when the Sunshine which dissolved the snow,  
Cullourd the bubble with a pleasant vary,  
And made the rather and timely Primrose grow,  
Swarth clouds withdrawn (which longer time do tarry)  
Oh what is praise, pomp, glory, joy, but so  
As shine by fountains, bubbles, flowers or snow?   
E. B.  
FINIS.   

¶ Astrophil the Shepherd, his complaint to his flock.  

Go my flock, go get ye hence,  
Seek a better place of feeding:  
Where ye may have some defence  
From the storms in my breast breeding,  
And showers from mine eyes proceeding.   

Leave a wretch, in whom all woe,  
can abide to keep no measure:  
Merry Flock, such one forego  
unto whom mirth is displeasure,  
only rich in mischiefs treasure.   

Yet (alas) before you go,  
hear your woeful masters Story:  
Which to stones I else would show,  
Sorrow only then hath glory:  
when 'tis excellently sorry.   

Stella, fiercest Shepherdess,  
fiercest, but yet fairest ever:  
Stella, whom the heavens still bless,  
though against me she persever,  
though I bliss, inherit never.   

Stella, hath refused me,  
Stella, who more love hath proved  
In this caitiff heart to be,  
Then can in good by us be moved:  
Towards Lambkin's best beloved.   

Stella, hath refused me,  
Astrophil that so well served.  
In this pleasant Spring must see  
while in pride flowers be preserved:  
himself only Winter-sterued.   

Why (alas) then doth she swear,  
that she loveth me so dearly:  
Seeing me so long to bear  
coals of love that burn so clearly:  
and yet leave me helpless merely?   

Is that love? Forsooth I trow,  
if I saw my good dog grieved:  
And a help for him did know,  
my Love should not be believed:  
but he were by me relieved.   

No, she hates me, well away,  
feigning love, somewhat to please me:  
Knowing, if she should display  
all her hate, Death soon would seize me:  
and of hideous torments ease me.   

Then my dear Flock now adieu,  
but (alas) if in your straying,  
Heavenly Stella meet with you,  
tell her in your piteous blaying:  
her poor slaves unjust decaying.   
S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ Hobbinolls Ditty in praise of Eliza Queen of the Shepherds.  

Ye dainty Nymphs that in this blessed Brook  
Do bathe your breast;  
Forsake your watery Bowers, and hither look  
At my request.  
And you fair Virgins that on Parnasse dwell,  
Whence floweth Helicon the learned well:  
Help me to blaze  
Her worthy praise,  
Who in her sex doth all excel.   

Of fair Eliza be your silver song,  
That blessed wight:  
The flower of Virgins, may she flourish long,  
In Princely plight:  
For she is Syrinx's daughter, without spot,  
Which Pan the shepherds God on her begot:  
So sprung her Grace,  
Of heavenly race:  
No mortal blemish may her blot.   

See where she sits upon the grassy green,  
O seemly sight:  
Clad in scarlet, like a maiden Queen,  
And Ermines white.  
Upon her head a crimson Coronet,  
With Daffodils and Damask Roses set,  
bay leaves between,  
And Primroses green:  
Embellish the sweet Violet.   

Tell me, have ye beheld her Angel's face,  
Like Phoebe fair?  
Her heavenly haviour, her Princely Grace,  
Can well compare  
The redrose meddled and the white yfere,  
In either cheek depeincten lively cheer.  
Her modest eye,  
Her Majesty,  
Where have you seen the like but there?   

I saw Phoebus thrust out his golden head,  
On her to gaze:  
But when he saw how broad her beams did spread:  
It did him maze.  
He blushed to see an other Sun below,  
Ne durst again his fiery face out-show:  
Let him if he dare  
His brightness compare  
With hers, to have the overthrow.   

Show thyself Cynthia with thy silver rays,  
And be not abashed,  
When she the beams of her beauty displays,  
Oh how art thou dashed?  
But I will not match her with Latona's seed,  
Such folly great sorrow to Niobe did breed,  
Now is she a stone,  
And makes deadly moan,  
Warning all other to take heed.   

Pan may be proud, that ever he begot  
Such a Bellibone:  
And Syrinx rejoice, that ever was her lot  
To bear such a one.  
Soon as my Younglings cryens for the dam,  
To her will I offer a milk-white Lamb.  
She is my Goddess plain,  
And I her shepherds Swain,  
Albe for-swonck and for-swat I am.   

I see Calliope speed her to the place,  
Where my Goddess shines:  
And after her the other Muses trace  
With their Violins.  
Been they not Baie-braunches which they do bear:  
All for Eliza in her hand to wear?  
So sweetly they play,  
And sing all the way,  
That it a heaven is to hear.   

Lo how finely the Graces can it foot,  
to the Instrument:  
They dauncen deffely, and singen soot  
In their merriment.  
Wants not a fourth Grace to make the dance even?  
Let that room to my Lady be given.  
She shall be a Grace,  
To fill the fourth place,  
And reign with the rest in heaven.   

And whether runs this bevy of Ladies bright,  
Ranged in a roe?  
They been all Ladies of the Lake behight  
That unto her go:  
Chloris, that is the chief Nymph of all,  
Of Olive-braunches bears a coronal:  
Olives been for peace  
When wars do surcease,  
Such for a Princess been principal.   

Bring hither the Pink and purple Cullumbine.  
With Gillyflowers  
Bring sweet Carnasions, and Sops in wine,  
Worn of Paramours.  
Strew me the ground with Daffi-down-dillies,  
And Cowslips, and Kings-cups, and loved Lilies,  
The pretty pance,  
And the chevisance,  
Shall match with the fair flowerdelice.   

Ye Shepherds daughters that dwell on the green,  
High you there a pace,  
Let none come there but such as Virgins been,  
To adorn her Grace.  
And when you come where as she is in place:  
See that your rudeness do not you disgrace.  
Bind your Fillets fast,  
And gird on your waist:  
For more fineness with a Tawdry lace.   

Now rise up Eliza, decked as thou art,  
In royal ray:  
And now ye dainty Damsels may depart,  
Each one her way.  
I fear I have troubled your troops too long:  
Let dame Eliza thank you for her Song.  
And if you come hither,  
When Damzins I gather  
I will part them all, you among.   
Edm. Spencer.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds Daffodil.  

GOrbo, as thou cam'st this way  
By yonder little hill,  
Or as thou through the fields didst stray,  
Saw'st thou my Daffodil?   

she's in a frock of Lincoln green,  
The colour Maids delight,  
And never hath her Beauty seen  
But through a veil of white.   

Then Roses richer to behold,  
That dress up lovers Bowers,  
The Pansie and the Marigold  
Are Phoebus' Paramoures.   

Thou well describest the Daffodil,  
It is not full an hour  
Since by the Spring near yonder hill  
I saw that lovely flower.   

Yet with my flower thou didst not meet,  
Not news of her dost bring,  
Yet is my Daffodil more sweet  
Than that by yonder Spring.   

I saw a Shepherd that doth keep  
In yonder field of Lilies,  
Was making (as he fed his sheep)  
A wreath of Daffodils.   

Yet Gorbo: thou delud'st me still,  
My flower thou didst not see.  
For know; my pretty Daffodil  
Is worn of none but me.   

To show itself but near her seat  
No Lily is so bold,  
Except to shade her from the heat,  
Or keep her from the cold.   

Through yonder vale as I did pass  
Descending from the hill,  
I met a smerking Bonny-lasse,  
They call her Daffodil.   

Whose presence as along she went  
The pretty flowers did greet,  
As though their heads they downward bend,  
With homage to her feet.   

And all the Shepherds that were nigh,  
From top of every hill;  
Unto the Valleys loud did cry,  
There goes sweet Daffodil.   

I gentle Shepherd now with joy  
Thou all my flock dost fill:  
Come go with me thou shepherds boy,  
Let us to Daffodil.   
Michael Drayton.  
FINIS.   

¶ A Canzon Pastoral in honour of her Majesty.  

ALas what pleasure now the pleasant Spring  
Hath given place,  
To harsh black frosts the sad ground covering,  
Can we poor we embrace,  
When every bird on every branch can sing  
nought but this note of woe alas?  
Alas this note of woe why should we found?  
With us as May, September hath a prime,  
Then birds and branches your alas is fond,  
Which call upon the absent Summer time:  
For did flowers make our May  
Or the Sunbeams your day.  
When Night and Winter did the world embrace,  
Well might you wail your ill and sing alas.   

Lo Matron-like the Earth herself attires  
In habit grave,  
Naked the fields are, bloomelesse are the brires,  
Yet we a Summer have,  
Who in our clime kindleth these living fires,  
Which blooms can on the briars save.  
No Ice doth christallize the running Brook,  
No blast deflowers the flowre-adorned field,  
Crystal is clear, but clearer is the look,  
Which to our climes these living fires doth yield:  
Winter though every where  
Hath no abiding here:  
On Brooks and briars she doth rule alone,  
The Sun which lights our world is always one.   
Edmund Bolton.  
FINIS.   

¶ Melicertus Madrigale.  

WHat are my Sheep, without their wont food?  
What is my life, except I gain my Love?  
My Sheep consume, and faint for want of blood,  
My life is lost unless I Grace approve.  
No flower that sapless thrives,  
No Turtle without fere.   

The day without the Sun doth lower for woe,  
Then woe mine eyes, unless they beauty see:  
My Son samela's eyes, by whom I know,  
Wherein delight consists, where pleasures be.  
Nought more the heart revives,  
Then to embrace his Dear.   

The stars from earthly humours gain their light,  
Our humours by their light possess their power:  
samela's eyes fed by my weeping sight,  
Infuse my pains or joys, by smile or lower.  
So wends the source of love,  
It feeds, it fails, it ends.   

Kind looks, clear to your joy, behold her eyes,  
Admire her heart, desire to taste her kisses:  
In them the heaven of joy and solace lies,  
Without them, every hope his succour misses.  
Oh how I live to prove,  
Whereto this solace tends?   
Ro. Greene..  
FINIS.   

¶ Old Damon's Pastoral.  

FRom Fortune's frowns and change removed,  
wend silly Flocks in blessed feeding:  
None of Damon more beloved,  
feed gentle Lambs while I sit reading.   

Careless worldlings, outrage quelleth  
all the pride and pomp of City:  
But true peace with Shepherds dwelleth,  
(Shepherds who delight in pity.)  
Whether grace of heaven betideth,  
on our humble minds such pleasure:  
Perfect peace with Swains abideth,  
love and faith is shepherds treasure.  
On the lower Plains the thunder  
little thrives, and nought prevaileth:  
Yet in Cities breedeth wonder,  
and the highest hills assaileth.   

Envy of a foreign Tyrant  
threateneth Kings, not Shepherds humble:  
Age makes silly Swains delirant,  
thirst of rule garres great men stumble.  
What to other seemeth sorry,  
abject state and humble biding:  
Is our joy and Country glory,  
highest states have worse betiding.  
Golden cups do harbour poison,  
and the greatest pomp, dissembling:  
Court of seasoned words hath foison,  
treason haunts in most assembling.   

Homely breasts do harbour quiet,  
little fear, and much solace:  
States suspect their bed and diet,  
fear and craft do haunt the Palace.  
Little would I, little want I,  
where the mind and store agreeth,  
Smallest comfort is not scanty,  
lest he longs that little seeth.  
Time hath been that I have longed,  
foolish I, to like of folly:  
To converse where honour thronged,  
to my pleasures linked wholly.   

Now I see, and seeing sorrow  
that the day consumed, returns not:  
Who dare trust upon to morrow,  
when nor time, nor life sojourns not?   
Thom. Lodge.  
FINIS.   

¶ Perigot and Cuddies Roundelay.  

IT fell upon a holy-Eue,  
hay ho holiday:  
When holy-Fathers wont to shrive,  
now ginneth this Roundelay.  
Sitting upon a hill so high,  
hay ho the high hill:  
The while my flock did feed thereby,  
the while the shepherds self did spill.   

I saw the bouncing Bellybone,  
hay ho Bonny-bell:  
Tripping over the Dale alone,  
she can trip it very well.  
Well decked in a Frock of grey,  
hay ho grey is greet:  
And in a Kirtle of green Say,  
the green is for Maidens meet.   

A Chaplet on her head she wore,  
hay ho the Chaplet:  
Of sweet Violets therein was store,  
she's sweeter than the Violet.  
My Sheep did leave their wont food,  
hay ho silly Sheep:  
And gazed on her as they were wood,  
wood as he that did them keep.   

As the Bonnilass passed by,  
hay ho Bonnilass:  
She rolled at me with glancing eye,  
as clear as the Christall-glasse.  
All as the Sunnie-beame so bright,  
hay ho the Sunbeam:  
Glanceth from Phoebus' face forth right,  
so love into my heart did stream.   

Or as the thunder cleaves the clouds,  
hay ho the thunder:  
Wherein the lightsome levin shrouds,  
so cleaves my soul asunder.  
Or as Dame Cinthia's silver ray,  
hay ho the moonlight:  
Upon the glistering wave doth play,  
such play is a piteous plight.   

The glance into my heart did glide,  
hay ho the glider:  
Therewith my soul was sharply gride,  
such wounds soon wexen wider.  
Hasting to raunch the arrow out,  
hay ho Perigot:  
I left the head in my heart root,  
it was a desperate shot.   

There it rankleth aye more and more,  
hay ho the arrow:  
Ne can I find salve for my sore,  
love is a cureless sorrow.  
And though my bale with death I bought,  
hay ho heavy cheer:  
Yet should thilk lass not from my thought,  
so you may buy gold too dear.   

But whether in painful love I pine,  
hay ho pinching pain:  
Or thrive in wealth, she shall be mine,  
but if thou can her obtain.  
And if for graceless grief I die  
hay ho graceless grief:  
Witness, she slew me with her eye,  
let thy folly be the proof.   

And you that saw it, simple sheep,  
hay ho the fair flock:  
For proof thereof my death shall weep,  
and moan with many a mock.  
So learned I love on a holy-Eue,  
hay ho holiday:  
That ever since my heart did grieve,  
now endeth our Roundelay.   
Edm. Spencer.  
FINIS.   

¶ Phillida and Coridon.  
IN the merry month of May,  
In a morn by break of day,  
Forth I walked by the Wood side,  
When as May was in his pride:  
There I spied all alone,  
Phillida and Coridon.  
Much ado there was God wot,  
He would love, and she would not.  
She said never man was true,  
He said, none was false to you.  
He said, he had loved her long,  
She said, Love should have no wrong.  
Coridon would kiss her then,  
She said, Maids must kiss no men,  
Till they did for good and all.  
Then she made the Shepherd call  
All the heavens to witness truth:  
Never loved a truer youth.  
Thus with many a pretty oath,  
Yea and nay, and faith and troth,  
Such as silly Shepherds use,  
When they will not Love abuse;  
Love, which had been long deluded,  
Was with kisses sweet concluded.  
And Phillida with garlands gay:  
Was made the Lady of the May.  
N. Breton.  
FINIS.   

¶ To Colin Cloute.  

Beauty sat bathing by a Spring,  
where fairest shades did hide her.  
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,  
the cool streams ran beside her.  
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye,  
to see what was forbidden:  
But better Memory said, fie,  
so, vain Desire was chidden.  
hay nonnie, nonnie, etc.   

Into a slumber than I fell,  
when fond imagination:  
Seemed to see, but could not tell  
her feature or her fashion.  
But even as Babes in dreams do smile,  
and sometime fall a weeping:  
So I awaked, as wise this while,  
as when I fell a sleeping.  
hay nonnie, nonnie, etc.   
Shepherd Tony.  
FINIS.   

¶ rowland's Song in praise of the fairest Beta.  

O Thou silver Thames, o clearest crystal flood,  
Beta alone the Phoenix is of all thy watery brood.  
The Queen of Virgins only she,  
And thou the Queen of floods shalt be.  
Let all the Nymphs be joyful then, to see this happy day:  
Thy Beta now alone shall be the subject of my Lay.   

With dainty and delightsome strains of sweetest Virelayes,  
Come lovely Shepherds sit we down, & chant our Betas praise.  
And let us sing so rare a verse,  
Our Betas praises to rehearse:  
That little birds shall silent be, to hear poor Shepherds sing:  
And Rivers backward bend their course, & flow unto the spring.   

Range all thy Swans fair Thames together on a rank:  
And place them duly one by one upon thy stately bank.  
Then set together all a-good,  
Recording to the silver flood:  
And crave the tuneful Nightingale to help ye with her Lay;  
The Osell and the Thrustlecocke, chief music of our May.   

O see what troops of Nymphs been sporting on the strands,  
And they been blessed Nymphs of peace, with Olives in their hands.  
How merrily the Muses sing,  
That all the flowery meadows ring  
And Beta sits upon the bank in purple and in pall,  
And she the Queen of Muses is, and wears the coronal.   

Trim up her golden tresses with Apollo's sacred tree,  
O happy sight unto all those that love and honour thee,  
The blessed Angels have prepared  
A glorious crown for thy reward?  
Not such a golden crown as haughty Caesar wears:  
But such a glittering starry crown as Ariadne bears.   

Make her a goodly Chaplet of azurd Cullumbine,  
And wreath about her Coronet with sweetest Eglantine.  
Bedeck our Beta all with Lilies.  
And the dainty Daffodils,  
With Roses Damask, white and red, and fairest flowre-Delice:  
With Cowslips of jerusalem, and Cloaves of Paradise.   

O thou fair Torch of heaven, the days most dearest light,  
And thou bright-shining Cynthia, the glory of the night.  
You stars the eyes of heaven,  
And thou the gliding leaven,  
And thou o gorgeous Iris, with all strange colours died:  
When she streams forth her rays, then dashed is all your pride.   

See how the Day stands still, admiring of her face,  
And Time lo stretcheth forth his arms thy Beta to embrace.  
The Sirens sing sweet Lays,  
The Tritons sound her praise,  
Go pass on Thames, and hie thee fast unto the Ocean Sea:  
And let thy billows there proclaim thy Betas holiday.   

And water thou the blessed root of that green Olive tree,  
With whose sweet shadow all thy banks with peace preserved be.  
Laurel for Poets and Conquerors:  
And Myrtle for loves Paramours.  
That fame may be thy fruit, the boughs preserved by peace,  
And let the mournful Cypress die, now storms and tempests cease.   

we'll strew the shore with pearl, where Beta walks alone,  
And we will pave her Princely Bower with richest Indian stone.  
Perfume the air, and make it sweet,  
For such a Goddess it is meet.  
For if her eyes for purity contend with Titan's light:  
No marvel then, although they so do dazzle humane sight.   

Sound out your Trumpets then from London's stately Towers,  
To beat the stormy winds aback, and calm the raging showers.  
Set to the Cornet and the Flute,  
The Orpharion and the Lute:  
And tune the Taber and the Pipe to the sweet Violons:  
And move the thunder in the air with loudest Clarions.   

Beta, long may thine Altar's smoke with yearly sacrifice,  
And long thy sacred temples may their Sabbaths solemnize.  
Thy shepherds watch by day and night,  
Thy Maids attend the holy light.  
And thy large Empire stretch her arms from East unto the West:  
And Albion on the Apennineses advance her conquering crest.   
Mich. Drayton.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Barginet of Antimachus.  
IN pride of youth, in midst of May,  
When birds with many a merry Lay,  
salute the suns uprising:  
I sat me down fast by a Spring,  
And while these merry Chanters sing,  
I fell upon surmising.  
Amidst my doubt and minds debate,  
Of change of time, of world's estate,  
I spied a boy attired  
In silver plumes, yet naked quite,  
Save pretty feathers fit for flight,  
wherewith he still aspired.  
A bow he bore to work men's wrack,  
A little Quiver at his back,  
with many arrows filled:  
And in his soft and pretty hand,  
He held a lively burning brand,  
wherewith he Lovers killed.  
Fast by his side, in rich array,  
There sat a lovely Lady gay,  
his mother as I guessed:  
That set the Lad upon her knee,  
And trimmed his bow, and taught him flee,  
and much Love professed.  
Oft from her lap at sundry stoures,  
He leapt, and gathered Summer flowers,  
both Violets and Roses:  
But see the chance that followed fast,  
As he the pomp of prime doth waste,  
before that he supposes:  
A Bee that harboured hard thereby,  
Did sting his hand, and made him cry  
Oh Mother, I am wounded:  
Fair Venus that beheld her Son,  
Cried out alas, I am undone,  
and thereupon she swooned.  
My little Lad the Goddess said,  
Who hath my Cupid so dismayed?  
he answered: Gentle Mother  
The hony-worker in the Hive,  
My grief and mischief doth contrive,  
alas it is none other.  
She kissed the Lad: Now mark the chance,  
And strait she fell into a trance,  
and crying, thus concluded:  
Ah wanton boy, like to the Bee,  
Thou with a kiss hast wounded me,  
and hapless Love included.  
A little Bee doth thee affright,  
But ah, my wounds are full of sprite,  
and cannot be recured:  
The boy that kissed his Mother's pain,  
'Gan smile, and kissed her whole again,  
and made her hope assured.  
She sucked the wound, and swag'd the sting,  
And little Love ycurde did sing,  
then let no Lover sorrow:  
To day though grief attaint his heart,  
Let him with courage bide the smart,  
amends will come to morrow.  
Thom. Lodge.  
FINIS.   

¶ Menaphons Roundelay.  

WHen tender Ewes brought home with evenings Sun,  
Wend to their Folds,  
And to their holds  
The Shepherds trudge when light of day is done:  
Upon a tree,  
The Eagle Ioues fair bird did perch,  
There resteth he.  
A little Fly his harbour then did search,  
And did presume, (though others laughed thereat)  
To perch whereas the Princely Eagle sat.   

The Eagle frowned, and shook his royal wings,  
and charged the Fly  
From thence to high.  
Afraid, in haste the little creature flings,  
Yet seeks again,  
Fearful to pearke him by the Eagles side.  
With moody vain  
The speedy post of Ganymede replied:  
Vassal avaunt, or with my wings you die.  
Is't fit an Eagle seat him with a Fly?  
The Fly craved pity, still the Eagle frowned.  
The silly Fly  
Ready to die:  
Disgraced, displaced, fell groveling to the ground.  
The Eagle saw:  
And with a royal mind said to the Fly,  
Be not in awe,  
I scorn by me the meanest creature die.  
Then seat thee here: The joyful Fly up-flings,  
And sat safe shadowed with the Eagles wings.   
Ro. Greene..  
FINIS.   

¶ A Pastoral of Phillis and Coridon.  

ON a hill there grows a flower,  
fair befall the dainty sweet:  
By that flower there is a Bower,  
where the heavenly Muses meet.   

In that Bower there is a chair,  
frindged all about with gold:  
Where doth sit the fairest fair,  
that ever eye did yet behold.   

It is Phillis fair and bright,  
she that is the shepherds joy:  
She that Venus did despite,  
and did blind her little boy.   

This is she, the wise, the rich,  
that the world desires to see:  
This is ipsa quae the which,  
there is none but only she.   

Who would not this face admire?  
who would not this Saint adore?  
Who would not this sight desire,  
though he thought to see no more?   

Oh fair eyes, yet let me see,  
one good look, and I am gone:  
Look on me, for I am he,  
thy poor silly Coridon.   

Thou that art the shepherds Queen,  
look upon thy silly Swain:  
By thy comfort have been seen  
dead men brought to life again.   
N. Breton.  
FINIS.   

¶ Coridon and Melampus Song.  Cor. 
MElampus, when will Love be void of fears?  Mel. 
When jealousy hath neither eyes nor ears.  Cor. 
Melampus, when will Love be thoroughly shrieved?  Mel. 
When it is hard to speak, and not believed.  Cor. 
Melampus, when is Love most malcontent?  Mel. 
When Lovers range, and bear their bows unbent.  Cor. 
Melampus, tell me, when takes Love lest harm?  Mel. 
When Swains sweet pipes are puffed, and Trulls are warm.  Cor. 
Melampus, tell me, when is Love best fed?  Mel. 
When it hath sucked the sweet that ease hath bred.  Cor. 
Melampus, when is time in Love ill spent?  Mel. 
When it earns meed, and yet receives no rent.  Cor. 
Melampus, when is time well spent in Love?  Mel. 
When deeds win meeds, and words Loves works do prove.  
Geo. Peele.  
FINIS.   

¶ Tityrus to his fair Phillis.  
THE silly Swain whose love breeds discontent,  
Thinks death a trifle, life a loathsome thing,  
Sad he looks, sad he lies:  
But when his Fortune's malice doth relent,  
Then of loves sweetness he will sweetly sing,  
thus he lives, thus he dies.  
Then Tityrus whom Love hath happy made,  
Will rest thrice happy in this Myrtle shade.  
For though Love at first did grieve him:  
yet did Love at last relieve him.  
I. D.  
FINIS.   

¶ Shepherd.  
Sweet thrall, first step to loves felicity,  
Shepherdess.  
Sweet thrall, no stop to perfect liberty.  He. 
O life.  She. 
What life?  He. 
Sweet life.  She. 
No life more sweet:  He. 
O love.  She. 
What love?  He. 
Sweet love.  She. 
No love more meet.  
I. M.  
FINIS.   

Another of the same Author.  

FIelds were overspread with flowers,  
Fairest choice of Flora's treasure:  
Shepherds there had shady Bowers,  
Where they oft reposed with pleasure.  
Meadows flourished fresh and gay,  
where the wanton. Herds did play.   

Springs more clear than Crystal streams,  
Seated were the Groves among:  
Thus nor Titans scorching beams,  
Nor earth's drought could Shepherds wrong.  
Fair Pomona's fruitful pride:  
did the budding branches hide.   

Flocks of sheep fed on the Plains,  
Harmless sheep that roamd at large:  
here and there sat pensive Swains,  
Waiting on their wandering charge.  
Pensive while their Lasses smiled:  
Lasses which had them beguiled.   

Hills with trees were richly dight,  
Valleys stored with Vesta's wealth:  
Both did harbour sweet delight,  
Nought was there to hinder health.  
Thus did heaven grace the soil:  
Not deformed with workmen's toil.   

Purest plot of earthly mould,  
Might that Land be justly named:  
Art by Nature was controlled,  
Art which no such pleasures framed.  
Fairer place was never seen:  
Fittest place for Beauty's Queen.   
I. M.  
FINIS.   

¶ Menaphon to Pesana.  
Fair fields proud Flora's vaunt, why is't you smile,  
when as I languish?  
You golden Meads, why strive you to beguile  
my weeping anguish?  
I live to sorrow, you to pleasure spring,  
why do ye spring thus?  
What, will not Boreas tempests wrathful King,  
take some pity on us?  
And send forth Winter in her rusty weed,  
to wail my bemoanings:  
While I distressed do tune my Country Reed  
unto my groan.  
But heaven and earth, time, place, and every power,  
have with her conspired:  
To turn my blissful sweet to baleful sower,  
since I this desired.  
The heaven whereto my thoughts may not aspire,  
ay me unhappy:  
It was my fault t'embrace my bane the fire  
that forceth me die.  
Mine be the pain, but hers the cruel cause,  
of this strange torment:  
Wherefore no time my banning prayers shall pause.  
till proud she repent.  
Ro. Greene..  
FINIS.   

¶ A sweet Pastoral.  

GOod Muse rock me a sleep,  
with some sweet Harmony:  
This weary eye is not to keep  
thy wary company.   

Sweet Love be gone a while,  
thou knowest my heaviness:  
Beauty is borne but to beguile,  
my heart of happiness.   

See how my little flock  
that loved to feed on high:  
Do headlong tumble down the Rock,  
and in the valley die.   

The bushes and the trees  
that were so fresh and green:  
Do all their dainty colour lose,  
and not a leaf is seen.   

The Blackbird and the Thrush,  
that made the woods to ring:  
With all the rest, are now at hush,  
and not a note they sing.   

Sweet Philomele the bird,  
that hath the heavenly throat,  
Doth now alas not once afford  
recording of a note.   

The flowers have had a frost  
each herb hath lost her savour:  
And Phillida the fair hath lost,  
the comfort of her favour.   

Now all these careful sights,  
so kill me in conceit:  
That how to hope upon delights  
it is but mere deceit.   

And therefore my sweet Muse  
that knowest what help is best,  
Do now thy heavenly cunning use,  
to set my heart at rest.   

And in a dream bewray  
what fate shall be my friend:  
Whether my life shall still denay,  
or when my sorrow end.   
N. Breton.  
FINIS.   

¶ Harpalus complaint on phillida's love bestowed on Corin, who loved her not, and denied him that loved her.  
PHillida was a fair maid,  
as fresh as any flower:  
Whom Harpalus the Herdsman prayed  
to be his Paramour.  
Harpalus and eke Corin,  
were Herdsmen both yfere:  
And Phillida could twist and spin,  
and thereto sing full clear.  
But Phillida was all too coy,  
for Harpalus to win:  
For Corin was her only joy,  
who forced her not a pin.  
How often would she flowers twine,  
how often garlands make:  
Of Cowslips and of Cullumbine,  
and all for corin's sake?  
But Corin he had Hawks to lure,  
and forced more the field:  
Of lovers law he took no cure,  
for once he was beguiled.  
Harpalus prevailed nought,  
his labour all was lost:  
For he was furthest from her thought,  
and yet he loved her most.  
Therefore wox he both pale and lean,  
and dry as clod of clay:  
His flesh it was consumed clean,  
his colour gone away.  
His beard it had not long been shave,  
his hair hung all unkempt:  
A man most fit even for the grave,  
whom spiteful Love had spent.  
His eyes were red and all fore-watcht,  
his face besprent with tears:  
It seemed unhap had him long hatched,  
in midst of his despairs.  
His clothes were black and also bare,  
as one forlorn was he:  
Upon his head he always ware  
a wreath of Willow-tree.  
His beasts he kept upon the hill,  
and he sat in the Dale:  
And thus with sighs and sorrows shrill,  
he 'gan to tell his tale.  
Oh Harpalus, thus would he say,  
unhappiest under Sun:  
The cause of thine unhappy day,  
by love was first begun.  
For thou wentest first by suit to seek,  
a Tiger to make tame:  
That sets not by thy love a Leek,  
but makes thy grief a game.  
As easy were it to convert  
the frost into a flame:  
As for to turn a froward heart  
whom thou so fain wouldst frame.  
Corin, he liveth careless,  
he leaps among the leaves:  
He eats the fruits of thy redress,  
thou reap'st, he takes the sheaves.  
My beasts awhile your food refrain,  
and hark your Herdsman's sound:  
Whom spiteful Love alas hath slain,  
through-girt with many a wound.  
Oh happy be ye beasts wild,  
that here your pasture takes:  
I see that ye be not beguiled,  
of these your faithful makes.  
The Hart he feedeth by the Hind,  
the Buck hard by the Do:  
The Turtle-dove is not unkind  
to him that loves her so.  
The Ewe she hath by her the Ram,  
the young Cow hath the Bull:  
The Calf with many a lusty Lamb,  
do feed their hunger full.  
But well-away that Nature wrought,  
thee Phillida so fair:  
For I may say that I have bought  
thy beauty all too dear.  
What reason is't that cruelty  
with beauty should have part?  
Or else that such great tyranny,  
should dwell in woman's heart?  
I see therefore to shape my death,  
she cruelly is priest:  
To th'end that I may want my breath,  
my days been at the best.  
Oh Cupid grant this my request,  
and do not stop thine ears:  
That she may feel within her breast,  
the pain of my despairs.  
Of Corin that is careless,  
that she may crave her fee:  
As I have done in great distress,  
that loved her faithfully.  
But since that I shall die her slave,  
her slave and eke her thrall:  
Write you my friends upon my grave,  
this chance that is befall.  
here lieth unhappy Harpalus,  
by cruel Love now slain:  
Whom Phillida unjustly thus,  
hath murdered with disdain.  
L. T. Haward, Earl of Surrie.  
FINIS.   

¶ An other of the same subject, but made as it were in answer.  

ON a goodly summers day,  
Harpalus and Phillida,  
He a true hearted Swain,  
She full of coy disdain,  
drove their flocks to field:  
He to see his Shepherdess,  
She did dream on nothing less,  
Then his continual care,  
Which to grim-faced Despair,  
wholly did him yield.  
Corin she affected still,  
All the more thy heart to kill.  
Thy case doth make me rue,  
That thou shouldst love so true,  
and be thus disdained:  
While their flocks a feeding were,  
They did meet together there.  
Then with a curtsy low,  
And sighs that told his woe,  
thus to her he plained.   

Bide a while fair Phillida,  
List what Harpalus will say  
Only in love to thee,  
Though thou respect not me,  
yet vouchsafe an ear:  
To prevent ensuing ill,  
Which no doubt betide thee will,  
If thou do not foresee,  
To shun it presently,  
than thy harm I fear.  
Firm thy love is, well I wot,  
To the man that loves thee not.  
Lovely and gentle maid,  
Thy hope is quite betrayed,  
which my heart doth grieve:  
Corin is unkind to thee,  
Though thou think contrary.  
His love is grown as light,  
As is his falcons flight,  
this sweet Nymph believe.   

Mopsus daughter, that young maid,  
Her bright eyes his heart hath strayed  
From his affecting thee,  
Now there is none but she  
that is corin's bliss:  
Phillis men the Virgin call,  
She is Buxom, fair and tall,  
Yet not like Phillida:  
If I my mind might say,  
eyes oft deem amiss.  
He commends her beauty rare,  
Which with thine may not compare.  
He doth extol her eye,  
Silly thing, if thine were by,  
thus conceit can err:  
He is ravished with her breath,  
Thine can quicken life in death.  
He praiseth all her parts,  
Thine, wins a world of hearts,  
more, if more there were.   

Look sweet Nymph upon thy flock,  
They stand still, and now feed not,  
As if they shared with thee:  
Grief for this injury,  
offered to true love.  
Pretty Lambkins, how they moan,  
And in bleating seem to groan,  
That any shepherds Swain,  
Should cause their Mistress pain:  
by affects remove.  
If you look but on the grass,  
It's not half so green as 'twas:  
When I began my tale,  
But it is withered pale,  
all in mere remorse.  
Mark the Trees that bragged even now,  
Of each goodly greene-leau'd-bow,  
They seem as blasted all,  
Ready for Winter's fall,  
such is true loves force.   

The gentle murmur of the Springs,  
Are become contrary things,  
They have forgot their pride,  
And quite forsake their glide,  
as if charmed they stand.  
And the flowers growing by,  
Late so fresh in every eye,  
See how they hang the head,  
As on a sudden dead,  
dropping on the sand.  
The birds that chanted it erewhile,  
Ere they heard of corin's guile,  
Sat as they were afraid,  
Or by some hap dismayed,  
for this wrong to thee:  
Hark sweet Phil, how Philomel,  
That was wont to sing so well,  
jargles now in yonder bush,  
Worse than the rudest Trush,  
as it were not she.   

Phillida, who all this while  
Neither gave a sigh or smile:  
Round about the field did gaze,  
As her wits were in a maze;  
poor despised maid.  
And revived at the last,  
After streams of tears were passed,  
Leaning on her shepherds hook,  
With a sad and heavy look,  
thus poor soul she said.  
Harpalus, I thank not thee,  
For this sorry tale to me.  
Meet me here again to morrow,  
Then I will conclude my sorrow  
mildly, if may be:  
With their flocks they home do fare,  
Either's heart too full of care,  
If they do meet again,  
Than what they further sayne,  
you shall hear from me.   
Shep. Tony.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Nymphs meeting their May Queen, entertain her with this Ditty.  

WIth fragrant flowers we strew the way,  
And make this our chief holiday.  
For though this clime were blest of yore:  
Yet was it never proud before.  
O beauteous Queen of second Troy:  
Accept of our unfeigned joy.   

Now th' Air is sweeter than sweet Balm,  
And Satyrs dance about the Palm,  
Now earth with verdure newly dight,  
Gives perfect signs of her delight.  
O beauteous Queen, etc.   

Now birds record new harmony,  
And trees do whistle melody,  
Now every thing that Nature breeds,  
Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds.  
O beauteous Queen, etc.   
Tho. Watson.  
FINIS.   

¶ Colin clouts mournful Ditty for the death of Astrophil.  

Shepherds that wont on pipes of Oaten reed,  
Oft-times to plain your loves concealed smart;  
And with your piteous Lays have learned to breed  
Compassion in a Country-Lasses heart:  
hearken ye gentle Shepherds to my song,  
And place my doleful plaint your plaints among.   

To you alone I sing this mournful verse,  
The mournfullest verse that ever man heard tell:  
To you whose softened hearts it may emprerse  
With dolours dart for death of Astrophil.  
To you I sing, and to none other wight:  
For well I wot, my rhymes been rudely dight.   

Yet as they been, if any nicer wit  
Shall hap to hear, or covet them to read:  
Think he, that such are for such ones most fit▪  
Made not to please the living, but the dead.  
And if in him found pity ever place:  
Let him be moved to pity such a case.   
Edm. Spencer.  
FINIS.   

¶ Damaetas jig in praise of his love.  

Jolly Shepherd, Shepherd on a hill  
on a hill so merrily,  
on a hill so cherily,  
Fear not Shepherd there to pipe thy fill,  
Fill every Dale, fill every Plain:  
both sing and say; Love feels no pain.   

jolly Shepherd, Shepherd on a green  
on a green so merrily,  
on a green so cherily,  
Be thy voice shrill, be thy mirth seen,  
Herd to each Swain, seen to each Trull:  
both sing and say; loves joy is full.   

jolly Shepherd, Shepherd in the Sun,  
in the Sun so merrily,  
in the Sun so cherily,  
Sing forth thy songs, and let thy rhymes run  
Down to the Dales, to the hills above:  
both sing and say; No life to love.   

jolly Shepherd, Shepherd in the shade,  
in the shade so merrily,  
in the shade so cherily,  
joy in thy life, life of shepherds trade;  
joy in thy love, love full of glee:  
both sing and say; Sweet Love for me.   

jolly Shepherd, Shepherd here or there,  
here or there so merrily,  
here or there so cherily,  
Or in thy chat, either at thy cheer,  
In every jig, in every Lay:  
both sing and say; Love lasts for aye.   

jolly Shepherd, Shepherd Daphnis Love,  
Daphnis love so merrily,  
Daphnis love so cherily,  
Let thy fancy never more remove,  
Fancy be fixed, fixed not to fleet,  
still sing and say; loves yoke is sweet.   
john Wootton.  
FINIS.   

¶ Montanus praise of his fair Phoebe.  

PHaebe sat,  
Sweet she sat,  
sweet sat Phoebe when I saw her,  
White her brow  
Coy her eye,  
brow and eye, how much you please me?  
Words I spent,  
Sighs I sent,  
sighs and words could never draw her,  
Oh my Love,  
Thou art lost,  
since no sight could ever ease thee.   

Phoebe sat  
By a Fount,  
sitting by a Fount I spied her,  
Sweet her touch,  
Rare her voice,  
touch and voice, what may distain you?  
As she sung,  
I did sigh,  
And by sighs whilst that I tried her,  
Oh mine eyes  
You did loose,  
her first sight whose want did pain you.  
Phoebe's flocks  
White as wool,  
yet were Phoebe's looks more whiter,  
Phoebe's eyes  
dove-like mild,  
dove-like eyes both mild and cruel,  
Montane swears  
In your Lamps,  
he will die for to delight her,  
Phoebe yield  
Or I die,  
shall true hearts be fancies fuel?   
Thom. Lodge.  
FINIS.   

¶ The complaint of Thestilis the forsaken Shepherd.  
THestilis a silly Swain, when Love did him forsake,  
In mournful wife amid the woods, thus 'gan his plaint to make.  
Ah woeful man (quoth he) fallen is thy lot to moon,  
And pine away with careful thoughts, unto thy Love unknown.  
Thy Nymph forsakes thee quite, whom thou didst honour so:  
That aye to her thou wert a friend, but to thyself a foe.  
Ye Lovers that have lost your harts-desired choice:  
Lament with me my cruel hap, and help my trembling voice.  
Was never man that stood so great in Fortune's grace,  
Nor with his sweat (alas too dear) possessed so high a place:  
As I whose simple heart, aye thought himself still sure,  
But now I see high springing tides, they may not eye endure.  
She knows my guiltless heart, and yet she lets it pine:  
Of her untrue professed love, so feeble is the twine.  
What wonder is it then, if I berent my hairs:  
And craving death continually, do bathe myself in tears?  
When Croesus' King of Lide, was cast in cruel bands,  
And yielded goods and life into his enemy's hands:  
What tongue could tell his woe? yet was his grief much less  
Than mine, for I have lost my Love, which might my woe redress.  
Ye woods that shrowded my limbs, give now your hollow sound:  
That ye may help me to bewail, the cares that me confound.  
Ye Rivers rest a while, and stay your streams that run:  
Rue Thestilis, the woefull'st man that rests under the Sun.  
Transport my sighs ye winds, unto my pleasant foe:  
My trickling tears shall witness hear, of this my cruel woe.  
Oh happy man were I, if all the Gods agreed:  
That now the Sisters three should cut in twain my fatal thread.  
Till life with love shall end, I here resign all joy,  
Thy pleasant sweet I now lament, whose lack breeds mine annoy.  
Farewell my dear therefore, farewell to me well known,  
If that I die, it shall be said: that thou hast slain thine own.  
L. T. Howard, E. of Surrie.  
FINIS.   

¶ To Phillis the fair Shepherdess.  
MY Phillis hath the morning Sun,  
at first to look upon her:  
And Phillis hath morne-waking birds,  
her risings still to honour.  
My Phillis hath prime-featherd flowers,  
that smile when she treads on them:  
And Phillis hath a gallant flock,  
that leaps since she doth own them.  
But Phillis hath too hard a heart,  
alas that she should have it:  
It yields no mercy to desert,  
nor grace to those that crave it.  
Sweet Sun, when thou look'st on,  
pray her regard my moan.  
Sweet birds, when you sing to her,  
to yield some pity, woe her,  
Sweet flowers that she treads on,  
tell her▪ her beauty deads' one.  
And if in life her love she nill agree me:  
Pray her before I die, she will come see me.  
S. E. D.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Shepherd Dorons lig.  
THrough the shrubs as I can crack,  
for my Lambs pretty ones,  
'mongst many little ones,  
Nymphs I mean, whose hair was black  
As the Crow.  
Like as the Snow  
Her face and brows shined I ween,  
I saw a little one,  
a bonny pretty one,  
As bright, buxom, and as sheen:  
As was she  
On her knee  
That lulled the God, whose arrows warms  
such merry little ones,  
such fair-faced pretty ones,  
As dally in loves chiefest harms.  
Such was mine,  
Whose grey eyen  
Made me love: I 'gan to woo  
this sweet little one,  
this bonny pretty one.  
I wooed hard a day or two,  
Till she bade,  
Be not sad,  
Woo no more, I am thine own,  
thy dearest little one,  
thy truest pretty one.  
Thus was faith and firm love shown,  
As behooves  
Shepherds Loves.  
Ro. Greene..  
FINIS.   

¶ Astrophil his Song of Phillida and Coridon.  
Fair in a morn, (o fairest morn)  
was never morn so fair:  
There shone a Sun, though not the Sun,  
that shineth in the air.  
For the earth, and from the earth,  
(was never such a creature:)  
Did come this face, (was never face,)  
that carried such a feature.  
Upon a hill, (o blessed hill,  
was never hill so blessed)  
There stood a man, (was never man  
for woman so distressed.)  
This man beheld a heavenly view,  
which did such virtue give:  
As clears the blind, and helps the lame,  
and makes the dead man live.  
This man had hap, (o happy man  
more happy none than he;)  
For he had hap to see the hap,  
that none had hap to see.  
This silly Swain, (and silly Swains  
are men of meanest grace:)  
Had yet the grace, (o gracious guest)  
to hap on such a face.  
He pity cried, and pity came,  
and pitied so his pain:  
As dying, would not let him die,  
but gave him life again.  
For joy whereof he made such mirth,  
as all the woods did ring:  
And Pan with all his Swains came forth,  
to hear the Shepherd sing.  
But such a Song sung never was,  
nor shall be sung again:  
Of Phillida the shepherds Queen,  
and Coridon the Swain.  
Fair Phillis is the shepherds Queen,  
(was never such a Queen as she,)  
And Coridon her only Swain,  
(was never such a Swain as he.)  
Fair Phillis hath the fairest face,  
that ever eye did yet behold:  
And Coridon the constants faith,  
that ever yet kept flock in fold.  
Sweet Phillis is the sweetest sweet,  
that ever yet the earth did yield:  
And Coridon the kindest Swain,  
that ever yet kept Lambs in field.  
Sweet Philomel is Phillis bird,  
though Coridon be he that caught her:  
And Coridon doth hear her sing,  
though Phillida be she that taught her.  
Poor Coridon doth keep the fields,  
though Phillida be she that owes them:  
And Phillida doth walk the Meads,  
though Coridon be he that mows them.  
The little Lambs are Phillis love,  
though Coridon is he that feeds them:  
The Gardens fair are Phillis ground,  
though Coridon be he that weeds them.  
Since than that Phillis only is,  
the only Shepherds only Queen:  
And Coridon the only Swain,  
that only hath her Shepherd been.  
Though Phillis keep her bower of state,  
shall Coridon consume away:  
No Shepherd no, work out the week,  
and Sunday shall be holiday.  
N. Breton.  
FINIS.   

¶ The passionate shepherds Song.  
ON a day, (alack the day,)  
Love whose month was ever May:  
Spied a blossom passing fair,  
Playing in the wanton air.  
Through the velvet leaves the wind,  
All unseen 'gan passage find:  
That the Shepherd (sick to death,)  
Wished himself the heavens breath.  
Air (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow,  
Air, would I might triumph so.  
But alas, my hand hath sworn,  
Near to pluck thee from thy thorn.  
Vow (alack) for youth unmeet,  
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.  
Thou for whom jove would swear,  
juno but an Aethiope were,  
And deny himself for jove,  
Turning mortal for my love.  
W. Shakespeare.  
FINIS.   

¶ The unknown shepherds complaint.  

MY Flocks feed not, my Ewes breed not,  
My Rams speed not, all is amiss:  
Love is denying, Faith is defying,  
Hearts renying, causer of this.  
All my merry jigs are quite forgot,  
All my Lady's love is lost God wot.  
Where her faith was firmly fixed in love,  
There a nay is placed without remove.  
One silly cross, wrought all my loss,  
O frowning Fortune, cursed fickle Dame:  
For now I see, inconstancy  
More in women then in men remain.   

In black mourn I, all fears scorn I,  
Love hath forlorn me, living in thrall:  
heart is bleeding, all help needing,  
O cruel speeding, fraughted with gall.  
My shepherds pipe can sound no deal,  
My Wether's bell rings doleful knell.  
My curtail dog that wont to have played,  
Plays not at all, but seems afraid.  
With sighs so deep, procures to weep,  
In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight:  
How sighs resound, through heartless ground,  
Like a thousand vanquished men in bloody fight.   

Clear Wells spring not, sweet birds sing not,  
Green plants bring not forth their die:  
Herds stand weeping, Flocks all sleeping,  
Nymphs back peeping fearfully.  
All our pleasure known to us poor Swains,  
All our merry meeting on the Plains.  
All our evening sports from us are fled,  
All our love is lost, for Love is dead.  
Farewell sweet Love, thy like near was,  
For sweet content, the cause of all my moan:  
Poor Coridon must live alone,  
Other help for him, I see that there is none.   
Ignoto.  
FINIS.   

¶ Another of the same Shepherds.  
AS it fell upon a day,  
In the merry month of May,  
Sitting in a pleasant shade,  
Which a grove of Myrtles made.  
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,  
Trees did grow, and plants did spring.  
Every thing did banish moan,  
Save the Nightingale alone.  
She poor bird, as all forlorn,  
Leaned her breast against a thorn,  
And there sung the doleful'st Ditty,  
That to hear it was great pity.  
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry  
Teru, Teru, by and by.  
That to hear her so complain,  
Scarce I could from tears refrain.  
For her griefs so lively shown,  
Made me think upon mine own.  
Ah (thought I) thou mournest in vain,  
None takes pity on thy pain.  
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee,  
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee.  
King Pandion he is dead,  
All thy friends are leapt in Lead.  
All thy fellow birds do sing,  
Careless of thy sorrowing.  
Even so poor bird like thee,  
None alive will pity me.  
Ignoto.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds allusion of his own amorous infelicity, to the offence of Actaeon.  
ACtaeon lost in middle of his sport  
Both shape and life, for looking but awry:  
Diana was afraid he would report  
What secrets he had seen in passing by.  
To tell but truth, the self same hurt have I:  
By viewing her for whom I daily die.  
I lose my wont shape, in that my mind  
Doth suffer wrack upon the stony rock  
Of her disdain, who contrary to kind  
Doth bear a breast more hard than any stock;  
And former form of limbs is changed quite:  
By cares in love, and want of due delight.  
I lose my life, in that each secret thought,  
Which I conceive through wanton fond regard:  
Doth make me say, that life availeth nought,  
Where service cannot have a due reward.  
I dare not name the Nymph that works my smart,  
Though Love hath graven her name within my heart.  
Tho. Watson.  
FINIS.   

¶ Montanus Sonnet to his fair Phoebe.  

A Turtle sat upon a leavelesse tree,  
Mourning her absent fere,  
With sad and sorry cheer.  
About her wondering stood,  
The Citizens of wood.  
And whilst her plumes she rends,  
And for her Love laments:  
The stately trees complain them,  
The birds with sorrow pain them.  
Each one that doth her view,  
Her pains and sorrows rue.  
But were the sorrows known,  
That me hath overthrown:  
Oh how would Phoebe sigh, if she did look on me?   

The lovesick Polypheme that could not see,  
Who on the barren shore,  
His fortunes did deplore:  
And melteth all in moan,  
For Galatea gone,  
And with his cries  
Afflicts both earth and skies,  
And to his woe betook,  
Doth break both pipe and hook.  
For whom complains the morn,  
For whom the Sea-nymphs mourn.  
Alas his pain is nought,  
For were my woe but thought:  
Oh how would Phoebe sigh, if she did look on me?   

Beyond compare my pain,  
yet glad am I:  
If gentle Phoebe deign,  
to see her Montan die.   
Thom. Lodge.  
FINIS.   

¶ Phaebes Sonnet, a reply to Montanus passion.  

Down a down,  
Thus Phillis sung,  
By fancy once distressed:  
Who so by foolish Love are stung  
are worthily oppressed.  
And so sing I, with down a down, etc.   

When Love was first begot,  
And by the mother's will:  
Did fall to human lot▪  
His solace to fulfil.  
devoid of all deceit,  
A chaste and holy fire:  
Did quicken man's conceit,  
And women's breasts inspire.  
The Gods that saw the good,  
That mortals did approve:  
With kind and holy mood,  
Began to talk of love.  
Down a down,  
Thus Phillis sung  
By fancy once distressed, etc.   

But during this accord,  
A wonder strange to hear:  
Whilst Love in deed and word,  
Most faithful did appear;  
False semblance came in place,  
By jealousy attended:  
And with a double face,  
Both love and fancy blended.  
Which made the Gods forsake,  
And men from fancy fly:  
And Maidens scorn a make,  
Forsooth and so will I.   

Down a down,  
Thus Phillis sung,  
By fancy once distressed:  
Who so by foolish Love are stung,  
Are worthily oppressed.  
And so sing I, with down a down, etc.   
Thom. Lodge.  
FINIS.   

¶ Coridon's supplications to Phillis.  
Sweet Phillis, if a silly Swain,  
may sue to thee for grace:  
See not thy loving Shepherd slain,  
with looking on thy face.  
But think what power thou hast got,  
upon my Flock and me:  
Thou seest they now regard me not,  
but all do follow thee.  
And if I have so far presumed,  
with prying in thine eyes:  
Yet let not comfort be consumed,  
that in thy pity lies.  
But as thou art that Phillis fair,  
that Fortune favour gives:  
So let not Love die in despair,  
that in thy favour lives.  
The Deer do browse upon the briar,  
the birds do pick the cherries:  
And will not Beauty grant Desire,  
one handful of her berries?  
If it be so that thou hast sworn,  
that none shall look on thee:  
Yet let me know thou dost not scorn,  
to cast a look on me.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
That 〈◊〉 with loves content  
〈◊〉 sworn the shepherds Queen.  
N. Bretan.  
FINIS.   

¶ Damaetas Madrigal in praise of his Daphnis.  

TVne on my pipe the praises of my Love,  
Love fair and bright:  
Fill earth with sound, and airy heavens above,  
heaven's loves delight,  
with Daphnis praise.   

To pleasant Tempe Groves and Plains about,  
Plains Shepherds pride:  
Resounding Echoes of her praise ring out,  
ring far and wide  
my Daphnis praise.   

When I begin to sing, begin to sound,  
sounds loud and shrill:  
Do make each note unto the skies rebound,  
skies calm and still,  
with Daphnis praise.   

Her tresses are like wiers of beaten gold,  
Gold bright and sheen:  
Like Nysus golden hair that Scylla bold,  
Scill, o'erseen  
through Minos' love.   

Her eyes like shining Lamps in midst of night,  
Night dark and dead:  
Or as the Stars that give the Seamen light,  
Light for to lead  
their wandering Ships.   

Amidst her cheeks the Rose and Lily strive,  
Lily, snow-white:  
When their contend doth make their colour thrive.  
Colour too bright  
for shepherds eyes.   

Her lips like Scarlet of the finest die,  
Scarlet blood-red:  
Teeth white as Snow, which on the hills doth lie,  
Hills overspread  
by Winter's force.   

Her skin as soft as is the finest silk,  
Silk soft and fine:  
Of colour like unto the whitest milk,  
Milk of the Kine  
of Daphnis Heard.   

As swift of foot as is the pretty Roe,  
Roe swift of pace:  
When yelping Hounds pursue her to and fro,  
Hounds fierce in chase,  
to reave her life.   

Cease tongue to tell of any more compares,  
Compares too rude:  
Daphnis deserts and beauty are too rare,  
Then here conclude  
fair Daphnis praise.   
I. Wootton.  
FINIS.   

¶ Dorons description of his fair Shepherdess Samela.  
LIke to Diana in her Summer weed▪  
Girt with a Crimson robe of brightest dye:  
goes fair Samela.  
Whiter then be the flocks that straggling feed,  
When washed by Arethusa, faint they lie,  
is fair Samela.  
As fair Aurora in her morning grey,  
Decked with the ruddy glister of her love:  
is fair Samela.  
Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day,  
When as her brightness Neptune's fancies move.  
shines fair Samela.  
Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,  
Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory:  
of fair Samela,  
Her cheeks like Rose and Lily yield forth gleams,  
Her brows bright arches framed of Ebony,  
thus fair Samela  
Passeth fair Venus in her brightest hue,  
And juno in the show of Majesty:  
for she's Samela.  
Pallas in wit, all three if you well view,  
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity,  
yield to Samela.  
Ro. Greene..  
FINIS.   

¶ Wodenfrides' Song in praise of Amargana.  

THe Sun the season in each thing  
Revives new pleasures, the sweet Spring  
Hath put to flight the Winter keen:  
To glad our lovely Summer Queen.   

The paths where Amargana treads,  
With flowery tapestries Flora spreads.  
And Nature clothes the ground in green:  
To glad our lovely Summer Queen.   

The Groaves put on their rich array,  
With Hawthorne blooms embroidered gay,  
And sweet perfumed with Eglantine:  
To glad our lovely Summer Queen.   

The silent River stays his course,  
Whilst playing on the crystal source,  
The silver scaled fish are seen,  
To glad our lovely Summer Queen.   

The Woods at her fair sight rejoices,  
The little birds with their loud voices,  
In consort on the briars been,  
To glad our lovely Summer Queen.   

The fleecy Flocks do scud and skip,  
The wood-Nimphs, Fawns, and Satyrs trip,  
And dance the Myrtle trees between:  
To glad our lovely Summer Queen.   

Great Pan (our God) for her dear sake,  
This feast and meeting bids us make,  
Of Shepherds, Lads, and Lasses sheen:  
To glad our lovely shepherds Queen.   

And every Swain his chance doth prove,  
To win fair amargana's love,  
In sporting strifes quite void of spleen:  
To glad our lovely Summer Queen.   

All happiness let Heaven her lend,  
And all the Graces her attend.  
Thus bid me pray the Muses nine,  
Long live our lovely Summer Queen.   
W. H.  
FINIS.   

¶ Another of the same.  

HAppy Shepherds sit and see,  
with joy,  
The peerless wight:  
For whose sake Pan keeps from ye  
annoy,  
And gives delight.  
Blessing this pleasant Spring,  
Her praises must I sing.  
List you Swains, list to me:  
The whiles your Flocks feeding be.   

First her brow a beauteous Globe,  
I deem,  
And golden hair;  
And her cheek Aurora's robe,  
doth seem,  
But far more fair.  
Her eyes like stars are bright.  
And dazzle with their light,  
Rubies her lips to see,  
But to taste, Nectar they be.   

Orient pearls her teeth, her smile  
doth link  
the Graces three:  
Her white neck doth eyes beguile  
to think  
it ivory.  
Alas her Lilly-hand,  
How it doth me command?  
Softer silk none can be:  
And whiter milk none can see.   

Circe's wand is not so strait,  
as is  
Her body small:  
But two pillars bear the weight  
of this  
majestic Hall.  
Those be I you assure,  
Of Alabaster pure,  
Polished fine in each part:  
ne'er Nature yet showed like Art.   

How shall I her pretty tread  
express  
when she doth walk?  
Scarce she doth the Primrose head  
depress,  
or tender stalk  
Of blue-veined Violets,  
Whereon her foot she sets.  
Virtuous she is, for we find  
In body fair, beauteous mind.   

Live fair Amargana still  
extolled  
In all my rhyme:  
Hand want Art, when I want will  
t'unfold  
her worth divine.  
But now my Muse doth rest,  
Despair closed in my breast,  
Of the valour I sing:  
Weak faith that no hope doth bring.   
W. H.  
FINIS.   

¶ An excellent Pastoral Ditty.  

A Careful Nymph, with careless grief oppressed,  
under the shadow of an Ashen tree:  
With Lute in hand did paint out her unrest,  
unto a Nymph that bore her company.  
No sooner had she tuned every string:  
But sobbed and sighed, and thus began to sing.   

Ladies and Nymphs, come listen to my plaint,  
on whom the cheerful Sun did never rise:  
If pities strokes your tender breasts may taint,  
come learn of me to wet your wanton eyes.  
For Love in vain the name of pleasure bears:  
His sweet delights are turned into fears.   

The trustless shows, the frights, the feeble joys,  
the freezing doubts, the guileful promises:  
The feigned looks, the shifts, the subtle toys,  
the brittle hope, the steadfast heaviness.  
The wished war in such uncertain peace:  
These with my woe, my woes with these increase.   

Thou dreadful God, that in thy Mother's lap,  
dost lie and hear the cry of my complaint,  
And seest, and smilest at my sore mishap,  
that lack but skill my sorrows here to paint:  
Thy fire from heaven before the hurt I spied,  
Quite through mine eyes into my breast did glide.   

My life was light, my blood did spirit and spring,  
my body quick, my heart began to leap:  
And every thorny thought did prick and sting,  
the fruit of my desired joys to reap.  
But he on whom to think, my soul still tears:  
In bale forsook, and left me in the briars.   

Thus Fancy strung my Lute to Lays of Love,  
and Love hath rocked my weary Muse asleep:  
And sleep is broken by the pains I prove,  
and every pain I feel doth force me weep.  
Then farewell fancy, love, sleep, pain, and sore:  
And farewell weeping, I can wail no more.   
Shep. Tony.  
FINIS.   

¶ Phillida's Love-call to her Coridon, and his replying.  Phil. 
COridon, arise my Coridon,  
Titan shineth clear:  Cor. 
Who is it that calleth Coridon,  
who is it that I hear?  Phil. 
Phillida thy true-love calleth thee,  
arise then, arise then;  
arise and keep thy flock with me:  Cor. 
Phillida my true-love, is it she?  
I come then, I come then,  
I come and keep my flock with thee.  Phil. 
here are cherries ripe my Coridon,  
eat them for my sake:  Cor. 
here's my Oaten pipe my lovely one,  
sport for thee to make.  Phil. 
here are threads my true-love, fine as silk,  
to knit thee, to knit thee  
a pair of stockings white as milk.  Cor. 
here are Reeds my true-love, fine and neat,  
to make thee, to make thee  
a Bonnet to withstand the heat.  Phil. 
I will gather flowers my Coridon,  
to set in thy cap:  Cor. 
I will gather Pears my lovely one,  
to put in thy lap.  Phil. 
I will buy my true-love Garters gay,  
for Sundays, for Sundays,  
to wear about his legs so tall:  Cor. 
I will buy my true-love yellow Say,  
for Sundays, for Sundays,  
to wear about her middle small.  Phil. 
When my Coridon sits on a hill,  
making melody:  Cor. 
When my lovely one goes to her wheel  
singing cherilie.  Phil. 
Sure me thinks my true-love doth excel  
for sweetness, for sweetness,  
our Pan that old Arcadian Knight:  Cor. 
And me thinks my true-love bears the bell  
for clearness, for clearness,  
beyond the Nymphs that be so bright.  Phil. 
Had my Coridon, my Coridon,  
been (alack) my Swain:  Cor. 
Had my lovely one, my lovely one,  
been in Ida plain.  Phil. 
Cynthia Endymion had refused,  
preferring, preferring  
my Coridon to play withal:  Cor. 
The Queen of Love had been excused,  
bequeathing, bequeathing,  
my Phillida the golden ball.  Phil. 
Yonder comes my Mother, Coridon,  
whether shall I fly?  Cor. 
Under yonder Beech my lovely one,  
while she passeth by.  
Say to her thy true-love was not here,  
remember, remember,  
to morrow is another day:  Phil. 
Doubt me not, my true-love, do not fear,  
farewell then, farewell then,  
heaven keep our loves alway.  
Ignoto.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds solace.  
Phaebus' delights to view his Laurel tree,  
The Poplar pleaseth Hercules alone:  
Melissa mother is and fautrixe to the Bee,  
Pallas will wear the Olive branch alone.  
Of Shepherds and their flocks Pales is Queen:  
And Ceres ripes the Corn was lately green.  
To Chloris every flower belongs of right,  
The Dryad Nymphs of woods make chief account:  
Oreades in hills have their delight,  
Diana doth protect each bubbling Fount.  
To Hebe lovely kissing is assigned:  
To Zephir every gentle-breathing wind.  
But what is loves delight? To hurt each where  
He cares not whom, with Darts of deep desire:  
With watchful jealousy, with hope, with fear,  
With nipping cold, and secret flames of fire.  
O happy hour, wherein I did forego:  
This little God, so great a cause of woe.  
Tho. Watson.  
FINIS.   

¶ Syrenus Song to Eugerius.  

LEt now the goodly Springtide make us merry,  
And fields, which pleasant flowers do adorn:  
And Vales, Meads, Woods, with lively colours flourish,  
Let plenteous flocks the shepherds riches nourish,  
Let hungry Wolves by dogs to death be torn,  
And Lambs rejoice, with passed Winter weary.  
Let every rivers Ferry.  
In waters flow, and silver streams abounding,  
And fortune, ceaseless wounding.  
Turn now thy face, so cruel and unstable,  
Be firm and favourable.  
And thou that killest our souls with thy pretences:  
Molest not (wicked Love) my inward senses.   

Let Country plainness live in joys not ended,  
In quiet of the desert Meades and mountains,  
And in the pleasure of a Country dwelling  
Let shepherds rest, that have distilled fountains  
Of tears: prove not thy wrath, all pains excelling,  
Upon poor souls, that never have offended.  
Let thy flames be incended  
In haughty Courts, in those that swim in treasure,  
And live in case and pleasure.  
And that a sweetest scorn (my wont sadness)  
A perfect rest and gladness  
And hills and Dales, may give me: with offences  
Molest not (wicked Love) my inward senses.   

In what law findest thou, that the freest reason  
And wit, unto thy chains should be subjecteth,  
And harmless souls unto thy cruel murder?  
O wicked Love, the wretch that flieth further  
From thy extremes, thou plagu'st. O false, suspected,  
And careless boy, that thus thy sweets dost season,  
O vile and wicked treason.  
Might not thy might suffice thee, but thy fuel  
Of force must be so cruel?  
To be a Lord, yet like a Tyrant minded,  
Vain boy with error blinded.  
Why dost thou hurt his life with thy offences:  
That yields to thee his soul and inward senses?   

He errs (alas) and foully is deceived  
That calls thee God, being a burning fire:  
A furious flame, a plaining grief and clamorous,  
And Venus son (that in the earth was amorous,  
Gentle, and mild, and full of sweet desire)  
Who calleth him, is of his wits bereaved.  
And yet that she conceived  
By proof, so vile a son and so unruly:  
I say (and yet say truly)  
That in the cause of harms, that they have framed,  
Both justly may be blamed:  
She that did breed him with such vile pretences,  
He that doth hurt so much our inward senses.   

The gentle Sheep and Lambs are ever flying  
The ravenous Wolves and beasts, that are pretending  
To glut their maws with flesh they tear asunder.  
The milk-white Doves at noise of fearful thunder  
Fly home amain, themselves from harm defending.  
The little Chick, when Puttocks are a crying,  
The Woods and Meadows dying  
For rain of heaven (if that they cannot have it)  
Do never cease to crave it.  
So every thing his contrary resisteth,  
Only thy thrall persisteth  
In suffering of thy wrongs without offences:  
And lets thee spoil his heart and inward senses.   

A public passion, Nature's laws restraining,  
And which with words can never be declared,  
A soul twixt love, and fear, and desperation,  
And endless plaint, that shuns all consolation,  
A spendlesse flame, that never is impaired,  
A friendless death, yet life in death maintaining,  
A passion, that is gaining  
On him that loveth well, and is absented,  
Whereby it is augmented.  
A jealousy, a burning grief and sorrow,  
These favours Lovers borrow  
Of thee fell Love, these be thy recompenses:  
Consuming still their soul and inward senses.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Shepherd Arsileus reply to Syrenus Song.  

O Let that time a thousand months endure,  
Which brings from heaven the sweet and silver showers,  
And joys the earth (of comfort late deprived)  
With grass and leaves, fine buds, and painted flowers.  
Echo, return unto the woods obscure.  
Ring forth the shepherds Songs in love contrived.  
Let old loves be revived,  
Which angry Winter buried but of late,  
And that in such a state  
My soul may have the full accomplishment  
Of joy and sweet content.  
And since fierce pains and griefs thou dost control:  
Good Love, do not forsake my inward soul.   

Presume not (Shepherds) once to make you merry,  
With springs, and flowers, or any pleasant Song,  
(Unless mild Love possess your amorous breasts)  
If you sing not to him, your Songs do weary,  
Crown him with flowers, or else ye do him wrong,  
And consecrate your Springs to his behests.  
I to my Shepherdess  
My happy loves with great content do sing.  
And flowers to her do bring.  
And sitting near her by the River side,  
Enjoy the brave Springtide.  
Since than thy joys such sweetness doth enroll:  
Good Love, do not forsake my inward soul.   

The wise (in ancient time) a God thee named,  
Seeing that with thy power and supreme might,  
Thou didst such rare and mighty wonders make:  
For thee a heart is frozen and inflamed,  
A fool thou mak'st a wise man with thy light,  
The coward turns courageous for thy sake.  
The mighty Gods did quake  
At thy command: To birds and beasts tranformed,  
Great monarchs have not scorned  
To yield unto the force of beauty's lure:  
Such spoils thou dost procure  
With thy brave force, which never may be told:  
With which (sweet Love) thou conquer'st every soul.   

In other times obscurely I did live  
But with a drowsy, base, and simple kind  
Of life, and only to my profit bend me:  
To think of Love myself I did not give,  
Or for good grace, good parts; and gentle mind,  
Never did any Shepherdess commend me.  
But crowned now they send me  
A thousand Garlands, that I won with praise,  
In wrestling days by days,  
In pitching of the bar with arm most strong,  
And singing many a Song.  
After that thou didst honour, and take hold  
Of my (sweet Love) and of my happy soul.   

What greater joy can any man desire,  
Then to remain a Captive unto Love:  
And have his heart subjecteth to his power?  
And though sometimes he taste a little sour  
By suffering it, as mild as gentle Dove  
Yet must he be, in lieu of that great hire  
Whereto he doth aspire:  
If Lovers live afflicted and in pain,  
Let them with cause complain  
Of cruel fortune, and of times abuse,  
And let not them accuse  
Thee (gentle-love) that doth with bliss enfold  
Within thy sweetest joys each living soul.   

Behold a fair sweet face, and shining eyes,  
Resembling two most bringht and twinkling stars,  
Sending unto the soul a perfect light:  
Behold the rare perfections of those white  
And ivory hands, from griefs most surest bars  
That mind wherein all life and glory lies,  
That joy that never dies,  
That he doth feel, that loves and is beloved,  
And my delights approved,  
To see her pleased, whose love maintains me here,  
All those I count so dear,  
That though sometimes Love doth my joys control:  
Yet am I glad he dwells within my soul.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ A shepherds dream.  
A Silly Shepherd lately sat  
among a flock of Sheep:  
Where musing long on this and that,  
at last he fell a sleep.  
And in the slumber as he lay,  
he gave a piteous groan:  
He thought his sheep were run away,  
and he was left alone.  
He whoopt, he whistled, and he called,  
but not a sheep came near him:  
Which made the Shepherd sore appalled,  
to see that none would hear him.  
But as the Swain amazed stood,  
in this most solemn vain:  
Came Phillida forth of the wood,  
and stood before the Swain.  
Whom when the Shepherd did behold,  
he strait began to weep:  
And at the heart he grew a cold,  
to think upon his sheep.  
For well he knew, where came the Queen,  
the Shepherd durst not stay:  
And where that he durst not be seen,  
the sheep must needs away.  
To ask her if she saw his flock,  
might happen patience move:  
And have an answer with a mock,  
that such demaunders prove.  
Yet for because he saw her come  
alone out of the wood:  
He thought he would not stand as dumb,  
when speech might do him good.  
And therefore falling on his knees,  
to ask but for his sheep:  
He did awake, and so did lose  
the honour of his sleep.  
N. Breton.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds Ode.  
Night's were short, and days were long,  
Blossoms on the Hawthorne hung,  
Philomel (Night-Musiques King,)  
Told the coming of the Spring:  
Whose sweete-siluer-sounding-voyce,  
Made the little birds rejoice,  
Skipping light from spray to spray,  
Till Aurora show'd the day.  
Scarce might one see, when I might see  
(For such chances sudden be.)  
By a Well of Marble-stone,  
A Shepherd lying all alone.  
Weep he did, and his weeping  
Made the fading flowers spring.  
Daphnis was his name I ween,  
Youngest Swain of summers Queen.  
When Aurora saw 'twas he  
Weep she did for company:  
Weep she did for her sweet Son,  
That (when antic Troy was won)  
Suffered death by luckless Fate,  
Whom she now laments too late:  
And each morning (by Cock's crew)  
Showers down her silver dew,  
Whose tears falling from their spring,  
Give moisture to each living thing  
That on earth increase and grow,  
Through power of their friendly foe.  
Whose effect when Flora felt,  
Tears, that did her bosom melt,  
(For who can resist tears often,  
But she whom no tears can soften?)  
Peering strait above the banks,  
show'd herself to give her thanks.  
Wondering thus at Nature's work  
(Wherein many marvels lurk)  
Me thought I heard a doleful noise,  
Consorted with a mournful voice,  
Drawing near, to hear more plain,  
Hear I did, unto my pain,  
(For who is not pained to hear  
Him in grief whom heart holds dear?)  
Silly Swain with grief overgo  
Thus to make his piteous moan.  
Love I did, alas the while,  
Love I did, but did beguile  
My dear Love with loving so,  
Whom as then I did not know.  
Love I did the fairest boy  
That these fields did ere enjoy.  
Love I did fair Ganymede,  
Venus' darling, beauty's bed:  
Him I thought the fairest creature,  
Him the quintessence of Nature.  
But yet (alas) I was deceived,  
(Love of reason is bereaved.)  
For since then I saw a Lass,  
Lass that did in beauty pass,  
Pass fair Ganymede as far  
As Phoebus doth the smallest star.  
love commanded me to love,  
Fancy bade me not remove  
My affection from the Swain  
Whom I never could obtain:  
(For who can obtain that favour  
Which he cannot grant the craver?)  
Love at last (though loath) prevailed,  
Love that so my heart assailed,  
Wounding me with her fair eyes  
Ah how Love can subtillize?  
And devise a thousand shifts  
How to work men to his drifts.  
Her it is, for whom I mourn,  
Her, for whom my life I scorn.  
Her, for whom I weep all day,  
Her, for whom I sigh, and say  
Either she, or else no creature  
Shall enjoy my love: whose feature  
Though I never can obtain,  
Yet shall my true-love remain:  
Till (my body turned to clay)  
My poor soul must pass away,  
To the heavens; where I hope  
It shall find a resting scope.  
Then since I loved thee alone,  
Remember me when I am gone.  
Scarce had he these last words spoken,  
But me thought his heart was broken,  
With great grief that did abound,  
(Cares and grief the heart confound.)  
In whose heart thus rived in three,  
Eliza written I might see  
In Characters of crimson blood,  
Whose meaning well I understood.  
Which, for my heart might not behold:  
I hied me home my Sheep to fold.  
Rich. Barnefielde.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds commendation of his Nimph.  

WHat Shepherd can express  
The favour of her face?  
To whom in this distress  
I do appeal for grace.  
A thousand Cupids fly  
About her gentle eye.   

From which each throws a dart,  
That kindleth soft sweet fire  
Within my sighing heart,  
Possessed by desire.  
Nosweeter life I try  
Then in her love to die.   

The Lily in the field,  
That glories in his white:  
For porenes now must yield  
And render up his right.  
Heaven pictured in her face,  
Doth promise joy and grace.   

Fair cinthia's silver light,  
That beats on running streams:  
Compares not with her white,  
Whose hairs are all Sunbeams.  
So bright my Nymph doth shine  
As day unto my eyen.   

With this there is a red,  
Exceeds the Damaske-Rose:  
Which in her cheeks is spread,  
Whence every favour grows.  
In Sky there is no star,  
But she surmounts it far.   

When Phoebus from the bed  
Of Thetis doth arise:  
The morning blushing red,  
In fair Carnation wise:  
He shows in my nymphs face,  
As Queen of every grace.   

This pleasant Lily white,  
This taint of Roseate red:  
This cinthia's silver light,  
This sweet fair Dea spread,  
These Sunbeams in mine eye,  
These beauties make me die.   
Earl of Oxenford.  
FINIS.   

¶ Coridon to his Phillis.  
ALas my heart, mine eye hath wronged thee,  
Presumptuous eye, to gaze on Phillis face:  
Whose heavenly eye no mortal man may see,  
But he must die, or purchase Phillis grace.  
Poor Coridon, the Nymph whose eye doth move thee:  
Doth love to draw, but is not drawn to love thee.  
Her beauty, Nature's pride, and shepherds praise,  
Her eye, the heavenly Planet of my life:  
Her matchless wit and grace, her fame displays,  
As if that love had made her for his wife.  
Only her eyes shoot fiery darts to kill:  
Yet is her heart as cold as Caucase hill.  
My wings too weak to fly against the Sun,  
Mine eyes unable to sustain her light:  
My heart doth yield that I am quite undone,  
Thus hath fair Phillis slain me with her sight.  
My bud is blasted, withered is my leaf:  
And all my corn is rotten in the sheaf.  
Phillis, the golden fetter of my mind,  
My fancy's Idol, and my vital power:  
Goddess of Nymphs, and honour of thy kind,  
This age's Phoenix, beauty's richest bower.  
Poor Coridon for love of thee must die:  
Thy beauty's thrall, and conquest of thine eye.  
Leave Coridon to plough the barren field,  
Thy buds of hope are blasted with disgrace:  
For Phillis looks no hearty love do yield,  
Nor can she love, for all her lovely face.  
Die Coridon, the spoil of Phillis eye:  
She cannot love, and therefore thou must die.  
S. E. Dyer.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds description of love.  Melibeus. 
Shepherd, what's Love, I pray thee tell?  Faustus. 
It is that Fountain, and that Well,  
Where pleasure and repentance dwell.  
It is perhaps that sauncing bell,  
That toules all into heaven or hell,  
And this is Love as I heard tell.  Meli. 
Yet what is Love, I prithee say?  Fau. 
It is a work on holiday,  
It is December matched with May,  
When lustie-bloods in fresh array,  
Hear ten months after of the play,  
And this is Love, as I hear say.  Meli. 
Yet what is Love, good Shepherd sane?  Fau. 
It is a Sunshine mixed with rain,  
It is a toothache, or like pain,  
It is a game where none doth gain,  
The Lass saith no, and would full feign:  
And this is Love, as I hear sane.  Meli. 
Yet Shepherd, what is Love, I pray?  Fau. 
It is a yea, it is a nay,  
A pretty kind of sporting fray,  
It is a thing will soon away,  
Then Nymphs take vantage while ye may:  
And this is love as I hear say.  Meli. 
Yet what is love, good Shepherd show?  Fau. 
A thing that creeps, it cannot go,  
A prize that passeth too and fro,  
A thing for one, a thing for more,  
And he that proves shall find it so;  
And Shepherd this is love I trow.  
Ignoto.  
FINIS.   

¶ To his Flocks.  
Feed on my Flocks securely,  
Your Shepherd watcheth surely,  
Run about my little Lambs,  
Skip and wanton with your Dams,  
Your loving Herd with care will tend ye:  
Sport on fair flocks at pleasure,  
Nip Vesta's flowering treasure,  
I myself will duly hark,  
When my watchful dog doth bark,  
From Wolf and Fox I will defend ye.  
H. C.  
FINIS.   

¶ A Roundelay between two Shepherds.  1. Shep. 
TEll me thou gentle shepherds Swain,  
Who'se yonder in the Vale is set?  2. Shep. 
Oh it is she, whose sweets do stain,  
The Lily, Rose, the Violet.  1. Shep. 
Why doth the Sun against his kind,  
Fix his bright Chariot in the skies?  2. Shep. 
Because the Sun is strooken blind,  
With looking on her heavenly eyes.  1. Shep. 
Why do thy flocks forbear their food,  
Which sometime were thy chief delight?  2. Shep. 
Because they need no other good,  
That live in presence of her sight.  1. Shep. 
Why look these flowers so pale and ill,  
That once attired this goodly Heath?  2. Shep. 
She hath robbed Nature of her skill,  
And sweetens all things with her breath.  1. Shep. 
Why slide these brooks so slow away,  
Whose bubbling murmur pleased thine ear?  2. Shep. 
Oh marvel not although they stay,  
When they her heavenly voice do hear.  1. Shep. 
From whence come all these shepherds Swains,  
And lovely Nymphs attired in green?  2. Shep. 
From gathering Garlands on the Plains,  
To crown our fair the shepherds Queen.  Both. 
The Sun that lights this world below.  
Flocks. flowers, and brooks will witness bear:  
These Nymphs and Shepherds all do know,  
That it is she is only fair.  
Mich. Drayton.  
FINIS.   

¶ The solitary shepherds Song.  

O Shady Vales, o fair enriched Meads,  
O sacred woods, sweet fields, and rising mountains:  
O painted flowers, green herbs where Flora treads,  
Refreshed by wanton winds and watery fountains.   

O all you winged choristers of wood,  
that perched aloft, your former pains report:  
And strait again recount with pleasant mood,  
your present joys in sweet and seemly sort.   

O all you creatures whosoever thrive  
on mother earth, in Seas, by air, by fire:  
More blessed are you then I here under Sun,  
love dies in me, when as he doth revive  
In you, I perish under beauty's ire,  
where after storms, winds, frosts, your life is won.   
Thom. Lodge.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds resolution in love.  

IF love himself be subject unto Love,  
And range the woods to find a mortal prey,  
If Neptune from the Seas himself remove,  
And seek on sands with earthly wights to play:  
Then may I love my Shepherdess by right;  
Who far excels each other mortal wight?   

If Pluto could by Love be drawn from hell,  
To yield himself a silly virgin's thrall.  
If Phoebus could vouchsafe on earth to dwell,  
To win a rustic Maid unto his call:  
Then how much more should I adore the sight,  
Of her in whom the heavens themselves delight?   

If Country Pan might follow Nymphs in chase,  
And yet through love remain devoid of blame,  
If Satyrs were excused for seeking grace,  
To joy the fruits of any mortal Dame:  
My Shepherdess, why should not I love still  
On whom nor Gods nor men can gaze their fill?   
Tho. Watson.  
FINIS.   

¶ Coridon's Hymn in praise of Amarillis.  
WOuld mine eyes were crystal Fountains,  
Where you might the shadow view  
Of my griefs, like to these mountains  
Swelling for the loss of you.  
Cares which cureless are alas,  
Helpless, hapless for they grow:  
Cares like tars in number pass,  
All the seeds that love doth sow.  
Who but could remember all  
Twinkling eyes still representing?  
Stars which pierce me to the gall,  
cause they lend no more contenting.  
And you Nectar-lips, alluring  
human sense to taste of heaven:  
For no Art of man's manuring,  
Finer silk hath ever weaven.  
Who but could remember this,  
The sweet odours of your favour?  
When I smelled I was in bliss,  
Never felt I sweeter savour.  
And your harmless heart anointed,  
As the custom was of Kings:  
Shows your sacred soul appointed,  
To be prime of earthly things.  
Ending thus remember all,  
Clothed in a mantle green:  
'tis enough I am your thrall,  
Leave to think what eye hath seen.  
Yet the eye may not so leave,  
Though the thought do still repine:  
But must gaze till death bequeath,  
Eyes and thoughts unto her shrine.  
Which if Amarillis chance,  
Hearing to make haste to see:  
To life death she may advance.  
Therefore eyes and thoughts go free.  
T. B.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Shepherd Carillo his Song.  
Guarda mi las Vaccas  
Carillo, por tu fe,  
Besa mi Primero,  
Yo te las guardare.  

IPre-thee keep my Kine for me  
Carillo, wilt thou? Tell.  
First let me have a kiss of thee,  
And I will keep them well.   

If to my charge or them to keep,  
Thou dost commend thy Kine or Sheep,  
For thee I do suffice:  
Because in this I have been bred,  
But for so much as I have fed  
By viewing thee, mine eyes;  
Command not me to keep thy beast:  
Because myself I can keep least.   

How can I keep, I prithee tell,  
Thy Kie, myself that cannot well  
defend, nor please thy kind  
As long as I have served thee?  
But if thou wilt give unto me  
a kiss to please my mind:  
I ask no more for all my pain,  
And I will keep them very fain.   

For thee, the gift is not so great  
That I do ask, to keep thy Neat,  
but unto me it is  
A guerdon, that shall make me live.  
Disdain not then to lend, or give  
so small a gift as this.  
But if to it thou canst not frame:  
Then give me leave to take the same.   

But if thou dost (my sweet) deny  
To recompense me by and by,  
thy promise shall relent me:  
Hereafter some reward to find,  
Behold how I do please my mind,  
and favours do content me,  
That though thou speakest it but in jest:  
I mean to take it at the best.   

Behold how much love works in me;  
And how ill recompensed of thee  
that with the shadow of  
Thy happy favours (though delayed)  
I think myself right well apayed,  
although they prove a scoff.  
Then pity me, that have forgot:  
Myself for thee, that carest not.   

O in extreme thou art most fair,  
And in extreme unjust despair  
thy cruelty maintains:  
O that thou wert so pitiful  
Unto these torments that do pull  
my soul with senseless pains,  
As thou show'st in that face of thine:  
Where pity and mild grace should shine.   

If that thy fair and sweetest face  
Assureth me both peace and grace,  
thy hard and cruel heart:  
Which in that white breast thou dost bear,  
Doth make me tremble yet for fear  
thou wilt not end my smart.  
In contraries of such a kind:  
Tell me what succour shall I 〈◊〉?   

If then young Shepherdess thou crave  
A Herdsman for thy beast to have,  
with grace thou mayst restore  
Thy Shepherd from his barren love,  
For never other shalt thou prove,  
that seeks to please thee more:  
And who to serve thy turn, will never shun,  
The nipping frost, and beams of parching Sun.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Corins dream of his fair Chloris.  
WHat time bright Titan in the Zenith sat,  
And equally the fixed poles did heat:  
When to my flock my daily woes I chat,  
And underneath a broad Beech took my seat.  
The dreaming God which Morpheus Poets call  
Augmenting fuel to my Aetna's fire,  
With sleep possessing my weak senses all,  
In apparitions makes my hopes aspire.  
Me thought I saw the Nymph I would embrace,  
With arms abroad coming to me for help:  
A lust-led Satire having her in chase,  
Which after her about the fields did yelp.  
I seeing my Love in such perplexed plight,  
A sturdy bat from off an Oak I reft:  
And with the Ravisher continued fight,  
Till breathless I upon the earth him left.  
Then when my coy Nymph saw her breathless foe,  
With kisses kind she gratifies my pain:  
Protesting rigour never more to show,  
Happy was I this good hap to obtain.  
But drowsy slumbers flying to their Cell,  
My sudden joy converted was to bale:  
My wont sorrows still with me do dwell,  
I looked round about on hill and Dale:  
But I could neither my fair Chloris view,  
Nor yet the Satire which erewhile I slew.  
W. S.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Shepherd Damon's passion.  

AH trees, why fall your leaves so fast?  
Ah Rocks, where are your robes of moss?  
Ah Flocks, why stand you all aghast?  
Trees, Rocks, and Flocks, what, are ye pensive for my loss?   

The birds me thinks tune nought but moan,  
The winds breathe nought but bitter plaint:  
The beasts forsake their dens to groan,  
Birds, winds, and beasts, what, doth my loss your powers attaint?   

Floods weep their springs above their bounds,  
And Echo wails to see my woe:  
The robe of ruth doth clothe the grounds,  
Floods, Echo, grounds, why do ye all these tears bestow?   

The trees, the Rocks and Flocks reply,  
The birds, the winds, the beasts report:  
Floods, Echo, grounds for sorrow cry,  
We grieve since Phillis nill kind Damon's love consort.   
Thom. Lodge.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Shepherd Musidorus his complaint.  
COme Shepherds weeds, become your masters mind,  
Yield outward show, what inward change he tries:  
Nor be abashed, since such a guest you find,  
Whose strongest hope in your weak comfort lies.  
Come Shepherds weeds, attend my woeful cries,  
Disuse yourselves from sweet Menalcas voice:  
For other be those tunes which sorrow ties,  
From those clear notes which freely may rejoice.  
Then pour out plaints, and in one word say this:  
Helpless his plaint, who spoils himself of bliss.  
S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds brawl, one half answering the other.  1. 
WE love, and have our loves rewarded?  2. 
We love, and are no whit regarded.  1. 
We find most sweet affections snare:  2. 
That sweet but sour dispairefull care.  1. 
Who can despair, whom hope doth bear?  2. 
And who can hope, that feels despair?  All. 
As without breath no pipe doth move:  
No Music kindly without love.  
S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ Dorus his comparisons.  
MY Sheep are thoughts, which I both guide and serve,  
Their pasture is fair hills of fruitless love:  
On barren sweets they feed, and feeding starve,  
I wail their lot, but will not other prove.  
My sheephook is wan hope, which all upholds:  
My weeds, desires, cut out in endless folds.  
What wool my Sheep shall bear, while thus they live:  
In you it is, you must the judgement give.  
S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Shepherd Faustus his Song.  
A fair Maid wed to prying jealousy,  
One of the fairest as ever I did see:  
If that thou wilt a secret Lover take,  
(Sweet life) do not my secret love forsake.  

Eclipsed was our Sun,  
And fair Aurora darkened to us quite,  
Our morning star was done,  
And shepherds star lost clean out of our sight,  
When that thou didst thy faith in wedlock plight.  
Dame Nature made thee fair,  
And ill did careless Fortune marry thee,  
And pity with despair  
It was, that this thy hapless hap should be,  
A fair Maid wed to prying jealousy.   

Our eyes are not so bold  
To view the Sun, that fly with radiant wing:  
Unless that we do hold  
A glass before them, or some other thing.  
Then wisely this to pass did Fortune bring  
To cover thee with such a vail:  
For heretofore, when any viewed thee,  
Thy sight made his to fail,  
For (sooth) thou art: thy beauty telleth me,  
One of the fairest as ever I did see.   

Thy graces to obscure,  
With such a froward husband, and so base  
She meant thereby most sure  
That Cupid's force, and love thou shouldst embrace,  
For 'tis a force to love, no wondrous case.  
Then care no more for kin,  
And doubt no more, for fear thou must forsake,  
To love thou must begin,  
And from henceforth this question never make,  
If that thou shouldst a secret Lover take?   

Of force it doth behove  
That thou shouldst be beloved, and that again  
(Fair Mistress) thou shouldst love,  
For to what end, what purpose, and what gain,  
Should such perfections serve? as now in vain  
My love is of such art,  
That (of itself) it well deserves to take  
In thy sweet love a part:  
Then for no Shepherd, that his love doth make,  
(Sweet life) do not my secret love forsake.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Another of the same, by Firmius the Shepherd.  

IF that the gentle wind  
doth move the leaves with pleasant sound,  
If that the Kid behind  
Is left, that cannot find  
her dam, runs bleating up and down:  
The Bagpipe, Reed, or Flute,  
only with air if that they touched be,  
With pity all salute,  
And full of love do brute  
thy name, and sound Diana, seeing thee:  
A fair Maid wed to prying jealousy.   

The fierce and savage beasts  
(beyond their kind and nature yet)  
With piteous voice and breast,  
In mountains without rest  
the self same Song do not forget.  
If that they stayed at (Fair)  
and had not passed to prying jealousy:  
With plaints of such despair  
As moved the gentle air  
to tears: The Song that they did sing, should be  
One of the fairest as ever I did see.   

Mishap, and fortunes play,  
ill did they place in Beauty's breast:  
For since so much to say,  
There was of beauty's sway,  
they had done well to leave the rest.  
They had enough to do,  
if in her praise their wits they did awake:  
But yet so must they too,  
And all thy love that woe,  
thee not too coy, nor too too proud to make,  
If that thou wilt a secret Lover take.   

For if thou hadst but known  
the beauty, that they here do touch,  
Thou woul'dst then love alone  
Thyself, nor any one,  
only thyself accounting much.  
But if thou dost conceive  
this beauty, that I will not public make,  
And meanest not to bereave  
The world of it, but leave  
the same to some (which never peer did take,)  
(Sweet life) do not my secret love forsake.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Damelus Song to his Diaphenia.  

DIaphenia like the Daffadown-dillie,  
White as the Sun, fair as the Lily,  
heigh ho, how I do love thee?  
I do love thee as my Lambs  
Are beloved of their Dams,  
how blessed were I if thou wouldst prove me?   

Diaphenia like the spreading Roses,  
That in thy sweets all sweets encloses,  
fair sweet how I do love thee?  
I do love thee as each flower,  
loves the suns life-giving power.  
for dead, thy breath to life might move me.   

Diaphenia like to all things blessed,  
When all thy praises are expressed,  
dear joy, how I do love thee?  
As the birds do love the Spring:  
Or the Bees their careful King,  
then in requite, sweet Virgin love me   
H. C.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Shepherd Eurymachus to his fair Shepherdess Mirimida.  

WHen Flora proud in pomp of all her flowers  
sat bright and gay:  
And gloried in the dew of Iris showers,  
and did display  
Her mantle checkered all with gaudy green,  
Then I  
alone  
A mournful man in Ericine was seen.   

With folded arms I trampled through the grass,  
Tracing as he  
That held the throne of Fortune brittle glass,  
And love to be  
Like Fortune fleeting, as the restless wind  
Mixed  
with mists  
Whose damp doth make the clearest eyes grow blind.   

Thus in a maze, I spied a hideous flame,  
I cast my sight,  
And saw where blithely bathing in the same  
With great delight  
A worm did lie, wrapped in a smoky sweat:  
And yet  
'twas strange,  
It careless lay, and shrunk not at the heat.   

I stood amazed, and wondering at the sight,  
while that a dame,  
That shone like to the heavens rich sparkling light,  
Discoursed the same,  
And said, My friend, this worm within the fire:  
Which lies  
content,  
Is Venus' worm, and represents desire.   

A Salamander is this princely beast,  
Decked with a crown,  
Given him by Cupid as a gorgeous crest,  
'Gainst Fortune's frown,  
Content he lies, and baths him in the flame,  
And goes  
not forth,  
For why, he cannot live without the same.   

As he, so Lovers live within the fire  
Of fervent love:  
And shrink not from the flame of hot desire,  
Nor will not move  
From any heat that Venus' force imparts:  
But lie  
content,  
Within a fire, and waste away their hearts.   

Up flew the Dame, and vanished in a cloud,  
But there stood I,  
And many thoughts within my mind did shroud  
My love: for why  
I felt within my heart a scorching fire,  
And yet  
as did  
The Salamander, 'twas my whole desire.   
Ro. Greene..  
FINIS.   

¶ The Shepherd Firmius his Song.  

Shepherds give ear, and now be still  
Unto my passions, and their cause,  
and what they be:  
Since that with such an earnest will,  
And such great signs of friendship's laws,  
you ask it me.   

It is not long since I was whole,  
Nor since I did in every part  
free-will resign:  
It is not long since in my sole  
Possession, I did know my heart,  
and to be mine.   

It is not long, since even and morrow,  
All pleasure that my heart could find,  
was in my power:  
It is not long, since grief and sorrow,  
My loving heart began to bind,  
and to devour.   

It is not long, since company  
I did esteem a joy indeed  
still to frequent:  
Nor long, since solitarily  
I lived, and that this life did breed  
my sole content.   

Desirous I (wretched) to see,  
But thinking not to see so much  
as then I saw:  
Love made me know in what degree,  
His valour and brave force did touch  
me with his law.   

First he did put no more nor less  
Into my heart, than he did view  
that there did want:  
But when my breast in such excess  
Of lively flames to burn I knew,  
then were so scant   

My joys, that now did so abate,  
(My self estranged every way  
from former rest:)  
That I did know, that my estate,  
And that my life was every day,  
in deaths arrest.   

I put my hand into my side,  
To see what was the cause of this  
unwonted vain:  
Where I did find, that torments hied  
By endless death to prejudice  
my life with pain.  
Because I saw that there did want  
My heart, wherein I did delight,  
my dearest heart:  
And he that did the same supplant,  
No jurisdiction had of right  
to play that part.   

The judge and Robber, that remain  
Within my soul, their cause to try,  
are there all one:  
And so the giver of the pain,  
And he that is condemned to die  
or I, or none.   

To die I care not any way,  
Though without why, to die I grieve,  
as I do see:  
But for because I heard her say,  
None die for lone, for I believe  
none such there be.   

Then this thou shalt believe by me  
Too late, and without remedy  
as did in brief:  
Anaxarete, and thou shalt see,  
The little she did satisfy  
with after grief.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds praise of his sacred Diana.  

Praised be Diana's fair and harmless light,  
Praised be the dews, wherewith she moists the ground:  
Praised be her beams, the glory of the night,  
Praised be her power, by which all powers abound.   

Praised be her Nymphs, with whom she decks the woods,  
Praised be her Knights, in whom true honour lives:  
Praised be that force, by which she moves the floods,  
Let that Diana shine which all these gives.   

In heaven Queen she is among the Spheres,  
She Mistresse-like makes all things to be pure:  
Eternity in her oft change she bears,  
She beauty is, by her the fair endure.   

Time wears her not, she doth his Chariot guide,  
Mortality below her Orb is placed:  
By her the virtue of the stars down slide.  
In her is virtues perfect Image cast.   

A knowledge pure it is her worth to know:  
With Circe's let them dwell, that think not so,   
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds dump.  

LIke desert Woods, with darksome shades obscured,  
Where dreadful beasts, where hateful horror reigneth,  
Such is my wounded heart, whom sorrow paineth.   

The Trees are fatal shafts, to death enured,  
That cruel love within my heart maintaineth,  
To whet my grief, when as my sorrow waineth.   

The ghastly beasts, my thoughts in cares assured,  
Which wadge me war, whilst heart no succour gaineth,  
With false suspect, and fear that still remaineth.   

The horrors, burning sighs, by cares procured,  
Which forth I send, whilst weeping eye complaineth,  
To cool the heat the helpless heart containeth.   

But shafts, but cares, sighs, horrors unrecured,  
Were nought esteemed, if for their pains awarded:  
Your shepherds love might be by you regarded.   
S. E. D.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Nymph Diana's Song.  

WHen that I poor soul was borne,  
I was borne unfortunate:  
Presently the Fates had sworn,  
To foretell my hapless state.   

Titan his fair beams did hide,  
Phoebe ' clipsed her silver light:  
In my birth my Mother died,  
Young and fair in heavy plight   

And the Nurse that gave me suck,  
Hapless was in all her life:  
And I never had good luck,  
Being maid or married wife.   

I loved well, and was beloved,  
And forgetting, was forgot:  
This a hapless marriage moved,  
Grieving that it kills me not.   

With the earth would I were wed,  
Then in such a grave of woes  
Daily to be buried,  
Which no end nor number knows.   

Young my Father married me,  
Forced by my obedience:  
Syrenus, thy faith, and thee  
I forgot without offence.   

Which contempt I pay so far,  
Never like was paid so much:  
jealousies do make me war,  
But without a cause of such.   

I do go with jealous eyes,  
To my folds, and to my Sheep:  
And with jealousy I rise,  
When the day begins to peep.   

At his table I do eat,  
In his bed with him I lie:  
But I take no rest, nor meat,  
Without cruel jealousy.   

If I ask him what he ails,  
And whereof he jealous is?  
In his answer than he fails,  
Nothing can he say to this.   

In his face there is no cheer,  
But he ever hangs the head:  
In each corner he doth peer,  
And his speech is sad and dead.   

Ill the poor soul lives iwis:  
That so hardly married is.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ rowland's Madrigal.  

Fair Love rest thee here,  
Never yet was morn so clear,  
Sweet be not unkind,  
Let me thy favour find,  
Or else for love I die.  
Hark this pretty bubbling spring,  
How it makes the Meadows ring,  
Love now stand my friend,  
here let all sorrow end,  
And I will honour thee.  
See where little Cupid lies,  
Looking babies in her eyes.  
Cupid help me now,  
Lend to me thy bow,  
to wound her that wounded me.  
here is none to see or tell,  
All our flocks are feeding by,  
This bank with Roses spread,  
Oh it is a dainty bed,  
fit for my Love and me.   

Hark the birds in yonder Groave,  
How they chant unto my Love,  
Love be kind to me,  
As I have been to thee,  
for thou hast won my heart.  
Calm winds blow you fair,  
Rock her thou sweet gentle air,  
O the morn is noon,  
The evening comes too soon,  
to part my Love and me.  
The Roses and thy lips do meet,  
Oh that life were half so sweet,  
Who would respect his breath,  
That might die such a death,  
oh that life thus might die.  
All the bushes that be near,  
With sweet Nightingales beset,  
Hush sweet and be still,  
Let them sing their fill,  
there's none our joys to let.  
Sun why dost thou go so fast?  
Oh why dost thou make such haste?  
It is too early yet,  
So soon from joys to flit,  
why art thou so unkind?  
See my little Lambkins run,  
Look on them till I have done,  
Hast not on the night,  
To rob me of her sight,  
that live but by her eyes.  
Alas, sweet Love, we must depart,  
Hark, my dog begins to bark,  
Some body's coming near,  
They shall not find us here,  
for fear of being chid.  
Take my Garland and my Glove,  
Wear it for my sake my Love,  
To morrow on the green,  
Thou shalt be our shepherds Queen,  
crowned with Roses gay.   
Mich. Drayton.  
FINIS.   

¶ Alanius the Shepherd, his doleful Song, complaining of ismenia's cruelty.  

NO more (o cruel Nymph,) now hast thou prayed  
Enough in thy revenge, prove not thine ire  
On him that yields, the fault is now appayed  
Unto my cost: Now mollify thy dire  
Hardness, and breast of thine so much obdured:  
And now raise up (though lately it hath erred,)  
A poor repenting soul, that in the obscured  
Darkness of thy oblivion lies interred.  
For it falls not in that, that should commend thee:  
That such a Swain as I may once offend thee.   

If that the little Sheep with speed is flying  
From angry Shepherd (with his words afraid)  
And runneth here and there with fearful crying,  
And with great grief is from the flock estrayed:  
But when it now perceives that none doth follow,  
And all alone, so far estraying mourneth,  
Knowing what danger it is in, with hollow  
And fainting bleats, then fearful it returneth  
Unto the flock, meaning no more to leave it:  
Should it not be a just thing to receive it?   

Lift up those eyes (Ismenia) which so stately  
To view me, thou hast lifted up before me,  
That liberty, which was mine own but lately,  
Give me again, and to the same restore me:  
And that mild heart, so full of love and pity,  
Which thou didst yield to me, and ever owe me;  
Behold (my Nymph) I was not then so witty  
To know that sincere love that thou didst show me:  
Now woeful man, full well I know and rue it,  
Although it was too late before I knew it.   

How could it be (my enemy?) say, tell me,  
How thou (in greater fault and error being  
Then ever I was thought) shouldst thus repel me?  
And with new league and cruel title seeing  
Thy faith so pure and worthy to be changed?  
And what is that Ismenia, that doth bind it  
To love, whereas the same is most estranged,  
And where it is impossible to find it?  
But pardon me, if herein I abuse thee:  
Since that the cause thou gav'st me doth excuse me.   

But tell me now, what honour hast thou gained,  
Avenging such a fault by thee committed,  
And thereunto by thy occasion trained?  
What have I done, that I have not acquitted?  
Or what excess that is not amply paid,  
Or suffer more, that I have not endured?  
What cruel mind, what angry breast displayed,  
With savage heart, to fierceness so adjured?  
Would not such mortal grief make mild and tender:  
But that, which my fell Shepherdess doth render?   

Now as I have perceived well thy reasons,  
Which thou hast had, or hast yet to forget me,  
The pains, the griefs, the guilts of forced treasons,  
That I have done, wherein thou first didst set me:  
The passions, and thine ears and eyes refusing  
To pear and see me, meaning to undo me:  
Cam'st thou to know, or be but once perusing  
Th'unsought occasions, which thou gav'st unto me:  
Thou shouldst not have wherewith to more torment me:  
Nor I to pay the fault my rashness lent me.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Montana the Shepherd, his love to Aminta.  

I Serve Aminta, whiter than the snow,  
Straighter than Cedar, brighter than the glass:  
More fine in trip, than foot of running Roe,  
More pleasant than the field of flowering grass.  
More gladsome to my withering joys that fade:  
Than Winter's Sun, or summers cooling shade.   

Sweeter than swelling Grape of ripest wine,  
Softer than feathers of the fairest Swan:  
Smother than jet, more stately than the Pine,  
Fresher than Poplar, smaller than my span.  
Clearer than Phoebus' fiery pointed beam:  
Or Icy crust of Crystals frozen stream.   

Yet is she curster than the Bear by kind,  
And harder hearted than the aged Oak:  
More glib than Oil, more fickle than the wind,  
More stiff than steel, no sooner bend but broke.  
Lo thus my service is a lasting sore:  
Yet will I serve, although I die therefore.   
Shep. Tony.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds sorrow for his Phaebes disdain.  

OH Woods unto your walks my body hies,  
To lose the traitorous bonds of tiring Love,  
Where trees, where herbs, where flowers,  
Their native moisture pours  
From forth their tender stalks, to help mine eyes,  
Yet their united tears may nothing move.   

When I behold the fair adorned tree,  
Which lightnings force and Winter's frost resists,  
Than Daphne's ill betide,  
And Phoebus' lawless pride  
Enforce me say, even such my sorrows be:  
For self disdain in Phaebes heart consists.   

If I behold the flowers by morning tears  
Look lovely sweet: Ah then forlorn I cry  
Sweet showers for Memnon shed,  
All flowers by you are fed.  
Whereas my piteous plaint that still appears,  
Yields vigour to her scorns, and makes me die.   

When I regard the pretty glee-full bird,  
With tearful (yet delightful) notes complain:  
I yield a terror with my tears.  
And while her music wounds mine ears,  
Alas say I, when will my notes afford  
Such like remorse, who still beweep my pain?   

When I behold upon the leafless bow  
The hapless bird lament her loves depart:  
I draw her biding nigh,  
And sitting down I sigh,  
And sighing say: Alas, that birds avow  
A settled faith, yet Phoebe scorns my smart.   

Thus weary in my walk, and woeful too,  
I spend the day, forespent with daily grief:  
Each object of distress  
My sorrow doth express.  
I dote on that which doth my heart undo:  
And honour her that scorns to yield relief.   
Ignoto.  
FINIS.   

¶ Espilus and Therion, their contention in Song for the May-Ladie.  Espilus. 
TVne up my voice, a higher note I yield,  
To high conceit, the Song must needs need be high:  
More high than stars, more firm than flinty field  
Are all my thoughts, in which I live and die.  
Sweet soul to whom I vowed am a slave:  
Let not wild woods so great a treasure have.  Therion. 
The highest note comes oft from basest mind,  
As shallow Brooks do yield the greatest sound:  
Seek other thoughts thy life or death to find,  
Thy stars be fallen, ploughed is thy flinty ground.  
Sweet soul, let not a wretch that serveth Sheep,  
Among his Flock so sweet a treasure keep.  Espilus. 
Two thousand Sheep I have as white as milk,  
Though not so white as is thy lovely face:  
The pasture rich, the wool as soft as silk,  
All this I give, let me possess thy grace.  
But still take heed, lest thou thyself submit:  
To one that hath no wealth, and wants his wit.  Therion. 

Two thousand Deer in wildest woods I have,  
Them can I take, but you I cannot hold:  
He is not poor who can his freedom save,  
Bound but to you, no wealth but you I would.  
But take this beast, if beasts you fear to miss:  
For of his beasts the greatest beast he is.   

Both kneeling to her Majesty.   Espilus. 
judge you, to whom all beauty's force is lent:  Therion. 
judge you of love, to whom all love is bend.  
This Song was sung before the Queen's most excellent Majesty, in Wansted Garden: as a contentention between a Forester and a Shepherd for the May-Ladie. S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ Old Melibeus Song, courting his Nimph.  
love's Queen long waiting for her true-love,  
Slain by a Boar which he had chased,  
Left off her tears, and me embraced,  
She kissed me sweet, and called me new-love.  
With my silver hair she toyed,  
In my stayed looks she joyed.  
Boys (she said) breed beauties sorrow:  
Old men cheer it even and morrow.  
My face she named the seat of favour,  
All my defects her tongue defended,  
My shape she praised, but most commended.  
My breath more sweet than Balm in savour.  
Be old man with me delighted,  
Love for love shall be requited.  
With her toys at last she won me:  
Now she coys that hath undone me.  
M. F G.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Shepherd Sylvanus his Song.  

MY life (young Shepherdess) for thee  
Of needs to death must post:  
But yet my grief must stay with me,  
After my life is lost.   

The grievous ill, by Death that cured is,  
Continually hath remedy at hand:  
But not that torment that is like to this,  
That in slow time, and Fortune's means doth stand.   

And if this sorrow cannot be  
Ended with life (at most:)  
What then doth this thing profit me,  
A sorrow won or lost?   

Yet all is one to me, as now I try  
a flattering hope, or that that had not been yet:  
For if to day for want of it I die,  
Next day I do no less for having seen it.   

feign would I die, to end and free  
This grief, that kills me most:  
If that it might be lost with me,  
Or die when life is lost.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Coridon's Song.  

A Blithe and bonny Country-Lasse,  
heigh ho bonny-Lasse,  
Sat sighing on the tender grass,  
and weeping said: will none come woe me?  
A smicker Boy, a lither Swain,  
heigh ho a smicker Swain:  
That in his love was wanton fain,  
with smiling looks strait came unto her.   

When as the wanton Wench espied,  
heigh ho when she espied,  
The means to make herself a Bride,  
she simpred smooth like bonnie-bell:  
The Swain that saw her squint-eyed kind,  
heigh ho squint-eyed kind,  
His arms about her body twined  
and said, Fair Lass, how fare ye, well?   

The Country-Kit said, well forsooth,  
heigh ho well forsooth,  
But that I have a longing tooth,  
a longing tooth that makes me cry:  
Alas (said he) what garres thy grief,  
heigh ho what garres thy grief?  
A wound (quoth she) without relief,  
I fear a maid that I shall die.   

If that be all, the Shepherd said,  
heigh ho the Shepherd said,  
I'll make thee wive it gentle Maid,  
and so recure thy malady:  
Hereon they kissed with many an oath,  
heigh ho many an oath,  
And fore God Pan did plight their troth,  
so to the Church apace they hie.   

And God send every pretty peat,  
heigh ho the pretty peat,  
That fears to die of this conceit,  
so kind a friend to help at last:  
Then Maids shall never long again,  
heigh ho to long again,  
When they find ease for such a pain,  
thus my Roundelay is past.   
Thom. Lodge.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds Sonnet.  
MY fairest Ganymede disdain me not,  
Though silly Shepherd I, presume to love thee,  
Though my harsh Songs and Sonnets cannot move thee:  
Yet to thy beauty is my love no blot:  
Apollo, jove, and many Gods beside  
S'dained not the name of Country shepherds Swains,  
Nor want we pleasures, though we take some pains.  
We live contentedly: A thing called pride  
Which so corrupts the Court and every place,  
(Each place I mean where learning is neglected,  
And yet of late, even learning's self's infected,)  
I know not what it means in any case.  
We only (when Molorchus 'gins to peep,  
Learn for to fold, and to unfold our Sheep.  
Rich. Barnefielde.  
FINIS.   

¶ Seluagia and Silvanus, their Song to Diana.  Sel. 
I See thee jolly Shepherd merry,  
And firm thy faith, and sound as a berry.  Sil. 
Love gave me joy, and Fortune gave it,  
As my desire could wish to have it.  Sel. 
What didst thou wish, tell me (sweet Lover,)  
Whereby thou mightst such joy recover?  Sil. 
To love where love should be inspired:  
Since there's no more to be desired.  Sel. 
In this great glory, and great gladness,  
Think'st thou to have no touch of sadness?  Sil. 
Good Fortune gave me not such glory:  
To mock my Love, or make me sorry.  Sel. 
If my firm love I were denying,  
Tell me, with sighs wouldst thou be dying?  Sil. 
Those words (in jest) to hear thee speaking:  
For very grief this heart is breaking.  Sel. 
Yet wouldst thou change, I prithee tell me,  
In seeing one that did excel me?  Sil. 
O no, for how can I aspire,  
To more, then to mine own desire?  Sel. 
Such great affection dost thou bear me:  
As by thy words thou seem'st to swear me?  Sil. 
Of thy deserts, to which a debtor  
I am, thou mayst demand this better.  Sel. 
Sometimes me thinks, that I should swear it,  
Sometimes me thinks, thou shouldst not bear it.  Sil. 
Only in this my hap doth grieve me,  
And my desire, not to believe me.  Sel. 
Imagine that thou dost not love mine,  
But some brave beauty that's above mine.  Sil. 
To such a thing (sweet) do not will me:  
Where feigning of the same doth kill me.  Sel. 
I see thy firmness gentle Lover,  
More than my beauty can discover.  Sil. 
And my good fortune to be higher  
Than my desert, but not desire.  
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Montanus his Madrigal.  

IT was a valley gaudy green,  
Where Diana at the Fount was seen,  
Green it was,  
And did pass  
All other of Diana's bowers,  
In the pride of Flora's flowers.   

A Fount it was that no Sun sees,  
Circled in with Cipres trees,  
Set so nigh,  
As Phoebus' eye  
Could not do the Virgin's scathe,  
To see them naked when they bathe.   

She sat there all in white,  
Colour fitting her delight,  
Virgins so  
Ought to go:  
For white in armory is placed  
To be the colour that is chaste.   

Her taffeta Cassock you might see,  
Tucked up above her knee,  
Which did show  
There below  
Legs as white as Whale's bone,  
So white and chaste was never none.   

Hard by her upon the ground,  
Sat her Virgins in a round,  
Bathing their  
Golden hair,  
And singing all in notes high:  
Fie on Venus' flattering eye.   

Fie on Love, it is a toy,  
Cupid witless, and a boy,  
All his fires,  
And desires,  
Are plagues that God sent from on high:  
To pester men with misery.   

As thus the Virgins did disdain  
lovers joy and lovers pain,  
Cupid nigh  
Did espy  
Grieving at Diana's Song,  
Slily stole these Maids among.   

His bow of steel, darts of fire,  
He shot amongst them sweet desire,  
Which strait flies  
In their eyes,  
And at the entrance made them start,  
For it ran from eye to heart.   

Calisto strait supposed love,  
Was fair and frollique for to love.  
Diana she,  
Scaped not free,  
For well I wot hereupon,  
She loved the Swain Endymion.   

Clitia, Phoebus, and Chloris eye  
Thought none so fair as Mercury.  
Venus thus  
Did discuss  
By her Son in darts of fire:  
None so chaste to check desire.   

Diana rose with all her Maids,  
Blushing thus at Loves braides,  
With sighs all  
Show their thrall,  
And flinging thence, pronounced this saw:  
What so strong as loves sweet law?   
Ro. Greene..  
FINIS.   

¶ Astrophil to Stella, his third Song.  

IF Orpheus voice had force to breath such music's love  
Through pores of senseless trees, as it could make them move:  
If stones good measure danced, the Theban walls to build  
To cadence of the tunes, which Amphyons Lyre did yield:  
More cause a like effect at leastwise bringeth,  
O stones, o trees, learn hearing, Stella singeth.   

If Love might sweet'n so a boy of shepherds brood,  
To make a ●yzard dull to taste loves dainty food:  
If Eagle fierce could so in Grecian Maid delight,  
As his light was her eyes, her death his endless night:  
Earth gave that Love, heaven I trow Love defineth,  
O beasts, o birds, look, Love, lo, Stella shineth.   

The birds, stones, and trees feel this; and feeling Love,  
And if the trees, nor stones stir not the same to prove:  
Nor beasts, nor birds do come unto this blessed gaze,  
Know, that small Love is quick, and great Love doth amaze.  
They are amazed, but you with reason armed,  
O eyes, o ears of men, how are you charmed?   
S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ A Song between Syrenus and Sylvanus.  Syrenus. 
WHo hath of Cupid's cates and dainties prayed,  
May feed his stomach with them at his pleasure:  
If in his drink some ease he hath assayed,  
Then let him quench his thirsting without measure:  
And if his weapons pleasant in their manner,  
Let him embrace his standard and his banner.  
For being free from him, and quite exempted:  
joyful I am, and proud, and well contented.  Sylvanus.. 
Of Cupid's dainty cates who hath not prayed,  
May be deprived of them at his pleasure:  
If wormwood in his drink he hath assayed,  
Let him not quench his thirsting without measure:  
And if his weapons in their cruel manner,  
Let him abjure his standard and his banner:  
For I not free from him, and not exempted,  
joyful I am, and proud, and well contented.  Syrenus. 
love's so expert in giving many a trouble,  
That now I know not why he should be praised:  
He is so false, so changing, and so double,  
That with great reason he must be dispraised.  
Love in the end is such a jarring passion,  
That none should trust unto his peevish fashion,  
For of all mischief he's the only Master:  
And to my good a torment and disaster.  Sylvanus.. 
love's so expert in giving joy, not trouble,  
That now I know not but he should be praised:  
He is so true, so constant, never double,  
That in my mind he should not be dispraised.  
Love in the end is such a pleasing passion,  
That every one may trust unto his fashion.  
For of all good he is the only Master:  
And foe unto my harms, and my disaster.  Syrenus. 
Not in these sayings to be proved a liar,  
He knows that doth not love, nor is beloved:  
Now nights and days I rest, as I desire,  
After I had such grief from me removed.  
And cannot I be glad, since thus estranged,  
Myself from false Diana I have changed?  
Hence, hence, false Love, I will not entertain thee:  
Since to thy torments thou dost seek to train me.  Sylvanus.. 
Not in these saying to be proved a liar,  
He knows that loves, and is again beloved:  
Now nights and days I rest in sweet desire,  
After I had such happy fortune proved.  
And cannot I be glad, since not estranged,  
Myself into Seluagia I have changed?  
Come, come, good Love, and I will entertain thee:  
Since to thy sweet content thou seekest to train me.  
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Ceres Song in emulation of Cynthia.  

SWell Ceres now, for other Gods are shrinking,  
Pomona pineth,  
Fruitless her tree:  
Fair Phoebus shineth  
Only on me.  
Conceit doth make me smile whilst I am thinking,  
How every one doth read my story,  
How every bough on Ceres lowreth,  
'Cause heaven plenty on me poureth,  
And they in leaves do only glory,  
All other Gods of power bereaven,  
Ceres' only Queen of heaven.   

With robes and flowers let me be dressed,  
Cynthia that shineth  
Is not so clear:  
Cynthia declineth  
When I appear.  
Yet in this Isle she reigns as blessed,  
And every one at her doth wonder,  
And in my ears still fond fame whispers  
Cynthia shall be Ceres' Mistress,  
But first my Car shall rive in sunder.  
Help Phoebus help, my fall is sudden:  
Cynthia, Cynthia must be Sovereign.   
This Song was sung before her Majesty, at Bissam, the Lady russel's, in progress. The Author's name unknown to me.   

¶ A Pastoral Ode to an honourable friend.  
AS to the blooming prime,  
Bleak Winter being fled:  
From compass of the clime,  
Where Nature lay as dead,  
The Rivers dulled with time,  
The green leaves withered,  
Fresh Zephyri (the Western brethren) be:  
So th'honour of your favour is to me.  
For as the Plains revive,  
And put on youthful green:  
As plants begin to thrive,  
That disattired had been:  
And Arbours now alive,  
In former pomp are seen.  
So if my Spring had any flowers before:  
Your breaths Favonius hath increased the store.  
E. B.  
FINIS.   

¶ A Nymphs disdain of love.  

HEy down a down did Diana sing,  
amongst her Virgins sitting:  
Then love there is no vainer thing,  
for maidens most unfitting,  
And so think I, with a down down derry.   

When women knew no woe,  
but lived themselves to please:  
men's feigning guiles they did not know,  
the ground of their disease.  
Unborn was false suspect,  
no thought of jealousy:  
From wanton toys and fond affect,  
the Virgin's life was free.  
hay down a down did Diana sing, etc.   

At length men used charms,  
to which what Maids gave ear:  
Embracing gladly endless harms,  
anon enthralled were.  
Thus women welcomed woe,  
disguised in name of love:  
A jealous hell, a painted show,  
so shall they find that prove.   

hay down a down did Diana sing,  
amongst her Virgins sitting:  
Then love there is no vainer thing,  
for maidens most unfitting.  
And so think I, with a down down derry.   
Ignoto.  
FINIS.   

¶ Apollo's Lovesong for fair Daphne.  
MY heart and tongue were twins, at once conceived,  
The eldest was my heart, borne dumb by destiny:  
The last my tongue, of all sweet thoughts bereaved,  
Yet strung and tuned, to play heart's harmony.  
Both knit in one, and yet asunder placed.  
What heart would speak, the tongue doth still discover:  
What tongue doth speak, is of the heart embraced,  
And both are one, to make a newfound Lover.  
Newfound, and only found in Gods and Kings,  
Whose words are deeds, but deeds nor words regarded:  
chaste thoughts do mount, and fly with swiftest wings,  
My love with pain, my pain with loss rewarded.  
Engrave upon this tree Daphne's perfection:  
That neither men nor Gods can force affection.  
This Ditty was sung before her Majesty, at the right honourable the Lord Chandos, at Sudley Castle, at her last being there in progress. The Author thereof unknown.   

¶ The Shepherd Delicius his Ditty.  

Never a greater foe did Love disdain,  
Or trod on grass so gay,  
Nor Nymph green leaves with whiter hand hath rend,  
More golden hair the wind did never blow,  
Nor fairer Dame hath bound in white attire,  
Or hath in Lawn more gracious features tied,  
Then my sweet Enemy.   

Beauty and chastity one place refrain,  
In her bear equal sway:  
Filling the world with wonder and content.  
But they do give me pain and double woe,  
Since love and beauty kindled my desire,  
And cruel chastity from me denied  
All sense of jollity.   

There is no Rose, nor Lily after rain,  
Nor flower in month of May,  
Nor pleasant mead, nor green in Summer sent,  
That seeing them, my mind delighteth so,  
As fair flower which all the heavens admire,  
Spending my thoughts on her, in whom abide  
All grace and gifts on high.   

Me thinks my heavenly Nymph I see again  
Her neck and breast display:  
Seeing the whitest Ermine to frequent  
Some plain, or flowers that make the fairest show.  
O Gods, I never yet beheld her nigher,  
Or far, in shade, or Sun, that satisfied  
I was in passing by.   

The Mead, the Mount, the River, Wood, and Plain,  
With all their brave array,  
Yield not such sweet, as that fair face that's bend  
Sorrows and joy in each soul to bestow  
In equal parts, procured by amorous fire  
Beauty and Love in her their force have tried,  
to blind each human eye.   

Each wicked mind and will, which wicked vice doth stain,  
her virtues break and stay▪  
All airs infect by air are purged and spent,  
Though of a great foundation they, did grow.  
O body, that so brave a soul dost hire,  
And blessed soul, whose virtues ever pried  
above the starry sky.   

Only for her my life in joys I train  
my soul sings many a Lay:  
Musing on her, new Seas I do invent  
Of sovereign joy, wherein with pride I row.  
The deserts for her sake I do require,  
For without her, the Springs of joy are dried  
and that I do defy.   

Sweet Fate, that to a noble deed dost strain,  
and lift my heart to day:  
Sealing her there with glorious ornament,  
Sweet scale, sweet grief, and sweetest overthrow.  
Sweet miracle, whose fame cannot expire,  
Sweet wound, and golden shaft, that so espied  
such heavenly company  
Of beauty's graces in sweet virtues died,  
As like were never in such years descried.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Amintas for his Phillis.  

AVrora now began to rise again,  
From watery couch, and from old Tithon's side:  
In hope to kiss upon Acteian plain,  
Young Shafalus, and through the golden glide  
On Eastern coast he cast so great a light,  
That Phoebus thought it time to make retire  
From Thetis bower, wherein he spent the night,  
To light the world again with heavenly fire.   

No sooner 'gan his winged Steeds to chase  
The Stygian night, mantled with dusky vale:  
But poor Amintas hasteth him a pace,  
In deserts thus, to weep a woeful tale.  
You silent shades, and all that dwell therein,  
As birds, or beasts, or worms that creep on ground:  
Dispose yourselves to tears, while I begin  
To rue the grief of mine eternal wound.   

And doleful ghosts, whose nature flies the light,  
Come seat yourselves with me on every side:  
And while I die for want of my delight,  
Lament the woes through fancy me betide.  
Phillis is dead, the mark of my desire,  
My cause of love, and shipwreck of my joys,  
Phillis is gone that set my heart on fire,  
That clad my thoughts with ruinous annoys.   

Phillis is fled, and bides I wot not where,  
Phillis (alas) the praise of womankind:  
Phillis the Sun of this our Hemisphere,  
Whose beams made me, and many others blind.  
But blinded me (poor Swain) above the rest,  
That like old Oedipus I live in thrall:  
Still feel the worst, and never hope the best,  
My mirth in moan, and honey drowned in gall.   

Her fair, but cruel eyes, bewitched my sight,  
Her sweet, but fading speech enthralled my thought:  
And in her deeds I reaped such delight,  
As brought both will and liberty to nought.  
Therefore all hope of happiness adieu,  
Adieu desire the source of all my care:  
Despare tells me, my weal will near renew,  
Till thus my soul doth pass in Charon's Crare.   

Mean time my mind must suffer Fortune's scorn,  
My thoughts still wound, like wounds that still are green:  
My weakened limbs be laid on beds of thorn,  
My life decays, although my death's foreseen.  
Mine eyes, now eyes no more, but Seas of tears,  
Weep on your fill, to cool my burning breast:  
Where love did place desire, twixt hope and fears,  
(I say) desire, the Author of unrest.   

And would to God, Phillis where ere thou be,  
Thy soul did see the sour of mine estate:  
My joys eclipsed, for only want of thee  
My being with myself at foul debate.  
My humble vows, my sufferance of woe,  
My sobs and sighs, and ever-watching eyes:  
My plaintive tears, my wandering to and fro,  
My will to die, my never-ceasing cries.   

No doubt but then these sorrows would persuade,  
The doom of death, to cut my vital twist:  
That I with thee amidst th'infernal shade,  
And thou with me might sport us as we list.  
Oh if thou wait on fair Proserpina's train,  
And hearest Orpheus near th'elysian springs:  
Entreat thy Queen to free thee thence again,  
And let the Thracian guide thee with his strings.   
Tho. Watson.  
FINIS.   

¶ Faustus and Firmius sing to their Nymph by turns.  Firmius. 
OF mine own self I do complain,  
And not for loving thee so much,  
But that in deed thy power is such:  
That my true love it doth restrain,  
And only this doth give me pain,  
For fain I would  
Love her more, if that I could.  Faustus. 
Thou dost observe▪ who doth not see,  
To be beloved a great deal more:  
But yet thou shalt not find such store▪  
Of love in others as in me:  
For all I have I give to thee.  
Yet fain I would  
Love thee more, if that I could.  Firmius. 
O try no other Shepherd Swain,  
And care not other loves to prove,  
Who though they give thee all their love:  
Thou canst not such as mine obtain.  
And wouldst thou have in love more gain?  
O yet I would  
Love thee more, if that I could.  Faustus. 
Impossible it is (my friend)  
That any one should me excel  
In love, whose love I will refel,  
If that with me he will contend:  
My love no equal hath, nor end.  
And yet I would  
Love her more, if that I could▪  Firmius. 
Behold how Love my soul hath charmed,  
Since first thy beauties I did see,  
(Which is but little yet to me,)  
My freest senses I have harmed  
(To love thee) leaving them unarmed:  
And yet I would  
Love thee more, if that I could.  Faustus. 
I ever gave, and give thee still  
Such store of love, as Love hath lent me:  
And therefore well thou mayst content thee,  
That Love doth so enrich my fill:  
But now behold my chiefest will,  
That fain I would  
Love thee more, if that I could.  
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Sireno a Shepherd, having a lock of his fair nymphs hair, wrapped about with green silk, mourns thus in a Love-dittie.  

WHat changes here, o hair,  
I see since I saw you?  
How ill fits you this green to wear,  
For hope the colour due?  
In deed I well did hope,  
Though hope were mixed with fear:  
No other Shepherd should have scope  
Once to approach this hear.   

Ah hair, how many days,  
My Diana made me show,  
With thousand pretty childish plays,  
If I ware you or no?  
Alas, how oft with tears,  
(Oh tears of guileful breast:)  
She seemed full of jealous fears,  
Whereat I did but jest?   

Tell me o hair of gold,  
If I then faulty be:  
That trust those kill eyes I would,  
Since they did warrant me?  
Have you not seen her mood,  
What streams of tears she spent:  
Till that I swore my faith so stood,  
As her words had it bend?   

Who hath such beauty seen,  
In one that changeth so?  
Or where one loves, so constant been,  
Who ever saw such woe?  
Ah hairs, you are not grieved,  
To come from whence you be:  
Seeing how once you saw I lived,  
To see me as you see.   

On sandy bank of late,  
I saw this woman sit:  
Where, Sooner die then change my state,  
She with her finger writ.  
Thus my belief was stayed,  
Behold Loves mighty hand  
On things, were by a woman said,  
And written in the sand.   
Translated by S. Phil. Sidney, out of Diana of Montmaior.   

¶ A Song between Taurisius and Diana, answering verse for verse.  Taurisius. 
THe cause why that thou dost deny  
To look on me, sweet foe impart?  Diana. 
Because that doth not please the eye.  
Which doth offend and grieve the heart.  Taurisius. 
What woman is, or ever was,  
That when she looketh, could be moved▪  Diana. 
She that resolves her life to pass,  
Neither to love, nor to be loved.  Taurisius. 
There is no heart so fierce and hard.  
That can so much torment a soul:  Diana. 
Nor Shepherd of so small regard,  
That reason will so much control.  Taurisius. 
How falls it out Love doth not kill  
Thy cruelty with some remorse?  Diana. 
Because that Love is but a will,  
And free-will doth admit no force.  Taurisius. 
Behold what reason now thou hast,  
To remedy my loving smart:  Diana. 
The very same binds me as fast,  
To keep such danger from my heart.  Taurisius. 
Why dost thou thus torment my mind,  
And to what end thy beauty keep?  Diana. 
Because thou call'st me still unkind,  
And pitiless when thou dost weep.  Taurisius. 
Is it because thy cruelty  
In killing me doth never end?  Diana. 
Nay, for because I mean thereby,  
My heart from sorrow to defend.  Taurisius. 
Be bold so foul I am no way  
As thou dost think, fair Shepherdess:  Diana. 
With this content thee, that I say,  
That I believe the same no less.  Taurisius. 
What, after giving me such store▪  
Of passions, dost thou mock me too?  Diana. 
If answers thou wilt any more.  
Go seek them without more ado.  
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Another Song before her Majesty at Oxford, sung by a comely Shepherd, attended on by sundry other Shepherds and Nymphs.  
Herbs, words, and stones, all maladies have cured,  
Herbs, words, and stones, I used when loved:  
Herbs smells, words wind, stones hardness have procured,  
By stones, nor words, nor herbs her mind was moved.  
I asked the cause: this was a woman's reason,  
'mongst herbs are weeds, and thereby are refused:  
Deceit as well as truth speaks words in season,  
False stones by foils have many one abused.  
I sighed, and then she said, my fancy smoked,  
I gazed, she said, my looks were follies glancing:  
I sounded dead, she said, my love was choked,  
I started up, she said, my thoughts were dancing.  
Oh sacred Love, if thou have any Godhead:  
Teach other rules to win a maidenhead.  
Anonymous.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds Song: a Carol or Hymn for Christmas.  

Sweet Music, sweeter far  
Than any Song is sweet:  
Sweet Music heavenly rare,  
Mine ears (o peers) doth greet.  
You gentle flocks, whose fleeces pearled with dew,  
Resemble heaven, whom golden drops make bright:  
Listen, o listen, now, o not to you  
Our pipes make sport to shorten weary night,  
But voices most divine,  
Make blissful Harmony:  
Voices that seem to shine,  
For what else clears the sky?  
Tunes can we hear, but not the Singers see:  
The tunes divine, and so the Singers be.   

Lo how the firmament,  
Within an azure fold:  
The flock of stars hath penned,  
That we might them behold.  
Yet from their beams proceedeth not this light,  
Nor can their Crystals such reflection give:  
What then doth make the Element so bright?  
The heavens are come down upon earth to live.  
But hearken to the Song,  
Glory to glories King:  
And peace all men among,  
These choristers do sing.  
Angels they are, as also (Shepherds) he,  
Whom in our fear we do admire to see.   

Let not amazement blind  
Your souls (said he) annoy:  
To you and all mankind,  
My message bringeth joy.  
For lo the world's great Shepherd now is borne  
A blessed Babe, an Infant full of power:  
After long night, uprisen is the morn,  
Renowning Bethlem in the Saviour.  
Sprung is the perfect day,  
By Prophets seen a far:  
Sprung is the mirthful May,  
Which Winter cannot mar.  
In David's City doth this Sun appear:  
Clouded in flesh, yet Shepherds sit we here.   
E. B.  
FINIS.   

¶ Arsileus his Carol, for joy of the new marriage, between Syrenus and Diana.  

LEt now each Mead with flowers be depainted,  
Of sundry colours sweetest odours glowing:  
Roses yield forth your smells so finely tainted,  
Calm winds the green leaves move with gentle blowing,  
The Crystal Rivers flowing  
With waters be increased:  
And since each one from sorrow now hath ceased▪  
From mournful plaints and sadness.  
Ring forth fair Nymphs your joyful Songs for gladness.   

Let Springs and Meads all kind of sorrow banish,  
And mournful hearts the tears that they are bleeding:  
Let gloomy clouds with shining morning vanish,  
Let every bird rejoice that now is breeding.  
And since by new proceeding,  
With marriage now obtained,  
A great content by great contempt is gained,  
And you devoid of sadness,  
Ring forth fair Nymphs your joyful Songs for gladness.   

Who can make us to change our firm desires,  
And soul to leave her strong determination,  
And make us freeze in Ice, and melt in fires,  
And nicest hearts to love with emulation,  
Who rids us from vexation,  
And all our minds commandeth?  
But great Felicia, that his might withstandeth,  
That filled our hearts with sadness,  
Ring forth fair Nymphs your joyful Songs for gladness.   

Your fields with their distilling favours cumber  
(Bridegroom and happy Bride) each heavenly power  
Your flocks, with double Lambs increased in number,  
May never taste unsavoury grass and sour.  
The Winter's frost and shower  
Your Kids (your pretty pleasure)  
May never hurt, and blest with so much treasure,  
To drive away all sadness:  
Ring forth fair Nymphs your joyful Songs for gladness.   

Of that sweet joy delight you with such measure,  
Between you both fair issue to engender:  
Longer than Nestor may you live in pleasure,  
The Gods to you such sweet content surrender,  
That may make mild and tender,  
The beasts in every mountain,  
And glad the fields, and woods, and every Fountain,  
abjuring former sadness,  
Ring forth fair Nymphs your joyful Songs for gladness.   

Let amorous birds with sweetest notes delight you,  
Let gentle winds refresh you with their blowing:  
Let fields and Forests with their good requite you,  
And Flora deck the ground where you are going.  
Roses and Violets strowing,  
The jasmine and the Gillyflower,  
With many more, and never in your bower,  
To taste of household sadness:  
Ring forth fair Nymphs your joyful Songs for gladness.   

Concord and peace hold you for aye contented,  
And in your joyful state live you so quiet:  
That with the plague of jealousy tormented  
You may not be, nor fed with Fortune's diet.  
And that your names may fly yet,  
To hills unknown with glory.  
But now because my breast so hoarse, and sorry  
It faints, may rest from singing:  
End Nymphs your Songs, that in the clouds are ringing.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Philistus farewell to false Clorinda.  
CLorinda false adieu, thy love torments me:  
Let Thirsis have thy heart, since he contents thee.  
Oh grief and bitter anguish,  
For thee I languish,  
Feign I (alas) would hide it,  
Oh, but who can abide it?  
I can, I cannot I abide it.  
Adieu, adieu then,  
Farewell,  
Leave my death now desiring:  
For thou hast thy requiring.  
Thus spoke Philistus, on his hook relying:  
And sweetly ●ell a dying.  
Out of M. morley's Madrigals.  
FINIS.   

¶ Rosalindes Madrigal.  

Love in my bosom like a Bee,  
doth suck his sweet:  
Now with his wings he plays with me,  
now with his feet.  
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,  
His bed amidst my tender breast,  
My kisses are his daily feast,  
And yet he robs me of my rest.  
Ah wanton will ye?   

And if I sleep, then pierceth he,  
with pretty slight:  
And makes his pillow of my knee,  
the livelong night.  
Strike I my Lute, he tunes the string,  
He music plays if I but sing,  
He lends me every lovely thing,  
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting.  
Whist wanton, still ye.   

Else I with Roses every day  
will whip ye hence:  
And bind ye when ye long to play,  
for your offence.  
I'll shut mine eyes to keep ye in,  
I'll make you fast it for your sin,  
I'll count your power not worth a pin.  
Alas, what hereby shall I win  
If he gainsay me?   

What if I beat the wanton boy  
with many a rod?  
He will repay me with annoy,  
because a God.  
Then sit thou safely on my knee,  
And let thy bower my bosom be:  
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee.  
O Cupid, so thou pity me,  
Spare not, but play thee.   
Thom. Lodge.  
FINIS.   

¶ A Dialogue Song between Sylvanus and Arsilius.  Syl. 
Shepherd, why dost thou hold thy peace?  
Sing, and thy joy to us report:  Arsil. 
My joy good Shepherd) should be less,  
If it were told in any sort.  Syl. 
Though such great favours thou dost win,  
Yet deign thereof to tell some part:  Arsil. 
The hardest thing is to begin,  
In enterprises of such Art.  Syl. 
Come make an end, no cause omit,  
Of all the joys that thou art in:  Arsil. 
How should I make an end of it,  
That am not able to begin?  Syl. 
It is not just, we should consent,  
That thou shouldst not thy joys recite:  Arsil. 
The soul that felt the punishment,  
Doth only feel this great delight.  Syl. 
That joy is small, and nothing fine,  
That is not told abroad to many:  Arsil. 
If it be such a joy as mine,  
It never can never be told to any.  Syl. 
How can this heart of thine contain  
A joy, that is of such great force?  Arsil. 
I have it, where I did retain  
My passions of so great remorse.  Syl. 
So great and rare a joy is this,  
No man is able to withhold:  Arsil. 
But greater that a pleasure is,  
The less it may with words be told.  Syl. 
Yet have I heard thee heretofore,  
Thy joys in open Songs report:  Arsil. 
I said, I had of joy some store,  
But not how much, nor in what sort.  Syl. 
Yet when a joy is in excess,  
Itself it will oft-times unfold:  Arsil. 
Nay, such a joy would be the less,  
If but a word thereof were told.  
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Montanus Sonnet.  
WHen the dog  
Full of rage  
With his ireful eyes  
Frowns amidst the skies:  
The Shepherd to assuage  
The fury of the heat,  
Himself doth safely seat  
By a Fount  
Full of fair,  
Where a gentle breath  
Mounting from beneath,  
tempereth the air.  
There his flocks  
Drink their fill,  
And with ease repose,  
While sweet sleep doth close  
Eyes from toiling ill,  
But I burn,  
Without rest,  
No defensive power  
Shields from Phoebus' lower,  
sorrow is my best.  
Gentle Love  
Lower no more,  
If thou wilt invade  
In the secret shade,  
Labour not so sore  
I myself  
And my flocks,  
They their Love to please,  
I myself to ease,  
Both leave the shady Oaks,  
Content to burn in fire,  
Sith Love doth so desire.  
S. E. D.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Nymph Seluagia her Song.  

Shepherd, who can pass such wrong,  
And a life in woes so deep?  
Which to live is to too long,  
As it is too short to weep.   

Grievous sighs in vain I wast,  
Losing my affiance, and  
I perceive my hope at last  
with a candle in the hand.   

What time then to hope among  
bitter hopes, that never sleep?  
When this life is to too long,  
as it is too short to weep.   

This grief which I feel so rife,  
(wretch) I do deserve as hire:  
Since I came to put my life  
in the hands of my desire.   

Then cease not my complaints so strong,  
for (though life her course doth keep:)  
It is not to live so long,  
as it is too short to weep.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Herdsman's happy life.  

WHat pleasure have great Princes,  
more dainty to their choice,  
Then herdmen wild, who careless,  
in quiet life rejoice?  
And Fortune's Fate not fearing,  
Sing sweet in Summer morning.   

Their dealings plain and rightful  
are void of all deceit:  
They never know how spiteful,  
it is to kneel and wait;  
On favourite presumptuous,  
Whose pride is vain and sumptuous.   

All day their flocks each tendeth,  
at night they take their rest:  
More quiet than who sendeth  
his ship into the East;  
Where gold and pearl are plenty,  
But getting very dainty.   

For Lawyers and their pleading,  
they'steeme it not a straw:  
They think that honest meaning,  
is of itself a law;  
Where conscience judgeth plainly,  
They spend no money vainly.   

Oh happy who thus liveth,  
not caring much for gold:  
With clothing which sufficeth,  
to keep him from the cold.  
Though poor and plain his diet:  
Yet merry it is and quiet.   
Out of M. Birds set Songs.  
FINIS.   

¶ Cynthia the Nymph, her Song to fair Polydora.  

near to the River banks, with green  
And pleasant trees on every side,  
Where freest minds would most have been,  
That never felt brave Cupid's pride,  
To pass the day and tedious hours:  
Amongst those painted meads and flowers.   

A certain Shepherd full of woe,  
Syrenus called, his flocks did feed:  
Not sorrowful in outward show,  
But troubled with such grief indeed,  
As cruel Love is wont t'impart  
Unto a painful loving heart.   

This Shepherd every day did die,  
For love he to Diana bore:  
A Shepherdess so fine perdie,  
So lively, young, and passing fair,  
Excelling more in beauty's feature:  
Then any other human creature.   

Who had not any thing, of all  
She had, but was extreme in her,  
For meanly wise none might her call,  
Nor meanly fair, for he did err  
If so he did: but should devise  
Her name of passing fair and wise.   

Favours on him she did bestow,  
Which if she had not, then be sure  
He might have suffered all that woe  
Which afterward he did endure  
When he was gone, with lesser pain:  
And at his coming home again.   

For when indeed the heart is free  
From suffering pain or torments smart:  
If wisdom doth not oversee  
And beareth not the greatest part;  
The smallest grief and care of mind:  
Doth make it captive to their kind.   

near to a River swift and great,  
That famous Ezla had to name:  
The careful Shepherd did repeat  
The ●eares he had by absence blame,  
Which he suspect where he did keep:  
And feed his gentle Lambs and Sheep.   

And now sometimes he did behold  
His Shepherdess, that there about  
Was on the mountains of that old  
And ancient Leon, seeking out  
From place to place the pastures best:  
Her Lambs to feed, herself to rest.   

And sometime musing, as he lay,  
When on those hills she was not seen:  
Was thinking of that happy day,  
When Cupid gave him such a Queen  
Of beauty, and such cause of joy:  
Wherein his mind he did employ.   

Yet said (poor man) when he did see  
Himself so sunk in sorrows pit:  
The good that Love hath given me,  
I only do imagine it,  
Because this nearest harm and trouble:  
Hereafter I should suffer double.   

The Sun for that it did decline,  
The careless man did not offend  
With fiery beams, which scarce did shine,  
But that which did of love depend,  
And in his heart did kindle fire:  
Of greater flames and hot desire.   

Him did his passions all invite,  
The green leaves blown with gentle wind:  
Crystalline streams with their delight,  
And Nightingales were not behind,  
To help him in his loving verse:  
Which to himself he did rehearse.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Shepherd to the flowers.  

Sweet Violets (loves Paradise) that spread  
Your gracious odours, which you couched bear  
Within your paly faces:  
Upon the gentle wing of some calme-breathing-winde  
That plays amidst the Plain,  
If by the favour of propitious stars you gain  
Such grace as in my Lady's bosom place to find:  
Be proud to touch those places.  
And when her warmth your moisture forth doth wear,  
Whereby her dainty parts are sweetly fed:  
Your honours of the flowery Meads I pray,  
You pretty daughters of the earth and Sun:  
With mild and seemly breathing strait display  
My bitter sighs, that have my heart undone.   

Vermilion Roses, that with new days rise  
Display your crimson folds fresh looking fair,  
Whose radiant bright, disgraces  
The rich adorned rays of roseate rising morn,  
Ah if h●● Virgin's hand.  
Do pluc●●●r pure, ere Phoebus view the land,  
And vail your gracious pomp in lovely Nature's scorn.  
If chance my Mistress traces  
Fast by your flowers to take the summers air:  
Then woeful blushing tempt her glorious eyes,  
To spread their tears, Adonis' death reporting,  
And tell loves torments, sorrowing for her friend:  
Whose drops of blood within your leaves consorting,  
Report fair Venus' moans to have no end.  
Then may remorse, in pitying of my smart:  
Dry up my tears, and dwell within her heart.   
Ignoto.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Shepherd Arsilius, his Song to his Rebeck.  
NOw Love and Fortune turn to me again,  
And now each one enforceth and assures  
A hope, that was dismayed, dead, and vain:  
And from the harbour of mishaps assures  
A heart that is consumed in burning fire,  
With unexpected gladness, that admires  
My soul to lay aside her mourning tire,  
And senses to prepare a place for joy,  
Care in oblivion endless shall expire.  
For every grief of that extreme annoy,  
Which when my torment reigned, my soul (alas)  
Did feel, the which long absence did destroy,  
Fortune so well appayes, that never was  
So great the torment of my passed ill:  
As is the joy of this same good I pass.  
Return my heart, sursaulted with the fill  
Of thousand great unrests, and thousand fears:  
Enjoy thy good estate, if that thou will,  
And wearied eyes, leave off your burning tears,  
For soon you shall behold her with delight,  
For whom my spoils with glory Cupid bears.  
Senses which seek my star so clear and bright,  
By making here and there your thoughts estray:  
Tell me, what will you feel before her sight?  
Hence solitariness, torments away,  
Felt for her sake, and wearied members cast  
Of all your pain, redeemed this happy day.  
O stay not time, but pass with speedy haste,  
And Fortune hinder not her coming now,  
O God, betides me yet this grief at last?  
Come my sweet Shepherdess, the life which thou  
(Perhaps) didst think was ended long ago,  
At thy command is ready still to bow.  
Comes not my Shepherdess desired so?  
O God, what if she's lost, or if she stray  
Within this wood, where trees so thick do grow?  
Or if this Nymph that lately went away,  
Perhaps forgot to go and seek her out:  
No, no, in (her) oblivion never lay.  
Thou only art my Shepherdess, about  
Whose thoughts my soul shall find her joy and rest▪  
Why com'st not then to assure it from doubt?  
O seest thou not the Sun pass to the West?  
And if it pass, and I behold thee not:  
Then I my wont torments will request  
And thou shalt wail my hard and heavy lot.  
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Another of Astrophil to his Stella.  
IN a Groave most rich of shade,  
Where birds wanton music made;  
May, then young, his pied weeds showing,  
New perfumed, with flowers fresh growing.  
Astrophil with Stella sweet,  
Did for mutual comfort meet  
Both within themselves oppressed,  
But each in the other blessed.  
Him great harms had taught much care,  
Her fair neck a foul yoke bare:  
But her sight his cares did banish,  
In his sight her yoke did vanish.  
Wept they had, alas the while.  
But now tears themselves did smile.  
While their eyes by Love directed,  
Enter changeably reflected.  
Sigh they did, but now betwixt,  
Sighs of woes, were glad sighs mixed,  
With arms crossed, yet testifying  
Restless rest, and living dying.  
Their ears hungry of each word,  
Which the dear tongue would afford,  
But their tongues restrained from walking,  
Till their hearts had ended talking.  
But when their tongues could not speak,  
Love itself did silence break,  
Love did set his lips asunder,  
Thus to speak in love and wonder.  
Stella, Sovereign of my joy,  
Fair triumpher of annoy,  
Stella, star of heavenly fire,  
Stella, Lodestar of desire.  
Stella, in whose shining eyes,  
Are the lights of Cupid's skies,  
Whose beams where they once are darted,  
Love therewith is strait imparted.  
Stella, whose voice when it speaks,  
Senses all asunder breaks.  
Stella, whose voice when it singeth.  
Angels to acquaintance bringeth.  
Stella, in whose body is  
Writ each Character of bliss,  
Whose face all, all beauty passeth,  
Save thy mind, which it surpasseth.  
Grant, o grant: but speech alas  
Fails me, fearing on to pass.  
Grant, o me, what am I saying?  
But no fault there is in praying.  
Grant (o dear) on knees I pray,  
(Knees on ground he then did stay)  
That not I, but since I love you,  
Time and place for me may move you.  
Never season was more fit,  
Never room more apt for it.  
Smiling air allows my reason,  
The birds sing, now use the season.  
This small wind, which so sweet is,  
See how it the leaves doth kiss,  
Each tree in his best attiring  
Sense of love to love inspiring.  
Love makes earth the water drink,  
Love to earth makes water sink:  
And if dumb things be so witty,  
Shall a heavenly grace want pity?  
There his hands in their speech, fain  
Would have made tongues language plain.  
But her hands, his hands repelling:  
Gave repulse, all grace excelling.  
Then she spoke; her speech was such,  
As not ears, but heart did touch:  
While such wise she love denied,  
As yet love she signified.  
Astrophil, said she, my Love,  
Cease in these effects to prove.  
Now be still, yet still believe me,  
Thy grief more than death doth grieve me.  
If that any thought in me,  
Can taste comfort but of thee,  
Let me feed with hellish anguish,  
joylesse, helpless, endless languish.  
If those eyes you praised, be  
Half so dear as you to me:  
Let me home return stark blinded  
Of those eyes, and blinder minded.  
If to secret of my heart  
I do any wish impart:  
Where thou art not foremost placed;  
Be both wish and I defaced.  
If more may be said, I say  
All my bliss on thee I lay.  
If thou love, my love content thee,  
For all love, all faith is meant thee.  
Trust me, while I thee deny,  
In myself the smart I try.  
Tyrant, honour doth thus use thee,  
stella's self might not refuse thee.  
Therefore (dear) this no more move,  
Lest, though I leave not thy love,  
Which too deep in me is framed:  
I should blush when thou art named.  
Therewithal, away she went,  
Leaving him to passion rend:  
With what she had done and spoken,  
That therewith my Song is broken.  
S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ Syrenus his Song to Diana's Flocks.  

PAssed contents,  
Oh what mean ye?  
Forsake me now, and do not weary me.  
Will't thou hear me o memory,  
My pleasant days, and nights again,  
I have appai'd with sevenfold pain.  
Thou hast no more to ask me why,  
For when I went, they all did die  
As thou dost see:  
O leave me then, and do not weary me.   

Green field, and shadowed valley, where  
Sometime my chiefest pleasure was,  
Behold what I did after pass.  
Then let me rest, and if I bear  
Not with good cause continual fear:  
Now do you see,  
O leave me then, and do not trouble me.   

I saw a heart changed of late,  
And wearied to assure mine:  
Then I was forced to recure mine  
By good occasion, time, and fate.  
My thoughts that now such passions hate  
O what mean ye?  
Forsake me now, and do not weary me.   

You Lambs and Sheep that in these Lays,  
Did sometime follow me so glad:  
The merry hours, and the sad  
Are passed now, with all those days.  
Make not such mirth and wunted plays  
As once did ye.  
For now no more, you have deceived me.   

If that to trouble me you come,  
Or come to comfort me in deed:  
I have no ill for comforts need.  
But if to kill me: Then (in some)  
Now my joys are dead and dumb,  
Full well may ye  
Kill me, and you shall make an end of me.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ To Amarillis.  

THough Amarillis dance in green,  
Like Fairy Queen,  
And sing full clear,  
With smiling cheer.  
Yet since her eyes make heart so sore,  
hay ho, I'll love no more.   

My Sheep are lost for want of food  
And I so wood  
That all the day:  
I sit and watch a Heard-mayde gay,  
Who laughs to see me sigh so sore:  
hay ho, I'll love no more.   

Her loving looks, her beauty bright,  
Is such delight,  
That all in vain:  
I love to like, and lose my gain,  
For her that thanks me not therefore,  
hay ho, I'll love no more.   

Ah wanton eyes, my friendly foes,  
And cause of woes,  
Your sweet desire  
Breeds flames of ice, and freeze in fire.  
You scorn to see me weep so sore:  
hay ho, I'll love no more.   

Love ye who list, I force him not,  
Sith God it wot  
The more I wail:  
The less my sighs and tears prevail.  
What shall I do, but say therefore,  
hay ho, I'll love no more?   
Out of M. Birds set Songs.  
FINIS.   

¶ Cardenia the Nymph, to her false Shepherd Faustus.  

Faustus', if thou wilt read from me  
These few and simple lines,  
By them most clearly thou shalt fee,  
How little should accounted be  
Thy feigned words and signs.  
For noting well thy deeds unkind,  
Shepherd, thou must not scan:  
That ever it came to my mind,  
To praise thy faith like to the wind,  
Or for a constant man.   

For this in thee shall so be found,  
As smoke blown in the air:  
Or like Quicksilver turning round,  
Or as a house built on the ground  
Of sands that do impair.  
To firmness thou art contrary,  
More slipp'rie than the Ecle:  
Changing as Weathercock on high,  
Or the Chameleon on the die,  
Or Fortunes turning wheel.   

Who would believe thou wert so free,  
To blaze me thus each hour?  
My Shepherdess, thou liv'st in me,  
My soul doth only dwell in thee,  
And every vital power.  
Pale Atropos my vital string  
Shall cut, and life offend:  
The streams shall first turn to their spring.  
The world shall end, and every thing,  
Before my love shall end.   

This love that thou didst promise me,  
Shepherd, where is it found?  
The word and faith I had of thee,  
O tell me now, where may they be,  
Or where may they resound?  
Too soon thou didst the title gain  
Of giver of vain words:  
Too soon my love thou didst obtain,  
Too soon thou lov'dst Diana in vain,  
That nought but scorns affords.   

But one thing now I will thee tell,  
That much thy patience moves:  
That though Diana doth excel  
In beauty, yet she keeps not well  
Her faith, nor loyal proves.  
Thou than hast chosen, each one saith,  
Thine equal, and a shrew:  
For if thou hast undone thy faith,  
Her Love and Lover she betrayeth,  
So like to like may go.   

If now this Sonnet which I send  
Will anger thee: Before  
Remember Faustus (yet my friend,)  
That if these speeches do offend,  
Thy deeds do hurt me more.  
Thus let each one of us amend,  
Thou deeds, I words so spent:  
For I confess I blame my pen,  
Do thou as much, so in the end,  
They deeds thou do repent.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Of Phillida.  
AS I beheld, I saw a herdman wild,  
with his sheephook a picture fine deface:  
Which he sometime his fancy to beguile,  
had carved on bark of Beech in secret place.  
And with despite of most afflicted mind,  
through deep despair of heart, for love dismayed:  
He pulled even from the tree the carved rind,  
and weeping sore, these woeful words he said.  
Ah Phillida, would God thy picture fair,  
I could as lightly blot out of my breast:  
Then should I not thus rage in deep despair,  
and tear the thing sometime I liked best.  
But all in vain, it booteth not God wot:  
What printed is in heart, on tree to blot.  
Out of M. Birds set Songs.  
FINIS.   

¶ Melisea her Song, in scorn of her Shepherd Narcissus.  

YOung Shepherd turn aside, and move  
Me not to follow thee:  
For I will neither kill with love,  
Nor love shall not kill me.   

Since I will live, and never show,  
Then die not, for my love I will not give  
For I will never have thee love me so,  
As I do mean to hate thee while I live.   

That since the lover so doth prove,  
His death, as thou dost see:  
Be bold I will not kill with love,  
Nor love shall not kill me.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ His answer to the nymphs Song.  

IF to be loved it thee offend,  
I cannot choose but love thee still:  
And so thy grief shall have no end,  
Whiles that my life maintains my will.   

O let me yet with grief complain,  
since such a torment I endure:  
Or else fulfil thy great disdain,  
to end my life with death most sure.  
For as no credit thou wilt lend,  
and as my love offends thee still:  
So shall thy sorrows have no end,  
whiles that my life maintains my will.   

If that by knowing thee, I could  
leave off to love thee as I do:  
Not to offend thee, than I would  
leave off to like and love thee too.  
But since all love to thee doth tend,  
and I of force must love thee still:  
Thy grief shall never have an end,  
whiles that my life maintains my will.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Her present answer again to him.  

ME thinks thou tak'st the worse way,  
(Enamoured Shepherd) and in vain  
That thou wilt seek thine own decay,  
To love her, that doth thee disdain.   

For thine own self, thy woeful heart  
Keep still, else art thou much to blame:  
For she to whom thou gav'st each part  
Of it, disdains to take the same.   

Follow not her that makes a play,  
And jest of all the grief and pains:  
And seek not (Shepherd) thy decay.  
To love her that thy love disdains.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ His last reply.  

SInce thou to me wert so unkind,  
Myself I never loved, for  
I could not love him in my mind,  
Whom thou (fair Mistress) dost abhor.   

If viewing thee, I saw thee not,  
And seeing thee, I could not love thee:  
Dying, I should not live (God wot)  
Nor living, should to anger move thee.   

But it is well that I do find  
My life so full of torments, for  
All kind of ills do fit his mind  
Whom thou (fair Mistress) dost abhor.   

In thy oblivion buried now  
My death I have before mine eyes:  
And here to hate myself I vow,  
As (cruel) thou dost me despise.   

Contented ever thou didst find  
Me with thy scorns, though never (for  
To say the truth) I joyed in mind,  
After thou didst my love abhor.   
Bar. Yong.  
FINIS.   

¶ Philon the Shepherd, his Song.  

WHile that the Sun with his beams hot,  
Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain:  
Philon the Shepherd late forgot,  
Sitting besides a Crystal Fountain:  
In shadow of a green Oak tree,  
Upon his Pipe this Song played he.  
Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,  
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love:  
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.   

So long as I was in young sight,  
I was as your heart, your soul, and treasure:  
And evermore you sobbed and sighed,  
Burning in flames beyond all measure.  
Three days endured your love to me:  
And it was lost in other three.  
Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue love. etc.   

Another Shepherd you did see,  
To whom your heart was soon enchained:  
Full soon your love was leapt from me,  
Full soon my place he had obtained.  
Soon came a third, your love to win:  
And we were out, and he was in.  
Adieu love. etc.   

Sure you have made me passing glad,  
That you your mind so soon removed:  
Before that I the leisure had,  
To choose you for my best beloved.  
For all my love was past and done:  
Two days before it was begun.  
Adieu love. etc.   
Out of M. Birds set Songs.  
FINIS.   

¶ Lycoris the Nymph, her sad Song.  
IN dew of Roses, steeping her lovely cheeks,  
Lycoris thus sat weeping.  
Ah Dorus false, that hast my heart bereft me,  
And now unkind hast left me.  
Hear alas, oh hear me,  
Ay me, aye me,  
Cannot my beauty move thee?  
Pity, yet pity me,  
Because I love thee.  
Ay me, thou scornest the more I pray thee:  
And this thou dost, and all to slay me.  
Why do then,  
Kill me, and vaunt thee:  
Yet my Ghost  
Still shall haunt thee.  
Out of M. morley's Madrigals.  
FINIS.   

¶ To his Flocks.  

BVrst forth my tears, assist my forward grief,  
And show what pain imperious love provokes  
Kind tender Lambs, lament Loves scant relief,  
And pine, since pensive care my freedom yokes,  
Oh pine, to see me pine, my tender Flocks.   

Sad pining care, that never may have peace,  
At Beauty's gate, in hope of pity knocks:  
But mercy sleeps, while deep disdains increase,  
And Beauty hope in her fair bosom yokes:  
Oh grieve to hear my grief, my tender Flocks.   

Like to the winds my sighs have winged been,  
Yet are my sighs and suits repaid with mocks:  
I plead, yet she repineth at my teen,  
O ruthless rigour, harder than the Rocks,  
That both the Shepherd kills, and his poor Flocks.   
FINIS.   

¶ To his love.  

COme away, come sweet Love,  
The golden morning breaks:  
All the earth, all the air,  
Of love and pleasure speaks.  
Teach thine arms then to embrace,  
And sweet Rosy lips to kiss:  
And mix our souls in mutual bliss.  
Eyes were made for beauty's grace,  
Viewing, ruing Loves long pain:  
Procured by beauties rude disdain.   

Come away, come sweet Love,  
The golden morning wastes:  
While the Sun from his Sphere  
His fiery arrows casts,  
Making all the shadows fly,  
Playing, staying in the Groave:  
To entertain the stealth of love.  
Thither sweet Love let us high  
Flying, dying in desire:  
Winged with sweet hopes and heavenly fire.   

Come away, come sweet Love,  
Do not in vain adjourn  
Beauty's grace that should rise  
Like to the naked morn.  
Lilies on the rivers side,  
And fair Cyprian flowers new blown,  
Desire no beauties but their own.  
Ornament is Nurse of pride,  
Pleasure, measure, loves delight:  
Hast then sweet Love our wished flight.   
FINIS.   

¶ Another of his Cynthia.  

AWay with these selfe-loving-lads,  
Whom Cupid's arrow never glads.  
Away poor souls that sigh and weep,  
In love of them that lie and sleep,  
For Cupid is a Meadow God:  
And forceth none to kiss the rod.   

God Cupid's shaft like destiny,  
Doth either good or ill decree.  
Desert is borne out of his bow,  
Reward upon his feet doth go.  
What fools are they that have not known,  
That Love likes no laws but his own?   

My songs they be of Cinthia's praise,  
I wear her Rings on Holly-dayes,  
On every Tree I write her name,  
And every day I read the same.  
Where Honour, Cupid's rival is:  
There miracles are seen of his.   

If Cynthia crave her ring of me,  
I blot her name out of the tree.  
If doubt do darken things held dear:  
Then welfare nothing once a year.  
For many run, but one must win:  
Fools only hedge the Cuckoo in.   

The worth that worthiness should move,  
Is love, which is the due of love.  
And love as well the Shepherd can,  
As can the mighty Noble man.  
Sweet Nymph 'tis true, you worthy be,  
Yet without love, nought worth to me.   
FINIS.   

¶ Another to his Cynthia.  

MY thoughts are winged with hopes, my hopes with love,  
Mount love unto the Moon in clearest night:  
And say, as she doth in the heavens move,  
On earth so wanes and waxeth my delight.  
And whisper this but softly in her ears:  
Hope oft doth hang the head, and trust shed tears.   

And you my thoughts that some mistrust do carry,  
If for mistrust my Mistress do you blame:  
Say, though you alter, yet you do not vary,  
As she doth change, and yet remain the same.  
Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect,  
And love is sweetest, seasoned with suspect.   

If she for this, with clouds do mask her eyes,  
And make the heavens dark with her disdain:  
With windy sighs disperse them in the skies,  
Or with thy tears dissolve them into rain.  
Thoughts, hopes, and love, return to me no more,  
Till Cynthia shine, is she hath done before.   
¶ These three ditties were taken out of Master john Dowlands book of tabulature for the Lute, the Authors names not there set down, & therefore left to their owners.  
FINIS.   

Montanus' Sonnet in the woods.  

ALas, how wander I amidst these woods,  
Whereas no day bright shine doth find access?  
But where the melancholy fleeting floods,  
(Dark as the night) my night of woes express,  
Disarmde of reason, spoiled of Nature's goods,  
Without redress to salve my heaviness  
I walk, whilst thought (too cruel to my harms,)  
With endless grief my heedless judgement charms.   

My silent tongue assailed by secret fear,  
My traitorous eyes imprisoned in their joy:  
My fatal peace devoured in feigned cheer,  
My heart enforced to harbour in annoy.  
My reason robbed of power by yielding care,  
My fond opinions, slave to every joy.  
Oh Love, thou guide in my uncertain way:  
Woe to thy bow, thy fire, the cause of my decay.   
S. E. D.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds sorrow, being disdained in love.  

Muses help me, sorrow swarmeth,  
Eyes are fraught with Seas of languish:  
Hapless hope my solace harmeth,  
Minds repast is bitter anguish.   

Eye of day regarded never,  
Certain trust in world untrusty:  
Flattering hope beguileth ever,  
Weary old, and wanton lusty.   

dawn of day beholds enthroned,  
Fortune's darling proud and dreadless:  
Darksome night doth hear him moaned,  
Who before was rich and needless.   

Rob the Sphere of lines united,  
Make a sudden void in nature:  
Force the day to be benighted,  
Reave the cause of time and creature.   

Ere the world will cease to vary,  
This I weep for, this I sorrow:  
Muses, if you please to tarry,  
Further help I mean to borrow.   

Courted once by Fortune's favour,  
Compassed now with envies curses:  
All my thoughts of sorrows savour,  
Hopes run fleeting like the Sources.   

Ay me, wanton scorn hath maimed  
All the joys my heart enjoyed:  
Thoughts their thinking have disclaimed,  
Hate my hopes have quite annoyed.   

Scant regard my weal hath scanted,  
Looking coy, hath forced my lowering:  
Nothing liked▪ where nothing wanted,  
Weds mine eyes to ceaseless showering.   

Former love was once admired,  
Present favour is estranged:  
Loathed the pleasure long desired,  
Thus both men and thoughts are changed.   

Lovely Swain with lucky speeding,  
Once, but now no more so friended:  
You my Flocks have had in feeding,  
From the morn, till day was ended.   

Drink and fodder, food and folding,  
Had my Lambs and Ewes together:  
I with them was still beholding,  
Both in warmth and Winter weather.   

Now they languish, since refused,  
Ewes and Lambs are pained with pining:  
I with Ewes and Lambs confused,  
All unto our deaths declining.   

Silence, leave thy Cave obscured,  
Deign a doleful Swain to tender:  
Though disdains I have endured.  
Yet I am no deep offender.   

Phillip's Son can with his finger  
Hide his scar, it is so little:  
Little sin a day to linger,  
Wise men wander in a tittle.   

Trifles yet my Swain have turned,  
Though my Sun he never showeth:  
Though I weep, I am not mourned,  
Though I want, no pity groweth.   

Yet for pity, love my Muses,  
Gentle silence be their cover:  
They must leave their wont uses,  
Since I leave to be a Lover.   

They shall live with thee enclosed,  
I will loathe my pen and paper:  
Art shall never be supposed,  
Sloth shall quench the watching Taper.   

Kiss them silence, kiss them kindly,  
Though I leave them, yet I love them:  
Though my wit have led them blindly,  
Yet a Swain did once approve them.   

I will travail soils removed,  
Night and morning never merry:  
Thou shalt harbour that I loved,  
I will love that makes me weary.   

If perchance the Shepherd strayeth,  
In thy walks and shades unhaunted:  
Tell the teen my heart betrayeth,  
How neglect my joys have daunted.   
Thom. Lodge.  
FINIS.   

¶ A Pastoral Song between Phillis and Amarillis, two Nymphs, each answering other line for line.  

FIe on the sleights that men devise,  
heigh ho silly sleights:  
When simple Maids they would entice,  
Maids are young men's chief delights.  
Nay, women they witch with their eyes,  
eyes like beams of burning Sun:  
And men once caught, they soon despise,  
so are Shepherds oft undone.   

If any young man win a maid,  
happy man is he:  
By trusting him she is betrayed,  
fie upon such treachery.  
If Maids win young men with their guiles,  
heigh ho guileful grief:  
They deal like weeping Crocodiles,  
that murder men without relief.   

I know a simple Country Hind,  
heigh ho silly Swain:  
To whom fair Daphne proved kind,  
was he not kind to her again?  
He vowed by Pan with many an oath,  
heigh ho Shepherds God is he:  
Yet since hath changed, and broke his troth,  
trothplight broke, will plagued be.   

She had deceived many a Swain,  
fie on false deceit:  
And plighted troth to them in vain,  
there can be no grief more great.  
Her measure was with measure paid,  
heigh ho, heigh ho equal meed:  
She was beguiled that had betrayed,  
so shall all deceivers speed.   

If every Maid were like to me,  
heigh ho hard of heart:  
Both love and lovers scorned should be,  
scorners shall be sure of smart.  
If every Maid were of my mind,  
heigh ho, heigh ho lovely sweet:  
They to their Lovers should prove kind,  
kindness is for Maidens meet.   

Me thinks love is an idle toy,  
heigh ho busy pain:  
Both wit and sense it doth annoy,  
both sense & wit thereby we gain.  
Tush Phillis cease, be not so coy,  
heigh ho, heigh ho coy disdain:  
I know you love a shepherds boy,  
fie that Maidens so should feign.   

Well Amarillis, now I yield,  
shepherds pipe aloud:  
Love conquers both in town and field,  
like a Tyrant, fierce and proud.  
The evening star is up ye see,  
Vesper shines, we must away:  
Would every Lover might agree,  
so we end our Roundelay.   
H. C.  
FINIS.   

The shepherds Anthem.  

near to a bank with Roses set about,  
Where pretty Turtles joining bill to bill:  
And gentle springs steal softly murmuring out,  
Washing the foot of pleasures sacred hill.  
There little Love sore wounded lies,  
his bow and arrows broken:  
Bedewde with tears from Venus' eyes,  
Oh that it should be spoken.   

Bear him my heart, slain with her scornful eye,  
Where sticks the arrow that poor heart did kill:  
With whose sharp pile, yet will him ere he die,  
About my heart to write his latest will.  
And bid him send it back to me,  
at instant of his dying:  
That cruel, cruel she may see,  
my faith and her denying.   

His Hearse shall be a mournful Cypress shade,  
And for a chantry, Philomel's sweet lay:  
Where prayer shall continually be made,  
By Pilgrim lovers, passing by that way.  
With Nymphs and Shepherds yearly moan,  
his timeless death beweeping:  
And telling that my heart alone,  
hath his last will in keeping.   
Mich. Drayton.  
FINIS.   

The Countess of Pembroke's Pastoral.  

A Shepherd and a Shepherdess,  
sat keeping sheep upon the downs:  
His looks did gentle blood express,  
her beauty was no food for clowns.  
Sweet lovely twain, what might you be?   

Two fronting hills bedecked with flowers,  
they chose to be each others seat:  
And there they stole their amorous hours,  
with sighs and tears, poor lovers meat,  
Fond Love that feedest thy servants so.   

Fair friend, quoth he, when shall I live,  
That am half dead, yet cannot die?  
Can beauty such sharp guerdon give,  
to him whose life hangs in your eye?  
Beauty is mild, and will not kill.   

Sweet Swain, quoth she, accuse not me,  
that long have been thy humble thrall:  
But blame the angry destiny,  
whose kind consent might finish all,  
Ungentle Fate, to cross true love.   

Quoth he, let not our Parents hate,  
disjoin what heaven hath linked in one:  
They may repent, and all too late  
if childless they be left alone.  
Father nor friend, should wrong true love.   

The Parents frown, said she, is death,  
to children that are held in awe:  
From them we drew our vital breath,  
they challenge duty then by law,  
Such duty as kills not true love.   

They have, quoth he, a kind of sway,  
on these our earthly bodies here:  
But with our souls deal not they may,  
the God of love doth hold them dear.  
He is most meet to rule true love.   

I know, said she, 'tis worse than hell,  
when Parents choice must please our eyes:  
Great hurt comes thereby, I can tell,  
forced love in desperate danger dies.  
Fair maid, then fancy thy true love.   

If we, quoth he, might see the hour,  
of that sweet state which never ends,  
Our heavenly gree might have the power,  
to make our Parents as dear friends.  
All rancour yields to sovereign love.   

Then God of love, said she, consent,  
and show some wonder of thy power:  
Our Parents, and our own content,  
may be confirmed by such an hour,  
Grant greatest God to further love.   

The Fathers, who did always tend,  
when thus they got their private walk,  
As happy fortune chanced to send,  
unknown to each, heard all this talk.  
Poor souls to be so crossed in love.   

Behind the hills whereon they sat,  
they lay this while and listened all:  
And were so moved both thereat,  
that hate in each began to fall.  
Such is the power of sacred love.   

They showed themselves in open sight,  
poor Lovers, Lord how they were amazed?  
And hand in hand the Father's plight,  
whereat (poor hearts) they gladly gazed.  
Hope now begins to further love.   

And to confirm a mutual band,  
of love, that at no time should cease:  
They likewise joined hand in hand,  
the Shepherd and the Shepherdess.  
Like fortune still befall true love.   
Shep. Tom.  
FINIS.   

Another of Astrophil.  

THe Nightingale so soon as April bringeth  
Unto her rested sense a perfect waking:  
While late bare earth, proud of new clothing springeth,  
Sings out her woes, a thorn her Song-booke making.  
And mournfully bewailing  
Her throat in tunes expresseth,  
What grief her breast oppresseth,  
For Tereus' force, on her chaste will prevailing.  
Oh Philamela fair, oh take some gladness,  
That here is juster cause of plaintfull sadness.  
Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth:  
Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.   

Alas, she hath no other cause of languish  
But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken:  
Wherein she suffering all her spirits languish,  
Full womanlike complains, her will was broken.  
But I, who daily craving,  
Cannot have to content me:  
Have more cause to lament me,  
Sith wanting is more woe, than too much having.  
Oh Philamela fair, oh take some gladness,  
That here is juster cause of plaintfull sadness,  
Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth:  
Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.   
S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ Fair Phillis and her Shepherd.  

Shepherd, saw you not  
my fair lovely Phillis,  
Walking on this mountain,  
or on yonder plain?  
She is gone this way to Diana's Fountain,  
and hath left me wounded,  
with her high disdain.  
Ay me, she is fair,  
And without compare,  
Sorrow come and sit with me:  
Love is full of fears,  
Love is full of tears,  
Love without these cannot be.  
Thus my passions pain me,  
For my love hath slain me,  
Gentle Shepherd bear a part:  
Pray to Cupid's mother,  
For I know no other  
that can help to ease my smart.   

Shepherd, I have seen  
thy fair lovely Phillis  
Where her flocks are feeding,  
by the rivers side:  
Oh, I must admire  
she so far exceeding  
In surpassing beauty,  
should surpass in pride.  
But alas I find,  
They are all unkind  
Beauty knows her power too well:  
When they list, they love,  
When they please, they move,  
thus they turn our heaven to hell.  
For their fair eyes glancing,  
Like to Cupid's dancing,  
roll about still to deceive us:  
With vain hopes deluding,  
Still dispraise concluding,  
Now they love, and now they leave us.   

Thus I do despair,  
have her I shall never,  
If she be so coy,  
lost is all my love:  
But she is so fair  
I must love her ever,  
All my pain is joy,  
which for her I prove.  
If I should her try,  
And she should deny  
heavy heart with woe will break:  
Though against my will,  
Tongue thou must be still,  
for she will not hear thee speak.  
Then with sighs go prove her,  
Let them show I love her,  
gracious Venus be my guide:  
But though I complain me,  
She will still disdain me,  
beauty is so full of pride.   

What though she be fair?  
speak, and fear not speeding,  
Be she near so coy,  
yet she may be won:  
Unto her repair,  
where her Flocks are feeding,  
Sat and tick and toy  
till set be the Sun.  
Sun then being set,  
Fear not Vulcan's net,  
though that Mars therein was caught:  
If she do deny  
Thus to her reply  
Venus laws she must be taught.  
Then with kisses move her,  
That's the way to prove her,  
thus thy Phillis must be won:  
She will not forsake thee,  
But her Love will make thee,  
When loves duty once is done.   

Happy shall I be,  
If she grant me favour,  
Else for love I die  
Phillis is so fair:  
Boldly then go see,  
thou mayst quickly have her,  
Though she should deny,  
yet do not despair.  
She is full of pride,  
Venus be my guide,  
help a silly shepherds speed:  
Use no such delay,  
Shepherd, go thy way,  
venture man and do the deed.  
I will sore complain me,  
Say that love hath slain thee,  
if her favours do not feed:  
But take no denial,  
Stand upon thy trial,  
spare to speak, and want of speed.   
I. G.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds Song of Venus and Adonis.  

Venus' fair did ride,  
silver Doves they drew her,  
By the pleasant lands  
ere the Sun did rise:  
Vesta's beauty rich  
opened wide to view her,  
Philomela records  
pleasing Harmonies.  
Every bird of spring  
cheerfully did sing,  
Paphos Goddess they salute:  
Now loves Queen so fair,  
had of mirth no care,  
for her Son had made her mute.  
In her breast so tender  
He a shaft did enter,  
when her eyes beheld a boy:  
Adonis was he named,  
By his Mother shamed,  
yet he now is Venus' joy.   

Him alone she met,  
ready bound for hunting,  
Him she kindly greets,  
and his journey stays:  
Him she seeks to kiss  
no devices wanting,  
Him her eyes still woo,  
him her tongue still prays.  
He with blushing red  
Hangeth down the head,  
not a kiss can he afford:  
His face is turned away,  
Silence said her nay,  
still she wooed him for a word.  
Speak she said thou fairest,  
Beauty thou impairest,  
see me, I am pale and wan:  
Lovers all adore me,  
I for love implore thee,  
crystal tears with that down ran.   

Him herewith she forced  
to come sit down by her,  
She his neck embrac'de  
gazing in his face:  
He like once transformed  
stirred no look to eye her  
Every herb did woo him  
growing in that place.  
Each bird with a ditty,  
prayed him for pity  
in behalf of beauty's Queen:  
Waters gentle mumur,  
craved him to love her,  
yet no liking could be seen.  
Boy she said, look on me,  
Still I gaze upon thee,  
speak I pray thee my delight:  
Coldly he replied,  
And in brief denied,  
to bestow on her a sight.   

I am now too young,  
to be won by beauty,  
Tender are my years  
I am yet a bud:  
Fair thou art, she said  
than it is thy duty,  
Wert thou but a blossom  
to effect my good.  
Every beauteous flower,  
boasteth in my power,  
Birds and beasts my laws effect:  
Myrrha thy fair mother,  
most of any other,  
did my lovely hests respect.  
Be with me delighted,  
Thou shalt be requited,  
every Nymph on thee shall tend:  
All the Gods shall love thee,  
Man shall not reprove thee,  
Love himself shall be thy friend.   

Wend thee from me Venus,  
I am not disposed,  
Thou wring'st me too hard,  
prithee let me go:  
Fie, what a pain it is  
thus to be enclosed,  
If love begin with labour,  
it will end in woe.  
kiss me, I will leave,  
here a kiss receive,  
a short kiss I do it find:  
Wilt thou leave me so?  
yet thou shalt not go,  
breath once more thy balmy wind.  
It smelleth of the Mirh-tree,  
That to the world did bring thee,  
never was perfume so sweet:  
When she had thus spoken,  
She gave him a token,  
and their naked bosoms meet.   

Now he said, let's go,  
hark, the hounds are crying,  
Grisly Boar is up,  
Huntsmen follow fast:  
At the name of Boar,  
Venus seemed dying,  
Deadly coloured pale,  
Roses overcast.  
Speak said she, no more,  
of following the Boar,  
thou unfit for such a chase:  
Course the fearful Hare,  
Venison do not spare,  
if thou wilt yield Venus' grace.  
eat the Boar I pray thee,  
Else I still will stay thee,  
herein he vowed to please her mind,  
Then her arms enlarged,  
Loath she him discharged,  
forth he went as swift as wind.   

Thetis Phoebus' Steeds  
in the West retained,  
Hunting sport was past,  
Love her love did seek:  
Sight of him too soon  
gentle Queen she gained,  
On the ground he lay  
blood had left his cheek.  
For an orped Swine,  
smit him in the groin,  
deadly wound his death did bring:  
Which when Venus found,  
she fell in a swoon,  
and awaked, her hands did wring.  
Nymphs and Satyrs skipping,  
Came together tripping,  
Echo every cry expressed:  
Venus by her power,  
Turned him to a flower,  
which she weareth in her crest.   
H. C.  
FINIS.   

¶ Thirsis the Shepherd his death's song.  

THirsis to die desired,  
marking her eyes that to his heart was nearest:  
And she that with his flame no less was fired,  
said to him: Oh heart's love dearest:  
Alas, forbear to die now,  
By thee I live, by thee I wish to die too.   

Thirsis that heat refrained,  
wherewith to die poor lover than he hasted,  
Thinking it death while he his looks maintained,  
full fixed on her eyes, full of pleasure,  
and lovely Nectar sweet from them he tasted.  
His dainty Nymph, that now at hand espied  
the harvest of loves treasure,  
Said thus, with eyes all trembling, faint and wasted:  
I die now,  
The Shepherd than replied,  
and I sweet life do die too.   

Thus these two Lovers foutunately died,  
Of death so sweet, so happy, and so desired:  
That to die so again their life retired.   
Out of Master N. Young his Musica Transalpina.  
FINIS.   

¶ Another stanze added after.  
THirsis enjoyed the graces,  
Of Chloris sweet embraces,  
Yet both their joys were scanted:  
For dark it was, and candlelight they wanted.  
Wherewith kind Cynthia in the heaven that shined,  
her nightly vail resigned,  
and her fair face disclosed.  
Then each from others looks such joy derived:  
That both with mere delight died, and revived.  
Out of the same.  
FINIS.   

¶ Another Sonnet thence taken.  
ZEphirus brings the time sweetly scenteth  
with flowers and herbs, which Winter's frost exileth:  
Progne now chirpeth, Philomela lamentesh,  
Flora the Garlands white and red compileth:  
Fields do rejoice, the frowning sky relenteth,  
jove to behold his dearest daughter smileth:  
The air, the water, the earth to joy consenteth,  
each creature now to love him reconcileth.  
But with me wretch, the storms of woe persever,  
and heavy sighs which from my heart she straineth  
That took the key thereof to heaven for ever,  
so that singing of birds, and spring-times flowering:  
And Ladies love that men's affection gaineth,  
are like a Desert, and cruel beasts devouring.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds slumber.  
IN Peascod time, when Hound to horn,  
gives ear till Buck be killed:  
And little Lads with pipes of corn,  
sat keeping beasts a field.  
I went to gather Strawberries tho,  
by Woods and Groaves full fair:  
And parched my face with Phoebus so,  
in walking in the air.  
That down I laid me by a stream,  
with boughs all over-clad:  
And there I met the strangest dream,  
that ever Shepherd had.  
Me thought I saw each Christmas game,  
each revel all and some:  
And every thing that I can name,  
or may in fancy come.  
The substance of the sights I saw,  
in silence pass they shall:  
Because I lack the skill to draw,  
the order of them all.  
But Venus shall not pass my pen,  
whose maidens in disdain:  
Did feed upon the hearts of men,  
that Cupid's bow had slain.  
And that blind boy was all in blood,  
be-bathed to the ears:  
And like a Conqueror he stood,  
and scorned Lovers tears.  
I have (quoth he) more hearts at call,  
than Caesar could command:  
And like the Dear I make them fall,  
that runneth o'er the lawnd.  
One drops down here, another there,  
in bushes as they groan;  
I bend a scornful careless ear,  
to hear them make their moan.  
Ah Sir (quoth Honest Meaning) then,  
thy boy-like brags I hear:  
When thou hast wounded many a man,  
as Huntsman doth the Dear.  
Becomes it thee to triumph so?  
thy Mother wills it not:  
For she had rather break thy bow,  
than thou shouldst play the sot.  
What saucy merchant speaketh now,  
said Venus in her rage:  
Art thou so blind thou knowest not how  
I govern every age?  
My Son doth shoot no shaft in waist,  
to me the boy is bound:  
He never found a heart so chaste,  
but he had power to wound,  
Not so fair Goddess (quoth Free-will,)  
in me there is a choice:  
And cause I am of mine own ill,  
if I in thee rejoice.  
And when I yield myself a slave,  
to thee, or to thy Son:  
Such recompense I ought not have,  
if things be rightly done.  
Why fool stepped forth Delight, and said,  
when thou art conquered thus:  
Then lo dame Lust, that wanton maid,  
thy Mistress is iwus.  
And Lust is Cupid's darling dear,  
behold her where she goes:  
She creeps the milk-warme flesh so near,  
she hides her under close.  
Where many privy thoughts do dwell,  
a heaven here on earth:  
For they have never mind of hell,  
they think so much on mirth.  
Be still Good Meaning, quoth Good Sport,  
let Cupid triumph make:  
For sure his Kingdom shall be short  
if we no pleasure take.  
Fair Beauty, and her play-feares gay,  
the virgin's vestals too:  
Shall sit and with their fingers play,  
as idle people do,  
If Honest Meaning fall to frown,  
and I Good Sport decay:  
Then Venus' glory will come down,  
and they will pine away.  
Indeed (quoth Wit) this your device,  
with strangeness must be wrought,  
And where you see these women nice,  
and looking to be sought:  
With scowling brows their follies check,  
and so give them the Fig:  
Let Fancy be no more at beck,  
when Beauty looks so big.  
When Venus heard how they conspired,  
to murder women so:  
Me thought indeed the house was fired,  
with storms and lightning tho.  
The thunderbolt through windows burst.  
and in their steps a wight:  
Which seemed some soul or spirit accursed,  
so ugly was the sight.  
I charge you Ladies all (quoth he)  
look to yourselves in haste:  
For if that men so wilful be,  
and have their thoughts so chaste;  
And they can tread on Cupid's breast,  
and march on Venus' face:  
Then they shall sleep in quiet rest,  
when you shall wail your case.  
With that had Venus all in spite,  
stirred up the Dames to ire:  
And Lust fell cold, and Beauty white,  
sat babbling with Desire.  
Whose muttering words I might not mark,  
much whispering there arose:  
The day did lower, the Sun waxed dark,  
away each Lady goes.  
But whether went this angry flock,  
our Lord himself doth know:  
Wherewith full loudly crew the Cock,  
and I awaked so.  
A dream (quoth I?) a dog it is,  
I take thereon no keep:  
I gauge my head, such toys as this,  
doth spring from lack of sleep.  
Ignoto.  
FINIS.   


IN wont walks, since wont fancies change,  
Some cause there is, which of strange cause doth rise:  
For in each thing whereto my mind doth range,  
Part of my pain me seems engraved lies.   

The Rocks which were of constant mind, the mark  
In climbing steep, now hard refusal show:  
The shading woods seem now my sun to dark,  
And stately hills disdain to look so low.   

The restful Caves, now restless visions give,  
In dales I see each way a hard assent:  
Like late mown Meads, late cut from joy I live,  
Alas, sweet Brooks, do in my tears augment.  
Rocks, woods, hills, caves, dales, meads brooks answer me:  
Infected minds infect each thing they see.   
S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ Of disdainful Daphne.  

SHall I say that I love you,  
Daphne disdainful?  
Sore it costs as I prove you,  
loving is painful.   

Shall I say what doth grieve me?  
lovers lament it:  
Daphne will not relieve me,  
late I repent it.   

Shall I die, shall I perish,  
through her unkindness?  
love untaught love to cherish,  
showeth his blindness.   

Shall the hills, shall the valleys,  
the fields the City,  
With the sound of my outcries,  
move her to pity?   

The deep falls of fair Rivers,  
and the winds turning:  
Are the true music givers,  
unto my mourning.   

Where my flocks daily feeding,  
pining for sorrow:  
At their masters heart bleeding,  
shot with loves arrow.   

From her eyes to my heartstring,  
was the shaft lanced:  
It made all the woods to ring,  
by which it glanced.   

When this Nymph had used me so,  
than she did hide her:  
Hapless I did Daphne know;  
hapless I spied her.   

Thus Turtle-like I wailed me,  
for my loves losing:  
Daphne's trust thus did fail me,  
woe worth such choosing.   
M. H. Nowell.  
FINIS.   

¶ The passionate Shepherd to his love.  

COme live with me, and be my love,  
And we will all the pleasures prove,  
That Valleys, groves, hills and fields,  
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.   

And we will sit upon the Rocks,  
Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,  
By shallow Rivers, to whose falls,  
Melodious birds sings Madrigals.   

And I will make thee beds of Roses,  
And a thousand fragrant poesies,  
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,  
Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle.   

A gown made of the finest wool,  
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull,  
Fair lined slippers for the cold:  
With buckles of the purest gold.   

A belt of straw, and ivy buds,  
With Coral clasps and Amber studs,  
And if these pleasures may thee move,  
Come live with me, and be my love.   

The shepherds Swains shall dance & sing,  
For thy delight each May-morning,  
If these delights thy mind may move;  
Then live with me, and be my love.   
Chr. Marlowe.  
FINIS.   

¶ The nymphs reply to the Shepherd.  

IF all the world and love were young,  
And truth in every shepherds tongue,  
These pretty pleasures might me move,  
To live with thee, and be thy love.   

Time drives the flocks from field to sold,  
When rivers rage, and Rocks grow cold,  
And Philomel becometh dumb,  
The rest complains of cares to come.   

The flowers do fade, & wanton fields,  
To wayward winter reckoning yields,  
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,  
Is fancies spring, but sorrows fall.   

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of Roses,  
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy poesies,  
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten:  
In sollie ripe, in reason rotten.   

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,  
Thy Coral clasps and Amber studs,  
All these in me no means can move,  
To come to thee, and be thy love.   

But could youth last, and love still breed,  
Had joys no date, nor age no need,  
Then these delights my mind might move,  
To live with thee, and be thy love.   
Ignoto.  
FINIS.   

¶ Another of the same nature, made since.  

COme live with me, and be my dear,  
And we will revel all the year,  
In plains and groaves, on hills and dales:  
Where fragrant air breeds sweetest gales.   

There shall you have the beauteous Pine,  
The Cedar, and the spreading Vine,  
And all the woods to be a Screen:  
Lest Phoebus kiss my summers Queen.   

The seat for your disport shall be  
Over some River in a tree,  
Where silver sands, and pebbles sing,  
Eternal ditties with the spring.   

There shall you see the Nymphs at play,  
And how the Satyrs spend the day,  
The fishes gliding on the sands:  
Offering their bellies to your hands.   

The birds with heavenly tuned throats,  
Possess woods Echoes with sweet notes,  
Which to your senses will impart,  
A music to inflame the heart.   

Upon the bare and leafless Oak,  
The Ringdoves woo will provoke  
A colder blood than you possess,  
To play with me and do no less.   

In bowers of Laurel trimly dight,  
We will outwear the silent night,  
While Flora busy is to spread:  
Her richest treasure on our bed.   

Ten thousand Glow-worms shall attend,  
And all their sparkling lights shall spend,  
All to adorn and beautify:  
Your lodging with most majesty.   

Then in mine arms will I enclose  
Lilies fair mixture with the Rose,  
Whose nice perfections in loves play:  
Shall tune me to the highest key.   

Thus as we pass the welcome night,  
In sportful pleasures and delight,  
The nimble Fairies on the grounds,  
Shall dance and sing melodious sounds.   

If these may serve for to entice,  
Your presence to loves Paradise,  
Then come with me, and be my Dear:  
And we will strait begin the year.   
Ignoto.  
FINIS.   

¶ The woodman's walk.  
THrough a fair Forest as I went  
upon a summers day,  
I met a Woodman quaint and gent,  
yet in strange array.  
I marvelled much at his disguise,  
whom I did know so well:  
But thus in terms both grave and wise,  
his mind he 'gan to tell.  
Friend, muse not at this fond array,  
but list a while to me:  
For it hath holp me to furuay  
what I shall show to thee.  
Long lived I in this Forest fair,  
till weary of my weal:  
Abroad in walks I would repair,  
as now I will reveal.  
My first days walk was to the Court,  
where Beauty fed mine eyes:  
Yet found I that the Courtly sport,  
did mask in sly disguise.  
For falsehood sat in fairest looks,  
and friend to friend was coy:  
Court-favour filled but empty books,  
and there I found no joy.  
Desert went naked in the cold,  
when crouching craft was said:  
Sweet words were cheaply bought and sold,  
but none that stood in stead,  
Wit was employed for each man's own,  
plain meaning came too short:  
All these devices seen and known,  
made me forsake the Court.  
Unto the City next I went,  
in hope of better hap:  
Where liberally I launched and spent,  
as set on Fortune's lap.  
The little stock I had in store,  
me thought would near be done:  
Friends flocked about me more and more,  
as quickly lost as won.  
For when I spent, they were kind,  
but when my purse did fail:  
The foremost man came last behind,  
thus love with wealth doth quail.  
Once more for footing yet I strove,  
although the world did frown:  
But they before that held me up,  
together troad me down.  
And lest once more I should arise,  
they sought my quite decay:  
Then got I into this disguise,  
and thence I stole away.  
And in my mind (me thought) I said,  
Lord bless me from the City:  
Where simpleness is thus betrayed,  
and no remorse or pity.  
Yet would I not give over so,  
but once more try my fate:  
And to the Country than I go,  
to live in quiet state.  
There did appear no subtle shows,  
but yea and nay went smoothly:  
But Lord how Country-folks can gloze,  
when they speak most sooth.  
More craft was in a buttoned cap,  
and in an old wives rail:  
Then in my life it was my hap,  
to see on Down or Dale.  
There was no open forgery,  
but under-handed gleaning:  
Which they call Country policy,  
but hath a worse meaning.  
Some good boldface bears out the wrong,  
because he gains thereby:  
The poor man's back is cracked ere long,  
yet there he lets him lie.  
And no degree among them all,  
but had such close intending:  
That I upon my knees did fall,  
and prayed for their amending.  
Back to the woods I got again,  
in mind perplexed sore:  
Where I found ease of all this pain,  
and mean to stray no more.  
There, City, Court, nor Country too,  
can any way annoy me:  
But as a woodman ought to do,  
I freely may employ me.  
There live I quietly alone,  
and none to trip my talk:  
Wherefore when I am dead and gone,  
think on the woodman's walk.  
Shep. jonie.  
FINIS.   

¶ Thirsis the Shepherd, to his Pipe.  

LIke Desert woods, with darksome shades obscured,  
Where dreadful beasts, where hateful horror reigneth.  
Such is my wounded heart, whom sorrow paineth,   

The Trees are fatal shaft, to death enured,  
That cruel love within my breast maintaineth,  
To whet my grief, when as my sorrow wayneth.   

The ghastly beasts, my thoughts in cares assured,  
Which wage me war, while heart no succour gaineth:  
With false suspect, and fear that still remaineth.   

The horrors, burning sights by cares procured,  
Which forth I send, whilst weeping eye complaineth:  
To cool the heat, the helpless heart containeth.   

But shafts, but cares, but sighs, horrors unrecured,  
Were enough esteemed, if for these pains awarded:  
My faithful love by her might be regarded.   
Ignoto.  
FINIS.   

¶ An excellent Sonnet of a Nimph.  

Virtue, beauty, and speech, did strike, wound, charm,  
My heart, eyes, ears, with wonder, love, delight:  
First, second, last, did bind, enforce, and arm,  
His works, shows, suits, with wit, grace, and vowes-might.   

Thus honour, liking, trust, much, far, and deep,  
Held, pierced, possessed, my judgement, sense, and will;  
Till wrongs, contempt, deceit, did grow, steal, creep,  
Bands, favour, faith, to break, defile, and kill.   

Then grief, unkindness, proof, took, kindled, taught,  
Well grounded, noble, due, spite, rage, disdain:  
But ah, alas, (in vain) my mind, sight, thought,  
Doth him, his face, his words, leave shun, refrain.  
For nothing, time, nor place, can loose, quench, ease:  
Mine own, embraced, sought, knot, fire, disease.   
S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ A Report Song in a dream, between a Shepherd and his Nimph.  

SHall we go dance the hay? The hay?  
Never pipe could ever play  
better Shepherds Roundelay.   

Shall we go sing the Song? The Song?  
Never Love did ever wrong:  
fair Maids hold hands all along.   

Shall we go learn to woe? To woe?  
Never thought came ever too,  
better deed could better do.   

Shall we go learn to kiss? To kiss?  
Never heart could ever miss  
comfort, where true meaning is.   

Thus at base they run, They run,  
When the sport was scarce begun:  
but I waked, and all was done.   
N. Breton.  
FINIS.   

¶ Another of the same.  

SAy that I should say, I love ye?  
would you say, 'tis but a saying?  
But if Love in prayers move ye?  
will you not be moved with praying?   

Think I think that Love should know ye?  
will you think, 'tis but a thinking?  
But if Love the thought do show ye,  
will ye lose your eyes with winking?   

Write that I do write you blessed,  
will you write, 'tis but a writing?  
But if truth and Love confess it:  
will ye doubt the true inditing?   

No, I say, and think, and write it,  
write, and think, and say your pleasure:  
Love, and truth, and I indite it,  
you are blessed out of measure.   
N. Breton.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds conceit of Prometheus.  

Prometheus', when first from heaven hie,  
He brought down fire, ere then on earth unseen:  
Fond of delight, a Satire standing by,  
Gave it a kiss, as it like sweet had been.   

Feeling forthwith the other burning power,  
Wood with the smart, with shouts and shriek shrill:  
He sought his ease in River, field, and bower,  
But for the time his grief went with him still.   

So silly I, with that unwonted sight,  
In human shape, an Angel from above:  
Feeding mine eyes, th'impression there did light,  
That since I run, and rest as pleaseth love.  
The difference is, the Satyrs lips, my heart:  
He for a while, I evermore have smart.   
S. E. D.  
FINIS.   

¶ Another of the same.  

A Satire once did run away for dread,  
with sound of horn, which he himself did blow:  
Fearing, and feared thus, from himself he fled,  
deeming strange evili in that he did not know.   

Such causeless fears, when coward minds do take,  
it makes them fly that, which they fain would have:  
As this poor beast, who did his rest forsake,  
thinking not why, but how himself to save.   

Even thus mought I, for doubts which I conceive  
of mine own words, mine own good hap betray:  
And thus might I, for fear of may be, leave  
the sweet pursuit of my desired prey.  
Better like I thy Satire, dearest Dyer:  
Who burned his lips, to kiss fair shining fire.   
S. Phil. Sidney.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds Sun.  

Fair Nymphs, sit ye here by me,  
on this flowery green:  
While we this merry day do see,  
some things but seldom seen.  
Shepherds all, now come sit around,  
on yond checquerd plain:  
While from the woods we here resound,  
some come for loves pain.  
Every bird sits on his bow,  
As brag as he that is the best:  
Then sweet Love, reveal how  
our minds may be at rest?  
Echo thus replied to me,  
Sat under yonder Beechen tree,  
And there Love shall show thee  
how all may be redressed.   

Hark, hark, hark the Nightingale,  
in her mourning lay:  
She tells her stories woeful tale,  
to warn ye if she may.  
Fair maids, take ye heed of love,  
it is a perilous thing:  
As Philomele herself did prove,  
abused by a King.  
If Kings play false, believe no men,  
That make a seemly outward show:  
But caught once, beware then,  
for than begins your woe.  
They will look babies in your eyes,  
And speak so fair as fair may be:  
But trust them in no wise,  
example take by me.   

Fie, fie, said the Threstle-cocke,  
you are much too blame:  
For one man's fault, all men to blot,  
inpayring their good name.  
Admit you were used amiss,  
by that ungentle King,  
It follows not that you for this,  
should all men's honours wring.  
There be good, and there be bad,  
And some are false, and some are true:  
As good choice is still had  
amongst us men, as you.  
Women have faults as well as we,  
Some say for our one, they have three.  
Then smite not, nor bite not,  
when you as faulty be.   

Peace, peace, quoth Madge-Howles then,  
sitting out of sight:  
For women are as good as men,  
and both are good alike.  
Not so, said the little Wren,  
difference there may be:  
The Cock alway commands the He●●●  
than men shall go for me.  
Then Robbin-Redbrest stepping in,  
Would needs take up this tedious strife,  
Protesting, true-loving,  
In either legthened life.  
If I love you, and you love me,  
Can there be better harmony?  
Thus ending contending,  
Love must the umpsere be.   

Fair Nymphs, Love must be your guide,  
chaste, unspotted love:  
To such as do your thralls betide,  
tesolu' de without remove.  
Likewise jolly Shepherd Swains  
if you do respect,  
The happy issue of your pains,  
true love must you direct.  
You hear the birds contend for love,  
The bubbling springs do sing sweet love,  
The Mountains and Fountains  
do Echo nought but love.  
Take hands than Nymphs & Shepherds all,  
And to this rivers musics fall  
Sing true love, and chaste love  
begins our Festuall.   
Shep. Tony.  
FINIS.   

¶ Colin the enamoured Shepherd, singeth this passion of love.  

O Gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed,  
thou makest my heart,  
a bloody mark,  
With piercing shot to bleed.   

Shoot soft sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss,  
for fear too keen,  
thy arrows been:  
And hit the heart, where my beloved is.   

Too fair that fortune were, nor never I  
shall be so blest,  
among the rest:  
That love shall cease on her by sympathy.   

Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot,  
this doth remain,  
to ease my pain,  
I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot.   
Geo. Peele.  
FINIS.   

¶ Oenone's complaint in blank verse.  

MElpomene the Muse of tragic songs,  
With mournful tunes in stole of dismal hue,  
Assist a silly Nymph to wail her woe,  
And leave thy lusty company behind.   

This luckless wreath becomes not me to wear,  
The Poplar tree for triumph of my love,  
Then as my joy, my pride of love is left;  
Be thou unclothed of thy lovely green.   

And in thy leaves my fortunes written be,  
And then some gentle wind let blow abroad,  
That all the world may see, how false of love,  
False Paris hath to his Oenone been.   
Geo. Peele.  
FINIS.   

¶ The shepherds Consort.  
Hark jolly Shepherds,  
hark yond lusty ringing:  
How cheerfully the bells dance,  
the whilst the Lads are springing?  
Go we then, why sit we here delaying:  
And all yond merry wanton lasses playing?  
How gaily Flora leads it,  
and sweetly treads it?  
The woods and groaves they ring,  
lovely resounding:  
With echoes sweet rebounding.  
Out of Ma. Morley's Madrigals.  
FINIS.