BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.  
The first Book.  HORAT. 
Carmine Dij superi placantur, carmine Manes.  
LONDON, Printed by JOHN HAVILAND. 1625.   

TO THE NO LESS ENNOBLED BY VIRTUE, THAN ANCIENT IN NOBILITY, the Right Honourable EDWARD Lord Zouch, Saint-Maure, and Cantelupe, and one of his MAJESTY'S most Honourable Privy COUNCIL.  
Honour's bright Ray,  
More highly crowned with Virtue them with years,  
Pardon a Rustic Muse that thus appears  
In Shepherd's grey,  
Entreating your attention to a Lay  
Fitting a Sylvan Bower, not Courtly Trains;  
Such choicer ears,  
Should have Apollo's Priests, not Pan's rude  
But if the Music of contented Plains (Swains:  
A thought upreares  
For your approvement of that part she bears,  
When time (that Embryos to perfection brings)  
Hath taught her strains,  
May better boast their being from the Spring  
Where brave Heroes worths the Sisters sing:  
(In Lines whose reigns  
In spite of Envy and her restless pains:  
Be unconfined as blessed eternity:)  
The Vales shall ring  
Thy Honoured Name; and every Song shall be  
A Pyramid built to thy Memory.  
Your Honours: W. BROWNE.   

To the Reader.  

THE times are swollen so big with nicer wits,  
That nought sounds good but what Opinion strikes▪  
Censure with judgement seld together sits;  
And now the Man more than the Matter likes.   

The great Rewardresse of a Poet's Pen,  
Fame, is by those so clogged she seldom flies,  
The Muses sitting on the graves of men,  
Singing that Virtue lives and never dies,   

Are chased away by the malignant Tongues  
Of such, by whom Detraction is adored:  
Hence grows the want of everliving Songs,  
With which our Isle was whilom bravely stored.   

If such a Basilisk dart down his Eye,  
(Empoisoned with the dregs of utmost hate)  
To kill the first Blooms of my Poesy,  
It is his worst, and makes me fortunate.  
Kind wits I veil to, but to fools precise  
I am as confident as they are nice.   
From the Inner Temple, june the 18. 1613. W. B.   

IN Bucolica G. BROUN. Quod, per secessus Rustici otia, Licuit ad Amic. & Bon. Lit. amantiss. ANACREONTICUM.  
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Ad Amoris Numina.  
QVin vostrum Paphie, Anteros, Erósque  
Vt Regnum capiat mali quid, absit!  
Venus, per Syrium nimis venustum!  
Amplexus teneros, pares, suaues  
Psyches, per, tibi, Basiationum  
Eros quantum erat! & per Anterotis  
Fo●li●●s Animas! periclitanti  
Ob●●stor, dubiaeque consulatis  
●ei vostrae! Miserûm magis favete  
●anguori, Miserûm favete Amantum,  
Dini, cordolio! Quod est amatum  
Ictu propitij ferite pectus!  
Ictus quin sit ab aurea sagitta!  
Ortas Spe placita fovete flammas!  
Ortis quin Similes parate flammas!  
Suas gnavitèr ambiant 
* Am●ca, Domina (nostr● idiomate amatorio, Mistresse) & Neaera sunt utisynonyma Prudentio, ante alios, Peri Steph. hymn. 12. & alic●bi. v. siplacet & ●os. Scalig. ad 3. Tibul●i.  Neaeras!  
Et cautìm laciant suos Neaerae!  
Dextras sternuit● adprobationes!  
Adsuctis detur Osculum labellis!  
Et iunctis detur Osculum salivis!  
Tui Nectaris adde, Diua, 
* Horat. Carm. 1. od. ●3.  quinctam▪  
Conturbet tremulae libido linguae,  
Ne quis Basia 
* Ne scili●et quis pernumer●t. Finitus ●. & ●●tus numerus ●●●cino, apud Veteres, obnoxius. ●dq in Ba●ij● obseruat●m habes ap. Catul▪ ●arm. 5. & 7.  fascinare possit!  
Morsus mutua temperet voluptas!  
Dormitis, nimiumque defuistis  
Procis, atque Adamantinis Puellis.  
Isthaec prospiciens tibi, Cupido,  
Audax admonui. Tuas Apollo,  
Deusque Arcadia, Minerva, & Hermes  
Supplantant Veneres. Murinus arcum  
Tendit, quin iaculis tuâ pharetrâ  
Surreptis petimur. Camena texit  
Cantu daedala, blandulum Aphrodites  
Cestum, & insidias plicat. Mineruae  
Buxus, Mercurij Chelys, Cicuta  
Fauni, dulce melos canunt. Erota  
En, olìm 
* Amor à Pastore omne genus Musices olim ●doctus. B●on Idyll. 3.  docuit, plagas Eroti  
jam tendit, Iwenis, Poëta, Pastor,  
Isthac prospiciens tibi Cupido,  
Audax admonui. Faue Cupid.   

BY THE SAME.  
SO much a Stranger my Soveror Muse  
Is not to Love-straines, or a Shepwards Reed,  
But that She knows some Rites of Phoebus' dues,  
Of Pan, of Pallas, and her Sister's meed.  
Read and Commend She durst these tuned essays  
Or Him that loves her (She hath ever found  
Her studies as one circle.) Next She prays  
His Readers be with Rose and Myrtle crowned!  
No Willow touch them! As His 
* Bases (●aire Readers) being the materials of Poets Garlands. (as Myrtle and Roses en●o●ing●ouers ●ouers, and the 〈◊〉 Willow for them which your unconstancy, ●oo of, makes most unhappy) are supposed not sub●ect to any hurt of jupiters' thunderbolts, as other Trees are.  Bayss are free  
From wrong of Bolts, so may their Chaplets be.  
I. SELDEN juris C.    

To his Friend the AUTHOR.  
Drive forth thy Flock, young Pastor, to that Plain,  
Where our old Shepherds wont their flocks to feed;  
To those clear walks, where many a skilful Swain  
Towards the calm evening, tuned his pleasant Reed.  
Those, to the Muses once so sacred, Downes,  
As no rude foot might there presume to stand:  
(Now made the way of the unworthiest Clowns,  
Digged and ploughed up with each unhallowed hand)  
If possible thou canst, redeem those places,  
Where, by the brim of many a Silver Spring,  
The learned Maidens, and delightful Graces  
Often have sat to hear our Shepherds sing:  
Where on those Pines the neighbouring Groves among,  
(Now utterly neglected in these days)  
Our Garlands, Pipes, and Cornamutes were hung  
The monuments of our deserved praise.  
So may thy Sheep like, so thy Lambs increase,  
And from the Wolf feed ever safe and free!  
So mayst thou thrive, among the learned press,  
As thou young Shepherd art beloved of me!  
MICHAEL DRAITON.   

To his Ingenious and worthy Friend the AUTHOR.  
HE that will tune his Oaten-pipe aright,  
To great Apollo's Harp: he that will write  
A living Poem; must have many years,  
And settled judgement amongst his equal peers,  
In will-rigged Bark to steer his doubtful course;  
Lest secret, rocky Envy, or the source  
Of frothy, but sky-towring Arrogance;  
Or fleeting, sandy vulgar-censure chance  
To leave him shipwrecked, on the desert Maine  
Imploring aged Neptune's help in vain.  
The younger Cygnet, even at best doth tear,  
With his harsh squealing, the melodious ear:  
It is the old, and dying Swan that sings  
Notes worthy life, worthy the Thespian Springs.  
But thou art young; and yet thy voice as sweet,  
Thy Verse as smooth, Composure as discreet  
As any Swans, whose tuneful Notes are spent  
On Thames his banks; which makes me confident,  
He knows no Music, hath nor ears, nor tongue,  
That not commends a voice so sweet, so young.   

On him; a Pastoral ODE to his fairest Shepherdess.  
Syren's more than earthly fair,  
Sweetly break the yielding Air:  
Sing on Albion's whitest Rocks:  
Sing; whilst Willy to his Flocks,  
Deftly tunes his various Rèed.  
Sing; and he, whilst younglings feed,  
Answer shall thy best of singing,  
With his Rural Musics bringing  
Equal pleasure; and requite  
Musics sweets with like delight.  
What though Willyes Songs be plain?  
Sweet they be: for he's a Swain  
Made of purer mould than earth,  
Him did Nature from his birth,  
And the Muses single out,  
For a second Colin Clout.  
Tityri●●●ide ●ide him a Singer:  
Pan hi● 〈◊〉 his Pipe to finger:  
Numbers, curious ears to please,  
Learned he of Philisides.  
Kala loves him: and the Lasses  
Point at him, as by he passes,  
Wishing never tongue that's bad  
Censure may so blithe a Lad.  
Therefore well can he requite  
Music's sweets with like delight:  
Sing then; break the yielding air,  
Siren more than earthly fair.  
EDWARD HEYWARD, è So. Int. Templ.   

To his Friend the AUTHOR upon his Poem.  
THis Plant is kno●lesse that puts forth these leaves,  
Upon whose Branches I his praise do sing:  
Fruitful the Ground, whose verdure it receives  
From fertile Nature, and the learned Spring.  
In zeal to Good; known, but unpractised Ill,  
chaste in his thoughts, though in his youthful Prime,  
He writes of pastoral Love, with Nectared Quill,  
And offers up his first Fruits unto Time.  
Receive them (Time) and in thy Border place them  
Among thy various Flowers of Poesy;  
No Envy blast, nor Ignorance deface them,  
But keep them fresh in fairest Memory!  
And, when from Daphne's tree he plucks more Bait●,  
His Shepherd's Pipe may chant more heavenly lays.  
CHRISTOPHER BROOKE.   

ANAGRAMMA. GVILIELMUS BROWNE. Ne vulgo Librum eius.  
SI vulgus gustare tuo velis apta palato;  
I, pete vulgares, ac aliunde, dapes.  
Nil vulgare sapit Liber hic; hinc vulgus abesto:  
Non nisi delicias haec tibi mensa dabit.  
FR: DYNNE, è So. Int. Templ.   

To his Friend the Author▪  
ON (jolly Lad) and hie thee to the Field  
Among the best Swains that the Valleys yield▪  
Go boldly, and in presence of them all,  
Proceed a Shepherd with this Pastoral.  
Let Pan, and all his rural Train attending,  
From stately Mountains to the Plains descending,  
Salute this Pastor with their kind embrace●▪  
And entertain him to their holy places,  
Let all the Nymphs of Hills and Dales together  
Kiss him for earnest of his welcome thither:  
Crown him with Garlands of the choicest flowers,  
And make him ever dwell within their Bowers:  
For well I wot in all the Plains around,  
There are but few such Shepherds to be found,  
That can such learned Lays and Ditties frame,  
Or aptly fit their tunes unto the same.  
And let them all (if this young Swain should die)  
Tune all their Reeds to sing his Memory.  
THO. GARDINER, è So. Int. Templ.   

To the AUTHOR.  
HAd I beheld thy Muse upon the Stage,  
A Poesy in fashion with this age;  
Or had I seen, when first I viewed thy task,  
An active wit dance in a Satyr's Mask▪  
I should in th●se have praised thy Wit and Art,  
But not thy ground, A Poems better part:  
Which being the perfectest Image of the Brain,  
Not framed to any base end, but to gain  
True approbation of the Artists worth,  
When to an open view he sets it forth,  
judiciously, he strives; no less t'adorn  
By a choice Subject, than a curious Form:  
Well hast thou then past o'er all other rhyme,  
And in a Pastoral spent thy leisures time:  
Where fruit so fair, and field so fruitful is,  
That hard it is to judge whether in This  
The Substance or the fashion more excel,  
So precious is the gem, and wrought so well.  
Thus rest thou praised of me, Fruit, Field, gem, Art,  
Do claim much praise to equal such Desert.  
W. FERRAR, è So. Med. Templ.   

To the AUTHOR.  
FRiend, I'll not err in blazing of thy Worth;  
This Work in truest terms will set it forth:  
In these few lines the all I do intend,  
Is but to show that I have such a Friend.  
FR. OLD, è S. In. Templ.   

BRITANNIAS PASTORALS.  

THE FIRST SONG.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
Marina's Love yclept the fair,  
Celand's disdain, and her despair,  
Are the first wings my Muse puts on  
To reach the sacred Helicon.  
I That whil care near Tavies straggling spring, 
* Taule is a river, having his head in Dertmore in Deuin▪ som● few miles from Mari● Davy, and falls Southward into Tamer: out of the same Moor riseth, running Northward, another called Tau: which by the way the rather I speak of, because in the printed Malmsbury de gest. Pon●ific. lib. 2. fol. 146. you ●eade, Est in Domn●nia ●oenobium Monachoruni iuxta Tau flwium, quod Tauistock vocatur: whereas upon Tau stands (here the North-side of the Shire) Taustoke●eing ●eing no remnants of a Monastery: so that you must there read, juxtae Tavi Fluu●um, as in a manuscript Copy of Malmesbury (the form of the hand assuring Malmesburie● time) belonging to the Abbey of 〈◊〉. Augustine in Canterbury▪ I have seen, in the hand of my very learned Friend M. Selde●.   
Unto my silly Sheep did vs● to sing,  
And played to please myself, on ●●sticke Reed,  
No● sought for Bay, (the learned Shepherd's meed,)  
But as a Swain unkent fed on the plains,  
And made the Echo umpire of my strains:  
Am drawn by ●ime (although the weakest of many)  
To sing those Lays as yet unsung of any.  
What need I tune the Swains of Thessaly?  
Or, bootless, add to them of Arcady?  
No: fair Arcadia cannot be completer,  
My praise may lessen, but not make thee greater.  
My Muse for lofty pitches shall not room,  
But homely pipen of her native home:  
And to the Swains, Love rural Minstrelsy,  
Thus dear Britannia will I sing of thee.  
High on the plains of that renowned I'll,  
Which all men Beauties Garden-plot enstile,  
A Shepherd dwelled, whom Fortune had made rich  
With all the gifts that silly men bewitch.  
〈◊〉 him a Shepherdess for beauties store  
Unparallelled of any Age before.  
Within those Breasts her face a flame did move,  
Which never knew before what 'twas to love,  
D●●●ling each Shepherd's sight that viewed her eyes.  
And as the Persians did Idolatrise  
Unto the Sun: they thought that Cinthia's light  
Might well be spared, where she appeared in night.  
And as when many to the goal do run,  
The prize is given never but to one:  
So first, and only Celandine was led,  
Of Destinies and Heaven much favoured,  
To gain this Beauty, which I here do offer  
To memory: his pains (who would not proffer  
Pains for such pleasures?) were not great nor much,  
But that his labours recompense was such  
As countervailed all: for she whose passion,  
(And passion oft is love) whose inclination  
Bent all her course to himwards, let him know  
He was the Elm whereby her Vine did grow:  
Yea, told him, when his tongue began this task,  
She knew not to deny when he would ask.  
Finding his suit as quickly got as moved,  
Celandine, in his thoughts not well approved  
What none could disallow, his love grew feigned,  
And what he once affected now disdained.  
But fair Marina (for so was she called)  
Having in Celandine her love installed,  
Affected so this faithless Shepherd's Boy,  
That she was rapt beyond degree of joy.  
Briefly, she could not live one hour without him,  
And thought no joy like theirs that lived about him.  
This variable Shepherd for a while  
Did Nature's jewel by his craft beguile:  
And still the perfecter her love did grow,  
His did appear more counterfeit in show.  
Which she perceiving that his flame did slake,  
And loved her only for his Trophies sake:  
" For he that's stuffed with a faithless tumour,  
" loves only for his lust and for his humour:  
And that he often in his merry fit  
Would say, his good came, ere he hoped for it:  
His thoughts for other subjects being pressed,  
Esteeming that as nought which he possessed:  
" For what is gotten but with little pain,  
" As little grief we take to lose again:  
Well-minded Marine grieving, thought it strange  
That her ingrateful Swain did seek for change.  
Still by degrees her cares grew to the full,  
joys to the wane, heartrending grief did pull  
Her from herself, and she abandoned all  
To cries and tears, fruits of a funeral:  
Running, the mountains, fields, by watery springs,  
Filling each cave with woeful echoings;  
Making in thousand places her complaint,  
And uttering to the trees what her tears meant.  
" For griefs concealed (proceeding from desire)  
" Consume the more, as doth a close penned fire.  
Whilst that the days sole Eye doth gild the Seas,  
In his day's journey to th' Antipodes:  
And all the time the jetty-chariotere  
Hurls her black mantle through our Hemisphere,  
Under the covert of a sprouting Pine  
She sits and grieves for faithless Celandine.  
Beginning thus: Alas! and must it be  
That Love which thus torments and troubles me  
In settling it, so small advice hath lent  
To make me captive, where enfranchisement  
Cannot be gotten? nor where, like a slave,  
The office due to faithful Prisoners, have?  
Oh cruel Celandine, why shouldst thou hate  
Her, who to love thee, was ordained by Fate!  
Should I not follow thee, and sacrifice  
My wretched life to thy betraying eyes?  
Ay me! of all my most unhappy lot;  
What others would, thou mayst, and yet wilt not.  
Have I rejected those that me adored,  
To be of him, whom I adore, abhorred?  
And passed by others tears, to make election  
Of one, that should so passe-by my affection?  
I have: and see the heavenly powers intent,  
" To punish sinners in what they offend.  
May be he takes delight to see in me  
The burning rage of hellish jealousy;  
T●ies if in fury any love appears;  
And baths his joy within my flood of tears.  
But if he loved to soil my spotless soul,  
And me amongst deceived Maids enrol,  
To publish to the world my open shame:  
Then heart take freedom; hence accursed flame;  
And, as Queen regent, in my heart shall move  
" Disdain, that only over-ruleth Love:  
By this infranchized sure my thoughts shall be,  
And in the same sort love, as thou lov'st me.  
But what? or can I cancel or unbind  
That which my heart hath sealed & love hath signed?  
No, no, grief doth deceive me more each hour;  
" For, who so truly loves, hath not that power.  
I wrong to say so, since of all 'tis known,  
" Who yields to love doth leave to be her own.  
But what avails my living thus apart?  
Can I forget him? or out of my heart  
Can tears expulse his Image? surely no.  
" We well may fly the place, but not the woe:  
" Loves fire is of a nature which by turns  
" Consumes in presence, and in absence burns.  
And knowing this: ay me! unhappy wight!  
What means is left to help me in this plight?  
And from that peevish shooting, hoodwinked elf,  
To repossess my Love, my heart, myself?  
Only this help I find, which I elect:  
Since what my life nor can nor will effect,  
My ruin shall: and by it, I shall find,  
" Death cures (when all helps fail) the grieved mind.  
And welcome here, (than Love, a better guest)  
That of all labours art the only rest:  
Whilst thus I live, all things discomfort give,  
The life is sure a death wherein I live:  
Save life and death do differ in this one,  
That life hath ever cares, and death hath none.  
But if that he (disdainful Swain) should know  
That for his love I wrought my overthrow;  
Will he not glory in't? and from my death  
Draw more delights, & give new joys their breath?  
Admit he do, yet better 'tis that I  
Render myself to Death then Misery.  
I cannot live, thus barred from his sight,  
Nor yet endure, in presence, any wight  
Should love him but myself, O reasons eye,  
How art thou blinded with vild jealousy▪  
And is it thus? Then which shall have my blood,  
Or certain ruin, or uncertain good?  
Why do I doubt? Are we not still advised  
" That certainty in all things best is prized?  
Then, if a certain end can help my moan,  
" Know Death hath certainty, but Life hath none.  
Here is a Mount, whose top seems to despise  
The far inferior Vale that under lies:  
Who like a great man raised aloft by Eat,  
Measures his height by others mean estate:  
near to whose foot there glides a siluer-flood,  
Falling from hence, I'll climb unto my good:  
And by it finish Love and Reason's strife,  
And end my misery as well as life.  
But as a Coward's hartener in war,  
The stirring Drum, keeps lesser noise from far:  
So seem the murmuring waves, tell in mine ear,  
That guiltless blood was never spilt there.  
Then stay a while; the Beasts that haunt those springs,  
Of whom I hear the fearful bellow,  
May do that deed, (as moved by my cry)  
Whereby my soul, as spotless ivory,  
May turn from whence it came, and, freed from hence,  
Be unpolluted of that foul offence.  
But why protract I time? Death is no stranger:  
" And generous spirits never fear for danger:  
" Death is a thing most natural to us,  
" And Fear doth only make it odious.  
As when to seek her food abroad doth rove  
The Nuntius of peace, the silly Dove,  
Two sharpe-set hawks do her on each side hem,  
And she knows not which way to fly from them:  
Or like a ship that tossed to and fro  
With wind and tide; the wind doth sternly blow,  
And drives her to the Main, the tide comes sore  
And hurls her back again towards the shore.  
And since her ballast, and her sails do lack,  
One brings her out, the other beats her back:  
Till one of them increasing more his shocks,  
Hurls her to shore, and rends her on the Rocks:  
So stood she long, 'twixt Love and Reason tossed,  
Until Despair (who where it comes rules most)  
Won her to throw herself, to meet with Death,  
From off the Rock into the flood beneath.  
The waves that were above when as she fell,  
For fear flew back again into their Well;  
Doubting ensuing times on them would frown,  
That they so rare a beauty helped to drown.  
Her fall, in grief, did make the stream so roar,  
That sullen murmurings filled all the shore.  
A Shepherd (near this flood that fed his sheep,  
Who at this chance left grazing and did weep)  
Having so sad an object for his eyes,  
Left Pipe and Flock, and in the water flies,  
To save a jewel, which was never sent  
To be possessed by one sole Element▪  
But such a work Nature disposed and gave,  
Where all the Elements concordance have.  
He took her in his arms, for pity cried,  
And brought her to the Rivers further side:  
Yea, and he sought by all his Art and pain,  
To bring her likewise to herself again:  
While she that by her fall was senseless left,  
And almost in the waves had life bereavest,  
Lay long, as if her sweet immortal spirit  
Was fled some other Palace to inherit.  
But as clear Phoebus, when some foggy cloud  
His brightness from the world a while doth shroud,  
Doth by degrees begin to show his light  
Unto the view: Or, as the Queen of night,  
In her increasing horns, doth rounder grow,  
Till full and perfect she appear in show:  
Such order in this Maid the Shepherd spies,  
When she began to show the world her eyes.  
Who (thinking now that she had past Death's dream,  
Occasioned by her fall into the stream,  
And that Hell's Ferryman did then deliver  
Her to the other side th'infernal River)  
Said to the Swain: O Charon, I am bound  
More to thy kindness, than all else, that round  
Come thronging to thy Boat: thou hast passed over  
The woefull'st Maid that ere these shades did cover:  
But prithee Ferryman direct my Spirit  
Where that black River runs that Lethe hight,  
That I of it (as other Ghosts) may drink,  
And never of the world, or Love, more think,  
The Swain perceiving by her words ill sorted,  
That she was wholly from herself transported:  
And fearing lest those often idle fits  
Might clean expel her uncollected wits:  
Fair Nymph, (said he) the powers above deny  
So fair a Beauty should so quickly die.  
The Heavens unto the World have made a loan,  
And must for you have interest, Three for One:  
Call back your thoughts o'ercast with dolours night;  
Do you not see the day, the heavens, the light?  
Do you not know in Pluto's darksome place  
The light of heaven did never show his face?  
Do not your pulses beat, y'are warm, have breath,  
Your sense is rapt with fear, but not with death?  
I am not Charon, nor of Pluto's host;  
Nor is there flesh and blood found in a Ghost:  
But as you see, a silly Shepherd's swain,  
Who though my mere revenues be the train  
Of milk-white sheep, yet am I joyed as much,  
In saving you, (O, who would not save such?)  
As ever was the wand'ring youth of Greece,  
That brought, from Colchos, home, the golden Pleece.  
The never-too-much-praised fair Marine,  
Hearing those words, believed her ears and eyen:  
And knew how she escaped had the flood  
By means of this young Swain that near her stood.  
Whereat for grief she 'gan again to faint,  
Redoubling thus her cries and sad complaint:  
Alas! and is that likewise barred from me,  
Which for all persons else lies ever free?  
Will life, nor death, nor ought abridge my pain?  
But live still dying, die to live again?  
Then most unhappy I! which find most sure,  
The wound of Love neglected is past cure.  
Most cruel God of Love (if such there be)  
That still to my desires art contrary!  
Why should I not in reason this obtain,  
That as I love, I may be loved again?  
Alas! with thee too, Nature plays her parts,  
That framed so great a discord 'tween two hearts:  
One flies, and always doth in hate persever;  
The other follows, and in love grows ever.  
Why dost thou not extinguish clean this flame,  
And placed on him that best deserves the fame?  
Why had not I affected some kind youth,  
Whose every word had been the word of Truth?  
Who might have had to love, and loved to have,  
So true a Heart as I to Celand gave.  
For Psyche's loue● if beauty gave thee birth,  
Or if thou hast attractive power on earth,  
Dame Venus' sweetest Child, requite this love.  
Or Fate yield means my soul may hence remove!  
Once seeing in a spring her drowned eyes,  
O cruel beauty, cause of this, (she cries,)  
Mother of Love, (my joys most fatal knife)  
That workest her death, by whom thyself hast life!  
The youthful Swain that heard this loving Saint  
So oftentimes to pour forth such complaint,  
Within his heart such true affection praised,  
And did perceive kind love and pity raised  
His mind to sighs; yea, beauty forced this,  
That all her grief he thought was likewise his.  
And having brought her what his lodge affords,  
Sometime he wept with her, sometime with words  
Would seek to comfort; when alas poor elf  
He needed then a comforter himself.  
Daily whole troops of grief unto him came,  
For her who languished of another flame.  
If that she sighed, he thought him loved of her,  
When 'twas another sail her wind did stir:  
But had her sighs and tears been for this Boy,  
Her sorrow had been less, and more her joy.  
Long time in grief he hid his love-made pains,  
And did attend her walks in woods and plains:  
Bearing a fuel, which her Sunlike eyes  
Inflamed, and made his heart the sacrifice.  
Yet he, sad Swain, to show it did not dare;  
And she, lest he should love, nigh died for fear.  
She, ever-wailing, blamed the powers above,  
That night nor day give any rest to Love..  
He praised the Heavens in silence, oft was mute,  
And thought with tears and sighs to win his suit.  
Once in the shade, when she by sleep reposed,  
And her clear eyes 'twixt her fair lids enclosed;  
The Shepherd Swaine began to hate and curse  
That day unfortunate, which was the nurse  
Of all his sorrows. He had given breath  
And life to her which was his cause of death.  
O Aesop's Snake, that thirstest for his blood,  
From whom thyself receivedst a certain good.  
Thus oftentimes unto himself alone  
Would he recount his grief, utter his moan;  
And after much debating, did resolve  
Rather his Grandam earth should clean involve  
His pining body, ere he would make known  
To her, what Tares Love in his breast had sown.  
Yea, he would say when grief for speech hath cried;  
" 'Tis better never ask than be denied.  
But as the Queen of Rivers, fairest Thames,  
That for her buildings other floods inflames  
With greatest envy: Or the Nymph of Kent,  
That stateliest Ships to Sea hath ever sent;  
Some base groom, for lucre's hellish course,  
Her channel having stopped, kept back her sour●e,  
(Filled with disdain) doth swell above her mounds,  
And overfloweth all the neighbouring grounds,  
Angry she tears up all that stops her way,  
And with more violence runs to the Sea:  
So the kind Shepherd's grief (which long uppent  
Grew more in power, and longer in extent)  
Forth of his heart more violently thrust,  
And all his vowed intentions quickly burst.  
Marina hearing sighs, to him drew near,  
And did entreat his cause of grief to hear:  
But had'●st known her beauty was the sting  
That caused all that instant sorrowing;  
Silence in bands her tongue had stronger kept,  
And she'd not asked for what the Shepherd wept.  
The Swain first, of all times, this best did think,  
To show his love, whilst on the River's brink  
They sat alone, then thought, he next would move her  
With sighs and tears, (true tokens of a Lover:)  
And since she knew what help from him she found  
When in the River she had else been drowned,  
He thinketh sure she cannot but grant this,  
To give relief to him, by whom she is:  
By this incited, said; Whom I adore,  
Sole Mistress of my heart, I thee implore,  
Do not in bondage hold my freedom long.  
And since I life or death hold from your tongue,  
Suffer my heart to love; yea, dare to hope  
To get that good of love's intended scope.  
Grant I may praise that light in you I see,  
And dying to myself, may live in thee.  
Fair Nymph, surcease this death-alluring languish,  
So rare a beauty was not borne for anguish.  
Why shouldst thou care for him that cares not for thee?  
Yea, most unworthy wight, seems to abhor thee.  
And if he be as you do here pain forth him▪  
He thinks you best of beauties are not worth him;  
That all the joys of Love will not quite cost  
For all loved freedom which by it is lost.  
Within his heart such self-opinion dwells,  
That his conceit in this he thinks excels;  
Accounting women's beauties sugared baits,  
That never catch, but fools, with their deceits:  
" Who of himself harbours so vain a thought,  
" Truly to love could never yet be brought.  
Then love that heart where lies no faithless ●eed,  
That never wore dissimulations weed:  
Who doth account all beauties of the Spring,  
That jocund Summer-days are ushering,  
As foils to yours. But if this cannot move  
Your mind to pity, nor your heart to love;  
Yet sweetest grant me love to quench that flame,  
Which burns you now. Expel his worthless name,  
Clean root him out by me, and in his place  
Let him inhabit, that will run a race  
More true in love. It may be for your rest.  
And when he sees her, who did love him best,  
Possessed by another, he will rate  
The much of good he lost, when 'tis too late:  
" For what is in our powers, we little deem,  
" And things possessed by others, best esteem.  
If all this gain you not a Shepherd's wife,  
Yet give not death to him which gave you life.  
Marine the fair, hearing his wooing tale,  
Perceived well what wall his thoughts did scale.  
And answered thus: I pray sir Swain, what boot  
Is it ●o me to pluck up by the root  
My former love, and in his place to sow  
As ill a seed, for any thing I know?  
Rather 'gainst thee I mortal hate retain,  
That seekest to plant in me new cares, new pain:  
Alas! thoust kept my soul from deaths sweet bands,  
To give me over to a Tyrant's hands;  
Who on his racks will torture by his power,  
This weakened, harmless body, every hour.  
Be you the judge, and see if reason's laws  
Give recompense of favour for this cause:  
You from the streams of death, brought life on shore;  
Released one pain, to give me ten times more.  
For love's sake, let my thoughts in this be free;  
Object no more your hapless saving me:  
That Obligation which you think should bind;  
Doth still increase more hatred in my mind;  
Yea, I do think more thanks to him were due  
That would bereave my life, than unto you.  
The Thunder-stroken Swain leaned to a tree,  
As void of sense as weeping Niobe:  
Making his tears the instruments to woo her,  
The Sea wherein his love should swim unto her:  
And, could there flow from his two-headed font,  
As great a flood as is the Hellespont;  
Within that deep he would as willing wander,  
To meet his Hero, as did ere Leander.  
Mean while the Nymph withdrew herself aside,  
And to a Grove at hand her steps applied.  
With that sad sigh (O I had he never seen,  
His heart in better case had ever been)  
Against his heart, against the stream he went,  
With this resolve, and with a full intent,  
When of that stream he had discovered  
The fount, the wellspring, or the bubbling head,  
He there would sit, and with the Well drop vie,  
That it before his eyes would first run dry:  
But then he thought the 
a Diae s●n●, i. Nymphae, plerumque fontibus & flwijs praesunt apud po●ta●, quae Ephydriades, & Naiads dictae: verum & nobis tadien deum praeficere (sic Alpheum Tyberinum, & Rhenum, & id genus alios divos legimus) haud illicitum.  god that haunts that Lake  
The spoiling of his Spring would not well take.  
And therefore leaving soon the Crystal flood,  
Did take his way unto the nearest Wood:  
Seating himself within a darksome Cave,  
(Such places heavy Saturnists do crave,)  
Where yet the gladsome day was never seen,  
Nor Phoebus piercing beams had ever been.  
Fit for the Synod house of those fell Legions,  
That walk the Mountains, and Silvanus' regions.  
Where Tragedy might have her full scope given,  
From men aspects, and from the view of heaven.  
Within the same some erannies did deliver  
Into the midst thereof a pretty River▪  
The Nymph whereof came by out of the veins  
Of our first mother, having late ●ane pains  
In scouring of her channel all the way,  
From where it first began to leave the Sea▪  
And in her labour thus far now had gone,  
When coming through the Cave, she heard that one  
Spoke thus: If I do in my death persever,  
Pity ●ay that effect, which Love could never.  
By this she can conjecture 'twas some Swain,  
Who overladen by a Maids disdain▪  
Haddit here (as fittest) chosen out a place,  
Where he might give a period to the race  
Of his loathed life: which she (for pities sake)  
Minding to hinder, dived into her Lake,  
And hastened where the ever-reeming Earth  
Unto her Current gives a wished birth▪  
And by her new-delivered Rivers' side,  
Upon a Bank of flowers, had soon espied▪  
Remond, young Remond, that full well could sing,  
And tune his Pipe at Pans-birth carolling:  
Who for his nimble leaping, sweetest lays,  
A Laurel garland wore on Holidays;  
In framing of whose hand Dame Nature swore  
There never was his like, nor should be more:  
Whose locks (in snaring nets) were like the rays,  
Wherewith the Sun doth diaper the Seas:  
Which if they had been cut, and hung upon  
The snow-white Cliffs of fertile Albion,  
Would have alured more, to be, their winner,  
Then all the 
* julium Caesarem, ●pe Margeritarun, Britanniam petisse, seribit Sueton. in jul. cap. 47. & ex isi Thoracem foctum Veneri genetrici dic●sse. Plin Hist. Nat. 9 ca 35. De Margaritis ve●ò nostris consulas Camden in Co ●ub. & Somersit.  Diamonds that are hidden in her.  
Him she accosted thus: Swain of the Wreath,  
Thou art not placed, only here to breathe;  
But Nature in thy framing shows to me,  
Thou shouldst to others, as she did to thee,  
Do good; and surely I myself persuade,  
Thou never wert for evil action made.  
In heaven's Consistory 't was decreed,  
That choicest fruit should come from choicest seed;  
In base vessels we do ever put  
Basest materials, do never shut  
Those jewels most in estimation set,  
But in some curious costly Cabinet.  
If I may judge by th'outward shape alone,  
Within, all virtues have convention:  
" For't giues most lustre unto Virtue's feature,  
" When she appears clothed in a goodly creature.  
Half way the hill, near to those aged trees,  
Whose insides are as Hives for labouring Bees,  
(As who should say (before their roots were dead)  
For good works sake and alms, they harboured  
Those whom nought else did cover but the Skies:)  
A path (untrodden but of Beasts) there lies,  
Directing to a Cave in yonder glade,  
Where all this Forest's Citizens, for shade  
At noone-time come, and are the first, I think,  
That (running through that Cave) my waters drink:  
Within this Rock there sits a woeful wight,  
As void of comfort as that Cave of light;  
And as I wot, occasioned by the frowns  
O● some coy Shepherdess that haunts these Downs.  
This I do know (whos'euer wrought his care)  
He is a man nigh treading to despair.  
Then hie thee thither, since 'tis charity  
To save a man; leave here thy flock with me:  
For whilst thou sau'st him from the Stygian Bay,  
I'll keep thy Lambkins from all beasts of prey.  
The nearness of the danger (in his thought)  
As it doth ever, more compassion wrought:  
So that with reverence to the Nymph, he went  
With winged speed, and hastened to prevent  
Th'untimely seizure of the greedy grave:  
Breathless, at last, he came into the Cave;  
Where, by a sigh directed to the man,  
To comfort him he in this sort began:  
Shepherd all hail, what mean these plaints? this Cave  
(Th'image of death, true portrait of the grave)  
Why dost frequent? and wail thee under ground,  
From whence there never yet was pity found?  
Come forth, and show thyself unto the light,  
Thy grief to me. If there be aught that might  
Give any ease unto thy troubled mind,  
We joy as much to give, as thou to find.  
The Lovesick Swain replied: Remond, thou art  
The man alone to whom I would impart  
My woes, more willing then to any Swain,  
That lives and feeds his sheep upon the plain.  
But vain it is, and 'twould increase my woes  
By their relation, or to thee or those  
That cannot remedy. Let it suffice,  
No fond distrust of thee makes me precise  
To show my grief, Leave me then, and forgo  
This Cave more sad, since I have made it so▪  
Here tears broke forth. And Remond 'gan anew  
With such entreaties, earnest to pursue  
His former suit, that he (though hardly) won  
The Shepherd to disclose; and thus began:  
Know briefly Remond then, a heavenly face,  
Nature's Idea, and perfections grace,  
Within my breast hath kindled such a fire,  
That doth consume all things, except desire;  
Which daily doth increase, though always burning,  
And I want tears, but lack no cause of mourning:  
" For he whom Love under his colours draws,  
" May often want th'effect, but ne'er the cause.  
Quoth th'other, have thy stars malign been such,  
That their predominations sway so much  
Over the rest, that with a mild aspect  
The Lives and loves of Shepherds do affect?  
Then do I think there is some greater hand,  
Which thy endeavours still doth countermand:  
Wherefore I wish thee quench the flame, thus moved,  
" And never love except thou be beloved▪  
" For such an humour every woman seizeth,  
" She loves not him that plaineth, but that pleaseth.  
" When much thou lovest, most disdain comes on thee;  
" And when thou thinkst to hold her, she flies from thee:  
" She followed, flies, she fled from follows post,  
" And loveth best where she is hated most.  
" 'Tis ever noted both in Maids and Wives,  
" Their hearts and tongues are never Relatives.  
" Heart's full of holes, (so elder Shepherds sane)  
" As apt to receive then to retain.  
Whose crafts and wiles did I intend to show,  
This day would not permit me time I know:  
The days swift horses would their course have run,  
And dived themselves within the Ocean,  
Ere I should have performed half my task,  
Striving their crafty subtleties t'unmask.  
And gentle Swain some counsel take of me;  
Love not still where thou mayst; love, who loves thee;  
Draw to the courteous, fly thy love's abhorrer,  
" And if she be not for thee, be not for her.  
If that she still be wavering, will away,  
Why shouldst thou strive to hold that will not stay?  
This Maxim, Reason never can confute,  
" Better to live by loss then die by suit.  
If to some other Love she is inclined,  
Time will at length clean root that from her mind.  
Time will extinct Love's flames, his hell-like flashes,  
And like a burning brand consum't to ashes.  
Yet mayst thou still attend, but not importune:  
" Who seeks oft misseth, sleeper's light on fortune,  
Yea and on women too." Thus doltish sots  
" Have Fate and fairest women for their lots.  
" Favour and pity wait on Patience:  
And hatred oft attendeth violence.  
If thou wilt get desire, whence Love hath pawned it,  
Believe me, take thy time, but ne'er demand it.  
Women, as well as men, retain de●ire;  
But can dissemble, more than men, their fire,  
Be never caught with looks, nor self-wrought rumour;  
Nor by a acquaint disguise, nor singing humour.  
Those outside shows are toys, which outwards snare:  
But virtue lodged within, is only fair.  
If thou hast seen the beauty of our Nation,  
And findest her have no love, have thou no passion:  
But seek thou further; other places sure  
May yield a face as fair, a Love more pure:  
Leave (o then leave) fond Swain this idle course,  
For love's a God no mortal wight can force.  
Thus Remond said, and saw the fair Marine  
Placed near a Spring, whose waters Crystalline  
Did in their murmurings bear a part, and plained  
That one so true, so fair, should be disdained:  
Whilst in her cries, that filled the vale along,  
Still Celand was the burden of her song.  
The stranger Shepherd left the other Swain,  
To give attendance to his fleecy train;  
Who in departing from him, let him know,  
That yonder was his freedom's overthrow,  
Who sat bewailing (as he late had done)  
That love by true affection was not won.  
This fully known: Remond came to the Maid  
And after some few words (her tears allayed)  
Began to blame her rigour, called her cruel,  
To follow hate, and fly love's chiefest jewel.  
Fair, do not blame him that he thus is moved;  
For women sure were made to be beloved.  
If beauty wanting lovers long should stay,  
It like an house undwelt in would decay:  
When in the heart if it have taken place  
Time cannot blot, nor crooked age deface.  
The Adamant and Beauty we discover  
To be alike; for Beauty draws a Lover,  
The Adamant his Iron. Do not blame  
His loving then, but that which caused the same.  
Who so is loved, doth glory so to be:  
The more your Lovers, more your victory.  
Know, if you stand on faith, most women's loathing,  
'tis but a word, a character of nothing.  
Admit it somewhat, if what we call constance,  
Within a heart hath long time residence,  
And in a woman, she becomes alone  
Fair to herself, but foul to every one.  
If in a man it once have taken place,  
He is a fool, or dotes, or wants a face  
To win a woman, and I think it be  
No virtue, but a mere necessity.  
Heaven's powers deny it Swain (quoth she) have done,  
Strive not to bring that in derision,  
Which whosoever detracts in setting forth,  
Doth truly derogate from his own worth.  
It is a thing which heaven to all hath lent  
To be their virtue's chiefest ornament:  
Which who so wants, is well compared to these  
False tables, wrought by Alcibiades;  
Which noted well of all, were found t'have been  
Most fair without, but most deformed within.  
Then Shepherd know, that I intent to be  
As true to one, as he is false to me.  
To one? (quoth he) why so? Maid's pleasure take  
To see a thousand languish for their sake:  
Women desire for Lovers of each sort,  
And why not you? Th' amorous Swain for sport;  
The Lad that drives the greatest flock to field,  
Will Buskins, Gloves, and other fancies yield;  
The gallant Swain will save you from the jaws  
Of ravenous Bears, and from the Lion's paws.  
Believe what I propound; do many choose,  
" The least Herb in the field serves for some use.  
Nothing persuaded, nor assuaged by this,  
Was fairest Marine, or her heaviness:  
But prayed the Shepherd as here did hope  
His silly sheep should fearless have the scope  
Of all the shadows that the trees do lend,  
From Raynards' stealth, when Titan doth ascend,  
And run his midway course: to leave her there,  
And to his bleating charge again repair.  
He condescended; left her by the brook,  
And to the Swain and's sheep himself betook.  
He gone: she with herself thus 'gan to feign;  
Alas poor Marine, think'st thou to attain  
His love by s●●ting here? or can the fire  
Be quenched with wood? can we allay desire  
By wanting what's desired? O that breath,  
The cause of life, should be the cause of death!  
That who is shipwrackt on love's hidden shelf,  
Doth liu● to others, dies unto herself.  
Why might not I attempt by Death as yet  
To gain that freedom, which I could not get,  
Being hindered heretofore, a time as free:  
A place as fit offers itself to me,  
Whose seed of ill is grown to such a height,  
That makes the earth groan to support his weight.  
Who so is lulled asleep with Mida's treasures,  
And only fears by death to lose life's pleasures;  
Let them fear death: but since my fault is such,  
And only fault, that I have loved too much,  
On joys of life, why should I stand! for those  
Which I near had, I surely cannot lose.  
Admit a while I to these thoughts consented,  
" Death can be but deferred, not prevented.  
Then raging with delay, her tears that fell  
Ushered her way, and she into a Well  
Straightways leapt after:" O! how desperation  
" Attends upon the mind enthralled to passion!  
The fall of her did make the God below,  
Starting, to wonder whence that noise should grow:  
Whether some ruder Clown in spite did fling  
A Lamb, untimely fall'n, into his Spring:  
And if it were, he solemnly then swore  
His Spring should flow some other way: no more  
Should it in wanton manner ere be seen  
To writhe in knots, or give a gown of green  
Unto their Meadows, nor be seen to play,  
Nor drive the Rushy-mils, that in his way  
The Shepherds made: but rather for their lot,  
Send them red waters that their sheep should rot.  
And with such Moorish Springs embrace their field,  
That it should nought but Moss and Rushes yield.  
Upon each hillock, where the merry Boy  
Sits piping in the shades his Notes of joy,  
he'd show his anger, by some flood at hand,  
And turn the same into a running sand.  
Upon the Oak, the Plumbe-tree, and the Holm,  
The Stock-dove and the Blackbird should not come,  
Whose muting on those trees do make to grow  
Rots curing 
* 〈…〉 scitur, 〈…〉 Plin. Hist. Nat. 16. cap. 44. Hinc 〈…〉.  Hyphear, and the Misseltoe.  
Nor shall this help their sheep, whose stomaches fails,  
By tying knots of wool near to their tails:  
But as the place next to the knot doth die,  
So shall it all the body mortify.  
Thus spoke the God: but when as in the water  
The corpse came sinking down, he spied the matter,  
And catching softly in his arms the Maid,  
He brought her up, and having gently laid  
Her on his bank, did presently command  
Those waters in her to come forth: at hand  
They strait came gushing out, and did contest  
Which chiefly should obey their God's behest.  
This done, her then pale lips he strait held open,  
And from his silver hair let fall a drop  
Into her mouth, of such an excellence,  
That called back life, which grieved to part from thence,  
Being for troth assured, that, than this one,  
She ne'er possessed a fairer mansion.  
Then did the God her body forwards steep,  
And cast her for a while into a sleep;  
Sitting still by her did his full view take  
Of Nature's Masterpiece. Here for her sake,  
My Pipe in silence as of right shall mourn,  
Till from the watering we again return.   

THE SECOND SONG.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
Oblivions Spring, and Dory's love,  
With fair Marina's rape, first mo●e  
Mine Oaten Pipe, which after sings  
The birth of two renowned Springs.  
NOw till the Sun shall leave us to our rest,  
And Cynthia have her Brother's place possessed,  
I shall go on: and first in differing stripe,  
The floud-Gods speech thus tune on Oaten Pipe.  
Or mortal, or a power above,  
I ●●rag'd by Fury, or by Love,  
Or both, I know not; such a deed  
Thou wouldst effected, that I bleed  
To think thereon: alas poor elf,  
What grown a traitor to thyself?  
This face, this hair, this hand so pure  
Were not ordained for nothing sure.  
Nor was it meant so sweet a breath  
Should be exposed by such a death;  
But rather in some lover's breast  
Be given up, the place that best  
Befits a lover yield his soul.  
Nor should those mortals ere control  
The Gods, that in their wisdom sage  
Appointed have what Pilgrimage  
Each one should run: and why should men  
A bridge the journey set by them?  
But much I wonder any wight  
If he did turn his outward sight  
Into his inward, dared to act  
H●r death, whose body is compact  
Of all the beauties ever Nature  
Laid up in store for earthly creature.  
No savage beast can be so cruel  
To rob the earth of such a jewel.  
Rather the stately Unicorn  
Would in his breast enraged scorn,  
That Maids committed to his charge  
By any beast in Forrest large  
Should so be wronged▪ Satyr's rude  
Durst not attempt, or ere intrude  
With such a mind the flowery balks  
Where harmless Virgins have their walks.  
Would she be won with me to stay,  
My waters should bring from the Sea  
The Coral red, as tribute due,  
And roundest pearls of Orient hue:  
Or in the richer veins of ground  
Should seek for her the Diamond.  
And whereas now unto my Spring  
They nothing else but gravel bring,  
They should within a Mine of Gold  
●n piercing manner long time hold,  
And having it to dust well wrought,  
By them it hither should be brought;  
With which I'll pave and overspread  
My bottom, where her foot shall tread.  
The best of Fishes in my flood  
Shall give themselves to be her food.  
The Trout, the Dace, the Pike, the Br●am  
The Eel, that loves the troubled stream,  
The Miller's thumb, the hiding Loach,  
The Perch, the ever-nibling Roach,  
The Shoats with whom is Tanie fraught,  
The foolish Gudgeon quickly caught,  
And last the little Minnow-fish,  
Whose chief delight in gravel is.  
In right she cannot me despise  
Because so low mine Empire lies.  
For I could tell how Nature's store  
Of Majesty appeareth more  
In waters, then in all the rest  
Of Elements. It seemed herbest  
To give the waves most strength and power:  
For they do swallow and devour  
The earth; the waters quench and kill  
The flames of fire: and mounting still  
Up in the air, are seen to be,  
As challenging a Seignory  
Within the heavens, and to be one  
That should have like dominion.  
They be a ceiling and a floor  
Of clouds, caused by the vapours store  
Arising from them, vital spirit  
By which all things their life inherit  
From them is stopped, kept asunder.  
And what's the reason else of Thunder,  
Of lightnings flashes all about,  
That with such violence break out,  
Causing such troubles and such jars,  
As with itself the world had wars?  
And can there any thing appear  
More wonderful, then in the air  
Congealed waters oft to spy  
Continuing pendant in the Sky?  
Till falling down in hail or snow,  
They make those mortal wights below  
To run, and ever help desire  
From his for Element the fire,  
Which fearing then to come abroad,  
Within doors maketh his abode.  
Or falling down oft time in rain,  
Doth give green Liveries to the plain,  
Make Shepherd's Lambs fit for the dish,  
And giveth nutriment to fish.  
Which nourisheth all things of worth  
The earth produceth and brings forth;  
And therefore well considering  
The nature of it in each thing:  
As when the teeming earth doth grow  
So hard, that none can plow nor ●ow,  
Her breast it doth so mollify,  
That it not only comes to be  
More easy for the share and Ox,  
But that in Harvest times the shocks  
Of Ceres hanging eared corn  
Doth fill the Hovel and the Barn.  
To Trees and Plants I comfort give,  
By me they fructify and live:  
For first ascending from beneath  
Into the Sky, with lively breath,  
I thence am furnished, and bestow  
The same on Herbs that are below.  
So that by this each one may see  
I cause them spring and multiply.  
Who seeth this, can do no less,  
Then of his own accord confess,  
That notwithstanding all the strength  
The earth enjoys in breadth and length,  
She is beholding to each stream,  
And hath received all from them.  
Her love to him she then must give  
By whom herself doth chiefly live.  
This being spoken by this waters God,  
He straightway in his hand did take his rod,  
And struck it on his bank, wherewith the flood  
Did such a roaring make within the wood,  
That strait the 
a The watery Nymph that sp●ke to ●emond.  Nymph who then sat on her shore,  
Knew there was somewhat to be 〈…〉  
And therefore hasting to her Brother's Spring  
She spied what caused the waters echoing▪  
Saw where fair Marine fast asleep did lie,  
Whilst that the God still viewing her sat by  
Who when he saw his Sister Nymph draw near,  
He thus 'gan tune his voice unto her ear.  
My fairest Sister (for we come  
Both from the swelling T●e●is womb)  
The reason why of late I struck  
My ruling wand upon my Brook  
Was for this purpose; Late this Maid  
Which on my bank asleep is laid,  
Was by herself or other wight,  
Cast in my spring, and did affright  
With her late fall, the fish that take  
Their chiefest pleasure in my Lake:  
Of all the Fry within my deep,  
None durst out of their dwellings peep.  
The Trout within the weeds did s●●d,  
The Eel him hid within the mud.  
Yea, from this fear I was not free:  
For as I musing sat to see.  
How that the pretty Pebbles round  
Came with my Spring from under ground,  
And how the waters issuing  
Did make them dance about my Spring;  
The noise thereof did me appall:  
That starting upward therewithal,  
I in my arms her body caught,  
And both to light and life her brought▪  
Then cast her in a sleep you see.  
But Brother, to the cause (quoth she)  
Why by your raging waters wild  
Am I here called ● Thetis child,  
Replied the God, for thee I sent,  
That when her time of sleep is spent,  
I may commit her to thy gage,  
Since women best know women's rage.  
Mean while, fair Nymph, accompany  
My Spring with thy sweet harmony;  
And we will make her soul to take▪  
Some pleasure, which is said to wake,  
Although the body hath his rest.  
She gave consent, and each of them addressed  
Unto their part. The watery Nymph did sing  
In manner of a pretty questioning:  
The God made answer to what she propounded,  
Whilst from the Spring a pleasant music sounded,  
(Making each shrub in silence to adore them)  
Taking their subject from what lay before them.  Nymph. 
WHat's that, compact of earth, infused with air;  
A ●ert●ine, made full with uncertainties;  
Swayed by the motion of each several Sphere;  
Who's 〈◊〉 with nought but infelicities;  
Endures nor heat nor cold; is like a Swan,  
That this hour sings, next dies?  God. 
It is a Man.  Nymph. 
What's be, borne to be sick, so always dying,  
That's guided by inevitable Fate;  
That comes in weeping, and that goes out crying;  
Whose Calendar of woes is still in date;  
Whose life's a bubble, 〈◊〉 length a span▪  
A consort still in discorded.  God. 
'tis a man.  Nymph. 
What's he, whose thoughts are still ●uell'd in th'event,  
Though 〈◊〉 for lawful, by an opposite,  
Hath all things fleeting, nothing permanent:  
And at 〈…〉 wears still a Parasite:  
Hath friends in wealth, or wealthy friends, who ca●  
In want prove mere illusions?  God. 
'tis a Man.  Nymph. 
What's he, that what he is not, strives to seem●  
Thus 〈◊〉 support an Atlas weight of care:  
That of an outward good doth best esteem:  
And looketh not within how solid they are▪  
That doth not virtuous, but the 〈…〉  
Learning and worth by wealth  God. 
It is ● Man.  Nymph. 
What's that possessor▪ which of good makes had;  
And what is worst, makes choice still for the best;  
That grieveth most to think of what he had;  
And of his chiefest l●sse accounteth 〈◊〉;  
That doth not what he ought, but what he can;  
Whose fancio's ever boundless?  God. 
'tis a man.  Nymph. 
But what is it wherein Dame Nature wrought  
The best of works, 
The first woman is feigned to be named Pandora, 1. a creature seamed of the concurrence of the gifts and ornaments of all the Gods. As Hesiod, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  the only frame of Heaven;  
And having long to find a present sought,  
Wherein the world's whole beauty might be given;  
She did resolve in it all arts to summon,  
To join with Nature's framing?  God. 
'tis this Woman.  Nymph. 
If beauty be a thing to be admired;  
And if admiring draw to it affection;  
And what we do affect is most desired;  
What wight is he to love denies subjection?  
And can his thoughts within himself confine?  
Marine that waking lay, said; Celandine.  
He is the man that hates which some admire;  
He is the wight that loathes whom most desire:  
'Tis only he to love denies subiecting,  
And but himself, thinks none is worth affecting.  
Unhappy me the while, accursed my Fate,  
That Nature gives no love where she gave hate.  
The watery Rulers than perceived plain,  
Nipped with the Winter of love's frost, Disdain;  
This Non-par-el of beauty had been led  
To do an act which Envy pitied:  
Therefore in pity did confer together,  
What Physic best might cure this burning Fever.  
At last found out that in a Grove below,  
Where shadowing Sycamores past number grow,  
A Fountain takes his journey to the Main,  
Whose liquors nature was so sovereign,  
(Like to the wondrous Well and famous Spring,  
Which in 
* Plini● writes of two Springs rising in Boetia, the first helping memory, called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: The latter causing oblivion, called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  Boetia hath his issuing)  
That whoso of it doth but only taste,  
All former memory from him doth waste.  
Not changing any other work of Nature,  
But doth endow the drinker with a feature  
More lovely, fair Medea took from hence  
Some of this water, by whose quintessence,  
Aeson from age came back to youth. This known,  
The God thus spoke:  
Nymph, be thine own,  
And after mine. This Goddess here  
(For she's no less) will bring thee where  
Thou shalt acknowledge Springs have do  
As much for thee as any one.  
Which ended, and thou gotten free,  
If thou wilt come and live with me,  
No Shepherd's daughter, nor his wife,  
Shall boast them of a better life.  
Mean while I leave thy thoughts at large,  
Thy body to my sister's charge;  
Whilst I into my Spring do dive,  
To see that they do not deprive  
The Meadows near, which much do thirst,  
Thus heated by the Sun. May first  
(Quoth Marine) Swains give Lambs to thee;  
And may thy Flood have signory  
Of all Floods else, and to thy fame  
Mere greater Springs, yet keep thy name.  
May never Ever no● the Toad,  
Within thy banks make their abode!  
Taking thy journey from the Sea,  
Mayst thou ne'er happen in thy way  
On Niter or on Brimstone Mine,  
To spoil thy taste! this Spring of thine  
Let it of nothing taste but earth,  
And salt conceived, in their birth  
Be ever fresh! Let no man dare  
To spoil thy Fish, make lock or ware,  
But on thy Margin still let dwell  
Those flowers which have the sweetest smell.  
And let the dust upon thy strand  
Become like Tagus' golden sand.  
Let as much good heride to thee.  
As thou hast favour showed to me.  
Thu said, in gentle paces they remove,  
And hastened onward to the shady Grove:  
Where both arrived; and having found the Rock,  
Saw how this precious wa●e● it did lock.  
As he whom Avarice possesseth most,  
Drawn by necessity unto his ●●st,  
Doth drop by piecemeal down his prisoned gold,  
And seems unwilling to let go his hold:  
So the strong rock the water long time stops,  
And by degrees lets it fall down in drops.  
Like hoarding huswives that do mould their food,  
And keep from others, what doth them no good.  
The drops within a Cistern fell of stone,  
Which framed by Nature, Art had never one  
Half part so curious. Many spells then using,  
The water● Nymph 'twixt Marine's lips infusing  
Part of this water, she might strait perceive  
How soon her troubled thoughts began to lea●e  
Her Love-swolne-breast, and that her inward flame  
Was clean assuaged, and though very name  
Of Celandine forgotten; did scarce know  
If there were such a thing as Love or no.  
And sighing, therewithal threw in the air  
All former love, all sorrow, all despair,  
And all the former causes of h●r moan  
Did there with bury in oblivion▪  
Than mustering up her thoughts grown vagabonds  
Pressed to relieve her inward bleeding wounds,  
She had as quickly all things, past forgotten,  
As men do Monarches that in earth 〈…〉  
As one new borne she seemed so all discerning  
" Though things long learned are the longest unlearning.  
Then walked they to a Grove but near at hand,  
Where fiery Titan had but small command,  
Because the leaves conspiring kept his beams,  
For fear of hurting (when he's in extremes)  
The under flowers, which did enrich the ground  
With sweeter scents than in Arabia found,  
The earth doth yield (which they through pores exhale)  
Earth's best of odours, th'aromatical:  
Like to that smell which oft our sense 〈◊〉  
Within a field which long unplowed ●ies  
Somewhat before the setting of the Sun;  
And where the Rainbow in the Horizon▪  
Doth pitch her tips: on as when in the prime,  
The earth being troubled with a drought long time,  
The hand of Heaven his spongy Clouds doth strain  
And throws into her lap a shower of rain;  
She sendeth up (conceived from the Sun)  
A sweet perfume and exhalation.  
Nor all the Ointments brought from Delos I'll;  
Nor from the confines of seven-headed Nile▪  
Nor that brought whence Rhaenicians have abodes,  
Nor Cyprus wild Vine-flowers, nor that of Rhodes,  
Nor Roses-oile from Naples, Capua,  
Saffron consected in Gilician  
No● th●● of Quinces, nor of Marjoram,  
That ever from the I'll of Coos came.  
Nor these, nor any else, though ne'er so rare,  
Could with this place for sweetest smells compare.  
There stood the Elm, whose shade so mildly dim  
Do●h nourish all that groweth under him▪  
Cypress that like Pyramids run topping,  
And hurt the least of any by their dropping.  
The Alder, whose sat shadow nourisheth,  
Each Plant set near to him long flourisheth.  
The heavie-beaded Planetree, by whose shade  
The grass grows thickest, men are fresher made.  
The Oaks, that best endures the Thunder-shocks:  
The everlasting Ebon, Cedar, Box.  
The Olive that in Wamscot never cleaves.  
The amorous Vine which in the Elm still weaves.  
The Lotus, juniper, where worms ne'er enter▪  
The Pine, with whom men through the Ocean venture.  
The warlike Y●wgh, by which (more than the Lance)  
The strong-armed English spirit's conquered France.  
Amongst the r●st the Tamariske there stood,  
For Huswives bosoms only known most good.  
The cold-place-loving Biroh, and Seruis tree:  
The Walnut loving vales, and Mulbury.  
The Maple, Ashe; that do delight in Fountains,  
Which have their currents by the sides of Mountains.  
The La●●ell, Myrtle, ●uy, Date, which hold  
Their leaves all Winter, be it ne'er so cold.  
The Fir, that oftentimes doth Rosin drop:  
The Beech that scales the Welkin with his top:  
All these, and thousand more within this Grove,  
By all the industry of Nature strou●  
To frame on Harbour that might keep within it  
The best of beauties that the world hath in it.  
Hero entering, at the entrance of which shroud,  
The S●nne 〈◊〉 angry hid him in a cloud,  
As raging that a Grove should from his sight  
Lock up a beauty whence himself had light.  
The flowers pulled in their heads as being shamed  
Their beauties by the others were defamed.  
Ne●re to this Wood there lay a pleasant Mead,  
Where Fairies often did their Measures tread,  
Which in the Meadow made such circles geene,  
As if with Garlands it had crowned been,  
Or like the Circle where the Signs we track,  
And learned Shepherds call't the Zodiac:  
Within one of these rounds was to be seen  
A Hillock rise, where oft the Fairy-Queene  
At●wy-light sat, and did command her Elves,  
To pinch those Maids that had not swept their shelves:  
And further if by Maiden's oversight,  
Within doors water were not brought at night:  
Or if they spread no Table, set no Bread,  
They should have nips from toe unto the head:  
And for the Maid that had performed each thing,  
She in the Water-paile bade leave a Ring.  
Upon this Hill there sat a lovely Swain,  
As if that Nature thought it great disdain  
That he should (so through her his Genius told him)  
Take equal place with Swains, since she did hold him  
Her chiefest work, and therefore thought it fit,  
That with inferiors he should never fit.  
Narcissus' change, sure Ovid clean mistook,  
He ●y'd not looking in a Crystal brook,  
But (as those which in emulation gaze)  
He pined to death by looking on this face.  
When he stood fishing by some River's brim,  
The fish would leap, more for a sight of him  
Then for the fly. The Eagle highest bred,  
Was taking him once up for Ganymede.  
The shag-haird Satyrs, and the tripping Fawns,  
With all the troop that frolic on the Lawns,  
Would come and gaze on him, as who should say  
They had not seen his like this many a day.  
Yea Venus knew no difference 'twixt th●se twain,  
Save Adonis was a Hunter, this a Swain.  
The woods sweet Queristers from spray to spray  
Would hop them nearer him, and then there stay:  
Each joying greatly from his little hart,  
That they with his sweet Reed might bear a part▪  
This was the Boy, (the Poets did mistake)  
To whom bright Cynthia so much love did make;  
And promised for his love no scornful eyes  
Should ever see her more in horrid guise:  
But she at his command would as of duty  
Become as full of light as he of beauty.  
Lucina at his birth for Midwife stuck:  
And Cytherea nursed and gave him suck,  
Who to that end, once Dove-drawne from the Sea,  
Her full Paps dropped, whence came the Milkie-way.  
And as when Plato did i'th' Cradle thrive,  
Bees to his lips brought honey from their Hive:  
So to this Boy they came, I know not whether  
They brought, or from his lips did honey gather.  
The Wood-Nymphs oftentimes would b●●i●d be,  
And pluck for him the blushing Strawberry:  
Making of them a Bracelet on a Bent,  
Which for a favour to this Swain they sent.  
Sitting in shades, the Sun would oft by skips  
Steal through the boughs, and seize upon his lips.  
The chiefest cause the Sun did condescend  
To Phaeton● request, was to this end,  
That whilst the other did his Horse's reign,  
He might slide from his Sphere, & court this Swain▪  
Whose sparkling eyes vied lustre with the Stars,  
The truest Centre of all Circulars.  
In briefs, if any man in skill were able  
To finish up Apelles half done Table,  
This Boy (the man left out) were fittest sure  
To be the pattern of that portraiture.  
Piping he sat, as merry as his look,  
And by him lay his Bottle and his Hook.  
His buskins (edged with silver) were of silk,  
Which held a leg more white than morning's milk.  
Those Buskins he had got and brought away  
For dancing best upon the Revel day:  
His Oaten Reed did yield for●h such sweet Notes,  
joined in consort with the Birds shrill throats,  
That equalised the Harmony of Spheres,  
A Music that would ravish choicest ears.  
Long looked they on (who would not long look on,  
That such an object had to look upon▪)  
Till at the last the Nymph did Marine send,  
To ask the nearest way, whereby to wend  
To those fair walks where sprung Marina's ill  
While she would stay 〈◊〉 Marine obeyed her will,  
And hastened towards him (who would not do so,  
That such a pretty journey had to go?)  
Sweetly she came, and with a modest blush,  
Gave him the day, and then accosted thus:  
Fairest of men, that (whilst thy flock doth feed)  
Sittest sweetly piping on thine Oaten Reed  
Upon this Little berry (some ycleep  
A Hillock) void of care, as are thy sheep  
Devoid of spots, and sure on all this green  
A fairer flock as yet was never seen:  
Do me this favour (men should favour Maids)  
That whatsoever path directly leads,  
And void of danger, thou to me do show,  
That by it to the Marish I might go.  
Marriage! (quoth he) mistaking what she said,  
Nature's perfection: thou most fairest Maid,  
(If any fairer than the fairest may be)  
Come sit thee down by me; know lovely Lady,  
Love is the readiest way: if ta'en aright  
You may attain thereto full long ere night.  
The Maiden thinking he of Marish spoke,  
And not of Marriage, straightway did invoke,  
And prayed the Shepherd's God might always keep  
Him from all danger, and from Wolves his sheep.  
Wishing withal that in the prime of Spring  
Each sheep he had, two Lambs might yearly bring.  
But yet (quoth she) arede good gentle Swain,  
If in the Dale below, or on yond Plain;  
Or is the Village situate in a Grove,  
Through which my way lies, and yclept love?  
Nor on yo●d Plain, nor in this neighbouring wood;  
Nor in the Dale where glides the silver flood;  
But like a Beacon on a hill so high,  
That every one may see't which passeth by  
Is Love yplaced: there's nothing can it hide,  
Although of you as yet 'tis unespide.  
But on which hill (quoth she) pray tell me true?  
Why here (quoth he) it sits and talks to you.  
And are you Love (quoth she?) fond Swain adieu,  
You guide me wrong, my way lies not by you.  
Though not your way, yet you may lie by me:  
Nymph, with a Shepherd thou as merrily  
Mayst love and live, as with the greatest Lord.  
" Greatness doth never most content afford.  
I love thee only, not affect world's pelf,  
" She is not loved, that's loved not for herself:  
How many Shepherd's daughters, who in duty  
To griping fathers have enthralled their beauty,  
To wait upon the Gout, to walk when pleases  
Old january halt. O that diseases  
Should link with youth: She that hath such a mate  
Is like two twins borne both incorporate:  
Th'one living, th'other dead: the living twin  
Must needs be slain through noisomeness of him  
He carrieth with him: such are their estates,  
Who merely marry wealth and not their mates.  
As ebbing waters freely slide away,  
To pay their tribute to the raging Sea;  
When meeting with the flood they justle stout,  
Whether the one shall in, or th'other out:  
Till the strong flood new power of waves doth bring  
And drives the River back into his Spring:  
So Marine's words offering to take their course,  
By Love then entering, were kept back, and force  
To it, his sweet face, eyes, and tongue assigned,  
And threw them back again into her mind.  
" How hard it is to leave and not to do  
" That which by nature we are prone unto?  
" We hardly can (alas why not?) discuss,  
" When Nature hath decreed it must be thus.  
" It is a Maxim held of all, known plain,  
" Thrust Nature off with forks, she'll turn again.  
Blithe Doridon (so men this Shepherd hight)  
Seeing his Goddess in a silent plight,  
(" Love often makes the speeches organs mute,)  
Began again thus to renew his suit:  
If by my words your silence hath been such,  
Faith I am sorry I have spoke so much.  
Bar I those lips? fit to be th'utterers, when  
The heavens would parley with the chief of men.  
Fit to direct (a tongue all hearts convinces)  
When best of Scribes writes to the best of Princes,  
Were mine like yours, of choicest words compleatest,  
" I'd show how grief's a thing weighs down the greatest taint it,  
" The best of forms (who knows not) grief doth  
" The skilfullest Pencil never yet could paint it.  
And reason good, since no man yet could find  
What figure represents a grieved mind.  
Me thinks a troubled thought is thus expressed,  
To be a Chaos rude and indigest,  
Where all do rule, and yet none bears chief sway:  
Checked only by a power that's more than they.  
This doe● speak, since to this every lover  
That thus doth love, is thus still given over.  
If that you say you will not, cannot love:  
Oh Heavens! for what cause then do you here move?  
Are you not framed of that expertest mould,  
For whom all in this Round concordance hold?  
Or are you framed of some other fashion,  
And have a form and heart, but yet a passion?  
It cannot be for then unto what end  
Did the best workman this great work intend?  
Not that by mind's commerce, and joint estate,  
The world's continuers still should propagate?  
Yea, if that Reason (Regent of the Senses)  
Have but a part amongst your excellences,  
she'll tell you what you call Virginity,  
Is fitly likened to a barren tree▪  
Which when the Gardener on it pains bestows,  
To graft an Imp thereon, in time it grows  
To such perfection, that it yearly brings  
As goodly fruit, as any tree that springs.  
Believe me Maiden, you no chastity:  
For maidens but imperfect creatures be.  
Alas poor Boy (quoth Marine) have the Fates  
Exempted no degrees? are no estates▪  
Fr●e from Love's rage? Be ruled: unhappy Swain,  
Call back thy spirits, and recollect again  
Thy vagrant wits. I tell thee for a truth  
" Love is a Siren that doth shipwreck youth.  
Be well advised, thou entertainst a guest  
That is the Harbinger of all unrest:  
Which like the Viper's young, that lick the earth,  
Eat out the breeders womb to get a birth.  
Faith (quoth the Boy) I know there cannot be,  
Danger in loving or enjoying thee▪  
For what cause were things made and called good,  
But to be loved? If you understood  
The Birds that prattle here, you would know then,  
As birds woo birds, maids should be wooed of men  
But I want power to woo, since what was mine  
Is fled, and lie as vassals at your shrine:  
And since what's mine is yours, let that same move,  
Although in me you see nought worthy Love..  
Marine about to speak, forth of a sling  
(Fortune to all misfortunes plies her wing  
More quick and speedy) came a sharpened flint,  
Which in the fair boys neck made such a dint,  
That crimson blood came streaming from the wound  
And he fell down into a deadly swound.  
The blood ran all along where it did fall,  
And could not find a place of burial:  
But where it came, it there congealed stood,  
As if the Earth loathed to drink guiltless blood.  
Gold-haird Apollo, Muses sacred King,  
Whose praise in Delphos Ile doth ever ring:  
Physics first founder, whose Arts excellence  
Extracted Nature's chiefest quintessence,  
Unwilling that a thing of such a worth  
Should so be lost▪ strait sent a Dragon forth  
To fetch this blood, and he performed the same:  
And now Apothecaries give it name,  
From him that fetched it: (Doctors know it good  
In Physics use) and call it Dragon's bloud●  
Some of the blood by chance did downward fall,  
And by a vein go● to a Mineral,  
Whence came a Red, decayed Dames infuse it  
With Valise ●eruse, and for painting use it.  
Marine astonished (most unhappy Maid)  
Overcome with fear, and at the view afraid,  
Fell down into a tran●●, eyes lost their sight,  
Which being open, made all darkness light▪  
H●r blood ran to her heart, or life to f●ed,  
Or loathing to behold so vile a deed.  
And as when Winter doth the Earth array  
In siluer-s●ite, and whe● the night and day  
Ar● in dissension, Night locks up the ground,  
Which by the help of day is oft vnbound:  
A shepherd's boy with bow and shafts addressed,  
Ranging the fields, having once pierced the breast  
Of some poor fowl▪ doth with the blow strait rush  
To ●atch the Bird lies panting in the Bush:  
So cus●● this striker i●, up Marine took,  
And hastened with her to a neare-hand Brooke. 
An expression of the natures of two Ri●e●● 〈◊〉 near together, and differing in their tastes and manner of running.   
Old Shepherds sane (old shepherd's sooth have sain●)  
Two Rivers took their issue from the Main,  
Bo●h near together, and each bent his ●ac●,  
Which of them both should first behold the face  
O●●adiant Phoebus: One of them in gliding  
Clime'd on a Vein where Nir●● had abiding:  
The other loathing that her purer Wave  
Should be defiled with that the Niter gave,  
Fled fast away, the other followed fast,  
Till both been ●n a Rock yme● at last▪  
As seemed best, the Rock did first deliver  
Out of his hollow sides the purer River:  
(As if it taught those men in honour clad,  
To help the virtuous and suppress the bad.)  
Which gotten (loose, did softly glide away.  
As men from earth, to earth▪ from sea, to sea▪  
So Rivers run▪ and that from whence both came  
Takes what she gave: Waue● Earth▪ but leaves a name,  
As waters have their course, & in their place  
Succeeding streams will out; so is man's race:  
The Name doth still survive, and cannot die,  
Until the Channels stop, on Spring grow day.  
As I have seen upon a Bridal day  
Full many Maid● clad in their best array,  
In honour of the Bride come with their Flaskets  
Filled full with flowers: others in wicker-baskets  
Bring from the Marish Rushes, to overspread  
The ground, where on to Church the Lovers tread▪  
Whilst that the qu●intest youth of all the Plain  
Ushers their way with many a piping strain:  
So, as in joy, at this fair River's birth,  
Triton came up a Channel with his mirth,  
And called the neighbouring Nymphs each in her turn  
To pour their pretty Rivilets' from their Urn;  
To wait upon this new-delivered Spring.  
Some running through the Meadows, with them bring  
Cowslip and Mint: and 'tis another's lot  
To light upon some Gardeners curious knot  
Whence she upon her breast (loves sweet repose)  
Doth bring the Queen of flowers, the English Rose.  
Some from the Fen bring Reeds, Wilde-tyme from Downs▪  
Some from a Grove the Bay that Poet's crowns;  
Some from an aged Rock the Moss hath torn,  
And leaves him naked unto winter's storm:  
Another from her banks (in mere good will)  
Brings nutriment for fish, the Camomile.  
Thus all bring somewhat, and do overspread  
The way the Spring unto the Sea doth tread.  
This while the Flood which yet the Rock up penned,  
And suffered not with jocund merriment  
To tread rounds in his Spring, came rushing forth,  
As angry that his waves (he thought) of worth  
Should not have liberty, nor help the prime.  
And is some ruder Swain composing rhyme,  
Spends many a grey Goose-quill unto the handle,  
Buries within his socket many a Candle;  
Blot! Paper by the choir, and dries up Ink,  
As Xerxes' Army did whole Rivers' drink,  
Hoping thereby his name his work should raise  
That it should live until the last of days:  
Which finished, he boldly doth address.  
Him and his works to undergo the Press▪  
When lo (O Fate!) his work not seeming fit  
To walk in equipage with better wit,  
Is kept from light, there gnawn by Moths and worms,  
At which he frets: Right so this River storms:  
But broken forth; As Tavy creeps upon  
The Western vales of fertile Albion,  
Here dashes roughly on an aged Rock,  
That his intended passage doth up lock;  
There intricately 'mongst the Woods doth wander,  
Losing himself in many a wry Meander:  
Here amorously bend, eclipse some fair Mead;  
And then dispersed in rils, doth measures tread  
Upon her bosom amongst her flowery ranks:  
There in another place bears down the banks▪  
Of some day labouring wretch: here meets a rill,  
And with their forces joined cuts out a Mill  
Into an Island, then in jocund guise  
Surveys his conquest, la●ds his enterprise:  
Here digs a Cave at some high Mountain's foot:  
There undermines an Oak, tears up his roo●:  
Thence rushing to some Country-farme at hand,  
Breaks o'er the Yeoman's mounds, sweeps from his lan●  
His Harvest hope of Wheat, of Rye, or Pease:  
And makes that channel which was Shepherds lest  
Here, as our wicked age doth sacrilege,  
Helps down an Abbey, than a natural bridge  
By creeping under ground he frameth out,  
As who should say he either went about  
To right the wrong he did▪ or hid his face,  
For having done a deed so vile and base:  
So ran this River on, and did be stir  
Himself, to find his fellow-traveller.  
But th'other fearing lest her noise might show  
What path she took, which way her streams did flo●  
As some way-faring man strays through a wood,  
Where beasts of prey thirsting for humane blood  
Lurk in their dens, he softly listening goes,  
Not trusting to his heels, treads on his toes:  
Dreads every noise he hears, thinks each small bush  
To be a beast that would upon him rush:  
Feareth to dye, and yet his wind doth smother;  
Now leaves this path, takes that, then to another:  
Such was her course. This feared to be found,  
The other not to find, swells o'er each mound,  
Roars, rages, foams, against a mountain dashes,  
And in recoil, makes Meadows standing plashes:  
Yet finds not what he seeks in all his way,  
But in despair runs headlong to the Sea.  
This was the cause them by tradition taught,  
Why one flood ran so fast, th'other so soft,  
Both from one head. Unto the rougher stream,  
(Crowned by that Meadows flowery Diadem,  
Where Doridon lay hurt) the cruel Swain  
Hurries the Shepherdess, where having lain▪  
Her in a Boat like the Cannowes of Ind,  
Some silly trough of wood, or some trees rind;  
Puts from the shore, and leaves the weeping strand,  
Intends an act by water, which the land  
Abhorred to bolster; yea, the guiltless earth  
Loathed to be Midwife to so vile a birth:  
Which to relate I am enforced to wrong  
The modest blushes of my Maiden-song.  
Then each fair Nymph whom Nature doth endow  
With beauty's cheek, crowned with a shamefast brow;  
Whose well-tuned ears, chast-obiect-loving eyen  
Ne'er heard nor saw the works of 
* An obscene Italian Poet.  Aretine;  
Who ne'er came on the Citherean shelf,  
But is as true as Chastity itself;  
Where hated Impudence ne'er set her seed;  
Where lust lies not veiled in a virgin's weed:  
Le● her withdraw. Let each young Shepherdling  
Walk by, or stop his ●are, the whilst I sing.  
But ye, whose blood, like Kids upon a plain,  
Doth skip, and dance Lavoltoes in each vein;  
Whose breasts are swollen with the Venerean game,  
And warm yourselves at lust's alluring flame;  
Who dare to act as much as men dare think,  
And wallowing lie within a sensual sink;  
Whose feigned gestures do entrap our youth  
With an apparency of simple truth;  
Insatiate gulfs, in your de●ectiue part  
By Art help Nature, and by Nature, Art:  
Lend me your ears, and I will touch a string  
Shall lull your sense asleep the while I sing.  
But stay: me thinks I hear something in me  
That bids me keep the bounds of modesty;  
Says," Each man's voice to that is quickly moved  
" Which of himself is best of all beloved;  
" By uttering what thou know'st less glory's got,  
" Then by concealing what thou knowest not.  
If so, I yield to it, and set my rest  
Rather to lose the bad, then wrong the best.  
My Maiden-Muse flies the lascivious Swains,  
And scorns to soil her lines with lustful strains▪  
Will ●ot dilate (nor on her forehead bear  
Immodesties abhorred Character)  
His shameless pryings, his undecent doings;  
His curious searches, his respectless woo:  
How that he saw. But what? I dare not break it,  
You safer may conceive the● I dare speak it.  
Yet verily had he not thought her dead,  
she'd lost, ne'er to be found, her Maidenhead.  
The rougher stream loathing a thing compacted  
Of so great shame, should o● his ●loud be acted;  
(According to our times not well allowed  
In others, what he in himself avowed)  
Bent hard his forehead▪ furrowed up his face,  
And danger led the way the boat did trace.  
And as within a Landscape that doth stand  
Wrought by the Pencil of some curious hand,  
We may descry, here meadow, there a wood●  
Here standing ponds, and there a running ●●oud:  
Here on some mount a house of pleasure vaunted,  
Where once the roaring Cannon had been planted:  
There on a hill a Swain pipes out the day,  
Out-braving all the Choristers of May.  
A Huntsman here follows his cry of hounds,  
Driu●ng the Hare along the ●allow grounds▪  
Whilst one at hand seeming ●he sport t'allow,  
Follows the hounds, and careless leaves the Blow.  
There in another place some high-raised land,  
In pride bears out her breasts unto the strand.  
Here stands a bridge, and there a condu●● 〈◊〉▪  
Here round a Maypole some the measures tr●ad:  
There boys the truant play and leave their book:  
Here stands an Angler with a baired hook.  
There for a Stag one lurks within a bough●  
Here sits a Maiden milking of her Cow.  
There on a goodly plain (by ●ime thrown down)  
Lies buried in his dust some ancient Town;  
Who now invillaged, there's only seen  
In his va●●e ruins what his state had been:  
And all of these in shadows so expressed  
Make the beholder's eyes to take no rest.  
So for the Swain the Flood did mean to him  
To show in Nature (not by▪ Art to limb)  
A Tempest's rage, his furious waters threat,  
Some on this shore, some on the other be●●▪  
Here stands a Mountain, where was once a Dale;  
There where a Mountain stood is now a Vale.  
Here flows a billow, there another m●●●s:  
Each, on each side the skiff, unkindly greets.  
The waters underneath g●n upward move,  
Wondering what stratagems were wrought above:  
Billows that missed the bo●t, still onward thrust,  
And on the Cliffs, as swollen with anger▪ burst.  
All these▪ and more, in substance so expressed,  
Made the ●●holders thoughts to take no rest.  
Horror in ●ll●mphrid upon the waves▪  
And all the Fairies from their gloomy caue●  
Came hovering o'er the Boat, summoned each sense  
Before the fearful bar of Conscience;  
Were guilty all, and all condemned were  
To under 〈◊〉 their horrors with despair▪  
What Muse? what Pour? or what thrice sacred Hearse,  
That lives immortal in a well-tuned Verse,  
Can lend me such a sight that I might see  
A guilty conscience true Anatomy;  
That well kept Register wherein is writ  
All ills men do, all goodness they omit?  
His pallid fears, his sorrows, his affrightings;  
His 〈◊〉 wished had-I-w●sts▪ remorseful bitings:  
His many tortures, his heart-renting pain:  
How we●e his griefs composed in one chain,  
And he by it let down into the Seas,  
Or through the Centre to th' Antipodes?  
He might change Climates, or be barred Heavens face;  
Yet ●nde no salve, nor ever change his case.  
Fears, sorrows, tortures, sad affrights, nor any,  
Like to the Conscience sting, though thrice as many;  
Yet all these torments by the Swain were borne.  
Whilst Death's grim visage lay upon the storm.  
But as when some kind Nurse doth long time keep  
Her pretty babe at suck▪ whom fallen asleep  
She lays down in his Cradle, stints his cry  
With many a sweet and pleasing Lullaby;  
Whilst the sweet child, not troubled with the shock,  
As sweetly slumbers, as his Nurse doth rock:  
So lay the Maid, th'amazed Swain▪ 〈◊〉 weeping,  
And death in her was dispossessed by sleeping.  
Th● roa●ing voice of winds, the billows raves;  
Nor all the mu●●●ing of the sullen waves  
Co●ld once disquiet, or her slumber stir:  
But ●ull'd her move asleep then wakened her.  
Such are their states, whose souls from foult offence  
Enthroned sit in spotless Innocence.  
Where rest my Muse; till (jolly Shepherds Swaine●)  
Next morn with Pearls of dew bedecks o●r plains  
we'll fold our flocks, then in fit time go on  
To tune mine Oaten pipe for Doridon.   

THE THIRD SONG.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
The Shepherd's Swain here singing on,  
Tells of the cure of Doridon:  
And then unto the waters falls  
Chanteth the rustic Pastorals.  
NOw had the Sun, in golden chariot hurled  
Twice bid good-morrow to the neither world  
And Cynthia, in her or ●e and perfect ●ound  
Twice viewed the shadows of the upper ground.  
Twice had the Daystar ushered forth the light;  
And twice the Euening-starre proclaimed the night;  
E●e once the sweet-faced Boy (now all forlorn)  
Came with his Pipe to resalute the Morn.  
When graced by time (unhappy time the while)  
The cruel Swain (who ere knew Swain so vile?)  
Had stroke the Lad, in came the watery Nymph,  
To raise from sound poor Doridon (the Imp,  
Whom Nature seemed to have selected forth  
To be ingraffed on some stock of worth;)  
And the Maids help, but since" to dooms of Fate  
" Secure, though ne'er so soon, comes still too late.  
She raised the youth, then with her arms inrings him▪  
And so with words of hope she home-wards brings him.  
At door expecting him his Mother sat,  
Wondering her Boy would stay from her so late;  
Framing for him unto herself excuses,  
And with such thoughts gladly herself abuses:  
As that her son, since day grew old and weak,  
Stayed with the Maids to run at Ba●llbreake:  
Or that he coursed a Park with females fraught,  
Which would not run except they might be caught.  
O● in the thickets laid some wily snare  
To take the Rabber, or the pour blind Hare.  
O● taught his Dog to catch the climbing Kid:  
Thus Shepherds do; and thus she thought he did.  
" In things expected meeting with delay,  
" Though there be none, we frame some cause of stay.  
And so did she, (as she who doth not so?)  
Conjecture Time vnwinged he came so slow.  
But Doridon drew near, so did her grief:  

Homer. " Ill luck, for speed, of all things else is chief.  
For as the Blindman sung, Time so provides,  
That joy goes still on foot, and sorrow rides.  
Now when she saw (a woeful sight) her son,  
Her hopes then failed her, and her cries begun  
To utter such a plaint, that scarce another,  
Like this, ere came from any lovesick mother.  
If man hath done this, heaven why mad'st tho● men  
Not to deface thee in thy children;  
But by the work the Workman to adore;  
Framing that something, which was nought before.  
Ay me unhappy wretch if that in things  
Which are as we (save title) men fear Kings,  
That be their Postures to the life limbed on  
Some wood as frail as they, or cut in stone,  
" 'tis death to stab: why then should earthly things  
Dare to deface his form who form Kings?  
When the world was but in his infancy,  
Revenge, Desires unjust, vile jealousy,  
Hate, Envy, Murder, all these six then reigned,  
When but their half of men the world contained:  
Yet but in part of these, those ruled then,  
When now as many vices live as men.  
Live they ●yes live I fear to kill my Son,  
With whom my joys, my love, my hopes are done.  
Cease, quoth the Water's Nymph, that led the Swain  
Though 'tis each mother's cause thus to complain:  
Yet" abstinence in things we must profess  
" Which Nature framed for need, not for excess.  
Since the least blood, drawn from the lesser part  
Of any child, comes from the Mother's hart,  
●e cannot choose but grieve, except that we  
●hould be more senseless than the senseless tree,  
replied his Mother. Do but cut the limb  
Of any Tree, the trunk will weep for him:  
●end the cold 
Alluding to our English pronunciation, and indifferent Orthography.  Sicamor's thin bark in two,  
●is Name and Tears, would say, So Love should do.  
That Mother is all ●●int (than beasts less good)  
Which drops no water when her child streams  
At this the wounded boy fell on his knee,  
Mother, kind Mother (said) weep not for me,  
Why, I am well? Indeed I am: If you  
Cease not to weep, my wound will bleed anew.  
Wh●n I was promised 〈◊〉 the lights fruition,  
You oft have told me, 'twas on this condition,  
That I should hold it with like sent and pa●ne  
As others do, and one time leave again.  
Then dearest mother leave, oh leave to wan●,  
" Time will effect, where tears can ●ought avane.  
Herewith Marinda taking up her son,  
Her hope, her love, her joy, her Doridon;  
She thanked the Nymph, for her kind succour ●ent,  
Who straight tripped to her wa●ry Regiment.  
Down in a 〈◊〉 where in that 
b july took his name from ●ulius Caesar.  Month whose fame  
Grows greater by the man who gave it name,  
Stands many a well-piled cock of more sweet hay  
That feeds the husband's Neat each Winter's day)  
A mountain had his foot, and 'gan to rise  
In ●●ately height to parley with the Skies.  
And yet as blaming his own lofty gate,  
Weighing the fickle props in things of state,  
His head began to droop, and downwards bending  
Knocked on that breast▪ which gave it birth and ending  
And lies so with an hollow hanging vault,  
As when some boy trying the Somersaut.  
Stands on his head▪ and feet, as he did lie  
To kick against carths' spangled Canopy;  
When seeing that his heels are of such weight▪  
That he cannot obtain their purposed height,  
Leaves any more to strive; and thus doth say,  
What now I cannot do, another day  
May well effect▪ it cannot be denied  
I showed a will to act, because I tried:  
The Scornefull-hill men called him, who did scorn  
So to be called, by reason he had borne  
No hate to greatness, but a mind to be  
The slave of greatness, through Humility:  
For had his Mother Nature thought it meet  
He meekly bowing would have kissed her feet.  
Under the hollow hanging of this hill  
There was a Cave cut out by Nature's skill:  
Or else it seemed the Mount did open's breast,  
That all might see what thoughts he there possessed.  
Whose gloomy entrance was environed round  
With shrubs that cloy ill husbands Meadow-groun●  
The thick-grown Ha●-thorne & the binding Br●●  
The Holly that out ●ares cold Winter's ire:  
Who all intwinde, each limb with limb did deal●  
That scarce a glimpse of light could inward steal.  
●n uncouth place, fit for an uncouth mind,  
●hat is as heavy as that cave is blind:  
●ere lived a man his hoary hairs called old,  
●pon whose front time many years had told.  
●h●, since Dame Nature in him feeble grew,  
●nd he unapt to give the world ought new,  
●he secret power of Herbs that grow on mould,  
●ought aught, to cherish and relieve the old.  
Hither Marinda all in haste came running,  
●nd with her tears desired the old man's cunning.  
When this good man (as goodness still is pressed  
●t all assays to help a wight distressed)  
●s glad and willing was to ease her son,  
As she would ever joy to see it done.  
And giving her a salve in leaves up bound;  
●nd she directed how to cure the wound,  
●ith thanks, made home-wards, (longing still to see  
●h'effect of this good Hermit's Surgery)  
●here carefully, her son laid on a bed,  
Enriched with the blood he on it shed▪  
●e washes, dresses, binds his wound (yet sore)  
●hat grieved, it could weep blood for him no more.  
Now had the glorious Sunne●ane ●ane up his june▪  
And all the lamps of heaven enlightened been▪  
within the gloomy shades of some thick Spring,  
●●d Philomela 'gan on the Haw-thorne sing,  
Whilst every beast at rest was lowly laid)  
●he outrage done upon a silly Maid.  
●●l things were hushed, each bird slept on his bough;  
●●d night gave rest to him, day tired at plough;  
Each beast, each bird, and each day-toyling wight,  
Received the comfort of the silent night:  
Free from the gripes of sorrow every one,  
Except poor Philomela and Doridon;  
She on a Thorn sings sweet though sighing strain  
He on a couch more soft, more sad complaines:  
Whole in-pen● thoughts him long time having pa●  
He sighing wept, & weeping thus complained,  
Sweet Philomela (than he heard her sing)  
I do not envy thy sweet carolling,  
But do admire thee that each even and morrow,  
Canst carelessly thus sing away thy sorrow.  
Would I could do so too ● and ever be  
In all my woes still imitating thee:  
But I may not attain to that; for then  
Such most unhappy, miserable men  
Would 〈◊〉 with Heaven, and imitate the Sunn●  
Whose golden beams in exhalation,  
Though drawn from Fens, or other grounds imp●  
Turn all to fructifying nouriture.  
When we draw nothing by our Sun like eyes,  
That ever turns to mirth, but miseries  
Would I had never seen, except that ●he  
Who made me wish so, love to look on me▪  
Had Colin Clout yet 〈◊〉, (but he is gone)  
That best on earth could tune a lover's moan,  
Whose sadder Tones enforced the Rocks to weep▪  
And laid the greatest griefs in quiet sleep:  
Who when he sung (as I would do to mine)  
His truest loves to his fair Rosal●ne,  
●nti●'d each Shepherd's ear to hear him play,  
●nd rapt with wonder, thus admiring say:  
Thrice happy plains (if plains thrice happy may be)  
Where such a Shepherd pipes to such a Lady.  
Who made the Lasses long to sit down near him;  
And wooed the Rivers from their Springs to hear him.  
Heaven rest thy Soul (if so a Swain may pray)  
And as thy works live here, live there for aye.  
Mean while (unhappy) I shall still complain  
Loves cruel wounding of a silly Swain.  
Two nights thus past: the Lilly-handed Morne  
Saw Phoebus stealing dew from Ceres Corne.  
The mounting Lark (days herald) got on wing  
Bidding each bird choose out his bough and sing. 
* A description of a Musical Consort of Birds.   
The lofty Treble sung the little Wren;  
Robin the Mean, that best of all love's men;  
The Nightingale the Tenor; and the Thrush  
The Counter-tenor sweetly in a bush:  
And that the Music might be full in parts,  
Birds from the groves flew with right willing hearts  
But (as it seemed) they thought (as do the Swains,  
Which tune their Pipes on sacked Hibernia's plains)  
There should some droning part be, therefore willed  
Some bird to fly into a neighbouring field,  
In Embassy unto the King of Bees,  
To aid his partners on the flowers and trees:  
Who condiscending gladly flew along  
To bear the Base to his well-tuned song.  
Th● Crow was willing they should be beholding  
For his deep voice, but being hoarse with skolding,  
He thus lends aid; upon an Oak doth climb,  
And nodding with his head, so keepeth time.  
O true delight, enharboring the breasts  
Of those sweet creatures with the plumy crests.  
Had Nature unto man such simplesse given,  
He would like Birds befarre more near to heaven.  
But Doridon well knew (who knows no less?)  
" Man's compounds have over thrown his simpleness.  
Noontide the Morn had wood, and she 'gan yield,  
When Doridon (made ready for the field)  
Goes sadly forth (a woeful Shepherd's Lad)  
Drowned in tears, his mind with grief clad,  
To open his fold and let his Lamkins out.  
(Full jolly flock they seemed, a well fleeced rout)  
Which gently walked before, he sadly pacing,  
Both guides and follows them towards their grazing▪  
When from a Grove the Wood-Nymphs held full dear  
Two heavenly voices did entreat his ear,  
And did compel his longing eyes to see  
What happy wight enjoyed such harmony.  
Which joined with five more, and so made seven,  
Would parallel in mirth the Spheres of heaven.  
To have a sight at first he would not press,  
For fear to interrupt such happiness:  
But kept aloof the thick grown shrubs among,  
Yet so as he might hear this wooing Song.  
F. 
FIe Shepherds Swain, why sit'st thou all alone,  
Whilst other Lads are sporting on the leys?  R. 
joy may have company, but Grief hath none:  
Where pleasure never came, sports cannot please.  F. 
Yet may you please to grace our this day's sport,  
Though not an actor, yet a looker on.  R. 
A looker on indeed, so Swains of sort,  
Cast low, take joy to look whence they are thrown?  F. 
Seek joy and find it.  R. 
Grief doth not mind it.  BOTH. 
Then both agree in one,  
Sorrow doth hate  
To have a mate;  
" True grief is still alone.  F. 
Sad Swain areade, (if that a Maid may ask)  
What cause so great effects of grief hath wrought?)  R. 
Alas, Love is not hid, it wears no mask;  
To view 'tis by the face conceived and brought.  F. 
The cause I grant: the causer is not learned:  
Your speech I do entreat about this task.  R. 
If that my heart were seen, 'twould be discerned;  
And Fida's name found graven on the cask.  F. 
Hath Love young Remond moved?  R. 
'Tis Fida that is loved.  BOTH. 
Although 'tis said that no men  
Will with their hearts,  
Or goods chief parts  
Trust either Seas or Women.  F. 
How may a Maiden be assured of love,  
Since falsehood late in every Swain excelleth?  R. 
When protestations fail, time may approve  
Where true affection lives, where falsehood dwelleth.  F. 
The truest cause elects a judge as true:  
Fie, how my sighing, my much loving telleth.  R. 
Your love is fixed in one whose heart to you  
Shall be as constancy, which ne'er rebelleth.  F. 
None other shall have grace.  R. 
None else in my heart place.  BOTH. 
Go Shepherds Swains and wive all,  
For Love and Kings  
Are two like things  
Admitting no Corrival.   
As when some Malefactor judged to die  
For his offence, his Execution nigh,  
Caste●h his sight on states unlike to his,  
And weighs his ill by others happiness:  
So Doridon thought every stare to be  
Further from him, more near felicity.  
O blessed sight, where such concordance meets,  
Where truth with truth, and love with liking greets.  
Had (quoth the Swain) the Fates given me some measure  
Of true delights inestimable treasure,  
I had been fortunate: but now so weak  
My bankrupt heart will be enforced to break.  
Sweet Love that draws on earth a yoke so even;  
Sweet life that imitates the bliss of heaven;  
Sweet death they needs must have, who so unite  
That two distinct make one Hermaphrodite:  
Swe●t love, sweet life, sweet death, that so do meet  
On earth; in death, in heaven be ever sweet!  
Let all good wishes ever wait upon you,  
And happiness as handmaid tending on you.  
Your loves within one centre meeting have!  
One hour your deaths, your corpse possess one grave!  
You● names still green, (thus doth a Swain implore)  
Till time and memory shall be no more!  
Herewith the couple hand in hand arose,  
And took the way which to the sheep-walke goes.  
And whilst that Doridon their gate looked on,  
His dog disclosed him, rushing forth upon  
A well fed Deer, that trips it o'er the Mead,  
As nimbly as the wench did whilom tread  
On Ceres' dangling ears, or Shaft let go  
By some fair Nymph that bears Diana's Bow.  
When turning head, he not a foot would stir,  
Scorning the barking of a Shepherd's cur:  
So should all Swains as little weigh their spite,  
Who at their songs do bawl, but dare not bite.  
Remond, that by the dog the Master knew,  
Came back, and angry bade him to pursue;  
Dory (quoth he) if your ill-tutered dog  
Have nought of awe, then let him have a clog.  
Do you not know this silly timorous Deer,  
(As usual to his kind) hunted whilcare,  
The Sun not ten degrees got in the Signs,  
Since to our Maids, here gathering Columbines,  
She weeping came, and with her head low laid  
In Fida's lap, did humbly beg for aid.  
Whereat unto the hounds they gave a check,  
And saving her, might spy about her neck  
A Choler hanging, and (as yet is seen)  
These words in gold wrought on a ground of green:  
Maidens: since'tis decreed a Maid shall have me,  
Keep me till he shall kill me that must save me.  
But whence she came, or who the words concern,  
We neither know nor can of any learn.  
Upon a palate she doth he at night,  
Near Fida's bed, nor will she f●om her sight:  
Upon her walks she all the day attends,  
And by her side she trips where ere she wends.  
Remond (replied the Swain) if I have wronged  
Fida in aught which unto her belonged:  
I sorrow for't, and truly do protest,  
As yet I never heard speech of this Beast:  
Nor was it with my will; or if it were,  
Is it not lawful we should chase the Deer,  
That breaking our enclosures every morn  
Are found at feed upon our crop of corn?  
Yet had I known this Deer▪ I had not wronged  
Fida in aught which unto her belonged.  
I think no less, quoth Remond; but I pray,  
Whither walks Doridon this Holiday?  
Come drive your sheep to their appointed feeding,  
And make you one at this our merry meeting.  
Full many a Shepherd with his lovely Lass,  
Sat telling tales upon the clover grass:  
There is the merry Shepherd of the hole;  
The●ot, Piers, Nilkin, Duddy, Hobbinoll,  
Alexis▪ Sylvan, Teddy of the Glen,  
R●wly and Perigot here by the Fen,  
With many more, I cannot reckon all  
That mee● to solemnize this festival.  
I grieve not at their mirth, said Doridon:  
Yet had there been of Feasts not any one  
Appointed or commanded, you will say,  
" Where there's Content 'tis ever Holiday.  
Le●ue further talk (quoth Remond) let's be gone,  
I'll help you with your sheep, the time draws on.  
Fida will call the Hind, and come with us.  
Thus went they on, and Remond did discuss  
Their cause of meeting, till they won with pacing  
The circuit chosen for the Maidens tracing.  
It was a roundel seated on a plain,  
Tha● stood as Sentinel unto the Main,  
Environed round with Trees and many an Arbour,  
Wherein melodious birds did nightly harbour:  
And on a bough within the quickening Spring,  
Would be a teaching of their young to sing;  
Whose pleasing Notes the tired Swain have made  
To steal a nap at noontide in the shade.  
Nature herself did there in triumph ride,  
And made that place the ground of all her pride.  
Whose various flowers deceived the rasher eye  
In taking them for curious Tapestry.  
A silver Spring forth of a rock did fall,  
Tha● in a drought did serve to water all.  
Upon the edges of a grassy bank,  
A tuf● of Trees grew circling in a rank,  
As if they seemed their sports to gaze upon,  
Or stood as guard against the wind and Sun:  
So fair, so fresh, so green, so sweet a ground  
The piercing eyes of heaven yet never found,  
Here Doridon all ready met doth see,  
(Oh who would not at such a meeting be?)  
Where he might doubt, who gave to other grace,  
Whether the place the Maids, or Maids the place.  
Here 'gan the Reed, and merry Bagpipe play,  
Shrill as a Thrush upon a Morn of May,  
(A rural Music for an heavenly train)  
And every Shepherdess danced with her Swain.  
As when some gale of wind doth nimbly take  
A fair white lock of wool, and with it make  
Some pretty driving; here it sweeps the plain:  
There stays, here hops, there mounts, and turns again:  
Yet all so quick, that none so soon can say  
That now it stops, or leaps, or turns away:  
So was their dancing, none looked thereupon,  
But thought their several motions to be one.  
A crooked measure was their first election,  
Because all crooked tends to best perfection.  
And as I ween this often bowing measure,  
Was chiefly framed for the women's pleasure.  
Though like the rib, they crooked are and bending,  
Yet to the best of forms they aim their ending:  
Next in an (ay) their measure made a rest,  
Showing when Love is plainest it is best.  
Then in a (Y) which thus doth Love commend,  
Making of two at first, one in the end.  
And lastly closing in a round do enter,  
Placing the lusty Shepherds in the centre:  
About the Swains they dancing seemed to roll,  
As other Planets round the Heavenly Pole.  
Who by their sweet aspect or chiding frown,  
Could raise a Shepherd up, or cast him down.  
Thus were they circled till a Swain came near,  
And sent this song unto each Shepherd's ear:  
The Note and voice so sweet, that for such mirth  
The Gods would leave the heavens, & dwell on earth.  


HAppy are you so enclosed,  
May the Maids be still disposed  
In their gestures and their dances,  
So to grace you with intwining,  
That Envy wish in such combining,  
Fortune's smile with happy chances.   

Here it seems as if the Graces  
Measured out the Plain in traces,  
In a Shepherdess disguising.  
Are the Spheres so nimbly turning?  
Wand'ring Lamps in heaven burning,  
To the eye so much enticing?   

Yes, Heaven means to take these thither,  
And add one joy to see both dance together.   

Gentle Nymphs be not refusing,  
Love's neglect is times abusing,  
They and beauty are but lent you,  
Take the one and keep the other:  
Love keeps fresh, what age doth smother.  
Beauty gone you will repent you.   

'Twill be said when ye have proved,  
Never Swains more truly loved:  
O then fly all nice behaviour.  
Pity fain would (as her duty)  
Be attending st●ll on beauty,  
Let her not be out of favour.   

Disdain is now so much rewarded,  
That Pity weeps since she is unregarded.    
The measure and the Song here being ended:  
Each Swain his thoughts thus to his Love commended.  

The first presents his Dog, with these:  
When I my flock near you do keep,  
And bid my Dog go take a Sheep,  
He clean mistakes what I bid do,  
And bends his pace still towards you.  
Poor wretch, he knows more care I keep  
To get you, than a silly Sheep.   

The second, his Pipe, with these:  
Bid me to sing (fair Maid) my Song shall prove  
There ne'er was truer Pipe sung truer Love..   

The third, a pair of Gloves, thus.  
These will keep your hands from burning,  
Whilst the Sun is swiftly turning:  
But who can any veil device  
To shield my Heart from your fair Eyes?   

The fourth, an Anagram. MAIDEN AID MEN  
Maidens should be aiding Men,  
And for love give love again:  
Learn this lesson from your Mother,  
One good wish requires another.  
They deserve their names best, when  
Maids most willingly aid Men.   

The fifth, a Ring, with a Picture in a jewel on it.  
Nature hath framed a gem beyond compare,  
The world's the Ring, but you the jewel are.   

The sixth, a Nosegay of Roses, with a Nettle in it.  
Such is the Posy, Love composes;  
A stinging Nettle mixed with Roses.   

The seventh, a Girdle.  
This during light I give to clip your Waste,  
Fair, grant mine arms that place when day is past.   

The eighth, a Heart.  
You have the substance, and I live  
But by the shadow which you give;  
Substance and shadow, both are due  
And given of me to none but you.  
Then whence is life but from that part  
Which is possessor of the heart?   

The ninth, a Shepherd's Hook.  
The Hook of right belongs to you, for when  
I take but silly Sheep, you still take Men.   

The tenth a Comb.  
Lovely maiden best of any  
Of our plains though thrice as many▪  
Veil to love, and leave denying,  
Endless knots let fates be tying.  
Such a face, so fine a feature  
(Kindest, fairest, sweetest creature)  
Never yet was found, but loving;  
O then let my plaints be moving!  
Trust a Shepherd though the meanest,  
Truth is best when she is plainest.  
I love not with vows contesting:  
Faith is faith without protesting.  
Time that all things doth inherit  
Renders each def●rt his merit.  
If that, fail in me, as no man,  
Doubtless time ne'er won a woman  
Maidens still should be relenting,  
And once flinty, still repenting.  
Youth with youth is best combined,  
Each one with his like is twined,  
Beauty should have beauteous meaning▪  
Ever that hope easeth plaining.  
Unto you whom Nature dresses  
Needs no comb to smooth your tresses▪  
This way it may do his duty  
●n your locks to shade your beauty.  
〈…〉 so, and to love be turning,  
Else each heart it will be burning.   


The Eleaventh    

The twelfth.  
 
Lo● Cupid leaves his Bow, his reason is  
Because your eyes wound when his shafts do miss.   
Whilst every one was offering at the shrine  
Of such rare beauties might be styled divine:  
This lamentable voice towards them flies:  
O Heaven send aid, or else a Maiden dies!  
Herewith some ran the way the voice them led;  
Some with the Maiden stayed which shook for dread;  
What was the cause time serves not now to tell.  
Hark; for my jolly Weather rings his bell,  
And almost all our flocks have left to graze,  
Shepherds 'tis almost night, hie home apace,  
When next we meet (as we shall meet ere long)  
I'll tell the rest in some ensuing Song.   

THE FOURTH SONG.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
Fida's distress, the Hind is slain,  
Yet from her ruins lives again.  
Riots description next I rhyme;  
Then Aletheia, and old Time:  
And lastly, from this Song I go,  
Having described the Vale of Woe.  
HAppy ye days of old, when every waste  
Was like a SANCTVARIE to the chaste:  
When Incests, Rapes, Adulteries, were not known;  
All pure as blossoms, which are newly blown.  
Maids were as free from spots, and soils within,  
As most unblemished in the outward skin.  
Men every Plain and Cottage did afford,  
As smooth in deeds, as they were fair of word.  
Maidens with Men as sisters with their brothers;  
And Men with Maids conversed as with their Mothers;  
Free from suspicion, or the rage of blood.  
Strife only reigned, for all strived to be good.  
But then as little Wrens but newly fledge,  
First, by their nests hop up and down the hedge;  
Then one from bough to bough gets up a tree▪  
His fellow noting his agility,  
Thinks he as well may venture as the other,  
So flushing from one spray unto another,  
G●ts to the top, and then enbold'ned flies,  
Unto an height past ken of humane eyes:  
So time brought worse, men first desired to talk;  
Then came suspect; and then a private walk;  
Then by consent appointed times of meeting,  
Where most securely each might kiss his sweeting;  
Lastly, with lusts their panting breasts so swell,  
They came to. But to what I blush to tell,  
And entered thus, Rapes used were of all,  
Incest, Adultery, held as Venial:  
The certainty in doubtful balance rests,  
If beasts did learn of men, or men of beasts.  
Had they not learned of man who was their King,  
So to insult upon an underling,  
They civilly had spent their life's gradation,  
As meek and mild as in their first creation;  
Nor had th'infections of infected minds  
So altered nature, and disordered kinds,  
Fida had been less wretched, I more glad,  
That so true love so true a progress had.  
When Remond left her (Remond then unkind)  
Fida went down the dale to seek the Hind;  
And found her taking soil within a flood:  
Whom when she called strait followed to the wood.  
Fida then wearied, sought the cooling shade,  
And found an arbour by the Shepherds made  
To frolic in (when Sol did hottest shine)  
With cates which were far cleanlier than fine.  
For in those day's men never used to feed  
So much for pleasure as they did for need.  
Enriching then the arbour down she sat her;  
Where many a busy Bee came flying at her:  
Thinking when she for air her breasts discloses,  
That there had grown some tuft of Damaske-Roses,  
And that her azure veins which then did swell,  
Were Conduit-pipes brought from a living Well.  
Whose liquor might the world enjoy for money,  
Bees would be bankrupt, none would care for honey▪  
The Hind lay still without (poor silly creature,  
How like a woman art thou framed by nature?  
Timorous, apt to tears, wily in running,  
Caught best when force is intermixed with cunning)  
Lying thus distant, different chances meet them,  
And with a fearful object Fate doth greet them.  

Description of R●ot.  Something appeared, which seemed far off, a man,  
In stature, habit, gate, proportion:  
But when their eyes their objects Masters were,  
And it for stricter censure came more near,  
By all his properties one well might guess,  
Th●n of a man, he sure had nothing less.  
For verily since old Deucalion's flood  
Earth's slime did ne'er produce a viler brood.  
Upon the various Earth's embroidered gown  
There is a weed upon whose head grows Down▪  
Son-thistle 'tis yclept, whose downy wreath,  
If any one can blow off at a breath,  
We deem her for a Maid: such was his hair,  
Ready to shed at any stirring air.  
His ears were strucken deaf when he came nigh,  
To hear the Widows or the Orphan's cry.  
His eyes encircled with a bloody chain,  
With poring in the blood of bodies slain.  
His mouth exceeding wide, from whence did fly  
Volleys of execrable blasphemy;  
Ba●ning the Heavens, and he that rideth on them,  
D●●'d vengeance to the teeth to fall upon him:  
Like Scythian Wolves, or 
* Men of Scirum shoot against the Stars.  men of wit bereaven,  
Which howl and shoot against the lights of Heaven.  
His hands (if hands they were) like some dead corpse,  
With digging up his buried ancestors;  
Making his Father's Tomb and sacred shrine  
The trough wherein the Hog-heard fed his Swine.  
And as that Beast hath legs (which Shepherds fear,  
Yclept a Badger, which our Lambs doth tear)  
One long, the other short, that when he runs  
Upon the plains, he halts; but when he won  
On craggy Rocks, or steepy stills, we see  
Noneruns more swift, nor easier than he:  
Such legs the Monster had, one sinew shrunk,  
That in the plains he reeled, as being drunk;  
And halted in the paths to Virtue tending:  
And therefore never durst be that way bending:  
But when he came on carved Monuments,  
Spiring Colossuses, and high raised rents,  
He passed them o'er, quick, as the Eastern wind  
Sweeps through a Meadow; or a nimble Hind,  
Or Satire on a Lawn; or skipping Roe;  
Or well-winged Shaft forth of a Parthian bow.  
His body made (still in consumptions rife)  
A miserable prison for a life.  
Riot he hight; whom some cursed Fiend did raise,  
When like a Chaos were the nights and days:  
God and brought up in the Cimmerian Clime,  
Where Sun nor Moon, nor days, nor nights do time:  
As who should say, they scorned to show their faces  
To such a Fiend should seek to spoil the Graces.  
At sight whereof, Fida nigh drowned in fear,  
Was clean dismayed when he approached near;  
Nor durst she call the Deer, nor whistling wind her,  
Fearing her noise might make the Monster find her;  
Who slily came, for he had cunning learned him,  
And seized upon the Hind, ere she discerned him.  
Oh how she strived and struggled; every nerve  
Is pressed at all assays a life to serve:  
Yet soon we lose, what we might longer keep  
Were not Prevention commonly a sleep.  
Maids, of this Monster's brood be fearful all,  
What to the Hind may hap to you befall.  
Who with her feet held up in stead of hands,  
And tears which pity from the Rock commands,  
She sighs, and shrieks, & weeps, and looks upon him:  
Alas she sobs, and many a groan throws on him;  
With plaints which might abate a Tyrant's knife;  
She begs for pardon, and entreats for life.  
The hollow caves resound her moanings near it,  
That heart was flint which did not grieve to hear it:  
The high topped Firres which on that mountain keep,  
Have ever since that time been seen to weep.  
The Owl till then, 'tis thought full well could sing,  
And tune her voice to every bubbling Spring:  
But when she heard those plaints, than forth she yode  
Out of the covert of an Iuy rod,  
And hollowing for aid, so strained her throat,  
That since she clean forgot her former note.  
A little Robin sitting on a tree,  
In doleful notes bewailed her Tragedy.  
An Asp, who thought him stout, could not dissemble,  
But showed his fear, and yet is seen to tremble.  
Yet Cruelty was deaf, and had no sight  
In aught which might gainsay the appetite:  
But with his teeth rending her throat asunder,  
Besprinkled with her blood the green grass under.  
And gurmundizing on her flesh and blood,  
He vomiting returned to the Wood  
Riot but newly gone, as strange a vision  
Though far more heavenly, came in apparition.  
As that Arabian bird (whom all admire)  
Her exequys prepared and funeral fire,  
Burnt in a flame conceived from the Sun,  
And nourished with slips of Cinnamon,  
Out of her ashes hath a second birth,  
And flies abroad, a wonderment on earth:  
So from the ruins of this mangled Creature  

Description of Truth.  Arose so fair and so divine a feature,  
That Enu● for her heart would dote upon her;  
Heaven could not choose but be enamoured on her:  
Were I a Star, and she a second Sphere,  
I'd leave the other, and be fixed there.  
Had fair Arachne wrought this Maiden's hair,  
When she with Pallas did for skill compare,  
Minerua's work had never been esteemed,  
But this had been more rare and highly deemed.  
Yet gladly now she would reverse her doom,  
Weaving this hair within a Spider's Loom.  
Upon her forehead, as in glory sat  
Mercy and Majesty, for wondering at,  
As pure and simple as Albania's snow,  
Or milk-white Swans which stem the streams of Poe:  
Like to some goodly fore-land, bearing out  
Her hair, the tufts which fringed the shore abou●.  
And lest the man which sought those coasts might slip,  
Her eyes like Stars, did serve to guide the ship.  
Upon her front (heaven's fairest Promontory)  
Delineated was, th'authentic Story  
Of those Elect, whose sheep at first began  
To nibble by the springs of Canaan:  
Out of whose sacred loins (brought by the stem  
Of that sweet Singer of jerusalem)  
Came the best Shepherd ever flocks did keep,  
Who yielded up his life to save his sheep.  
O thou Eterne! by whom all beings move,  
Giving the Springs beneath, and Springs above:  
Whose Finger doth this Universe sustain,  
Bringing the former and the latter rain:  
Who dost with plenty Meads and Pastures fill,  
By drops distilled like dew on Hormon Hill:  
Pardon a silly Swain, who (far unable  
In that which is so rare, so admirable)  
Dares on an Oaten-pipe, thus meanly sing  
Her praise immense, worthy a silver string.  
And thou which through the Desert and the Deep,  
Didst lead thy Chosen like a flock of sheep:  
As sometime by a Star thou guidedst them,  
Which fed upon the plains of Bethelem;  
So by thy sacred Spirit direct my quill,  
When I shall sing aught of thy Holy hill,  
That times to come, when they my rhymes rehearse,  
May wonder at me, and admire my Verse:  
For who but one rapt in Celestial fire,  
Can by his Muse to such a pitch aspire;  
That from aloft he might behold and tell  
Her worth, whereon an iron Pen might dwell.  
When she was borne, Nature in sport began,  
To learn the cunning of an Artisan,  
And did Vermilion with a white compose,  
To mock herself, and paint a Damask Rose.  
But scorning Nature unto Art should seek,  
She spilt her colours on this Maiden's cheek.  
Her mouth the gate from whence all goodness came,  
Of power to give the dead a living name.  
Her words embalmed in so sweet a breath,  
That made them triumph both on Time and Death,  
Whose fragrant sweets, since the Chameleon knew,  
And tasted of, he to this humour grew:  
Left other Elements, held this so rare,  
That since he never feeds on aught but Air.  
O had I Virgil's verse, or Tully's Tongue!  
Or raping numbers like the Thracian's Song,  
I have a Theme would make the Rocks to dance,  
And surly Beasts that through the Desert prance,  
High from their Caves, and every gloomy den,  
To wonder at the excellence of men.  
Nay, they would think their states for ever raised,  
But once to look on one, so highly praised.  
Out of whose Maiden breasts (which sweetly rise)  
The Seers sucked their hidden Prophecies:  
And told that for her love in times to come,  
Many should seek the Crown of Martyrdom,  
By fire, by sword, by tortures, dungeons, chains,  
By stripes, by famine, and a world of pains;  
Yet constant still remain (to her they loved)  
Like Zion Mount, that cannot be removed.  
Proportion on her arms and hands recorded,  
The world for her no fitter place afforded.  
Praise her who list, he still shall be her debtor:  
For Art ne'er feigned, nor Nature framed a better.  
As when a holy Father hath began  
To offer sacrifice to mighty Pan,  
Do●h the request of every Swain assume,  
To scale the Welkin in a sacred fume,  
Made by a widowed Turtles loving mate,  
Or Lamkin, or some Kid immaculate,  
The offering heaves aloft, with both his hands;  
Which all adore, that near the Altar stands:  
So was her heavenly body comely raised  
On two fair columns; those that Ovid praised  
In Julia's borrowed name, compared with these,  
Were Crabs to Apples of th' Hespherides;  
Or stumpe-foot Vulcan in comparison,  
With all the height of true perfection.  
Nature was here so lavish of her store,  
That she bestowed until she had no more.  
Whose Treasure being weakened (by this Dame)  
She thrusts into the world so many lame.  
The highest Synod of the glorious Sky,  
(I heard a Wood-nymph sing) sent Mercury  
To take a survey of the fairest faces,  
And to describe to them all women's graces;  
Who long time wand'ring in a serious quest,  
Noting what parts by Beauty were possessed:  
At last he saw this Maid, then thinking fit  
To end his journey, here, Nil-ultra, writ.  
●ida in adoration kissed her knee,  
And thus bespoke; Hail glorious Deity!  
(If such thou art, and who can deem you less?)  
Whether thou reign'st Queen of the Wilderness,  
Or art that Goddess ('tis unknown to me)  
Which from the Ocean draws her pedigree:  
Or one of those, who by the mossy banks  
Of drizzling Helicon; in airy ranks  
Tread Roundelays upon the silver sands,  
Whilst shaggy Satyrs tripping o'er the strands,  
Stand still at gaze, and yield their senses thralls  
To the sweet cadence of your Madrigals:  
Or of the Fairy troop which nimbly play,  
And by the Springs dance out the Summer's day;  
Teaching the little birds to build their nests,  
And in their singing how to keepen rests:  
Or one of those, who watching where a Spring  
Out of our Grandam Earth hath issuing,  
With your attractive Music woo the stream  
(As men by Fairies led, fall'n in a dream)  
To follow you, which sweetly trilling wanders  
In many Mazes, intricate Meanders;  
Till at the last, no mock th'enamoured rill,  
Ye bend your traces up some shady hill;  
And laugh to see the wave no further tread;  
But in a chafe run soaming on his head,  
Being enforced a channel new to frame,  
Leaving the other destitute of name.  
If thou be one of these, or all, or more,  
Secure a silly Maid, that doth implore  
Aid, on a bended heart, unfeigned and meek,  
As true as blushes of a Maiden cheek.  
Maiden arise, replied the newborn Maid:  
" Pure Innocence the senseless stories will aid.  
Nor of the Fairy troop, nor Muses nine;  
Nor am I Venus, nor of Proserpina:  
But daughter to a lusty aged Swain,  
That cuts the green tufts off th'enamel plain;  
And with his Sith hath many a Summer shorn  
The plow'd-lands labouring with a crop of corn;  
Who from the cloud-clipt mountain by his stroke  
Fels down the lofty Pine, 
Description of Time.  the Cedar, Oak:  
He opes the floodgates as occasion is  
Sometimes on that man's land, sometimes on this.  
When Verolam, a stately Nymph of yore  
Did use to deck herself on Isis' shore,  
One morn (among the rest) as there she stood,  
Saw the pure Channel all besmeared with blood;  
Enquiring for the cause, one did impart,  
Those drops came from her holy Alban hart;  
Here with in grief she 'gan entreat my Sire,  
That Isis' stream, which yearly did attire  
Those gallant fields in changeable array,  
Might turn her course and run some other way.  
Lest that her waves might wash away the guilt  
From off their hands which Alban blood had spilt:  
He condescended, and the nimble wave  
Her Fis● no more within that channel drove:  
But as a witness left the crimson gore  
To slain the earth, as they their hands before.  
He had a being ere there was a birth,  
And shall not cease until the Sea and Earth,  
And what they both contain, shall cease to be,  
Nothing confines him but Eternity.  
By him the names of good men ever live,  
Which short lived men unto Oblivion give:  
And in forgetfulness he lets him fall,  
That is no other man then natural:  
'Tis he alone that rightly can discover,  
Who is the true, and who the feigned Lover.  
In Summer's heat when any Swain to sleep  
Doth more addict himself then to his sheep;  
And whilst the Leaden God sits on his eyes,  
If any of his Fold or strays or dies,  
And to the waking Swain it be unknown,  
Whether his sheep be dead, or strayed, or stolen;  
To meet my Sire he bends his course in pain,  
Either where some high hill surveys the plain;  
Or takes his step toward the flowery valleys,  
Where Zephyre with the Cowslip hourly dallies;  
Or to the groves, where birds from heat or weather,  
Sat sweetly tuning of their notes together:  
Or to a Mead a wanton River dresses  
With richest Collars of her turning Esses;  
Or where the Shepherds sit old stories telling,  
Chronos my Sire hath no set place of dwelling;  
But if the Shepherd meet the aged Swain,  
He tells him of his sheep, or shows them slain.  
So great a gift the sacred Powers of heaven  
(Above all others) to my Sire have given,  
That the abhorred Stratagems of night,  
Lurking in caverns from the glorious light,  
By him (perforce) are from their dungeons hurled,  
And showed as monsters to the wondering World.  
What Mariner is he sailing upon  
The watery Desert clipping Albion,  
Heares not the billows in their dances roar  
Answered by Eccoes from the neighbour shore?  
To whose accord the Maids trip from the Downs,  
And Rivers dancing come, ycrowned with Towns,  
All singing forth the victories of Time,  
Upon the Monsters of the Western Clime,  
Whose horrid, damned, bloody, plots would bring  
Confusion on the Laureate Poet's King,  
Whose Hell-fed hearts devised how never more  
A Swan might singing sit on Isis' shore:  
But croaking Ravens, and the Scrich-owles cry,  
The ●at Musicians for a Tragedy,  
Should evermore be heard about her strand,  
To f●ight all Passengers from that sad Land.  
Long Summers' days I on his worth might spend,  
And yet begin again when I would end.  
All Ages since the first age first begun,  
Ere they could know his worth their age was done:  
Whose absence all the Treasury of earth  
Cannot buy out. From far-famed Tagus' birth,  
Not all the golden gravel he treads over,  
One minute past, that minute can recover.  
I am his only Child (he hath no other)  
Cleped Aletheia, borne without a Mother.  
Poor Aletheia long despised of all,  
Scarce Charity would lend an Hospital  
To give my Months cold watching one night's rest,  
But in my room took in the Misers Chest  
In winter's time when hardly fed the flocks,  
And Icicles hung dangling on the Rocks;  
When Hiems bound the floods in silver chains,  
And hoary Frosts had candied all the Plains;  
When every Barn rung with the threshing Flails,  
And Shepherds Boys for cold 'gan blow their nails▪  
(Wearied with toil in seeking out some one  
That had a spark of true devotion;)  
It was my chance (chance only helpeth need)  
To find an house y built for holy deed,  
With goodly Architect, and Cloisters wide,  
With groves and walks along a River's side;  
The place itself afforded admiration,  
And every spray a Theme of contemplation▪  
But (woe is me) when knocking at the gate,  

Altheia socks relief at an Abbey, and is denied.  I 'gan entreat an entrance thereat:  
The Porter asked my name: I told; He swelled,  
And bade me thence: wherewith in grief repelled,  
I sought for shelter to a ruin'd house,  
harbouring the Weasel, and the dust-bred Mouse;  
And others none, except the two-kinde Bat,  
Which all the day there melancholy sat:  
Here sat I down with wind and rain ybeat;  
Grief fed my mind, and did my body eat.  
Yet Idleness I saw (lamed with the Gout)  
Had entrance when poor Truth was kept without▪  
There saw I Drunkenness with Dropsies swollen;  
And pampered Lust that many a night had stolen  
Over the Abby-wall when Gates were locked,  
To be in Venus wanton bosom rocked:  
And Gluttony that surfeiting had been,  
Knock at the gate and straightway taken in:  
Sadly I say, and sighing grieved to see,  
Their happiness, my infelicity.  
At last came En●y by, who having spied  
Where I was sadly se●●ed, inward hide,  
And to the 〈…〉 she cries,  
Why sit you here, when with these ears and eyes  
I heard and saw a strumpet dares to say,  
She is the true fair A●theia,  
Which you have boasted long to live among you,  
Ye● suffer more peevish Girl to wrong you▪  
W●th this provoked, all rose and in a 〈◊〉  
Ran to the gate, strove who should first 〈◊〉,  
Bade me be gone, and then (in 〈…〉)  
Did call me counterfeit, 〈…〉, devil▪  
Then like a strumpet drove me from their 〈◊〉  
Wi●h 〈◊〉 pans, and with the 〈…〉  
And 〈…〉  
Had heaps of firebrands banded at his face▪  
 
Inforc'd in fields to sleep, or wake all night;  
A silly sheep seeing the 〈◊〉 by,  
Forsooked 〈…〉 where once she meant to lie,  
As if she in her kind (unhurting else)  
Did bid me take such lodging as herself▪  
Gladly I took the place the sheep had given,  
Vncanopyed of any thing but heaven.  
Where nigh benumbed with cold, with grief frequented,  
Unto the silent night I thus lamented:  
Fair Cynthia, if from thy silver Throne,  
Thou ever lentest an ear to Virgins mo●d▪  
Or in thy Monthly course, one minute stayed  
Thy palfreys troth, to hea●● a wretched Maid▪  
Pull in their reynes, and lend thine ear to me,  
Forlorn, forsaken, clothed in misery:  
But if a woe hath never wooed thine ear,  
To stop those Courser's in their still Career▪  
But as stone-hearted men, uncharitable,  
Pass careless by the poor, when men less able  
Hold not the needies help in long suspense,  
But in their hands pour their benevolence.  
O! if thou be so hard to stop thin●●ares▪  
When stars in pity drop down from their Spheres,  
Yet for a while in gloomy veil of night,  
In shroud the pale beams of thy borrowed light:  
O! never once discourage goodness (lending  
One glimpse of light) to see misfortune spending  
Her utmost rage on Truth▪ despised, distressed,  
Unhappy, unrelieved, yet undressed▪  
Where is the heart at 〈◊〉 suffering grieveth▪  
Where is 〈◊〉 eye that pitying relieveth?  
Where is the hand tha● still the ●●ngry f●●deth?  
Where is the cane that the 〈…〉?  
That heart, that hand, that ear, or else that eye,  
giveth, relieveth, feeds, steeds misery?  
O earth produce me one (of all thy store)  
Enjoys; and be vainglorious no more  
By this had Chan●ibler●, the village clock,  
Bidden the goodwife for her Maids to knock▪  
And the swart plough man for his breakfast s●aid,  
That he might till those lands were fallow laid:  
The hills and valleys here and there resound  
With the re-ecchoes of the deepe-mouthed hound.  
Each Shepherd's daughter with her cleanly Peal,  
Was come a field to m●ke the Morning's meal,  
And ere the Sun had clymbed the Eastern hills,  
To gild the muttering bournes, and pretty rils,  
Before the labouring Bee had left the Hive,  
And nimble Fishes which in Rivers dive,  
Began to leap, and catch the drowned Fly,  
I rose from rest, not in felicity.  
Seeking the place of Charity's resort,  
Unware I happened on a Prince's Court;  
Where meeting Greatness, I required relief,  
(O ●appy vndelayed) she said in brief,  
To small effect thine oratory tends,  
How can I keep the● and so many friends?  
If of my household I should make thee one,  
Farewell my servant Adulation:  
I know she will not stay when thou art there:  
But seek some Great man's service otherwhere.  
Darkness and light, summer and winter's weather  
May be at once, ere you two live together,  
Thu● with a nod she left me clothed in woe.  
Thence to the City once I thought to go,  
But somewhat in my mind this thought had thrown,  
It was a place wherein I was not known.  
And therefore went unto these homely towns,  
Sweetly environed with the Dazied Downs.  
Upon a stream washing a village end  
A Mill is placed, that never difference kend  
'twixt days for work, and holy-tides for rest,  
But always wrought & ground the neighbours grest.  

Truth entreats succour from a Miller, a Tailor & a Weaver.  Before the door I saw the Miller walking,  
And other two (his neighbours) with him talking:  
One of them was a Weaver, and the other  
The Village Tayler, and his trusty brother;  
To them I came, and thus my suit began:  
Content, the riches of a Countryman,  
Attend your Actions, be more happy still,  
Then I am hapless! and as yonder Mill,  
Though in his turning it obey the stream,  
Yet by the headstrong torrent from his beam  
Is unremoved, and till the wheel be tore,  
It daily toils; then rests, and works no more:  
So in life's motion may you never be  
(Though swayed with griefs) overborn with misery  
With that the Miller laughing, blushed his clothes  
Then swore by Cock and other dunghill oaths,  
I greatly was to blame, that durst so wade  
Into the knowledge of the Wheel-wrights ●ade.  
ay, neighbour, quoth the Tailor (than he ben●  
His pace to me, spruce like a jack of Lent)  
Your judgement is not seam-rent when you spend it,  
Nor is it botching, for I can not mend it.  
And Maiden, let me tell you in displeasure,  
You must not press the cloth you cannot measure:  
But let your steps be stitched to wisdoms chalking,  
And cast presumptuous shreds out of your walking.  
The Weaver said, Fie wench, yourself you wrong,  
Thus to let slip the shuttle of your rung:  
For mark me well, yea, mark me well, I say,  
I see you work your speeches Web astray.  
Sad to the Soul, o'er laid with idle words,  
O heaven, quoth I, where is the place affords  
A friend to help, or any heart that ruth  
The most dejected hopes of wronged Truth!  
Truth! quoth the Miller, plainly for our parts,  
I and the Weaver hate thee with our hearts:  
The strifes you raise I will not now discuss,  
Between our honest Customers and us:  
But get you gone, for sure you may despair  
Of comfort here, seek it some otherwhere.  
Maid (quoth the Tailor) we no succour owe you,  
For as I guess her's none of us doth know you:  
Nor my remembrance any thought can seize  
That I have ever seen you in my days.  
Seen you? nay, therein confident I am;  
Nay, till this time I never heard your name,  
Excepting once, and by this token chief,  
My neighbour at that instant called me thie●e,  
By this you see you are unknown among us,  
We cannot help you, though your stay may wrong us.  
Thus went I on, and further went in woe:  
For as shrill sounding Fame, that's never slow,  
Grows in her going, and increaseth more,  
Where she is now, then where she was before:  
So Grief (that never healthy, ever sick,  
That froward Scholar to Arethmeticke,  
Who doth Division and Substraction fly,  
And chiefly learns to add and multiply)  
In longest journeys hath the strongest strength,  
And is at hand, suppressed, unquaild at length.  

Description of a solitary Val●.  Between two hills, the highest Phoebus sees  
Gallantly crowned with large Sky-kissing trees,  
Under whose shade the humble valleys lay;  
And Wilde-Bores from their dens their gambols play:  
There lay a gravelled walk o'ergrown with green,  
Where neither tract of man nor beast was seen.  
And as the Ploughman when the land he tills,  
Throws up the fruitful earth in ridged hills,  
Between whose Chouron form he leaves a balk;  
So 'twixt those hills had Nature framed this walk,  
Not over-darke, nor light, in angles bending,  
And like the gliding of a Snake descending:  
All hushed and silent as the mid of night:  
No chattering Pie, nor Crow appeared in sight;  
But further in I heard though Turtle-dove,  
Singing sad Dirges on her lifeless Love..  
Birds that compassion from the rocks could bring,  
Had only licence in that place to sing:  
Whose doleful notes the melancholy Cat  
Close in a hollow tree sat wondering at.  
And Trees that on the hill-side comely grew,  
When any little blast of Aeol blew,  
Did nod their curled heads, as they would be  
The judges to approve their melody.  
Just half the way this solitary Grove,  
A Crystal Spring from either hill-side strove,  
Which of them first should woo the meeker ground,  
And make the Pebbles dance unto their sound.  
But as when children having leave to play,  
And near their Master's eye sport out the day,  
(Beyond condition) in their childish toys  
Oft vex their Tutor with too great a noise,  
And make him send some servant out of door,  
To cease their clamour, lest they play no more:  
So when the pretty Rill a place espies,  
Where with the Pebbles she would wantonise;  
And that her upper stream so much doth wrong her  
To d●iue her thence, and let her play no longer;  
If she with too loud muttering ran away,  
As being much incensed to leave her play;  
A western mild, and pretty whispering gale,  
Came dallying with the leaves along the dale,  
And seemed as with the water it did chide,  
Because it ran so long unpacifide:  
Yea, and me thought it bade her leave that coil,  
Or he would choke her up with leaves and soil:  
Whereat the rivelet in my mind did weep,  
And hurled her head into a silent deep.  
Now he that guides the Chariot of the Sun,  
Upon th' Ecliptic Circle had so run,  
That his brasse-hoosed fire-breathing horses won  
The stately height of the Meridian:  
And the day-lab'ring man (who all the morn  
Had from the quarry with his Pickax torn  
A large well squared stone, which he would cut  
To serve his style, or for some water-shut)  
Seeing the 〈◊〉 preparing to decline,  
took out his Bag, and sat him down to dine▪  
When by 〈◊〉, yet not steep descent,  
I gained a place, ne'er Poet did invent  
The like for sorrow: not in all this Round  
A fitter seat ●or passion can be found.  
As when a dainty Fount, and Crystal Spring,  
Got newly from the earth's imprisoning,  
And ready pressed some channel clear to win,  
Is round his rise by Rocks immured in,  
And from the thirsty earth would be withheld,  
Till to the Cistern top the waves have swelled▪  
But that a careful Hind the Well hath found,  
As he walke● sadly through his parched ground;  
Whose patience suffering not his land to stay  
Until the water o'er the Cistern play,  
He gets a Picke-axe and with blows so stout,  
Digs on the Rock, that all the groves about  
Resound his stroke, and still the rock doth charge,  
Till he hath made a hole both long and large,  
Whereby the waters from their prison run,  
To close earth's gaping wounds made by the Sun:  
So through these high raised hills, embracing round  
This shady, sad, and solitary ground,  
Some power (respecting one whose heavy moan  
Required a place to sit and weep alone)  
Had cut a path, whereby the grieved wight  
Might freely take the comfort of this Scyte.  
About the edges of whose roundly form,  
In order grew such Trees as do adorn  
The sable hearse, and sad forsaken mate;  
And Trees whose tears their loss commiserate,  
Such are the Cypress, and the weeping Myrrh,  
The dropping Amber, and the refined Fyrrhe,  
The bleeding Vine, the watery Sicamour,  
And Willough for the forlorn Paramour,  
In comely distance: underneath whose shade  
Most neat in rudeness Nature arbours made▪  
Some had a light; some so obscure a seat,  
Would entertain a sufferance ne'er so great:  
Where grieved wights sat (as I after found,  
Whose heavy hearts the height of sorrow crowned)  
Wailing in saddest tunes the dooms of Fate  
On men by virtue cleped fortunate.  
The first note that I heard I soon was won,  
To think the sighs of fair Endymion;  
The subject of whose mournful heavy lay  
Was his declining with fair Cynthia.  
Next him a great man sat, in woe no less;  
Tears were but barren shadows to express  
The substance of his grief, and therefore stood  
Distilling from his heart red streams of blood:  
He was a Swain whom all the Graces kissed,  
A brave, heroic, worthy Martialist:  
Yet on the Downs he oftentimes was seen  
To draw the merry Maidens of the Green  
With his sweet voice: Once, as he sat alone,  
He sung the outrage of the lazy Drone,  
Upon the labouring Be●, in strains so rare,  
That all the flitting Pinnionists of air  
Attentive sat●, and in their kinds did long  
To learn some Note from his well-timed Song.  
Exiled Naso (from whose golden pen  
The Muses did distil delights for men)  
Thus sang of Cep●●us (whose name was worn  
Within the bosom of the blushing Morn:)  
He had a dar● was never set on wing,  
But death flew with it: he could never fling,  
But life fled from the place where stuck the head.  
A Hunter's frolic life in Woods he lead  
In separation from his yoked Mate,  
Whose beauty, once, he valued at a rate  
Beyond Aurora's cheek, when she (in pride)  
Promised their offspring should be Deified:  
Procris she hight; who (seeking to restore  
Herself that happiness she had before)  
Unto the green wood wends, omits no pain  
Might bring her to her Lords embrace again:  
But Fate thus crossed her, coming where he lay  
Wearied with hunting all a Summer's day,  
He somewhat heard within the thicket rush,  
And deeming it some Beast, hid in a bush,  
Raised himself, then set on wing a dart,  
Which took a sad rest in the restless heart  
Of his chaste wife; who with a bleeding breast  
Left love and life, and slept in endless rest.  
With Procris heavy Fate this Shepherd's wrong  
Might be compared, and ask as sad a song.  
In th' Autumn of his youth, and manhoods Spring,  
Desert (grown now a most dejected thing)  
Won him the favour of a Royal Maid,  
Who with Diana's Nymphs in Forests strayed,  
And lived a Huntress life exempt from fear.  
She once encountered with a ●urly Bear,  
Near to a Crystal Fountains flowery brink,  
Heat brought them thither both, and both would drink,  
When from her golden Qui●er she ●ooke forth  
A Dart, above the rest esteemed for worth,  
And sent it to his side: the gaping wound  
Gave purple streams to ●oole the parched ground.  
Whereat he gnashed his teeth, stormed his hurt limb,  
Yielded the earth what it denied him:  
Yet sunk not there, but (wrapped in horror) hied  
Unto his hellish cave, despaired and died.  
After the Bears just death, the quickening Sun  
Had twice six times about the Zodiac run,  
And (as respectless) never cast an eye,  
Upon the night-inuailed Cymmerij,  
Where this brave Swain (approved valorous)  
In opposition, of a tyrannous  
And bloody Savage being long time gone  
Quelling his rage with faithless Geryon  
Returned from the stratagems of wars,  
(Enriched with his quailed foes bootless scars)  
To see the clear eyes of his dearest Love,  
And that her skill in herbs might help remove  
The freshing of a wound which he had got  
In he● defence, by Envy's poisoned shot,  
And coming through a Grove wherein his fair  
Lay with her breasts displayed to take the air,  
His rushing through the boughs made her arise,  
And dreading some wild beasts rude enterprise,  
Directs towards the noise a sharpened dart,  
That reached the life of his undaunted heart,  
Which when she knew, twice twenty Moons nigh spent  
In tears for him, and died in languishment.  
Within an arbour shadowed with a Vine,  
Mixed with Rosemary and Eglantine,  
A Shepherdess was set, as fair as young,  
Whose praise full many a Shepherd whilom sung,  
Who on an Altar fair had to her Name,  
In consecration many an Anagram:  
And when with sugared strains they strove to raise  
Worth, to a garland of immortal Bays;  
She as the learnedst Maid was chose by them,  
(Her flaxen hair crowned with an Anadem)  
To judge who best deserved, for she could fit  
The height of praise unto the height of wit.  
But welladay those happy times were gone,  
(Millions admit a small substraction.)  
And as the Year hath first his jocund Spring,  
Wherein the Leaves, to Birds sweet carrolling,  
Dance with the wind: then sees, the Summer's day  
Perfect the Embryo Blossom of each spray:  
Next cometh Autumn, when the threshed sheaf  
Loseth his grain, and every tree his leaf:  
Lastly, cold Winter's rage, with many a storm,  
Threats the proud Pines which Ida's top adorn,  
And makes the sap leave succourless the shoot,  
Shrinking to comfort his decaying root.  
Or as a acquaint Musician being won,  
To run a point of swee● Division,  
Gets by degrees unto the highest Key;  
Then with like order falleth in his play  
Into a deeper Tone; and lastly, throws  
His Period in a Diapason Close:  
So every humane thing terrestrial,  
His v●most height attained, bends to his fall.  
And as a comely youth, in fairest age,  
Enamoured on a Maid (whose parentage  
Had Fate adorned, as Nature deck ●her eye,  
Might at a beck command a Monarchy)  
But poor and fair could never yet bewitch  
A miser's mind, preferring ●oule and rich▪  
And therefore (as a King's heart left behind,  
When as his corpse are borne to be enshrined)  
(His Parents will, a Law) like that dead corpse,  
Leaving his heart, is brought unto his Horse,  
Carried unto a place that can impart  
No secret Embassy unto his heart,  
Climbs some proud hill, whose stately eminence  
Vassals the fruitful vales circumference:  
From whence, no sooner can his lights descry  
The place enriched by his Mistress eye:  
But some thick cloud his happy prospect blends,  
And he in sorrow raised, in tears descends:  
So this sad Nymph (whom all commiserate)  
Once paced the hill of Greatness and of State,  
And got the top; but when she 'gan address  
Her sight, from thence to see true happiness,  
Fate interposed an envious cloud of fears,  
And she withdrew into this vale of tears,  
Where Sorrow so enthralled best Virtues jewel,  
Stones checked griefs hardness, called her too-too cruel,  
A stream of tears upon her fair cheeks flows,  
As morning dew upon the Damaske-Rose,  
Or Crystall-glasse vailing Vermilion;  
Or drops of Milk on the Carnation:  
She sang and wept (o y●● Sea-binding Cleeves,  
Yield Tributary drops, for Virtue grievest)  
And to the Period of her sad sweet Key  
Intwinned her case with chaste Penelope▪  
But see the drilling South my mournful strain  
Answers, in weeping drops of quickening grain,  
And since this day we can no further go,  
Restless I rest within this Vale of Woe,  
Until the modest morn o● earth's vast Zone,  
The ever gladsome day shall reinthrone.   

THE FIFTH SONG.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
In N●ats that rocks to pity move,  
joya sings her buried Love:  
And from her home of plenty give▪  
Comfort to Truth, whom 〈…〉,  
Repentance house next calls me on,  
With Riots true conversion:  
Leaving Amintas Love to Truth,  
To be the Theme the Muse ens●'th.  
HErefull of April, veiled with sorrow's wing,  
For lovely Lays, I dreary Dirges sing.  
Who so hath seen young Lads (to sport themselves)  
Run in a low ebb to the sandy shelves:  
Where seriously they work in digging wells,  
Or building childish sorts of Cockleshells:  
Or liquid water each to other bandy;  
Or with the Pebbles play at handy-dandy,  
Till unawares the Tide hath closed them round,  
And they must wade it through or else be drowned,  
May (if unto my Pipe he listen well)  
My Muse distress with theirs 〈◊〉 parallel.  
For where I whilom sung the loves of Swains,  
And wooed the Crystal Currant of the Plains,  
Teaching the Birds to love, whilst every Tree  
Gave his attention to my Melody:  
Fate now (as envying my too happy Theme)  
Hath round begirt my Song with Sorrow's stream,  
Which till my Muse wade through and get on 〈◊〉,  
My grief swollen Soul can sing of Love no more.  
But turn we now (yet not without remorse)  
To heavenly Aletheius sad discourse,  
That did from Fida's eyes 〈◊〉 exhale,  
When thus she showed the Solitary V●●e.  
●ust in the midst this ioy-forsaken ground  
A hillock stood with Springs embraced round:  
And with a Crystal Ring did seem to marry  
Themselves, to this small Isle sad-solitarie:)  
Upon whose breast (which trembled as it ran)  
Road the fair downie-siluer-coated Swan:  
And on the banks each Cypress bowed his head,  
To hear the Swan sing her own 
* A Funeral song before the ●or●● be 〈◊〉.  Epiced.  
As when the gallant youth which live upon  
The Western Downs of lovely Albion;  
Meeting, some festival to solemnize,  
Choose out two, skilled in wrestling exercise,  
Who strongly, at the wrist or collar cling,  
Whilst arm in arm the people make a Ring.  
So did the water round this I'll inlinke,  
And so the Trees grew on the water's brink:  
Waters their streams about the Island scatter;  
And Trees performed as much unto the water:  
Under whose shade the Nightingale would bring  
Her chirping young, and teach them how to sing.  
The woods most sad, Musicians thither high,  
As it had been the Siluians Castalie,  
And warbled forth such Elegyacke strains,  
That struck the winds dumb; & the motley plains  
We●e filled with envy, that such shady places  
Held all the world's delights in their embraces▪  
O how (me thinks) the imps of M●eme bring  
Dews of Invention from their sacred Spring▪  
He●e could I spend that spring of Poesy,  
Which not twice ten Suns have bestowed on me;  
And tell the world, the Muse's love appears  
In nonaged youth, as in the length of years.  
But ere my Muse erected have the frame;  
Wherein t'enshrine an unknown Shepherd's name,  
She many a Grove, and other woods must tread,  
More Hills, more Dales, more Founts must be displayed,  
More Meadows, Rocks, and from them all elect  
Ma●ter befitting such an Architect.  
As Children on a playday leave the Schools,  
And gladly run unto the swimming Pools,  
Or in the thickets, all with nettles stung,  
Rush to despoil some sweet Thrush of her young;  
Or with their hats (for fish) lad in a Brook  
Withouten pain: but when the Morn doth look  
Out of the Eastern gates, a Snail would faster  
Glide to the Schools, than they unto their Master:  
So when before I sung the Songs of Birds,  
(Whilst every moment sweetened lines affords)  
I piped devoid of pain, but now I come  
Unto my task, my Muse is stricken dumb.  
My blubbering pen her sable tears le's fall,  
In Characters right Hyrogliphicall,  
And mixing with my tears are ready turning,  
My late white paper to a weed of mourning;  
Or Ink and Paper strive how to impart,  
My words, the weeds they wore, within my hart:  
Or else the blots unwilling are my rhymes  
And their sad cause should live till aftertimes;  
Fearing if men their subject should descry,  
They forthwith would dissolve in tears and die.  
Upon the Lands craggy rising hill,  
A Quadrant ran, wherein by Artless skill,  
At every corner Nature did erect  
A Column rude, yet void of all defect:  
Whereon a Marble lay. The thick-grown Bryer,  
And prickled Hawthorne (woven all entire)  
Together clung, and barred the gladsome light  
From any entrance, fitting only night.  
No way to it but one, steep and obscure,  
The stairs of rugged-stone, seldom in ure,  
All overgrown with Moss, as Nature sat  
To entertain Grief with a cloth of State.  
Hardly unto the top I had ascended,  
But that the Trees (siding the steps) befriended  
My weary limbs, who bowing down their arms,  
Ga●e hold unto my hands to scape from harms:  
Which evermore are ready, still present  
Our feet, in climbing places eminent.  
Before the door (to hinder Phoebus' view)  
A shady Box-tree grasped with an Yew,  
As in the place behalf they menaced war  
Against the radiance of each sparkling Star.  
And on their barks (which Time had nigh depraved)  
These lines (it seemed) had been of old engraved:  
This place was framed of yore, to be possessed  
By one which sometime Hath Been Happiest.  
Lovely Idea the most beauteous  
Of all the darlings of Occeanus,  
He●peria's envy and the Western pride,  
Whose particoloured garment Nature died  
In more eye-pleasing hues with richer grain,  
Then Iris bow attending April's rain.  
Whose Lily white inshaded with the Rose  
Had that man seen, who sung th' Eneidos,  
Dido had in oblivion slept, and she  
Had given his Muse her best eternity.  
Had brave Atrides (who did erst employ  
His force to mix his dead with those of Troy)  
Been proffered for a truce her feigned piece  
Helen had stayed, and that had gone to Greece:  
The Phrygian soil had not been drunk with blood,  
Achilles longer breathed, and Troy yet stood:  
The Prince of Poets had not sung his story,  
My friend had lost his everliving glory.  
But as a snowy Swan, who many a day  
On Thamar's swelling breasts hath had his play,  
For further pleasure doth assay to swim  
My native Tavy, or the sandy Plim:  
And on the panting billows bravely rides,  
Whilst Country-lasses walking on the sides,  
Admire her beauty, and with clapping hands,  
Would force her leave the stream, and tread the sands,  
When she regardless swims to th'other edge,  
Until an envious Bryer, or tangling Sedge  
despoils her Plumes; or else a sharpened Beam  
Pierceth her breast, and on the bloody stream  
She pants for life: So whilom road this Maid  
On streams of worldly bliss, more rich arrayed,  
With Earth's delight, than thought could put in ure,  
To glut the senses of an Epicure.  
Whilst neighbouring Kings upon their frontiers stood,  
And offered for her dowry huge Seas of blood:  
And perjured Geryon to win her, rend  
The Indian Rocks for gold, and bootless spent  
Almost his patrimony for her sake,  
Yet nothing like respected as the Drake  
That skowred her Channels, and destroyed the weed,  
Which spoilt her sister's nets, and fishes breed.  
At last her truest love she threw upon  
A royal Youth, whose like, whose Paragon  
Heaven never lent the Earth: so great a spirit  
The World could not contain, nor kingdom's merit:  
And therefore jove did with the Saints enthrone him,  
And left his Lady nought but tears to moon him.  
Within this place (as woeful as my Verse)  
She with her Crystal founts bedewed his Hearse,  
Inuailed with a sable weed she sat,  
Singing this song which stones dissolved at.  


WHat time the world clad in a mourning robe,  
A Stage made for a woeful Tragedy:  
When showers of tears from the Celestial Globe  
Bewailed the fate of Sea-loued Brittany;  
When sighs as frequent were as various sights,  
When Hope lay bedrid, and all pleasures dying,  
When Envy wept,  
And Comfort slept:  
When Cruelty itself sat almost crying,  
Nought being heard but what the mind affrights,  
When Autumn had disrobed the Summer's pride,  
Then England's honour, Europe's wonder died.   

O saddest strain that e'er the Muses sung!  
A text of Woe for Grief to comment o●;  
Tears, sighs, and sobs, give passage to my tongue,  
Or I shall spend you till the last is gone.  
Which done, my heart in flames of burning love  
(Wanting his moisture) shall to cinders turn:  
But first, by me  
Bequeathed ●e  
To strew the place wherein his sacred vine  
Shall be enclosed, this might in many move  
The like effect: (who would not do it?) when  
No grave befits him but the hearts of men.   

That man whose mass of sorrows hath been such,  
That by their weight laid on each several part,  
His fountains are so dry, he but as much  
As one poor drop hath left to ease his heart;  
Why should he keep it? since the time doth call,  
That he ne'er better can bestow it in:  
If so he fears  
That others tears  
In greater number, greatest prizes win;  
Know n●ne gives more than he which giveth all.  
Then he which hath but one poor tear in store,  
O let him spend that drop, and weep no more   

Why flows not Helicon beyond her strands?  
Is Henry dead, and do the Muse's sleep?  
Alas! I see each one amazed stands,  
" Shallow fords mutter, silent are the deep:  
Feign would they tell their griefs, but know not where:  
All are so full, nought can augment their store:  
Then how should they  
Their griefs display  
To men, so clo●d, they ●aine would hear no more?  
Though blaming those whose plaints they cannot hear:  
And with this wish their passions I allow,  
May that Muse never speak that's silent now!   

Is Henry dead? alas! and do I live  
To sing a Scrich-owles Note that he is dead?  
If any one a fitter Theme can give,  
Come give it now, or never to be read.  
Bu● let him see it do of horror taste,  
Anguish, destruction: could it rend in sunder  
With fearful groans  
The senseless stones,  
Yet should we hardly be enforced to wonder,  
Ou● former griefs would so exceed their last:  
Time cannot make our sorrows ought completer;  
Nor add one grief to make our mourning greater.   

England was ne'er engird with waves till now;  
Till now it held part with the Continent:  
Ay me! some one in pity show me, how  
I might in doleful numbers so lament;  
That any one which loved him, hated me,  
Might dear love me, for lamenting him.  
Alas! my plaint  
In such constraint  
Breaks forth in rage▪ that though my passions swim,  
Ye● are they drowned ere they landed be:  
Imperfect lines! O happy! were I hurled  
And cut from life as England from the world.   

O happier had we been! if we ●ad been  
Never made happy by enjoying thee!  
Where hath the glorious eye of heaven seen  
A spectacle of greater misery?  
Time turn thy course; and bring again the Spring;  
Break Nature's laws; search the records of old,  
If aught befell  
Might parallel  
Sad Britain's case: weep Rocks, and Heaven behold,  
What Seas of sorrow she is plunged in.  
Where storms of woe so mainly have beset her;  
She hath no place for worse, nor hope for better.   

Britain was whilom known (by more than fame)  
To be one of the Lands fortunate;  
What frantic man would give her now that name,  
Lying so rueful and disconsolate?  
Hath not her watery Zone in murmuring,  
Filled every shore with Echoes of her cry▪  
Yes, Thetis raves,  
And bids her waves  
Bring all the Nymphs within her Empery  
To be assistant in her sorrowing:  
See where they sadly sit on Isis' shore,  
And rend their hairs as they would joy no more.   

Isis' the glory of the Western world,  
When our Heroë (honoured Essex) died,  
Strucken with wonder, back again she hurled,  
And fill'd her banks with an unwonted Tide:  
As if she stood in doubt, if it were so,  
And for the certainty had turned her way.  
Why do not now  
Her waves reflow?  
Poor Nymph, her sorrows will not let her stay;  
Or fl●es to tell the world her Country's woe:  
Or cares not to come back, perhaps, as showing  
Our tears should make the flood, not her reflowing.   

Sometimes a Tyrant held the reynes of Rome,  
Wishing to all the City but one head,  
That all at once might undergo his doom,  
And by one blow from life be severed.  
Fate wished the like on England, and 'twas given:  
(O miserable men, enthralled to Fate!)  
Whose heavy hand  
That never s●and  
The misery of Kingdoms ruinate,  
Mi●ding to leave her of all joys bereaven,  
With one sad blow (Alas! can worse fall!)  
Hath given this little Isle her Funeral.   

O come ye blessed Imps of Memory,  
Ere●● a new Parnassus on his grave!  
There tune your voices to an Elegy,  
The saddest Note that ere Apollo gave.  
Let every Accent make the s●ander by  
Keep time unto your Song with dropping tears.  
Till drops that fell  
Have made a well  
To swallow him which still unmoved hairs?  
And though myself prove senseless of your cry,  
Yet gladly should my light of life grow di●,  
To be entombed in tears are wept for him.   

When last he sickened, than we first began  
To tread the Labyrinth of Woe about:  
And by degrees we further inward ran,  
Having his thread of life to guide us out.  
But Destiny no sooner saw us enter  
Sad Sorrow's Maze, immured up in night,  
(Where nothing dwells  
But cries and yels  
Thrown from the hearts of men deprived of light,)  
When we were almost come into the Centre,  
Fate (cruelly) to bar our joys returning,  
Cut off our Thread, and left us all in mourning.    
If you have seen at foot of some brave hill,  
Two Springs arise, and delicately trill,  
In gentle chide through an humble dale,  
(Where tufty Daizies nod at every gale)  
And on the banks a Swain (with Laurel crowned)  
Marrying his sweet Notes with their silver sound:  
When as the spongy clouds swollen big with water,  
Throw their conception on the world's Theatre:  
Down from the hills the reigned waters roar,  
Whilst every leaf drops to augment their store:  
Grumbling the stones fall o'er each others back,  
Rending the green turfs with their 
* A fall of waters from a very high place.  Cataract,  
And through the Meadows run with such a noise,  
That taking from the Swain the fountains voice,  
Enforce him leave their margin, and alone  
Couple his base Pipe with their base Tone.  

Aletheia to ●●da.  Know (Shepherdess) that so I lent an ear  
To those sad wights whose plaints I told whileare:  
But when this goodly Lady 'gan address  
Her heavenly voice to sweeten heaviness,  
It drowned the rest, as torrents little Springs;  
And strucken mute at her great sorrowings,  
Lay still and wondered at her piteous moan,  
Wept at her griefs, and did forget their own,  
Whilst I attentive ●a●e, and did impart,  
Tears when they wanted drops, and from a hart,  
As hi● in sorrow as e'er creature wore,  
Lent thrilling groans to such as had no more.  
Had wise Ulysses (who regardless flung  
Along the Ocean when the Sirens sung)  
Passed by and seen her on the sea torn cleeves,  
Wail her lost Love (while Neptune's watery thieves  
Durst not approach for Rocks:) to see her face  
He would have hazarded his Grecian race,  
Thrust head long to the shore, and to her eyes  
Offered his Vessel as a Sacrifice.  
Or had ●lie Sirens on a neighbour shore  
Herd in what raping Notes she did deplore  
Her buried Glory, they had left their shelves,  
And to come near her would have drowned them  
Now silence locked the organs of that voice; 
Aletheia cometh to Idya.   
Whereat each merry Sylvan wont rejoice,  
When with a bended knee to her I came,  
And did impart my grief and hate● name:  
But first a pardon begged, i● that my cause  
So much constrained me as to break the Laws  
Of her wished sequestration, or asked Bread  
(To save a life) from her, whose life was dead:  
But lawless famine, self-consuming hunger,  
Alas! compelled me: had I stayed longer,  
My weakened limbs had been my wants forced meed,  
And I had fed, on that I could not feed.  
When she (compassionate) to my sad moan  
Did lend a sigh, and stole it from her own;  
And (woeful Lady wracked on hapless shelf)  
Yielded me comfort, yet had none herself:  
Told how she knew me well since I had been,  
As chiefest consort of the Fairy Queen;  
O happy Queen! for ever▪ ever praise  
Dwell on thy Tomb; the period of all days  
Only seal up thy fame; and as thy Birth  
Enriched thy Temples on the fading earth,  
So have thy Virtues crowned thy blessed soul,  
Where the first Mover with his words control;  
As with a girdle the huge Ocean binds;  
Gathers into his fist the nimble Winds;  
Stops the bright Courser in his hot career;  
Commands the Moon twelve courses in a year:  
Live thou with him in endless bliss, while we  
Admire all virtues in admiring thee.  
Thou, thou, the factress of the learned Well;  
Thou nursing Mother of God's Israel;  
Thou, for whose loving Truth, the heaven's reins  
Sweet Mel and Manna on our flowery plains:  
Thou, by whose hand the sacred Trine did bring  
Us out of bonds, from bloody Bonnering.  
Ye suckling Babes, for ever bless that Name  
Released your burning in your Mother's flame!  
Thrice blessed Maiden, by whose hand was given  
Free liberty to taste the food of Heaven.  
Neue● forget her (Albion's lovely Daughters)  
Which led you to the Springs of living Waters▪  
And if my Muse her glory fail to sing,  
May to my mouth my tongue for ever cling!  
Herewith (at hand) taking her Horn of Plenty 
Idya cherisheth Aletheia.   
Filled with the choice of every Orchards dainty,  
As Pears, Plums, Apples, the sweet Raspis-berry,  
The Quince, the Apricocke, the blushing Cherry;  
The Mulberry (his black from Thisbie taking)  
The clustered filbert, Grapes oft merry-making.  
(This fruitful Horn th'immortal Ladies filled  
With all the pleasures that rough Forests yield,  
And gave Idya, with a further blessing,  
That thence (as from a Garden) without dressing,  
She t●ese should ever have; and never want  
Store, from an Orchard without tree or plant.)  
With a right willing hand she gave me, hence,  
The Stomaches comforter, the pleasing Quince;  
And ●or the chiefest cherisher she lent  
The Royal Thistles milky nourishment.  
Here stayed I long: but when to see Aurora  
Kiss the presumed cheeks of dainty Flora.  
Without the vale I trod one lovely Morn,  
With true intention of a quick return,  
An unexpected chance strove to defer  
My going back, and all the love of her.  
But Maiden see the day is waxen old,  
And 'gins to shut in with the Marigold:  
The Neatherds Kine do bellow in the yard;  
And Dairy Maidens for the milk prepared,  
Are drawing at the Vdder, long ere now  
The Ploughman hath vnyoaked his Team from plough:  
My transformation to a fearful Hind  
Shall to unfold a fitter season find;  
Mean while yond Palace, whose brave Turrets tops,  
Over the stately Wood survey the cops,  
Promis'th (if sought) a wished place of rest,  
Till Sol our Hemisphere have repossessed.  
Now must my Muse afford a strain to Riot,  
Who almost killed with his luxurious diet,  
Lay eating grass (as dogs) within a wood,  
So to disgorge the undigested food:  
By whom fair Aletheia passed along  
With Fida Queen of every shepherd's song,  
By them unseen (for he securely lay  
Under the thick of many a levied spray)  
And through the levelled Meadows gently threw  
Their neatest feet, washed with refreshing dew,  
Where he durst not approach, but on the edge  
Of th'hilly wood, in covert of a hedge,  
Went onward with them, trod with them in paces,  
And far off much admired their forms and graces.  
Into the Plains at last he headlong ventured:  
But they the hill had got and palace entered.  
When, like a valiant well resolved man  
Seeking new paths i'th' pathless Ocean,  
Unto the shores of monster breeding Nile▪  
Or through the North to the unpeopled Thyle▪  
Where from the Equinoctial of the Spring,  
To that of Autumn, Titan's golden Ring  
Is never off; and till the Spring again  
In gloomy darkness all the shores remain.  
Or if he furrow up the brynie Sea,  
To ca●t his Anchor's in the frozen bay  
Of woody Norway; (who hath ever fed  
Her people more with scaly fish than bread)  
Though rattling mounts of Ice thrust at his Helm,  
And by their fall still threaten to o'erwhelm  
His little Vessel: and though Winter throw  
(What age should on their heads) white caps of Snow▪  
Strives to congeal his blood; he cares not for't,  
But armed in mind, gets his intended port:  
So Riot, though full many doubts arise,  
Whose unknown ends might grasp his enterprise,  
Climbs towards the Palace, and with gate demure,  
With hanging head, a voice as feigning pure,  
With ●orne and ragged coat, his hairy legs  
Bloody, as scratched with Briers, he entrance begs.  
Remembrance sat as Portresse of this gate:  
A Lady always musing as she sat,  
Except when sometime suddenly she rose,  
And with a back-bent eye, at length, she throws  
Her hands to heaven: and in a wondering guise,  
Stared on each object with her fixed eyes:  
As some way-faring man passing a wood,  
(Whose waving top hath long a Sea-mark stood)  
Goes jogging on, and in his mind nought hath,  
But how the Primrose finely strew the path,  
Or sweetest Violets lay down their heads  
At some trees root on mossy featherbeds,  
Until his heel receives an Adder's sting,  
Whereat he starts, and back his head doth fling.  
She never marked the suit he did prefer,  
But (careless) let him pass along by her.  
So on he went into a spacious court,  
All trodden bare with multitudes resort:  
At th'end whereof a second gate appears,  
The Fabric showed full many thousand years:  
Whose Posterne-key that time a Lady kept,  
Her eyes all swollen as if she seldom slept;  
And would by fits her golden tresses tear,  
And strive to stop her breath with her own hair▪  
Her lily hand (not to be liked by Art)  
A pair of Pincers held; where with her heart  
Was hardly grasped, while the piled stones  
Re-eccoed her lamentable groans.  
Here at this gate the custom long had been  
When any sought to be admitted in;  
Remorse thus used them, ere they had the key,  
And all these torments felt, passed on their way.  
When Riot came, the Lady's pains nigh done,  
She passed the gate; and then Remorse begun  
To fetter Riot in strong iron chains;  
And doubting much his patience in the pains.  
As when a Smith and's Man (lame Vulcan's fellows)  
Called from the Anuile or the puffing Bellowes,  
To clap a well-wrought shoe (for more than pay)  
Upon a stubborn Nag of Galloway;  
Or vnbacked Ienne●, or a Flaunders Mare,  
Th●●t the Forge stand snuffing of the air;  
The swarthy Smith spi●s in his Buckhorne fist,  
And bids his Man bring out the fivefold ●wist,  
His shackles, shacklock●, hampers, gy●es and chains,  
His linked boles, and 〈…〉 pains  
These make him fast and least all these should falter,  
Unto a post with some fix doubled halter  
He binds his head 〈◊〉 all are of the least  
To curb the fury of the head strong 〈◊〉:  
When if a Carrier's 〈◊〉 be brought unto him,  
His Man's ●an hold his ●oor whilst 〈…〉 him:  
Remorse was so enforced to bind him stronger,  
Because his faults requi●●d infliction longer  
Than any 〈◊〉- pressed wigh● which many a day  
Since 〈…〉 himself had passed that way.  
When all the cruel torment● he had burn,  
Galled with chains, and on the 〈◊〉 high 〈◊〉▪  
Pinching with glowing pincers his own heart▪  
All ●ame and restless, full of wound● and smart,  
He 〈◊〉 Postern 〈◊〉, ●o inward hi●s,  
And from the gate a twofold path describe,  
One leading up a hill, Repentance way▪  
And (as more worthy) on the right hand lay:  
The other headlong, steep, and likened well  
Unto the path which tendeth down to hell●▪  
All steps that thither went showed no returning,  
The port to pains, and to eternal mourning;  
Where certain Death lived, in an Ebon chair,  
The souls black homicide meager Despair  
Had his abodes there 'gainst the craggy rocks  
Some dashed their 〈…〉, with relentless 〈◊〉,  
Others on trees (o most accursed elites)  
Are fastening knots so to vnd●● themselves▪  
Here one in sin not daring to appear  
At Mercies seat with one 〈◊〉 or ●eare,  
Within 〈…〉 was 〈…〉 an eye,  
That unto God it might for 〈…〉 cry▪  
There from a Rock a 〈…〉 newly fell  
All torn in pieces, to go● whole to Hell  
Here with a sleepy Potion one thinks fit  
To grasped with death, but 〈…〉 know 〈…〉▪  
There in ● gool● 〈◊〉 their life's 〈◊〉,  
And die in water to revive in fire▪  
Here hangs the blood upon the guiltless stones:  
There worms 〈…〉  
Here lies and 〈…〉  
Without 〈◊〉 her li●●s of 〈…〉  
Scattering the ground, and as 〈…〉,  
As they at virtue spur●ed in the world.  
Fie hapless wretch, o that 〈…〉  
Measur'st God's mercy by thine own deserving  
Which criest (distrustful of the power of 〈◊〉)  
My sins are greater than can be forgiue●:  
Which still are ready 〈…〉  
At every stripe of worldly misery▪  
O learn (thou in whose 〈◊〉 the Dragon liakos)  
God's Mercy (〈◊〉) is o'erall hi● works  
Know he is pitiful, apt to forgive;  
Would not a sinner's death, but that he live.  
O ever, ever rest upon that word  
Which doth assure thee, though his two edged Sword  
Be drawn in justice 'gainst thy sinful soul,  
To separate the rotten from the whole;  
Yet if a sacrifice of prayer be sent him,  
He will not strike; or if he strike repent him.  
Let none despair; for cursed judas sin  
Was not so much in yielding up the King  
Of life to death, as when he thereupon  
Wholly despaired of God's remission.  
〈◊〉 long doubting stood which way were best  
To lead his steps: at last preferring rest  
(As foolishly he thought) before the pain  
Was to be past ere he could well attain  
The high-built Palace, 〈◊〉 adventure on  
Tha● path, which led to 〈◊〉 confusion,  
When suddenly a voice as sweet as 〈◊〉,  
With words divine began entice his 〈◊〉  
Whereat as in a rapture, on the ground  
〈…〉 lay, and all his senses 〈◊〉  
A time of rest▪ only that faculty  
Which never can be seen, nor ever dye,  
That in the essence of an endless Nature  
Do● sympathise with the All-good Creator,  
That only waked which cannot be in●err'd  
And from a heavenly Choir this di●ty heard.  


Vain man, do not mistrust  
Of heaven winning;  
Nor (though the most unjust)  
Despair for sinning  
God will be seen his sentence changing,  
If he behold thee wicked ways estranging.   

Climb up where pleasures dwell  
In flowery Allies:  
And taste the living ●ell  
That decks the Valleys.  
Fair Metanoia is attending  
To crown thee with those joys which know 〈◊〉 ending.    
Herewith on leaden wings Sl●●pe from him flew,  
When on his arm he rose, and sadly threw  
Shrill acclamation● while an hollow cave,  
Or hanging hill, or heaven 〈◊〉 answer gave.  
O sacred Essence lightning me this hour▪  
How may I lightly stil● thy great Power? Ecc●. Power.  
Power? but of whence? under the green-wood spray.  
Or livest in hea●'n? say, Ecc●. In Heaven's 〈◊〉  
In heavens aye ● tell, may I it obtain  
By alms; by fasting, prayer, by pain. Ecch. By pain.  
Show me the pain, it shall be undergone:  
I to mine end will still go on Ecch. Go on.  
But whither? On! Show me the place, the time▪  
What if the Mountain I do climb? Ecch. Do; climb.  
Is that the way to joys which still endure?  
O bid my soul of it be sure! Ecch. Be sure.  
Then thus assured, do I climb the hill,  
Heaven be my guide in this thy will. Ecch. ay will.  
As when a maid taught from her mother wing,  
To tune her voice unto a silver string,  
When she should run, she rests; rests when should run,  
And ends her lesson having now begun:  
Now misseth she her stop, then in her song,  
And doing of her best she still is wrong,  
Beg●ns again, and yet again strikes false,  
Then in a chafe forsakes her Virginals,  
And yet within an hour she tries anew,  
That with her daily pains (Art's chiefest due)  
She gains that charming skill: and can no less  
Ta●e the fierce walkers of the wilderness,  
Then that O●agrin Harpist, for whose lay,  
Tigers with hunger pined and left their prey.  
So Riot, when he 'gan to climb the hill,  
Here maketh haste and there long standeth still,  
Now getteth up a step, then falls again,  
Yet not despairing all his nerves doth strain,  
To clamber up a new, then slide his feet,  
And down he comes; but gives not over yet,  
For (with the maid) he hopes, a time will be  
When merit shall be linked with industry.  
Now as an Angler melancholy standing  
Upon a green bank yielding room for landing,  
A wriggling yellow worm thrust on his hook,  
Now in the midst he throws, then in a nook:  
Here pulls his line, there throws it in again,  
Mindeth his Cork and Bait, but all in vain,  
He long stands viewing of the curled stream;  
At last a hungry Pike, or well-grown bream  
Snatch at the worm, and hasting fast away,  
He knowing it, a Fish of stubborn sway,  
Pulls up his rod, but soft: (as having skill)  
Wherewith the hook fast holds the Fish's gill,  
Then all his line he freely yieldeth him,  
Whilst furiously all up and down doth swim  
Th'ensnared Fish, here on the top doth s●ud,  
There underneath the banks, then in the mud;  
And with his frantic fits so scares the shoal,  
That each one takes his hyde, or starting hole▪  
By this the P●ke clean wearied underneath  
A Willow lies, and pants (if Fishes breath)  
Wherewith the Angler gently pulls him to him,  
And lest his haste might happen to undo him,  
Lays down his rod, then takes his line in hand,  
And by degrees getting the Fish to land,  
Walks to another Pool: at length is winner  
Of such a dish as serves him for his dinner:  
So when the Climber half the way had got▪  
Musing he stood, and busily 'gan plot,  
How (since the mount did always steeper tend)  
He might with steps secure his journey end.  
At last (as wand'ring Boys to gather Nuts)  
A hooked Pole he from a Hasell cuts;  
Now throws it here, then there to take some hold,  
But bootless and in vain, the rocky mould,  
Admits no cranny, where his Hasell-hooke  
Might promise him a step, till in a nook  
Somewhat above his reach he hath espied  
A little Oak, and having often tried  
To catch a bough with standing on his toe,  
Or leaping up, yet not prevailing so;  
Ho● 〈…〉 towards the little 〈◊〉,  
The 〈…〉  
His ●ole unto 〈…〉 his drawing  
The early rising 〈…〉,  
Leaving the green ●ough, ●●yes a bo●● the Rock,  
Whilst, 〈…〉 to him flock:  
And now within his 〈…〉  
With one hand on ●ly 〈◊〉 he hold 〈…〉,  
And with the 〈◊〉 grasping first the 〈◊〉,  
A pretty bough he ●n his 〈…〉  
Then to his gird●● be making 〈◊〉 the hoo●●,  
His other hand another bough h●t brook▪  
His first, ● third, and that, another giust,  
To bring him to the place where 〈…〉  
Then, as a nimble Squirrel from the wood,  
Ranging the hedges for his Filberd●ood ●ood,  
Sits partly on a bough his brown Nuts cracking,  
And from the shell the sweet white kernel ●aking,  
Till (with their crooke● and bags) 〈…〉 Boys,  
(To share with him) come with so 〈…〉,  
That he is forced to leave a Nut nigh broke,  
And for his life leap to a neighbour 〈◊〉,  
Thence to a Beech, thence to a row of A●hes;  
Whilst through the Quagmires, and red water plashes▪  
The Boys run dabbling thorough thick and thin,  
One tears his hose, another breaks his 〈◊〉,  
This, torn and ●atter'd, hath with 〈…〉  
Go● by the Briers, and that hath lost his shoe:  
This drops his band; that headlong 〈◊〉 for haste;  
Another ●ries behind for being last:  
With sticks and stones 〈…〉 a sounding hollow,  
The little fool, with no small sport, they follow,  
Whilst he, fro● 〈◊〉 to 〈◊〉, from spray to spray,  
Gets to the wood, and hides him in his Dray:  
Such shi●● m●de Ry●t, ere he could get up,  
And so from bough to bough he won the top,  
Though hind●●● 〈◊〉, for ever coming there,  
Were often ●hr●t upon him by Despair.  
Now at hi● 〈◊〉 the sta●ely mountain lay,  
And with a gladsome eye began survey  
What perils he had ●rod on since the time  
His weary fe●● and arms ●ss●id to climb.  
When with a humble voice (withouten fear,  
Though he looked wild and over grown with hair)  
A gentle Nymph in russet course array,  
Comes and directs him onward in his way.  
First, brings she him into a goodly Hall,  
Fair, 
Description of the house of Repentance.  yet not beautified with Mineral:  
But in a careless Art, and artless care,  
Made, loose neglect, more lovely far than rare.  
Upon the floor ●ypau'd with Marble slate)  
(With Sackcloth clothed) many in ashes sat:  
And round about the walls for many years,  
Hung Crystal Vials of repentant tears:  
And Books of vows, and many a heavenly deed,  
Lay ready open for each one to read,  
Some were immured up in little sheds.  
There to contemplate Heaven, and bid their Beads.  
Others with garments thin of Cammels-haire,  
With head, and arms, and legs, and feet all bare.  
Were singing Hymns to the Eternal Sag●,  
For sa 〈◊〉 from their Pilgrimage,  
Some with a whip their pampered bodies beat;  
Others in fasting live, and seldom 〈◊〉  
But as those Trees which do in Indi● grow  
And called of elder Swaine● full long ago  
The Sun and Moons fair Trees (full goodly deight)  
And 〈…〉 challenging their height:  
Having no help (to over look brave Towers)  
From cool refreshing d●w, or drizzling showers;  
Whe● as the Earth (as oftentimes i● 〈◊〉)  
Is interposed betwixt Sa●● and Nights pale Queen,  
Or wh●● the Moone●●clipseth ●●clipseth Titan's light,  
The Trees (all comfortless) robbed of their sight  
Weep liquid drops, which plentifully shoo●  
Along the outward ba●ke down to the root:  
And by their own shed tears they ever flourish,  
So their own sorrows, their own joys do nourish:  
And so within this placefull many a wight,  
Did make his tears his food both day and night.  
And had it ganted (from th'Almighty great)  
To swim through them unto his Mercy-s●●s.  
Fair Meta●ai● in a chai●e of earth,  
With countenance sad, yet sadness promised mirth,  
Sat veiled in coursest weeds of Camel's hair,  
Enriching poverty; yet never ●aire  
Wa● like to her, nor since the world begun  
A lovelier Lady kissed the glorious Sun.  
For her the God of Thunder, mighty, great,  
Whose Footstool is the Earth, and Heaven his Sea●,  
Unto a man who from hi● crying birth  
Went on still shunning what he carried, 〈◊〉  
When he could walk no further for his grave,  
Nor could step over, but he there must have  
A seat to rest, when he would fain g●●on,  
But age in every nerve, in every bone  
For ●ad his passage: for her salt hath heaven  
Filled up the grave, and made his path so even,  
That fifteen courses had the bright Steeds run,  
(And he was weary) 〈◊〉 his course was done.  
For scorning her, the Courts of Kings which throw  
A proud ra●●'d pinnacle to rest the Crow;  
And on a Plain out brave a neighbour Rock,  
In stout resistance of a Tempests shocks,)  
For her contempt heaven (rei●ing his disasters)  
Have made these Towers but piles to burn their masters.  
To her the lowly Nymph (Humblesse height)  
Brought (a● her office) this deformed wight;  
To whom the Lady courteous semblance shows,  
And pitying his estate in sacred thews,  
And Letters (worthily y● leapt divine)  
Resolved t'instruct him: but her discipline  
She knew of true effect, would surely miss,  
Except 〈◊〉 first his Metamorphosis  
Should clean exile: and knowing that his birth  
Was to inherit reason, though on earth  
Some Witch had thus transformed him, by her skill,  
Expert in changing, even the very will,  
In few day's labours with continual prayer,  
(A sacrifice transcends the buxom air)  
His grisly shape, his soul deformed feature,  
His horrid looks, worse than a savage creature,  
By Metanoi●'s hand from heaven, began  
Receive their sentence of divorce from man.  
And as a lovely Maiden, pure and chaste,  
With naked Iu●ie neck, and gown unlaced,  
Within her chamber, when the day is fled,  
Makes poor her garments to enrich her bed:  
First, 〈◊〉 she off her lily silken gown,  
That, ●rike● for sorrow a● she lays it down,  
And with her arms graceth a Waste coat fine▪  
Embracing her as it would ne'er untwine.  
Her 〈◊〉 hair in snaring beholders,  
She next permits to wave about her shoulders,  
And ●●ough-she cast it back, the silken slips  
Still forward steal, and hang upon her lips:  
Whereat she sweetly angry, with her laces  
Binds up the wanton lo●ks in curious ●races,  
Whilst (twisting with her joints) each hair long lingers,  
As lo●h to be enchained, but with her fingers.  
Then on her head a dressing like a Crown;  
Her breasts all bare, her Kirtle slipping down,  
And all things off (which rightly ever be  
Called the foule-faire marks of our misery)  
Except her last, which enviously doth seize her,  
Lest any eye partake with it in pleasure,  
Prepares for sweetest rest, while Silvans greet her,  
And (longingly) the downe-bed swells to meet her:  
So by degrees his shape all brutish vild,  
Fell from him (as loose-skin from some young child)  
In lieu whereof a manlike shape appears,  
And gallant youth scarce skilled in twenty years,  
So fair, so fresh, so young, so admirable  
In every part, that since I am not able  
In words to show his picture, gentle Swains,  
Recall the praises in my former strains;  
And know if they have gra●ed any limb,  
I only lent it those, but stoleed from him.  
Had that chaste Roman Dan●● beheld his face,  
Ere the proud King possessed her Husband's place,  
Her thoughts had been adulterate, and this stain  
Had won her greater fame, had she been slain.  
The Lark that many morns herself makes merry  
With the shrill chanting of her teery-lerry,  
(Before he was transformed) would leave the skies,  
And hover o'er him to behold his eyes.  
Upon an O●en-pipe well could he play,  
For when he fed his flock upon the lay  
Maidens to hear him from the Plains came tripping  
And Birds from bough to bough full nimbly skipping;  
His flock (than happy flock) would leave to feed,  
And stand amazed to listen to his Reed:  
Lions and Tigers, with each beast of game,  
With hearing him were many times made tame:  
Brave trees & flowers would towards him be bending  
And none that heard him wished his Song an ending:  
Maids, Lions, birds, flocks, trees, each flower, each spring,  
Were wrapped with wonder, when he used to sing  
So fair a person to describe to men  
Requires a curious Pencil, not a Pen.  
Hi● Metanoia clad in seemly wise  
(Not after our corrupted ages guise,  
Where gaudy weeds lend splendour to the limb,  
While that his clothes received their grace from him▪)  
Then ●o a garden set with rarest flowers,  
With pleasant fountains stored, and shady bowers:  
She leads him by the hand, and in the groves,  
Where thousand pretty Birds sung to their Loves,  
And thousand thousand blossoms (from their stalk●)  
Mild Z●phy●us threw down to paint the walks:  
Where yet the wild Boar never durst appear:  
Here Fida (ever to kind Raymond dear)  
Met them, and showed where Aletheia lay,  
(The fairest Maid that ever blessed the day▪)  
Sweetly she lay, and cooled her lilly-hand●  
Within a Spring that throw up golden sands:  
As if i● would entice her to persever  
In living there, and grace the banks for ever.  
To her Amintas (Riot now no more)  
Came, and saluted ● neue● man before  
More blest▪ nor like this kiss hath been another  
But when two dangling Cherries kissed each other:  
Nor e●er beauties, like, met at such close●▪  
But in the kisses of two Damaske-Roses.  
O, how the flowers (pressed with their tread on the)  
S●roue to ●ast up their heads to look upon them!  
How jealously the buds that so had seen them,  
Sent forth the sweetest smells to step between them,  
As fe●ring the perfume lodged in their powers  
Once known of them, they might neglect the flowers,  
How often wished Amintas with his heart,  
His ruddy lips from ●●ers might never part,  
And that the heavens this gift were the 〈◊〉  
To ●eed on nothing but each others breathing  
A truer love the Muse's 〈◊〉 sung,  
Nor happier names ere graced a golden tongue  
O! they are better fitting his sweet stripe,  
Who on the banks of 〈…〉  
〈…〉 for that learned Swain whose lays  
Divinest Homer crowned with deathless Bays▪  
Or any one sent from the sacred Well  
Inheriting the soul of Astrophill▪  
These, these in golden li●es might write this Story,  
And make these loud● their 〈◊〉 eternal glory:  
Whilst ● a Swaine la● weak 〈◊〉 years as ●kin,  
Should in the valley hear them on the hill▪  
Yet (when my Sheep slave to their Cesto●●e be one,  
And I have brought them back to 〈…〉  
To miss an idle hour, and not for 〈◊〉,  
With choicest relish shall 〈…〉  
Record their worths: and though in a 〈…〉  
I miss the glory of a charming air,  
My Muse may one day make the Courtly Swains  
Enamoured on the Musick● of the Plains,  
And as upon ● hill she bravely sings,  
Teach humble ●ales to weep in Crystal Springs.   
The end of the first Book.   

BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.  
The second Book.  HORAT. 
Carmine Dij superi placantur, carmine Manes.  
LONDON, Printed by JOHN HAVILAND, 1625.   

TO THE TRULY NOBLE AND LEARNED WILLIAM EARL OF PEMBROKE, LORD CHAMBERLAINE TO HIS MAJESTY, etc.  
NOT that the gift (Great Lord) deserves your hand,  
(Held ever worth the rarest works of men)  
Offer I this; but since in all our Land  
None can more rightly claim a Poet's Pen:  
That Noble Blood and Virtue truly known,  
Which circular in you united run,  
Makes you each good, & every good your own,  
If it can hold in what my Muse hath done.  
But weak and lowly are these tuned Lays,  
Yet though but weak to win fair Memory,  
You may improve them, and your gracing raise;  
For things are prized as their possessors be.  
If for such favour they have worthless striven,  
Since Love the cause was, be that Love forgiven!  
Your Honours, W. BROWNE.   

To the most ingenious Author Mr. W. BROWNE.  
INgenious Swain! that highly dost adorn  
Clear Tavy! on whose brinck we both were borne!  
Just Praise in me would ne'er be thought to mo●e  
From thy sole Worth, but from my partial Love..  
Wherefore I will not do thee so much wrong,  
As by such mixture to allay thy Song,  
But while kind strangers rightly praise each Grace  
Of thy chaste Muse; I (from the happy Place  
That brought thee forth, and thinks it not unfit  
To boast now that it erst bred such a Wit;)  
Would only have it known I much rejoice;  
To hear such Matters, sung by such a Voice.  
JOHN GLANVILL.   

To his Friend Mr. BROWNE.  
ALL that do read thy Works, and see thy face,  
(Where scarce a hair grows up, thy chin to grace)  
Do greatly wonder how so youthful years  
Could frame a Work, where so much worth appears.  
To hear how thou describest a Tree, a Dale,  
A Grove, a Green, a solitary Vale,  
The Evening Showers, and the Morning Gleams,  
The golden Mountains, and the silver Streams,  
How smooth thy Verse is, and how sweet thy Rhymes,  
How sage, and yet how pleasant are thy Lines;  
What more or less can there be said by men,  
But, Muses rule thy Hand, and guide thy Pen.  
THO WENMAN, è Societate Inter. T●●pli.   

To his worthily-affected Friend Mr. W. BROWNE.  

AWake sad Muse, and thou my sadder spirit,  
Made so by Time, but more by Fortune's spite,  
Awake, and hie us to the Green,  
There shall be seen  
The quaintest Lad of all the time  
For neater Rhyme:  
Whose free and unaffected strains  
Take all the Swains  
That are not rude and ignorant,  
Or Envy want.   

And Envy lest its hate discovered ●e  
A Courtly Love and Friendship offers thee:  
The Shepherdesses blithe and fair  
For thee despair.  
And whosoever depends on Pan  
Holds him a man  
Beyond themselves, (if not compare,)  
He is so rare,  
So innocent in all his ways  
As in his Lays.  
He masters no low soul who hopes to please  
The Nephew of the brave Philisides.    

Another to the same.  
WEre all men's envies fixed in one man's looks,  
That monster that would pray on safest Fame,  
Durst no● once check at thine, nor at thy Name:  
So he who men can read as well as Books  
Attest thy Lines; thus tried, they show to us  
As Sc●ua's Shield, thyself Emeritus.  
W. HERBERT.   

To my Browne, yet brightest Swain That wons, or haunts or Hill or Plaine. Pocta nascitur.  
PIpe on, sweet Swain, till joy, in Bliss, sleep waking;  
Hermes, it seems, to thee, of all the Swains,  
Hath lent his Pipe and Art: For thou art making  
With sweet Notes (noted) Heaven of Hills and Plains!  
Nay, if as thou beginst, thou dost hold on,  
The total Earth thine Arcady will be;  
And Neptune's Monarchy thy Helicon:  
So, all in both will make a God of thee.  
To whom they will exhibit Sacrifice  
Of richest Love and Praise; and envious Swains  
(Charmed with thine Accents) shall thy Notes agnize  
To reach above great Pans in all thy Strains.  
Then, ply this Vein: for, it may well contain  
The richest Morals under poorest Shroud;  
And sith in thee the pastoral spirit doth reign,  
On such Wits-Treasures let it sit abrood:  
Till it hath hatched such Numbers as may buy  
The rarest Fame that e'er enriched Air;  
Or fanned the Way fair, to ETERNITY,  
To which vnsoiled, thy Glory shall repair!  
Where (with the Gods that in fair Stars do dwell,  
When thou shalt, blazing, in a Star abide)  
Thou shalt be styled the Shepherds-Starre, to tell  
Them many Mysteries; and, be their Guide.  
Thus, do I spur thee on with sharpest praise,  
To use thy Gifts of Nature, and of Skill,  
To double-gilde Apollo's Brows, and Bays,  
Yet make great NATURE Arts true Sovereign still.  
So, ●ame shall ever say, to thy renown,  
The Shepherds-Star, or bright'st in Sky, is Browne!  
The true Lover of thine Art and Nature. JOHN DAVIES of Heres.   

AD ILLUSTRISSIMUM IWENEM GULIELMUM BROWNE Generosum, in Operis sui Tomum secundum Carmen gratulatorium.  
SCri●ta prius vidi, legi, digitoque notavi  
Carminis istius singula verba meo.  
Ex scriptis sparsim quaerebam carpere dicta,  
Omnia sed par est, aut ego nulla notem.  
Filia si fuerit facies haec nactae sororis,  
Laudator prolis solus & Author eris:  
Haec nondum visi qui flagrat amore libelli  
Prae●arrat scriptis omnia c●rta tuis.  
CAROLV● CROKE.   

To my noble Friend the Author.  

A Perfect Pen, itself will ever praise.  
So pipe● our Shepherd in his Roundelays,  
That who could judge, of Musics sweetest strain,  
Would swear thy Muse were in a heavenly vain.   

A Work of worth, shows what the Workman is:  
When as the fault, that may be found amiss,  
(To such at least, as have judicious eyes)  
Nor in the Work, nor yet the Workman lies.   

Well worthy thou, to wear the Laurel wreath:  
When from thy breast, these blessed thoughts do breath;  
That in thy gracious Lines such grace do give,  
It makes thee, everlastingly to live.  
Thy words well couched, thy sweet invention show,  
A perfect Poet, that could place them so.   
unton CROKE, è Societate Inter. Templi.   

To the Author.  

THat privilege which others claim,  
To flatter with their Friends  
With thee (Friend) shall not be mine aim,  
My Verse so much pretends.   

The general Umpire of best wit  
In this will speak thy fame.  
The Muse's Minio●s as they sit,  
Will still confirm the ●ame.   

Let me sing him that merits best,  
Let others scrape for fashion;  
Their buzzing prate thy worth will jest,  
And slight such commendation.   
ANTH. VINCENT.   

To his worthy Friend Mr. W. BROWNE, on his BOOK.  
THat Poets are not bred so, but so borne,  
Thy Muse it proves; for in her age's morn  
She hath stroke envy dumb, and charmed the love  
Of every Muse whose birth the Skies approve.  
Go on; I know thou art too good to fear.  
And may thy early strains affect the ear  
Of that rare Lord, who judge and guerdon can  
The richer gifts which do advantage man ●  
JOHN MORGAN, è Societate Inter. Templi.   

To his Friend the Author.  
SOmetimes (dear friend) I make thy Book my meat,  
And then I judge 'tis Honey that I eat.  
Sometimes my drink it is, and then I think  
It is Apollo's Nectar, and no drink.  
And being hurt in mind, I keep in store  
Thy Book, a precious Balsam for the sore▪  
'Tis Hony, Nectar, Balsam most divine:  
Or one word for them all; my Friend, 'tis thine.  
THO. HEYGATE, è Societate Inter. Templi.   

To his Friend the Author.  
IF antique Swains won such immortal praise,  
Though they alone with their melodious Lays,  
Did only charm the Woods and flowery Lawns:  
Satyrs, and Floods, and Stones, and hairy Fawns:  
How much brave Youth to thy due worth belongs,  
That charmest not then but men with thy sweet Songs?  
AUGUSTUS' CAESAR, è Societate Inter. Templi.   

To the Author.  
'tIs known I scorn to flatter (or commend)  
What merits not applause though in my Friend:  
Which by my censure should now more appear,  
Were this not full as good as thou art dear:  
But since thou couldst not (erring) make it so,  
That I might my impartial humour show  
By finding fault; Nor one of th●se friends tell  
How to show love so ill, that I as well  
Might paint out mine: I feel an envious touch,  
And tell thee Swain: that at thy fame I grudge,  
Wishing the Art that makes this Poem shine,  
And this thy Work (wert not thou wronged) mine.  
For when Detraction shall forgotten be,  
This will continue to eternize thee;  
And if hereafter any busy wit  
Should, wronging thy conceit, miscensure it,  
Though seeming learned or wise: here he shall see,  
'tis praised by wiser and more learned than he.  
G. WITHER▪   

To Mr. BROWNE.  
WEre there a thought so strange as to deny  
That happy Bays do some men's Births adorn,  
Thy work alone might serve to justify,  
That Poets are not made so, but so borne.  
How could thy plumes thus soon have soared thus  
Hadst thou not Laurel in thy Cradle worn?  
Thy Birth o'er-tooke thy Youth: And it doth make high  
Thy youth (herein) thine elders overtake.  
W. B.   

To my truly-beloued Friend M. Browne, on his Pastorals.  
SOme men, of Books or Friends not speaking right,  
May hurt them more with praise, than Foes with spite.  
But I have seen thy Work, and I know thee:  
And, if thou list thyself, what thou canst be.  
For, though but early in these paths thou tread,  
I find thee write most worthy to be read.  
It must be thine own judgement, yet that sends  
This thy work forth; that judgement mine commends.  
And, where the most read books, on Author's fames,  
Or, like our Money-brokers, take up names  
On credit, and are couz●n'd; see, that thou  
By offering not more sureties, then enough,  
Hold thine own worth unbroke: which is so good  
Upon th' Exchange of Letters, as I would  
More of our Writers would like thee, not swell  
With the how much they set forth, but th' how well.  
BEN. JONSON.   

BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS. THE SECOND BOOK.  

THE FIRST SONG.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
Marina's freedom now I sing,  
And of her new endangering:  
Of Famines Cave, and then th'abuse  
Towards buried Colyn and his Muse.  
AS when a Mariner (accounted lost,)  
Upon the watery Desert long time tossed,  
In Summer's parching hear, in Winter's cold,  
In tempests great, in dangers manifold:  
Is by a favouring wind drawn up the Mast,  
Whence he descries his native soil at last:  
For whose glad sight he gets the hatches under,  
And to the Ocean tells his joy in thunder,  
(Shaking those Barnacles into the Sea,  
At once, that in the womb and cradle lay)  
When suddenly the still inconstant wind  
Masters before, that did attend behind;  
And grows so violent, that he is fain  
Command the Pilot stand to Sea again;  
Lest want of Sea-room in a Channel straight,  
Or casting Anchor might cast o'er his freight:  
Thus gentle Muse it happens in my Song,  
A journey, tedious, for a strength so young  
I undertook: by siluer-seeming Floods,  
Past gloomy Bottoms, and high-waving Woods,  
Climbed Mountains where the wanton Kidling dallies;  
Then with soft steps ensealed the meekened Valleys,  
In quest of memory: and had possessed  
A pleasant Garden, for a welcome rest  
No sooner, than a hundred Themes come on  
And hale my Bark anew for Helicon,  
Thrice sacred Powers! (if sacred Powers there be  
Whose mild aspect engyrland Poesy)  
Ye happy Sisters of the learned Spring,  
Whose heavenly notes the Woods are ravishing▪  
Brave Thespian Maidens, at whose charming lays  
Each Mosse-thrumbed Mountain bends, each Current plays  
P●ërian Singers! O ye blessed Muses!  
Who as a gem too dear the world refuses!  
Whose truest lovers never clip with age,  
O be propitious in my Pilgrimage!  
Dwell on my lines! and till the last sand fall,  
Run hand in hand with my weak Pastoral!  
'Cause every coupling cadence flow in blisses,  
And fill the world with envy of such kisses.  
Make all the rarest Beauties of our Clime,  
That seigne a sweet look on my younger rhyme,  
To linger on each lines enticing graces,  
As on their Lover's lips and chaste embraces!  
Through rolling trenches of self-drowning waves,  
Where stormy gusts throw up untimely graves,  
By billows whose white some showed angry minds,  
For not out-roaring all the high-raised winds,  
Into the ever-drinking thirsty Sea  
By Rocks that under water hidden lay,  
To ship wrack passengers, (so in some den  
thieves bend to robbery watch way-faring men.)  
Fairest Marina, whom I whilom sung▪  
In all this tempest (violent though long)  
With out all sense of danger lay asleep:  
Till tossed where the still inconstant deep  
With wide spread arms, stood ready for the tender  
Of daily tribute, that the swollen floods render  
Into her Chequer: (whence as worthy Kings  
She helps the wants of thousands lesser Springs)  
Here waxed the winds dumb (shut up in their caves)  
As still as midnight were the sullen waves,  
And Neptune's siluer-ever-shaking breast  
As smooth as when the Halcyon builds her nest.  
None other wrinkles on his face were seen  
Then on a fertile Mead, or sportive Greene,  
Where never Ploughshare ripped his mother's womb  
To give an aged seed a living tomb,  
Nor blinded Mole the bathing earth ere stirred,  
Nor Boys made Pitfalls for the hungry Bird.  
The whistling Reeds upon the water's side  
Shot up their sharp heads in a stately pride,  
And not a binding Ozyer bowed his head,  
But on his root him bravely carried.  
No dandling leaf played with the subtle air,  
So smooth the Sea was, and the Sky so fair.  
Now with his hands in stead of broad-palmed Oars,  
The Swain attempts to get the shell-strewd shores,  
And with continual lading making way,  
Thrust the small Boat into as fair a Bay  
As ever Merchant wished might be the road  
Wherein to ease his sea-torne Vessels load.  
It was an Island (hugged in Neptune's arms,  
As tendering it against all foreign harms,)  
And Mona height: so amiably fair,  
So rich in soil, so healthful in her air,  
So quick in her increase, (each dewy night  
Yielding that ground as green, as fresh of plight  
As't was the day before, whereon then fed  
Of gallant Steers, full many a thousand head.)  
So decked with Floods, so pleasant in her Groves,  
So full of well-fleeced Flocks and fattened Droves;  
That the brave issue of the Trojan line,  
(Whose worths, like Diamonds, yet in darkness shine,)  
Whose deeds were sung by learned Bards as hie,  
In raptures of immortal Poesy,  
As any Nations, since the Grecian Lads  
Were famous made by Homer's Iliads.)  
Those brave heroic spirits, 'twixt one another  
Proverbially call 
* Mon Mam Kumbry.  Mona Cambria's Mother.  
Yet Cambria is a land from whence have come  
Worthies well worth the race of Ilium.  
Whose true desert of praise could my Muse touch,  
I should be proud that I had done so much.  
And though of mighty Brute I cannot boast,  
Yet doth our warlike strong Devonian coast  
Resound his worth, since on her wave-worne strand  
He and his Troyans' first set foot on land,  
Stroo●e Sail, and Anchor cast on 
* Petunt Classem omnibus bonu●nuslam, prosperis ventis mare sulcantes in To●enesio lutore felic●ter applicarunt. Galf. Monvin.  Totnes shore.  
Though now no Ship can ride there any more,  
In ●h'Ilands Road the Swain now moares his Boa●  
Unto a Willow (lest it outwards float)  
And with a rude embracement taking up  
The Maid (more fair than 
* Hebe.  She that filled the cup  
Of the great Thunderer, wounding with her eyes  
More hearts than all the troops of Deities.)  
He wades to shore, and sets her on the sand,  
That gently yielded when her foot should land.  
Where bubbling waters through the pebbles fleet,  
As if they strove to kiss her slender feet.  
Whilst like a wretch, whose cursed hand hath ta'en  
The sacred relics from a holy Fane,  
Feeling the hand of heaven (enforcing wonder)  
In his return, in dreadful cracks of thunder,  
Within a bush his Sacrilege hath left,  
And thinks his punishment freed with the theft:  
So fled the Swain, from one; had Neptune spied  
At half an ebb; he would have forced the Tide  
To swell anew; whereon his Car should sweep,  
Decked with the riches of th'unsounded deep,  
And he from thence, would with all state, on shore,  
To woo this beauty, and to woo no more.  
Divine Electra (of the Sisters seven  
That beautify the glorious Orb of heaven)  
When Ilium's stately towers, served as one light  
To guide the Ravisher in ugly night  
Unto her virgin beds, withdrew her face,  
And never would look down on humane race  
Till this Maid's birth; since when some power hath won her  
By often fits to shine, as gazing on her.  
Grim Saturn's son, the dread Olympic jove  
That darked three days to frolic with his Love,  
Had he in Alcmen's stead clipped this fair wight,  
The world had slept in everlasting night.  
For whose sake only (had she lived then)  
Deucalious flood had never raged on men:  
Nor Phaethon performed his father's duty,  
For fear to rob the world of such a beauty:  
In whose due praise, a learned quill might spend  
Hours, days, months, years, and never make an end.  
What wretch inhumane● or what wilder blood  
(Sucked in a desert from a Tiger's brood)  
Could leave her so disconsolate? but one  
Bred in the wastes of frost-bit Calydon;  
For had his veins been heat with milder air,  
He had not wronged so foul, a Maid so fair.  
Sing on sweet Muse, and whilst I feed mine eyes  
Upon a jewel and unvalued prize,  
As bright a Star, a Dame, as fair, as chaste,  
As eye beheld, or shall, till Nature's last:  
Chat me her quick senses! and with raptures sweet  
Make her affection with your cadence meet!  
And if her graceful tongue admire one strain,  
It is the best reward my Pipe would gain.  
In lieu whereof, in Laurell-worthy rhymes  
Her Love shall live until the end of times,  
And spite of age, the last of days shall see  
Her Name embalmed in sacred Poesy.  
Sadly alone upon the aged rocks,  
Whom Thetis graced in washing oft their locks  
Of branching Sampire, sat the Maid o'ertaken  
With sighs and tears, unfortunate, forsaken,  
And with a voice that floods from rocks would borrow,  
She thus both wept and sung her notes of sorrow.  
I● Heaven be deaf and will not hear my cries,  
But adds new days to add new miseries▪  
Hear then ye troubled Waves and flitting Gales,  
That cool the bosoms of the fruitful Vales!  
Lend, one, a flood of tears, the other, wind,  
To weep and sigh that Heaven is so unkind!  
But if ye will not spare, of all your store  
One tear, or sigh, unto a wretch so poor;  
Yet as ye travel on this spacious Round,  
Through Forests, Mountains, or the Lawny ground,  
If't happ' you see a Maid weep forth her woe,  
As I have done; Oh bid her as ye go  
Not lavish tears! for when her own are gone,  
The world is flinty and will lend her none.  
If this be eke denied; O harken then  
Each hollow vaulted Rock, and crooked Den!  
And if within your sides one Echo be  
Let her begin to rue my destiny!  
And in your clefts her plain do not smother,  
But let that Eccho●each ●each it to another!  
Till round the world in sounding coombe and plain,  
The last of them tell it the first again:  
Of my sad Fate, so shall they never lin,  
But where one ends, another still begin.  
Wretch that I am, my words I vainly waste,  
Echo, of all woes only speak the last;  
And that's enough: for should she utter all,  
As at Medusa's head, each heart would fall  
Into a flinty substance, and repine  
At no one grief, except as great as mine.  
No careful Nurse would wet her watchful eye,  
When any pang should gripe her infantry,  
Nor though to Nature it obedience gave,  
And kneeled, to do her Homage, in the grave,  
Would she lament, her suckling from her torn:  
Scaping by death those torments I have borne.  
This sighed, she wept (low leaning on her hand)  
H●r briny tears down raining on the sand,  
Which seen by (them, that sport it in the Seas  
Oh Dolphins backs) the fair Nereids,  
They came on shore, and slily as they fell  
Conveyed each tear into an Oyster-shell,  
And by some power that did affect the Girls,  
Transformed those liquid drops to orient Pearls,  
And strewed them on the shore: for whose rich prize  
In winged Pines, the Roman Colonies  
Flung through the deep Abyss to our white rocks  
For gems to deck their Lady's golden locks:  
Who valued them as highly in their kinds  
As those the Sunburnt Aethiopian finds.  
Long on the shore, distressed Marina lay:  
For he that opes the pleasant sweets of May  
Beyond the Noon-stead so far drove his team,  
That Harvest-folks (with curds and clouted cream,  
With cheese and butter, cakes, and cates enough,  
That are the Yeoman's from the yoke or Cow)  
On sheaves of corn were at their noonshuns close,  
Whilst by them merrily the Bagpipe goes:  
Ere from her hand she lifted up her head,  
Where all the Graces then inhabited.  
When casting round her over-drowned eyes,  
(So have I seen a gem of much price  
Roll in a Scallop-shell with water filled)  
She, on a marble rock at hand behild  
In Characters deep cut with Iron stroke,  
A Shepherd's moan, which read by her, thus spoke: 

Glide soft ye silver Floods,  
And every Spring:  
Within the shady Woods,  
Let no Bird sing!  
Nor from the Grove a Turtle Dove,  
Be seen to couple with her love,  
But silence on each Dale and Mountain dwell  
Whilst WILLY bids his friend and joy Farewell.   

But (of great Thetis train)  
Ye Mermaids fair,  
That on the shores do plain  
Your Seagreen hair,  
As ye in trammels knit your locks  
Weep ye; and so enforce the rocks  
In heavy murmurs through the broad shores tell,  
How WILLY bade his friend and joy Farewell.   

Cease, cease, ye murdering winds  
To move a wave;  
But if with troubled minds  
You seek his grave;  
Know 'tis as various as yourselves,  
Now in the deep, then on the shelves,  
His coffin tossed by fish and surges fell,  
Whilst WILLY weeps and bids all joy Farewell.   

Had he Arion like  
Been judged to drown,  
He on his Lute could strike  
So rare a swoon;  
A thousand Dolphins would have come  
And jointly strive to bring him home.  
But he on Shipboard died, by sickness fell,  
Since when his WILLY bade all joy Farewell.   

Great Neptune hear a Swain!  
His Coffin take,  
And with a golden chain  
(Por pity) make  
It fast unto a rock near land!  
Where every calmy morn I'll stand  
And ere one sheep out of my fold I tell,  
Sad WILLY'S Pipe shall bid his friend Farewell.    
Ah heavy Shepherd (who so ere thou be)  
Quoth fair Marina, I do pity thee:  
For who by death is in a true friend crossed,  
Till he be earth, he half himself hath lost.  
More happy deem I thee, lamented Swain,  
Whose body lies among the scaly train,  
Since I shall never think, that thou canst dye,  
Whilst WILLY lives, or any Poetry:  
For well it seems in versing he hath skill,  
And though he (aided from the sacred Hill)  
To thee with him no equal life can give,  
Yet by his Pen thou mayst for ever live.  
With this a beam of sudden brightness flies  
Upon her face, so dazzling her clear eyes,  
That neither flower nor grass which by her grew  
She could discern clothed in their perfect hue.  
For as a Wag (to sport with such as pass)  
Taking the Sunbeams in a Looking-glass,  
Conveys the Ray into the eyes of one,  
Who (blinded) either stumbles at a stone,  
Or as he dazzled walks the peopled streets,  
Is ready justling every man he meets:  
So than Apollo did in glory cast  
His bright beams on a rock with gold enchased,  
And thence the swift reflection of their light  
Blinded those eyes: The chiefest Stars of night.  
When straight a thick-swolne Cloud (as if it sought  
In beauty's mind to have a thankful thought)  
Inuailed the lustre of great Titan's Car,  
And she beheld, from whence she sat not far,  
Cut on a high-browed Rock (in laid with gold)  
This Epitaph, and read it, thus enrolled.  
In depth of waves long hath ALEXIS slept,  
So choicest jewels are the closest kept;  
Whose death the land had seen, but it appears  
To counter●aile his loss, men wanted tears.  
So here he lies, whose Dirge each Mermaid sings,  
For whom the Clouds weep rain, the Earth her springs.  
Her eyes these lines acquainted with her mind  
Had scarcely made; when o'er the hill behind  
She heard a woman cry; Ah welladay,  
What shall I do? go home, or fly, or stay.  
Admired Marina rose, and with a pace  
As graceful as the Goddesses did trace  
O'er stately Ida (when fond Paris doom  
Kindled the fire, should mighty Troy entomb.)  
She went to aid the woman in distress,  
(True beauty never was found merciless)  
Yet durst she not go nigh, lest (being spied)  
Some villain's outrage, that might then betide  
(For aught she knew) unto the crying Maid,  
Might grasp with her: by thickets which arrayed  
The high Sea-bounding hill, so near she went,  
She saw what wight made such loud dreariment.  
Loud? yes: sung right: for since the Azure sky  
Imprisoned first the world, a mortals cry  
With greater clang or never pierced the air.  
A wight she was so far from being fair;  
None could be foul esteemed, compared with her.  
Describing Foulness, pardon if I err,  
Ye Shepherds Daughters, and ye gentle Swains!  
My Muse would gladly chant more lovely strains:  
Yet since on miry grounds she trod, for doubt  
Of sinking, all in haste, thus wades she out.  
As when great Neptune in his height of pride  
The inland creeks fills with a high Springtide,  
Great shoals of fish, among the Oysters hie,  
Which by a quick ebb, on the shores, left dry,  
The fishes yawn, the Oysters gapen wide:  
So broad her mouth was: As she stood and cried,  
She tore her elvish knots of hair, as black  
And full of dust as any Colliers sack.  
Her eyes unlike, were like her body right,  
Squint and misse-shapen, one dun, t'other white.  
As in a picture limbed unto the life,  
Or carved by a curious workman's knife,  
If twenty men at once should come to see  
The great effects of untirde industry,  
Each seu'rally would think the pictures eye  
Was fixed on him, and on no slander by:  
So as she (bawling) was upon the bank,  
If twice five hundred men stood on a rank,  
Her ill face towards them; every one would say,  
She looks on me; when she another way  
Had cast her eyes, as on some rock or tree,  
And on no one of all that company.  
Her Nose (o crooked nose) her mouth o're-hung,  
As it would be directed by her tongue:  
Her Forehead such, as one might near avow  
Some Ploughman, there, had lately been at plow.  
Her Face so scorched was, and so vild it shows,  
As on a Peartree she had scared the Crows.  
Within a Tanuers fat I oft have eyed  
(That three moons there had lain) a large Oxe-hyde  
In liquor mixed with strongest bark (for gain)  
Yet had not ta'en one half so deep a stain  
As had her skin: and that, as hard well-nye  
As any Brawns, long hardened in the sty.  
Her Shoulders such, as I have often seen  
A silly Cottage on a Village green  
Might change his corner posts, in good behoof,  
For four such under-proppers to his roof.  
Huswives, go hire her, if you yearly gave  
A Lamkin more than use, you that might save  
In washing-Beetles, for her hands would pass  
To serve that purpose, though you daily wash.  
For other hidden parts, thus much I say;  
As Ballad-mongers on a Market-day  
Taking their stand, one (with as harsh a noise  
As ●uer Cartwheel made) squeaks the sad choice  
Of Tom the Miller with a golden thumb,  
Who crossed in love, ran mad, and deaf, and dumb,  
Half part he chants, and will not sing it out,  
But thus he speaks to his attentive rout:  
Thus much for love I warbled from my breast,  
And gentle friends, for money take the rest:  
So speak I to the over-longing ear,  
That would the rest of her description hear,  
Much have I sung for love, the rest (not common)  
Martial will show for coin, in's crabbed woman.  
If e'er you saw a Pedant gi'en prepare  
To speak some graceful speech to Master Maior,  
And being bashful, with a quaking doubt  
That in his eloquence he may be out;  
He oft steps forth, as oft turns back again;  
And long 'tis ere he open his learned vein:  
Think so Marina stood: for now she thought  
To venture forth, than some conjecture wrought  
Her to be jealous, lest this ugly wight  
(Since like a Witch she looked) through spells of night,  
Might make her body thrall (that yet was free)  
To all the foul intents of Witchery:  
This drew her back again. At last she broke  
Through all fond doubts, went to her, and bespoke  
In gentle manner thus: Good day, good Maid;  
With that her cry she on a sudden stayed,  
And rubbed her squint eyes with her mighty fist.  
But as a Miller having ground his grist,  
Le's down his floodgates with a speedy fall,  
And quarring up the passage therewithal,  
The waters swell in spleen, and never stay  
Till by some cloven they find another way:  
So when her tears were stopped from either eye  
Her singults, blubbrings, seemed to make them fly  
Out at her Oyster-mouth and Nostrils wide.  
Can there (quoth fair Marina) ere betide  
(In these sweet Groves) a wench, so great a wrong,  
That should enforce a cry so loud, so long?  
On these delightful Plains how can there be  
So much as heard the name of villainy?  
Except when Shepherds in their gladsome fit  
Sing Hymns to Pan that they are free from it.  
But show me, what hath caused thy grievous yell?  
As late (quoth she) I went to yonder Well,  
(You cannot see it here; that Grove doth cover  
With his thick boughs his little channel over.)  
To fetch some water (as I use) to dress  
My Master's supper (you may think of flesh;  
But well I wot he tasteth no such dish)  
Of Rotchets, Whiting, or such common fish,  
That with his net he drags into his Boat:  
Among the Flags below, there stands his Coat  
(A simple one) thatched o'er with Reed and Broom;  
It hath a Kitchen, and a several room  
For each of us. But this is nought: you flee,  
Replied Marine, I prithee answer me  
To what I questioned. Do but hear me first,  
Answered the Hag. He is a man so cursed,  
Although I toil at home, and serve his Swine,  
Yet scarce allows he me whereon to dine:  
In Summer time on Blackberries I live,  
On Crabs and Haws, and what wild Forests give:  
In Winter's cold, barefoot, I run to seek  
For Oysters, and small Winkles in each creek,  
Whe●●on I feed, and on the Meager S●one.  
But if he home return and find me gone,  
I still am sure to feel his heavy hand.  
Alas and weal away, since now I stand  
In such a plight: for if I seek his door  
he'll beat me ten times worse than e'er before.  
What hast thou done? (yet asked Marina) say?  
I with my pitcher lately took my way  
(As late I said) to thilk same shaded Spring,  
Filled it, and homewards, raised my voice to sing;  
But in my back return, I (hapless) spied  
A tree of Cherries wild, and them I eyed  
With such a longing, that unwares my foot  
Got underneath a hollow-growing root,  
Carrying my pot as Maids use on their heads,  
I fell with it, and broke it all to shreads.  
This is my grief, this is my cause of moan.  
And if some kind wight go not to atone  
My surly Master with me wretched Maid,  
I shall be beaten dead. Be not afraid,  
Said sweet Marina, hasten thee before;  
I'll come to make thy peace: for since I sore  
Do hunger, and at home thou hast small cheer,  
(Need and supply grow far off, seldom near.)  
To yonder Grove I'll go, to taste the spring,  
And see what it affords for nourishing.  
Thus parted they. And sad Marina blest  
The hour she met the Maid, who did invest  
Her in assured hope, she once should see  
Her Flock again (and drive them merrily  
To their flowre-decked layre, and tread the shores  
Of pleasant Albion) through the well poised Oars  
Of the poor Fisherman that dwelled thereby.  
But as a man who in a Lottery  
Hath ventured of his coin; ere he have aught,  
Thinks this or that shall with his Prize be bought,  
And so enriched, march with the better rank;  
When suddenly he's called, and all is Blank:  
To chaste Marina, so doth Fortune prove;  
" Statesmen and she are never firm in love.  
No sooner had Marina got the wood,  
But as the trees she nearly searched for food,  
A Villain, lean, as any rake appears,  
That looked, as pinched with famine, Egypt's years,  
Worn out and wasted to the pithless bone,  
As one that had a long Consumption.  
His rusty teeth (forsaken of his lips  
As they had served with want two Prenticeships)  
Did through his pallid cheeks, and lankest skin  
Bewray what number were enranckt within.  
His greedy eyes deep sunk into his head,  
Which with a rough hair was o'er covered.  
How many bones made up this starved wight  
Was soon perceived; a man of dimmest sight  
Apparently might see them knit, and tell  
How all his veins and every sinew fell.  
His belly (inwards drawn) his bowels pressed,  
His vnfilled skin hung dangling on his breast,  
His feeble knees with pain enough uphold  
That pined carcase, casten in a mould  
Cut out by Death's grim form. If small legs won  
Ever the title of a Gentleman;  
His did acquire it. In his flesh pulled down  
As he had lived in a beleaguered town,  
Where Plenty had so long estranged been  
That men most worthy note, in grief were seen  
(Though they rejoiced to have attained such meat)  
Of Rats, and halfe-tanned Hides, and stomaches great,  
Gladly to feed: and where a Nurse, most vild,  
Drunk her own milk, and starved her crying child.  
Yet he through want of food not thus became:  
But Nature first decreed, That as the flame  
Is never seen to fly his nourishment,  
But all consumes: and still the more is lent  
The more it covets. And as all the Floods  
(Down trenching from small groves, & greater woods)  
The vast insatiate Sea doth still devour,  
And yet his thirst not quenched by their power:  
So ever should befall this starved wight;  
The more his viands, more his appetite.  
What ere the deeps bring forth, or earth, or air,  
He ravine should, and want in greatest fare.  
And what a City twice seven years would serve,  
He should devour, and yet be like to starve.  
A wretch so empty, that if e'er there be  
In Nature found the least vacuity,  
'Twill be in him. The grave to Ceres' store;  
A Cannibal to labourers old and poor;  
A Spunge-like-Dropsie, drinking till it burst;  
The Sickness termed the Wolf●, vild and accursed,  
In some respects like th'u'rt of Al●●●my  
That thrives least, when it longest doth multiply:  
Limos he cleped was● whose long-nayled paw  
Seizing Marina, and his sharpe●sang'd jan  
(The strongest part he had) fixed in her weeds,  
He forced her thence, through thickets & high Reeds,  
Towards his Cave. Her fate the swift winds rue,  
And round the Grove in heavy murmurs ●lew.  
The limbs of trees, that (as in love with either)  
In close embracements long had lived together,  
Rubbed each on other, and in shre●ks did show  
The winds had moved more partners of their woe.  
Old and decayed stocks, that long time spent  
Upon their arms, their roots chief nourishment;  
And that drawn dry, as freely did impart  
Their boughs a feeding on their father's heart,  
Yet by respectless imp●es when all was gone,  
Pithless and sapless, naked left alone,  
Their hollow trunks, filled with their neighbour's moans,  
Sent from a thousand vents, ten thousand groans.  
All Birds flew from the wood, as they had been  
Scared with a strong Bolt rattling 'mong the treen.  
Limos with his sweet theft full slily rushes  
Through sharp-hooked brambles, thorns, & tangling bushes,  
Whose tenters sticking in her garments, sought  
(Poor shrubs) to help her, but availing nought,  
As angry (best intents missed best proceeding)  
They scratched his face & legs, clear water bleeding.  
Not greater haste a fearful schoolboy makes  
Out of an Orchard whence by stealth he takes  
A churlish Farmer's Plums, sweet Pears or Grapes,  
Then Limos did, as from the thick he escapes  
Down to the shore. Where resting him a space,  
Restless Marina 'gan entreat for grace  
Of one whose knowing it as desperate stood,  
As where each day to get supply of food.  
O! had she (thirsty) such entreaty made  
At some high Rock, proud of his evening shade,  
He would have burst in two, and from his veins  
(For her avail) upon the under Plains  
A hundred Springs a hundred ways should swim,  
To show her tears enforced floods from him.  
Had such an Oratresse been heard to plead  
For ●aire Polixena, the Murderers head  
Had been her pardon, and so scaped that shock,  
Which made her lover's tomb her dying block.  
Not an enraged Lion, surly, wood,  
No Tiger reft her young, nor savage brood;  
No, not the foaming Boar, that durst approve  
Lovelesse to leave the mighty Queen of Love,  
But her sad plaints, their uncouth walks among  
Spent, in sweet numbers from her golden tongue,  
So much their great hearts would in softness steep,  
They at her foot would grovelling lie, and weep.  
Yet now (alas!) nor words, nor floods of tears  
Did aught avail. The belly hath no ears.  
As I have known a man loathe meet with gain  
That carrieth in his front least show of pain,  
Who for his victuals all his raiment pledges,  
Whose stacks for firing are his neighbour's hedges,  
From whence returning with a burden great,  
Wearied, on some green bank he takes his seat,  
But fearful (as still theft is in his stay)  
Gets quickly up, and hasteth fast away:  
So Limos sooner eased then yrested  
Was up, and through the Reeds (as much molested  
As in the Brakes) who lovingly combine,  
And for her aid together twist and twine,  
Now manacling his hands, then on his legs  
Like fetters hang the under-growing Segs:  
And had his teeth not been of strongest hold,  
He there had left his prey. Fates uncontrolled,  
Denied so great a bliss to Plants or men,  
And lent him strength to bring her to his den.  
West, in Apollo's course to Tagus' stream,  
Crowned with a silver circling Diadem  
Of wet exhaled mists, there stood a pile  
Of aged Rocks (torn from the neighbour Ile  
And girt with waves) against whose naked breast  
The surges tilted, on his snowy crest  
The towering Falcon whilom built, and Kings  
strove for that Eirie▪ on whose scaling wings,  
Monarches, in gold refined as much would lay  
As might a month their Army Royal pay.  
Brave Birds they were, whose quick-self-less-ning kin  
Still won the garlands from the 
* A Falcon differing from the Falcon-gentle.  Beregrin.  
Not Cerna●Ile in Africa's silver main,  
Nor lustfull-bloody● Tereus' Thracian strain,  
Nor any other Lording of the air  
Durst with this Eirie for their wing compare.  
About his sides a thousand Seaguls bred,  
The M●uy and the Halcyon famosed  
For colours rare, and for the peaceful Seas  
Round the Sicilian coast, her brooding days.  
Pussins' (as thick as Starlings in a Fen)  
Were fetched from thence: there sat the Pewet hen,  
And in the clefts the Martin built his nest.  
But those by this cursed caitiff dispossessed  
Of roost and nest, the least; of life, the most:  
All left that place, and sought a safer coast.  
In stead of them the Caterpillar haunts,  
And Can●re-worme among the tender plants,  
That here and there in nooks and corners grew▪  
Of Cormorants and Locusts not a few;  
The cramming Raven, and a hundred more  
Devouring creatures; yet when from the shore  
Limos came wading (as he easily might  
Except at high tides) all would take their flight,  
Or hide themselves in some deep hole or other,  
Lest one devourer should devour another.  
near to the shore that bord'red on the Rock  
No merry Swain was seen to feed his Flock,  
No lusty Neat-heard thither drove his Kine,  
Nor boorish Hog-heard fed his rooting Swine:  
A stony ground it was, sweet Herbage failed:  
Nought there but weeds, which Limos, strongly nailed,  
Tore from their mother's breast, to stuff his maw.  
No Crabtree bore his load, nor Thorn his haw.  
As in a Forest well complete with Deer  
We see the holies, Ashes, every where  
Robbed of their clothing by the browsing Game:  
So near the Rock, all trees where ere you came,  
To cold December's wrath stood void of bark.  
Here danced no Nymph, no early-rising Lark  
Sung up the Ploughman and his drowsy mate:  
All round the Rock barren and desolate.  

The description of the Cave of Famine.  In midst of that huge pile was Limos' Cave  
Full large and round, wherein a Miller's knave  
Might for his Horse and Querne have room at will:  
Where was out-drawne by some enforced skill,  
What mighty conquests were achieved by him.  
First stood the siege of great jerusalem,  
Within whose triple wall and sacred City  
(Weep ye stone-hearted men! oh read and pity!  
'Tis Zions' cause invokes your briny tears:  
Can any dry eye be when she appears  
As I must sing her? oh, if such there be:  
Fly, fly th'abode of men! and hasten thee  
Into the Desert, some high Mountain under,  
Or at thee boys will hiss, and old men wonder.)  
Here sits a mother weeping, pale and wan,  
With fixed eyes, whose hopeless thoughts seemed run  
How (since for many days no food she casted,  
Her Meal, her Oil consumed, all spent, all wasted)  
For one poor day she might attain supply,  
And desperate of aught else, sit, pine, and dye.  
At last her mind meets with her tender child  
That in the cradle lay (of Oziers' wild)  
Which taken in her arms, she gives the teat,  
From whence the little wretch with labour great  
Not one poor drop can suck: whereat she wood,  
Cries out, o heaven ●are all the founts of food  
Exhausted quite? and must my Infan● young  
Be fed with shoes? yet wanting those ere ●ong,  
Feed on itself? No: first the room that gave  
Him soul and life, shall be his timeless grave:  
My dugs, thy best relief, through griping hunger  
Flow now no more, my babe; Then since no longer  
By r●e thou canst be fed, nor any other,  
Be thou the Nurse, and feed thy dying Mother.  
Th●n in another place she strait appears,  
See●hing her suckling in her scalding tears.  
From whence not far the Painter made her stand  
Tearing his sod flesh with her cruel hand,  
In gobbets which she ate. O cursed womb,  
That to thyself art both the grave and tomb.  
A little sweet lad (there) seems to entreat  
(With held up hands) his famished Sire for meat,  
Who wanting aught to give his hoped joy  
But throbs and sighs; the over-hungry boy,  
For some poor bit, in dark nooks making quest,  
His Satchel finds, which grows a gladsome feast  
To him and both his Parents. Then, next day  
He chewes the points wherewith he used to play:  
Devouring last his Books of every kind,  
They fed his body which should feed his mind:  
But when his Satchel, Points, Books all were gone,  
Before his Sire he droops, and dies anon.  
In height of Art than had the Workman done,  
A pious, zealous, most religious son,  
Who on the enemy excursion made,  
And spite of danger strongly did invade  
Their victuals convoy, bringing from them home  
Dried figs, Dates, Almonds, and such fruits as come  
To the beleagring foe, and sate's the want  
Therewith of those, who, from a tender plant  
Bred him a man for arms: thus oft he went,  
And Storke-like sought his Parent's nourishment,  
Till Fates decreed, he on the Roman Spears  
Should give his blood for them, who gave him theirs.  
A Million of such throes did Famine bring  
Upon the City of the mighty King,  
Till, as her people, all her buildings rare  
Consumed themselves and dimmed the lightsome air.  
near this the curious pencil did express  
A large and solitary wilderness,  
Whose high well limmed Oaks in growing showed  
As they would case strong At●as of his load:  
Here underneath a tree in heavy plight  
(Her bread and pot of water wasted quite)  
Egyptian Hagar (nipped with hunger fell)  
Sat robbed of hope: her Infant Ishmael  
(far from her being laid) full sadly seemed  
To cry for meat, his cry she nought esteemed,  
But kept her still, and turned her face away,  
Knowing all means were bootless to assay  
In such a Desert: and since now they must  
Sleep their eternal sleep, and clean to dust,  
She chose (apart) to grasp one death alone,  
Rather than by her babe a million.  
Then Eresichthons' case in Ovid's Song  
Was portrayed out; and many more along  
The insides of the Cave; which were descried  
By many loopholes round on every side.  
These fair Marina viewed, left all alone,  
The Cave fast shut, Limos for pillage gone;  
Near the washed shore 'mong roots and breers, and thorns,  
A Bullock finds, who delving with his horns  
The hurtless earth (the while his tough hoof tore  
The yielding turf) in furious rage he bore  
His head among the boughs that held it round,  
While with his bellowes all the shores resound:  
Him Limos killed, and haled with no small pain  
Unto the Rock; fed well; then goes again:  
Which served Marina fit, for had his food  
Failed him, her veins had failed their dearest blood.  
Now great Hyperion left his golden throne  
That on the dancing waves in glory shone,  
For whose declining on the Western shore  
The oriental hills black mantles wore,  
And thence apace the gentle Twilight fled,  
That had from hideous caverns ushered  
All-drowsie Night; who in a Car of jet,  
By S●eeds of Iron-gray (which mainly sweat  
Moist drops on all the world) drawn through the sky,  
The helps of darkness waited orderly.  
First, thick clouds rose from all the liquid plains:  
Then mists from Marshes, and grounds whose veins  
Were Conduit-pipes to many a crystal spring:  
From standing Pools and Fens were following  
Unhealthy fogs: each River, every Rill  
Sent up their vapours to attend her will.  
These, pitchy curtains drew, 'twixt earth & heaven.  
And as Night's Chariot through the air was driven,  
Clamour grew dumb, unheard was Shepherd's song,  
And silence girt the Woods; no warbling tongue  
Talked to the Echo; Satyrs broke their dance,  
And all the upper world lay in a trance.  
Only the curled streams soft chide kept;  
And little gales that from the green leaf swept  
Dry Summers' dust, in fearful whisper stirred,  
As loath to waken any singing Bird.  
Darkness no less than blind Cimmerian  
Of Famines Cave the full possession wan,  
Where lay the Shepherdess in wrapped with night,  
(The wished garment of a mournful wight)  
Here silken slumbers and refreshing sleep  
Were seldom found; with quiet minds those keep,  
Not with disturbed thoughts; the beds of Kings  
Are never pressed by them, sweet rest inrings  
The tired body of the swarthy Clown,  
And oftener lies on flocks than softest down.  
Twice had the Cock crown, and in Cities strong  
The Bel-mans' doleful noise and careful song,  
Told men, whose watchful eyes no slumber hent,  
What store of hours theft-guilty night had spent.  
Yet had not Morpheus with this Maiden been,  
As fearing Limos; (whose impetuous teen  
Kept gentle rest from all to whom his Cave  
Yielded enclosure (deadly as the grave.)  
But to all sad laments left her (forlorn)  
In which three watches she had nigh outworn.  
Fair silver-footed Thetis that time threw  
Along the Ocean with a beauteous crew  
Of her attending Sea-nymphs (joves bright Lamps  
Guiding from Rocks her Chariots 
* Sea-horses.  Hippocamps.)  
A journey, only made, unwares to spy  
If any Mighties of her Empery  
Oppressed the least, and forced the weaker sort  
To their designs, by being great in Court.  
O! should all Potentates whose higher birth  
Enroles their titles, other Gods on earth,  
Should they make private search, in veil of night,  
For cruel wrongs done by each Favourite;  
Here should they find a great one paling in  
A mean man's land, which many years had been  
His charges life, and by the others hest,  
The poor must starve to feed a scurvy beast.  
If any recompense drop from his fist,  
His time's his own, the money, what he list.  
There should they see another that commands  
His Farmer's Team from furrowing his lands,  
To bring him stones to raise his building vast,  
The while his Tenants sowing time is past.  
Another (spending) doth his rents enhance,  
Or gets by tricks the poors inheritance.  
But as a man whose age hath dimmed his eyes,  
Useth his Spectacles, and as he pries  
Through them all Characters seem wondrous fair,  
Yet when his glasses quite removed are  
(Though with all careful heed he nearly look)  
Cannot perceive one tittle in the Book;  
So if a King behold such favourites  
(Whose being great, was being Parasites)  
With th'eyes of favour, all their actions are  
To him appearing plain and regular:  
But let him lay his sight of grace aside,  
And see what men he hath so dignifide,  
They all would vanish, and not dare appear,  
Who Atom-like, when their Sun shined clear,  
Danced in his beam; but now his rays are gone,  
Of many hundred we perceive not one.  
Or as a man who standing to descry  
How great floods far off run, and valleys lie,  
Taketh a glass prospective good and true,  
By which things most remote are full in view:  
If Monarches, so, would take an Instrument  
Of truth composed to spy their Subjects drow  
In foul oppression by those high in seat  
(Who care not to be good but to be great)  
In full aspect the wrongs of each degree  
Would lie before them; and they then would see,  
The devilish Politician all convinces,  
In murdering Statesmen and in poisoning Princes;  
The Prelate in pluralities asleep,  
Whilst that the Wolf lies preying on his sheep;  
The drowsy Lawyer, and the false Attorneys  
Tyre poor men's purses with their life-long-iournies;  
The Country Gentleman, from's neighbours hand  
Forceth th'inheritance, joins land to land,  
And (most insatiate) seeks under his rent  
To bring the world's most spacious continent;  
The ●awning Citizen (whose love's bought dearest)  
Deceives his brother when the Sun shines clearest,  
Gets, borrows, breaks; le's in, and stops out light,  
And lives a Knave to leave his son a Knight;  
The griping Farmer hoards the seed of bread,  
Whilst in the streets the poor lie famished:  
And ●ree there's none from all this worldly strife,  
Except the Shepherd's heaven-blessed happy life.  
But stay sweet Muse! forbear this harsher strain,  
Keep with the Shepherds; leave the Satyr's vein,  
Coupe not with Bears, let Icarus alone  
To scorch himself within the torrid Zone:  
Let Phaeton run on, Ixion fall,  
And with an humble styled Pastoral  
Tread through the valleys, dance about the streams,  
The ●owly Dales will yield us Anadems  
To shade our temples, 'tis a worthy meed,  
No better garland seeks mine Oaten Reed;  
Let others climb the hills, and to their praise  
(Whilst I sit girt with Flowers) be crowned with Bays.  
Show now fair Muse what afterward became  
Of great Achilles' Mother; She whose name  
The Mermaids sing, and tell the weeping strand  
A braver Lady never tripped on land,  
Except the everliving Fairy Queen,  
Whose virtues by her Swain so written been,  
That time shall call her high enhanced story  
In his rare song, The Muse's chiefest glory.  
So mainly Thetis drove her silver throne,  
Inlaid with pearls of price, and precious stone,  
(For whose gay purchase, she did often make  
The scorched Negro dive the briny Lake)  
That by the swiftness of her Chariot wheels  
(Scouring the Main as well-built English Keels)  
She, of the newfound World all coasts had seen,  
The shores of Thessaly, where she was Queen,  
Her brother Pontus' waves, embraced, with those  
Moeotian fields and vales of Tenedos,  
Streit Hellespont, whose high-browed cliffs yet sound  
The mournful name of young Leander drowned,  
Then with full speed her Horses doth she guide  
Through the Aegaean Sea, that takes a pride  
In making difference 'twixt the fruitful lands  
Europe and Asia almost joining hands,  
But that she thrusts her billows all affront  
To stop their meeting through the Hellespont.  
The Midland Sea so swiftly was she scouring,  
The Adriaticke gulf brave Ships devouring.  
To Padus silver stream than glides she on  
(Enfamoused by rekelesse Phaethon) 
Plin. lib. 3. cap. 16.   
Padas that doth beyond his limits rise,  
When the hot Dogstar raines his maladies,  
And robs the high and ayre-inuading Alps  
Of all their Winter-suits and snowy scalps,  
To drown the levelled lands along his shore,  
And make him swell with pride. By whom of yore  
The sacred Heliconian Damsels sat  
(To whom was mighty Pindus consecrate)  
And did decree (neglecting other men)  
Their height of Art should flow from Maro's pen.  
And prattling Echoes evermore should long  
For repetition of sweet Naso's song.  
It was enacted here, in after days  
What wights should have their temples crowned with Bays.  
Learned Ariosto, holy Petraches quill,  
And Tasso should ascend the Muse's hill.  
Divinest Bartas, whose enriched soul  
Proclaimed his Maker's worth, should so enrol  
His happy name in brass, that Time nor Fate  
Tha● swallow all, should ever ruinate.  
Delightful Sallust, whose all blessed lays  
The Shepherds make their Hymns on Holidays;  
And truly say thou in one week hast penned  
What time may ever study, ne'er amend.  
M●rot and Ronsard, Garnier's buskined Muse  
Should spirit of life in very stones infuse.  
And many another Swan whose powerful strain  
Should raise the Golden World to life again.  
But let us leave (fair Muse) the banks of Po,  
Thetis forsook his brave stream long ago,  
And we must after. See in haste she sweeps  
Along the Celticke shores, th' Armoric deeps  
She now is entering: bear up then a head,  
And by that time she hath discovered  
Our Alabaster rocks, we may descry  
And ken with her, the coasts of Brittany.  
There will she Anchor cast, to hear the Songs  
Of English Shepherds, whose all-tunefull tongues  
So pleased the Naiads, they did report  
Their songs perfection in great Nereus' Court:  
Which Thetis hearing, did appoint a day  
When she would meet them in the British Sea,  
And thither for each Swain a Dolphin bring  
To ride with her, whilst she would hear him sing.  
The time prefixed was come; and now the Star  
Of blissful light appeared, when she her Car  
Stayed in the narrow Seas. At Thames fair port  
The Nymphs and Shepherds of the Isle resort.  
And thence did put to Sea with mirthful rounds,  
Whereat the billows dance above their bounds,  
And bearded Goats, that on the clouded head  
Of any sea-suruaying Mountain fed,  
Leaving to crop the luy, listening stood  
At those sweet airs which did entrance the flood.  
In jocund sort the Goddess thus they met.  
And after reverence done, all being set  
Upon their finny Coursers, ●ound her throne,  
And she prepared to cut the watery Zone  
Ingirting Albion; all their pipes were still,  
And Colin Clout began to tune his quill  
With such deep Art, that every one was given  
To think Apollo (newly slid from heaven)  
Had ta'en a humane shape to win his love,  
Or with the Western Swains for glory strove.  
He sung th'heroic Knights of Fairy land  
In lines so elegant, of such command,  
That had the 
* Orpheus.  Thracian played but half so well,  
He had not left Eurydice in hell.  
But e'er he ended his melodious song  
An host of Angels flew the clouds among,  
And rapt this Swan from his attentive mates,  
To make him one of their associates  
In heavens fair Choir: where now he sings the praise  
Of him that is the first and last of days.  
Divinest Spencer heau'n-bred, happy Muse!  
Would any power into my brain infuse  
Thy worth, or all that Poets had before,  
I could not praise till thou deservest no more.  
A damp of wonder and amazement struck  
Thetis' attendants, many a heavy look  
Followed sweet Spencer, till the thickening air  
Sights further passage stopped. A passionate tear  
Fell from each Nymph, no Shepherds cheek was dry,  
A doleful Dirge, and mournful Elegy  
Flew to the shore. When mighty Nereus' Queen  
(In memory of what was heard and seen)  
Employed a Factor (fitted well with store  
Of richest gems, refined Indian Ore)  
To raise, in honour of his worthy name,  
A Pyramid, whose head (like winged Fame)  
Should pierce the clouds, yea seem the stars to kiss,  
And Mausolus' great tomb might shroud in his.  
Her will had been performance, had not Fate  
(That never knew how to commiserate)  
Suborned cursed Avarice to lie in weight  
For that rich prey: (Gold is a taking bait)  
Who closely lurking like a subtle Snake  
Under the covert of a thorny brake,  
Seized on the Factor by fair Thetis sent,  
And robbed our Colin of his Monument.  
Ye English Shepherds, sons of Memory,  
For Satyrs change your pleasing melody,  
Scourge, rail and curse that sacrilegious hand,  
That more than Fiend of hell, that Stygian brand,  
All-guilty Avarice: that worst of evil,  
That gulfe-devouring, offspring of a Devil:  
Heap curse on curse so direful and so fell,  
Their weight may press his damned soul to hell.  
Is there a spirit so gentle can refrain  
To torture such? O let a Satyr's vein  
Mix with that man! to lash this hellish limb,  
Or all our curses will descend on him.  
For mine own part, although I now commerce  
With lowly Shepherds, in as low a Verse;  
If of my days I shall not see an end  
Till more years press me; some few hours I'll spend  
In roughhewn Satyrs, and my busied pen  
Shall jerk to death this infamy of men.  
And like a Fury, glowing coulters bear,  
With which? But see how yonder foundlings tear  
The●r fleeces in the brakes; I must go free  
Them of their bonds; Rest you here merrily  
Till my return: when I will touch a string  
Shall make the River's dance, and Valleys ring.   

THE SECOND SONG.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
What Shepherds on the Sea were seen  
To entertain the Ocean's Queen,  
Remond in search of Fida gone,  
And for his love young Doridon,  
There meeting with a woeful Swain,  
Mute, and not able to complain  
His metamorphosed Mistress wrong;  
Is all the subject of this Song.  
THe MUSES friend (gray-eyed Aurora) yet  
Held all the Meadows in a cooling sweat,  
The milk-white Gossamores not upwards snowed,  
Nor was the sharp and useful steering goad  
Laid on the strong-neckt Ox; no gentle bud  
The Sun had dried; the cattle chewed the cud  
Low levelled on the grass; no Flies quick sting  
Inforc'd the Stonehorse in a furious ring  
To tear the passive earth, nor lash his tail  
About his buttocks broad; the slimy Snail  
Might on the wainscot (by his many mazes  
Winding Meanders and selfe-knitting traces)  
Be followed, where he stuck, his glittering slime  
Not yet wiped off. It was so early time,  
The careful Smith had in his sooty forge  
Kindled no coal; nor did his hammers urge  
His neighbour's patience: Owls abroad did fly,  
And day as then might plead his infancy.  
Yet of fair Albion all the western Swains  
Were long since up, attending on the Plains  
When Nereus' daughter with her mirthful host  
Should summon them, on their declining coast.  
But since her stay was long: for fear the Sun  
Should find them idle, some of them begun  
To leap and wrestle, others threw the bar;  
Some from the company removed are,  
To meditate the songs they meant to play,  
Or make a new Round for next Holiday:  
Some tales of love their lovesick fellows told:  
Others were seeking stakes to pitch their fold.  
This, all alone was mending of his Pipe:  
That, for his lass sought fruits most sweet most ripe.  
Here (from the rest) a lovely shepherd's boy  
Sits piping on a hill, as if his joy  
Would still endure, or else that age's frost  
Should never make him think what he had lost.  
Yonder a shepherdess knits by the springs,  
Her hands still keeping time to what she sings:  
Or seeming, by her song, those fairest hands  
Were comforted in working. near the sands  
Of some sweet River sits a musing lad,  
That moans the loss of what he sometime had,  
His Love by death bereavest: when fast by him  
An aged Swain takes place, as near the brim  
O●'s grave as of the River; showing how  
That as those floods, which pass along right now  
Are followed still by others from their spring,  
And in the Sea have all their burying:  
Right so our times are known, our ages found,  
(Nothing is permanent within this Round:)  
One age is now, another that succeeds,  
Extirping all things which the former breeds:  
Another follows that, doth new times raise,  
New years, new months, new weeks, new hours, new days,  
Mankind thus goes like Rivers from their spring,  
And in the Earth have all their burying.  
Thus sat the old man counselling the young;  
Whilst, underneath a tree which over-hung  
The silver stream (as some delight it took  
To trim his thick boughs in the Crystal Brooke)  
Were set a jocund crew of youthful Swains,  
Wooing their sweetings with delicious strains.  
Sportive Oreades the hills descended,  
The Hamadryades their hunting ended,  
And in the high woods left the long-lived Hearts  
To feed in peace, free from their winged Darts;  
Floods, Mountains, Valleys, Woods, each vacant lies  
Of Nymphs that by them danced their Haydigyes:  
For all those Powers were ready to embrace  
The present means, to give our Shepherd's grace.  
And underneath this tree (till Thetis came)  
Many resorted; where a Swain, of name  
Less, then of worth: (and we do never own  
Nor apprehend him best, that most is known.)  
Fame is uncertain, who so swiftly flies  
By th'unregarded shed where Virtue lies:  
She (ill informed of Virtue's worth) pursueth  
(In haste) Opinion for the simple Truth.  
True Fame is ever likened to our shade,  
He soon misseth her, that most hath made  
To overtake her; who so takes his wing,  
Regardless of her, she'll be following:  
Her true propriety she thus discovers,  
" loves her contemners, and contemns her lovers.  
Th'applause of common people never yet  
Pursued this Swain; he knew't the counterfeit  
Of settled praise, and therefore at his songs,  
Though all the Shepherds and the graceful throngs  
Of Semigods compared him with the best  
That ever touched a Reed, or was addressed  
In shepherd's coat, he never would approve  
Their Attributes, given in sincerest love;  
Except he truly knew them as his merit.  
Fa●●e gives a second life to such a spirit.  
This Swain, entreated by the mirthful rout,  
That with intwined arms lay round about  
The tree against which he leaned. (So have I seen  
Tom Pipe● stand upon our village green,  
Backed with the Maypole, whilst a jocund crew  
In gentle motion circularly threw  
Themselves about him.) To his fairest Ring  
Thus began in numbers well according sing: 

Venus' by Adonis side  
Crying kissed, and kissing cried▪  
Wrung her hands and tore her hair  
For Adonis dying there.   

Stay (quoth she) o stay and live!  
Nature surely doth not give  
To the Earth her sweetest flowers  
To be seen but some few hours   

On his face, still as he bled  
For each drop a tear she shed,  
Which she kissed or wiped away,  
Else had drowned him where he lay.   

Fair Proserpina (quoth she)  
Shall not have thee yet from me;  
Nor thy soul to fly begin  
While my lips can keep it in.   

Here she closed again. And some  
Say, Apollo would have come  
To have cured his wounded limb,  
But that she had smothered him.    
Look as a Traveller in Summer's day  
Nye choked with dust, and moult with Titan's ray,  
Longs for a spring to cool his inward heat,  
And to that end, with vows, doth heaven entreat,  
When going further, finds an Appletree,  
(Standing as did old Hospitality,  
With ready arms to succour any needs:)  
Hence plucks an Apple, tastes it, and it breeds  
So great a liking in him for his thirst,  
That up he climbs, and gathers to the first  
A second, third; nay, will not cease to pull  
Till he have got his cap and pockets full.  
" Things long desired so well esteemed are,  
" That when they come we hold them better far.  
" There is no mean 'twixt what we love and want,  
" Desire, in men, is so predominant.  
No ●esse did all this acquaint assembly long  
Then doth the Traveller: this Shepherd's Song  
Had so ensnared each acceptable ear,  
That but a second, nought could bring them clear  
From an affected snare; had Orpheus been  
Playing, some distance from them, he had seen  
Not one to stir a foot for his rare strain,  
But left the Thracian for the English Swain.  
Or had suspicious juno (when her jove  
Into a Cow transformed his fairest 
* jon.  Love)  
Great Inachus sweet Stem in durance given  
To this young Lad; the 
* Mercury  Messenger of heaven  
(Fair Maia's offspring) with the depth of Art  
That ever jove to Hermes might impart,  
In fingering of a Reed, had never won  
Poor Io's freedom. And though Arctors' son  
(Hundred-eyed Argus) might be lulled by him,  
And lose his prisoner: yet in every limb  
That God of wit had felt this Shepherd's skill,  
And by his charms brought from the Muse's hill  
Inforc'd to sleep; then, robbed of Pipe and Rod,  
And vanquished so, turn Swain, this Swain a God.  
Yet to this Lad not wanted Envy's sting,  
(" He's not worth aught, that's not worth envying.)  
Since many at his praise were seen to grudge.  
For as a Miller in his bolting hutch  
Drives out the pure meal nearly (as he can)  
And in his sister leaves the courser bran:  
So doth the canker of a Poet's name  
Let slip such lines as might inherit Fame,  
And from a Volume c●ls some small amiss,  
To fire such dogged spleens as mate with his.  
Yet, as a man that (by his Art) would bring  
The ceaseless current of a Crystal Spring  
To overlook the lowly flowing head,  
Sinkes by degrees his soldered Pipes of Lead,  
Beneath the Fount, whereby the water goes  
High, as a Well that on a mountain flows:  
So when Detraction and a cynics tongue  
Have sunk Desert unto the depth of wrong,  
By that, the eye of skill, True Worth shall see  
To brave the Stars, though low his passage be.  
But, here I much digress, yet pardon, Swains:  
For as a Maiden gathering on the Plains  
A sen●full Nosegay (to set near her pap,  
Or as a favour, for her Shepherd's cap)  
Is seen far off to stray, if she have spied  
A Flower that might increase her Posies pride:  
So if ●o wander I am sometimes pressed,  
'Tis for a strain that might adorn the rest.  
Requests, that with denial could not meet,  
Flew to our Shepherd, and the voices sweet  
Of fairest Nymphs, entreating him to say.  
What wight he loved; he thus began his lay: 

SHall I tell you whom I love?  
Harken then a while to me;  
And if such a woman move,  
As I now shall versify;  
Be assured, 'tis she, or none  
That I love, and love alone.   

Nature did her so much right,  
As she scorns the help of Art.  
In as many Virtues dight  
As e'er yet embraced a heart.  
So much good so truly tried,  
Some for less were deiside.   

Wit she hath without desire  
To make known how much she hath;  
And her anger flames no higher  
Then may sitly sweeten wrath.  
Full of pity as may be,  
Though perhaps not so to me.   

Reason masters every sense,  
And her virtues grace her birth:  
Lovely as all excellence,  
Modest in her most of mirth:  
Likelihood enough to prove,  
Only worth could kindle Love..   

Such she is: and if you know  
Such a one as I have sung;  
Be she brown or fair, or so,  
That she be but somewhile young;  
Be assured, 'tis she, or none  
Tha● I love, and love alone.    

〈◊〉 Pyrocis, 〈◊〉, and 〈◊〉 were feigned to be the horses of the Sun.  ●ous and his fellows in the team,  
(Who, since their watering in the Western stream,  
Had run a furious journey to appease  
The night-sicke eyes of our Antipodes.)  
Now (sweeting) were in our Horizon seen  
To drink the cold dew from each flowery green:  
When Triton's Trumpet (with a shrill command)  
Told; silver-footed Thetis was at hand.  
As I have seen when on the breast of Thames  
A heavenly beauty of sweet English Dames,  
In some calm Evening of delightful May,  
Wit● Music give a farewell to the day,  
Or as they would (with an admired tone)  
Greet Night's ascension to her Eben Throne,  
Rap● with their melody, a thousand more  
Run to be wasted from the bounding shore:  
So ran the Shepherds, and with hasty feet  
Stro●e which should first increase that happy fleet.  
The true 
* Dolphin's.  presages of a coming storm  
Teaching their sins, to steer them, to the form  
Of Thetis will; like Boats at Anchor stood,  
As ready to convey the Muse's brood  
Into the brackish Lake, that seemed to swell,  
As proud so rich a burden on it fell.  
Ere their arrival Astrophel had done  
His shepherds lay, yet equalised of none.  
Th'admired mirror, glory of our Isle,  
Thou far-far-more then mortal man, whose style  
Struck more men dumb to hearken to thy song,  
Then Orph●us Harp, or Tully's golden tongue.  
To him (as ●ight) for wits deep quintessence,  
For honour, valour, virtue, excellence,  
Be all the Garlands, crown his tomb with Bay,  
Who spoke as much as ere our tongue can say.  
Happy Arcadian while such lovely strains  
Sung of thy Valleys, Rivers, Hills and Plains;  
Ye● most unhappy other joys among,  
That never heard'st his Music nor his Song.  
Deaf men are happy so, whose Virtues praise  
(Unheard of them) are sung in tuneful lays.  
And pardon me ye Sisters of the Mountain,  
Who wail his loss from the Pegasian Fountain,  
If (like a man for portraiture unable)  
I set my Pencil to Apelles table;  
Or dare to draw his Curtain, with a will  
To show his true worth, when the Artists skill  
Within that Curtain fully doth express  
His own Arts-Mastry my unableness.  
He sweetly touched, what I harshly hit,  
Yet thus I glory in what I have writ;  
Sidney began (and if a wit so mean  
May taste with him the dews of Hippocrene)  
I sung the pastoral next; his Muse, my mover:  
And on the Plains full many a pensive lover  
Shall sing us to their loves, and praising be,  
My humble lines, the more, for praising thee.  
Thus we shall live with them, by Rocks, by Springs,  
As well as Homer by the death of Kings.  
Then in a strain beyond an Oaten Quill  
The learned 
* M. Chapman  Shepherd of fair Hitching hill  
Sung the heroic deeds of Greece and Troy,  
In lines, so worthy life, that I employ  
My Reed in vain to overtake his fame.  
All praiseful tongues do wait upon that name.  
Our second Ovid, the most pleasing Muse  
That heaven did e'er in mortals brain infuse,  
All-loved Draiton, in soule-raping strains,  
A genuine no●t, of all the Nimphish trains  
Bega● to tune; on it all ears were hung  
As sometime Dido's on Aeneas tongue.  
johnson whose full of merit to rehearse  
Too copious is to be confined in verse;  
Yet therein only fittest to be known,  
Could any write a line which he might own.  
One, so judicious; so well knowing; and  
A man whose least worth is to understand;  
One so exact in all he doth prefer  
To able censure; for the Theatre  
Not Seneca transcends his worth of praise;  
Who writes him well shall well deserve the Bays.  
Well-languaged Danyel: Brooke, whose polished lines  
Are ●ittest to accomplish high designs,  
Whose pen (it seems) still young Apollo guides;  
Worthy the forked Hill for ever glides  
Streams from thy brain, so fair, that time shall see  
Thee honoured by thy Verse, and it by thee.  
And when thy Temples well-deserving Bays,  
Might imp a pride in thee to reach thy praise,  
As in a Crystal glass, filled to the ring  
With the clear water of as clear a spring  
A steady hand may very safely drop  
Some quantity of gold, yet o'er the top  
No● force the liquor run; although before  
The Glass (of water) could contain no more:  
Ye● so allworthy Brook though all men sound  
With plummets of just praise thy skill profound,  
Thou in thy verse those attributes canst take  
And not apparent ostentation make,  
That any second can thy virtues raise,  
Striving as much to hide as merit praise.  
Da●ies and Wither, by whose Muses power  
A natural day to me seems but an hour,  
And could I ever hear their learned lays,  
Ages would turn to artificial days.  
These sweetly chanted to the Queen of Waves,  
She praised, and what she praised, no tongue depraves.  
Then base contempt (unworthy our report)  
Fly from the Muses and their fair resort,  
And exercise thy spleen on men like thee:  
Such are more fit to be contemned than we.  
'Tis not the rancour of a cankered heart  
That can debase the excellence of Art;  
Nor great in titles make our worth obey,  
Since we have lines far more esteemed than they.  
For there is hidden in a Poet's name  
A Spell that can command the wings of Fame,  
And maugre all Oblivions hated birth,  
Begin their immortality on earth;  
When he that 'gainst a Muse with hate combines,  
May raise his Tomb in vain to reach our lines.  
Thus Thetis rides along the narrow ●eas  
Encompassed round with lovely Naides,  
With gaudy Nymphs, and many a skilful Swain,  
Whose equals, earth cannot produce again,  
But leave the times and men that shall succeed them  
Enough to praise that age which so did breed them.  
Two of the quaintest Swains that yet have been  
Failed their attendance on the Ocean's Queen,  
Remond and Doridon, whose hapless Fates  
Late severed them from their more happy mates.  
For (gentle Swains) if you remember well  
When last I sung on brim of yonder dell,  
And as I guess it was that sunny morn,  
When in the grove there by my sheep were shorn,  
I ween I told you, while the Shepherds young  
Were at their pastoral, and their rural Song,  
The shrieks of some poor Maid fallen in mischance,  
Inuoked their aid, and drew them from their dance:  
Each ●an a several way to help the Maid;  
Some towards the valley, some the green wood strayed:  
Here one the thicket beats, and there a Swain  
Enters the hidden Caves; but all in vain.  
Nor could they find the wight whose shrieks and cry  
Flew through the gentle air so heavily,  
Nor see or man or beast, whose cruel teen  
Would wrong a Maiden or in grave or green.  
Back than returned they all to end their sport,  
But Doridon and Remond; who resort  
Back to those places which they erst had sought,  
Nor could a thicket be by Nature wrought  
In such a web, so intricate, and knit  
So strong with Briers, but they would enter it.  
Remond his Fida calls; Fida the woods  
Resound again, and Fida speak the floods,  
As if the Rivers and the Hills did frame  
Themselves no small delight, to hear her name.  
Yet she appears not. Doridon would now  
Have called his Love too, but he knew not how:  
Much like a man who dreaming in his sleep  
That he is falling from some Mountain steep  
Into a soundlesse Lake, about whose brim  
A thousand Crocodiles do wait for him,  
And hangs but by one bough, and should that break  
His life goes with it, yet to cry or speak,  
Though fain he would, can move nor voice, nor tongue:  
So when he Remond heard the woods among  
Call for his Fida, he would gladly too  
Have called his fairest Love, but knew not who,  
Or what to call; poor Lad, that canst not tell,  
Nor speak the name of her thou lov'st so well.  
Remond by hap near to the Arbour found  
Where late the Hind was slain, the hurtless ground  
Besmeared with blood; to Doridon he cried,  
And tearing then his hair, o hapless tide  
(Quoth he) behold! some cursed hand hath ta'en  
From Fida this; o what infernal bane,  
Or more than hellish fiend enforced this  
Pure as the stream of aged Simois,  
And as the spotless Lily was her soul!  
Ye sacred Powers that round about the Pole  
Turn in your Spheres! o could you see this deed,  
And keep your motion? If the eldest seed  
Of chained Saturn hath so often been  
In Hunters and in Shepherd's habit seen  
To trace our Woods, and on our fertile Plains  
Woo Shepherds Daughters with melodious strains,  
Where was he now, or any other Pour?  
So many several Lambs have I each hour  
And crooked horned Rams brought to your Shrines,  
And with Perfumes clouded the Sun that shines,  
Yet now forsaken? to an uncouth state  
Must all things run, if such will be ingrate.  
Cease Remond (quoth the Boy) no more complain,  
Thy fairest Fida lives; nor do thou stain  
With vile reproaches any power above,  
They all as much as thee have been in love:  
Saturn his Rhea; jupiter had store,  
As I●, Leda, Europa, and more;  
Mars entered Vulcan's bed, partook his joy;  
Phoebus had Daphne, and the 
* Hyacinth.  sweet-faced Boy;  
Venus, Adonis; and the God of Wit  
In chastest bonds was to the Muses knit,  
And yet remains so, nor can any sever  
His love, but brotherlike affects them ever▪  
Pale changefull Cynthia her Endymion had,  
And oft on Latmus' sported with that Lad:  
If these were subject (as all mortal men)  
Unto the golden shafts, they could not then  
But by their own affections rightly guess  
Her death would draw on thine; thy wretchedness  
Charge them respectless; since no Swain then thee  
Hath offered more unto each Deity.  
But fear not Remond, for those sacred Powers  
Tre●don oblivion; no desert of ours  
Can be entombed in their celestial breasts;  
They weigh our offerings, and our solemn feasts▪  
And they forget thee not: Fida (thy dear)  
Treads on the earth, the blood that's sprinkled here  
ne'er filled her veins, the Hind possessed this gore,  
See where the Coll●r lies she whilom wore;  
Some Dog hath slain her, or the griping Carl  
That spoils our Plains in digging them for Marle.  
Look as two little Brothers who addressed  
To search the hedges for a Thrushes nest,  
And have no sooner got the levy Spring,  
When mad in lust with fearful bellowing  
A strong-neckt Bull pursues throughout the field,  
One climbs a tree, and takes that for his shield,  
Whence looking from one pasture to another,  
What might betide to his much-loved Brother,  
Further than can his over-drowned eyes  
Aright perceive, the furious beast he spies  
Toss something on his horns, he knows not what,  
But one thing fears, and therefore thinks it that;  
When coming nigher he doth well discern  
It of the wondrous-one-night-seeding Ferne  
Some bundle was: yet thence he homeward goes  
Pensive and sad, nor can abridge the throes  
His fear began, but still his mind doth move  
Unto the worst: Mistrust goes still with Love..  
So fared it with our Shepherd, though he saw  
Not aught of Fida's raiment, which might draw  
A more suspicion; though the Choler lay  
There on the grass, yet goes he thence away  
Full of mistrust, and vows to leave that Plain  
Till he embrace his chastest Love again.  
Love-wounded Doridon entreats him then  
That he might be his partner, since no men  
Had cases liker; he with him would go,  
Weep when he wept, and sigh when he did so:  
I (quoth the Boy) will sing thee songs of love,  
And as we sit in some all-shady grove,  
Where Philomela and such sweetened throats,  
Are for the mastery tuning various notes,  
I'll strive with them, and tune so sad a Verse,  
That whilst to thee my fortunes I rehearse,  
No Bird but shall be mute, her note decline,  
And cease her woe, to lend an ear to mine.  
I'll tell thee tales of love, and show thee how  
The Gods have wandered as we Shepherds now,  
And when thou plain'st thy Fida's loss, will I  
Echo the same, and with mine own, supply.  
Know Remona I do love, but welladay  
I know not whom; but as the gladsome May  
she's fair and lovely, as a Goddess she  
(If such as hers a Goddess beauty be)  
First stood before me, and inquiting was  
How to the Marish she might soon pass,  
When rushed a Villain in, hell be his lot,  
And drew her thence, since when I saw her not,  
Nor know I where to search; but if thou please  
'Tis not a Forest, Mountain, Rocks, or Seas  
Can in thy journey stop my going on.  
Fate so may smile on hapless Doridon,  
That he reblest may be with her fair sight,  
Though thence his eyes possess eternal night.  
Remond agreed, and many weary days  
They now had spent in unfrequented ways:  
About the Rivers, Valleys, Holts, and Crags,  
Among the Ozyers and the waving Flags,  
They nearly pry, if any dens there be,  
Where from the Sun might harbour cruelty:  
Or if they could the bones of any spy,  
Or torn by beasts, or humane tyranny,  
They close inquiry make in caverns blind,  
Yet what they look for would be death to find.  
Right as a curious man that would descry  
(Led by the trembling hand of jealousy)  
If his fair wife have wronged his bed or no,  
Meeteth his torment if he find her so.  
One e'en ere Phoebus (near the golden shore  
Of Tagus' stream) his journey 'gan give o'er,  
They had ascended up a woody hill  
(Where oft the Fauns with their Bugles shrill  
Wakened the Echo, and with many a shout  
Followed the fearful Deer the woods about,  
Or through the Brakes that hide the craggy rocks,  
Digged to the hole where lies the wily Fox.)  
Thence they beheld an under-lying Vale  
Where Flora set her rarest flowers at sale,  
Whither the thriving Bee came oft to suck them,  
And fairest Nymphs to deck their hair did pluck them.  
Where oft the Goddesses did run at base,  
And on white Hearts begun the Wilde-goose-chase:  
Here various Nature seemed adorning this,  
In imitation of the fields of bliss;  
Or as she would entice the souls of men  
To leave Elysium, and live here again.  
Not Hybla mountain in the jocund prime  
Upon her many bushes of sweet Thyme  
Shows greater number of industrious Bees,  
Then were the Birds that sung there on the trees.  
Like the trim windings of a wanton Lake,  
That doth his passage through a Meadow make,  
Ran the delightful Valley between two Hills:  
From whose rare trees the precious Balm distils,  
And hence Apollo had his simples good  
That cured the Gods, hurt, by the Earth's ill brood.  
A Crystal River on her bosom slid,  
And (passing) seemed in sullen muttring chid  
The artless Songsters, that their Music still  
Should charm the sweet Dale, and the wistfull Hill,  
Not suffering her shrill waters as they run  
Tuned with a whistling gale in Unison  
To tell as high they prized the broidered Vale,  
As the quick Lenn●s or sweet Nightingale.  
Down from a steep Rock came the water first,  
(Where lusty Satyrs often quenched their thirst)  
And with no little speed seemed all in haste  
Till i● the lovely bottom had embraced:  
Then as entranced to hear the sweet Birds sing,  
In curled whirlpooles she her course doth bring,  
As l●th to leave the songs that lulled the Dale,  
Or waiting time when she and some soft gale  
Should speak what true delight they did possess.  
Among the rare flowers which the Valley dress.  
But since those acquaint Musicians would not stay,  
Nor suffer any to be heard but they:  
Much like a little ●ad who gotten new  
To play his part amongst a skilful crew  
Of choice Musicians, on some softer string  
That is not heard; the others fingering  
Drowning his Art; the boy would gladly get  
Applause with others that are of his Set.  
And therefore strikes a stroke loud as the best,  
And often des●ants when his fellow's rest;  
That, to be heard▪ (as 〈◊〉 finger's do)  
Spoils his own Musick● and his partners too:  
So at the further end the waters fell  
From off an 〈◊〉 bank down a lowly Dell,  
As they had vowed ere passing from that ground,  
The Birds should be enforced ●o hear their sound.  
No small delight the Shepherds took to see  
A 
* Valley.  coombe so dight in Flora●iuery ●iuery,  
Where fair Feronia 
* According to that of Silius lib. 13. colitur●eronia ●eronia luco.  honoured in the Woods,  
And all the Deities that haunt the floods,  
With powerful Nature strove to 〈◊〉 a plot,  
Who●● like the sweet Arcadia yielded nor.  
Down through the arched wood the Shepherds wend,  
And seek all places that might help their end,  
When coming near the bottom of the hill  
A deep fetched sigh (which seemed of power to kill  
The breast that held it) pierced the listening wood,  
Whereat the ear still Swains no longer stood  
Where they were looking on a tree, whose 〈◊〉  
A Love knot held, which two joined hearts the wind;  
But searching round, upon an aged foot  
Thick lined with most, which (though to little boot)  
Seemed as a shelter it had lending been  
Against cold Winter's storms and wreakful teen;  
Or clad the stock in Summer with that hue  
His withered branches not a long time knew:  
For in his hollow trunk and perished grain  
The Cuckoo now had many a Winter lain,  
And thriving Pismires laid their eggs in store;  
The Dormouse slept there, and a many more.  
Here sat the Lad, of whom I think of old  
Virgil's prophetic spirit had foretold,  
Who whilst Dame Nature for her cunnings sake,  
A male or female doubted which to make,  
And to adorn him, more than all, assayed,  
This pretty youth was almost made a Maid.  
Sadly he sat, (and as would grief) alone,  
As if the Boy and Tree had been but one,  
Whilst down near boughs did drops of Amber creep●,  
As if his sorrow made the trees to weep.  
If ever this were true in Ovid's Verse  
That tears have pour an Adamant to pierce,  
Or move things void of sense, 'twas here approved.  
Th●ngs vegetative, once, his tears have moved.  
Surely the stones might well be drawn, in pity  
To burst that he should moon, as for a Ditty  
To come and range themselves in order all,  
And of their own accord raise Thebes a wall.  
Or else his tears (as did the others song)  
Might have th'attractive power to move the throng  
Of all the Forests, Citizens and Woods,  
With every Denizon of Air and Floods,  
To sit by him and grieve; to leave their jars,  
Their strifes, dissensions, and all civil wars;  
And though else disagreeing, in this one  
Mourning for him should make an Union.  
For whom the heavens would wear a sable suit,  
If men, beasts, fishes, birds, trees, stones were mute.  
His eyes were fixed (rather fixed Stars)  
With whom it seemed his tears had been in wars,  
The difference this (a hard thing to descry)  
Whether the drops were clearest, or his eye.  
Tears fearing conquest to the eye might fall,  
An inundation brought and drowned all.  
Yet like true Virtue from the top of State  
(Whose hopes vile Envy hath seen ruinated)  
Being lowly cast, her goodness doth appear  
(Unclothed of greatness) more apparent clear:  
So though dejected, yet remained a feature  
Made sorrow sweet placed in so sweet a creature.  
" The test of misery the truest is,  
" In that none hath but what is surely his.  
His arms a cross, his sheephook lay beside him:  
Had Venus passed this way, and chanced t'have spied him,  
With open breast, locks on his shoulders spread,  
She would have sworn (had she not seen him dead;)  
It was Adonis; or if e'er there was  
Held transmigration by Pythagoras.  
Of souls, that certain then, her lost-loves spirit  
A fairer body never could inherit.  
His Pipe which often wont upon the Plain  
To sound the Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian strain,  
Lay from his Hook and Bag clean cast apart,  
And almost broken like his Master's heart.  
Yet till the two kind Shepherds near him stepped,  
I find he nothing spoke but that he wept.  
Cease gentle Lad (quoth Remond) let no tear  
Cloud those sweet beauties in thy face appear;  
Why dost thou call-on that which comes alone,  
And will not leave thee till thyself art gone?  
Thou mayst have grief when other things are rest thee,  
All else may slide away, this still is left thee;  
And when thou wantest other company,  
Sorrow will ever be embracing thee.  
But fairest Swain what cause hast thou of woe?  
Thou hast a well-fleeced flock seed to and fro,  
(His sheep along the Valley that time fed  
Not far from him, although unfollowed)  
What, do thy Ewes abortives bring? or Lambs  
For want of milk seek to their fellow's Dams?  
No groping Landlord hath enclosed thy walks,  
Nor ●oyling Ploughman furrowed them in balks.  
Ver hath adorned thy Pastures all in green  
With Clover-grasse as fresh as may be seen:  
Clear gliding Springs refresh thy Meadows heat,  
Meads promise to thy charge their winter-meat,  
And yet thou grievest. O● had some Swains thy store,  
Their Pipes should tell the Woods they asked no more.  
Or have the Parca with unpartial knife  
Lef● some friend's body tenantlesse of life,  
And thou bemoan'st that Fate in his youth's morn  
O'ercast with clouds his light but newly borne?  
" Count not how many years he is bereaved,  
" But those which he possessed and had received;  
" If I may tread no longer on this stage,  
" Though others think me young; it is mine age:  
" For who so hath his Fates full period told,  
" He full of years departs, and dyeth old▪  
May be that Auarico thy mind hath crossed,  
And so thy sighs are for some trifle lost▪  
Why shouldst thou hold that dear the world throws on thee?  
" Think nothing good which may be taken from thee,  
Look as some ponderous weight or massy pack,  
Laid to be carried on a Porter's back,  
Doth make his strong joints crack, and forceth him  
(Maugre the help of every nerve and limb,)  
To straggle in his gate, and goeth double,  
Bending to earth, such is his burdens trouble:  
So any one by Auarico engird,  
And pressed with wealth, lies grovelling in the dirt.  
His wretched mind bends to no point but this,  
That who hath most of wealth hath most of bliss.  
Hence comes the world to seek such traffic forth  
And passage▪ through the congealed North,  
Who when their hairs with Icicles are hung  
And that their chattering teeth confound their tongue,  
Show them a glittering stone, will straight ways say,  
If pains thus prosper, oh what fools would play?  
Yet I could tell them (as I now do thee)  
" In getting wealth we lose our liberty.  
" Besides, it robs us of our better powers,  
" And we should be ourselves were these not ours.  
" He is not poorest that hath least in store,  
" But he which hath enough, ye asketh more▪  
" No● is he rich by whom are all possessed,  
" But he which nothing hath, yet asketh least.  
" If thou ● life by Nature, leading pitch,  
" Thou never shalt be poor, nor ever rich  
" Led by Opinion; for their states are such,  
" Nature but little seeks, Opinion much!  
Amongst the many buds proclaiming May,  
(Decking the fields in holy days a●ay,  
Striving who shall surpass in bravery)  
Mark the ●aste blooming of the Hawthorne-tree▪  
Who finely clothed in a robe of white,  
Feeds full the wanton eye with May's delight;  
Yet for the bravery that she is in  
Doth neither handle Cara nor Wheel to spin,  
Nor changeth robes but twice, is never seen  
In other colours then in white or green.  
Lea●ne then content young Shepherd from this tree,  
Whose greatest wealth is Nature's livery,  
And richest ingots never toil to find,  
Nor care for poverty but of the mind.  
This spoke young Remond: yet the mournful Lad  
Not once replied; But with a smile, though sad,  
He shook his head then crossed his arms again,  
And from his eyes did showers of salt tears rain,  
Which wrought so on the 〈◊〉, they could not smother  
Their sighs, but spent them freely as the other.  
Tell us (quoth Doridon) thou fairer far:  
Then 
* Hippolit●●.  he whole chastity made him a Star,  
More fit to throw the wounding shafts of Love,  
Then follow sheep, and pine here in a Grove.  
O do not hide thy sorrows, show them brief;  
" He oft finds aid that doth disclose his grief.  
If thou wouldst it continue, thou dost wrong;  
" No man can sorrow very much and long:  
For thus much, loving Nature hath disposed,  
That amongst the woes that have us round enclosed,  
This comfort's left (and we should bless her for't)  
That we may make our griefs be borne, or short.  
Believe me Shepherd, we are men no less  
Free from the kill throes of heaviness  
Than thou art here, and but this difference sure,  
That use hath made us apt to endure.  
More he had spoke, but that a Bugle shrill  
Rung through the Valley from the higher Hill,  
And as they turned them towards the heartening sound,  
A gallant Stag as if he scorned the ground  
Came running with the wind, and bore his head  
As he had been the King of forests bred.  
Not swifter comes the Messenger of Heaven,  
Or winged vessel with a full gale driven,  
Nor the swift Swallow flying near the ground,  
By which the airs distemperature is found:  
Nor Mirrha's course, nor Daphne's speedy flight,  
Shunning the dalliance of the God of light,  
Then seemed the Stag, that had no sooner crossed them  
But in a trice their eyes as quickly lost him.  
The weeping Swain ne'er moved, but as his eyes  
Were only given to show his miseries,  
Attended those; and could not once be won  
To leave that object whence his tears begun.  
O had that 
* 〈◊〉  man, who (by a Tyrant's hand)  
Seeing his children's bodies strew the sand,  
And he next morn for torments pressed to go,  
Yet from his eyes let no one small tear flow,  
But being asked how well he bore their loss,  
Like to a man affliction could not cross,  
He stoutly answered: Happier sure are they  
Th●● I shall be by space of one short day:  
No more his grief wa●. But had he been here  
He had been flint, had he not spent a tear.  
For still that man the perfecter is known,  
Who others sorrows feels more than his own.  
R●mond and Doridon were turning then  
Unto the most disconsolate of men,  
But that a gallant Dame, fair as the morn,  
Or lovely blooms the Peach-tree that adorn,  
Clad in a changing silk, whose lustre shone  
Like yellow flowers and grass far off, in one,  
Or like the mixture Nature doth display  
Upon the acquaint wings of the Popi●iay,  
Her horn about her neck with silver tip,  
Too hard a metal for so soft a lip:  
Which it no oftener kissed, than jove did frown,  
And in a mortals shape would sane come down  
To feed upon those dainties, had not he  
Been still kept back by Juno's jealousy.  
An ivory dart she held of good command,  
White was the bone, but whiter was her hand;  
Of many pieces was it nearly framed,  
But more the hearts were that her eyes inflamed.  
Upon her head a green light silken cap,  
A piece of white Lawn shadowed either pap,  
Between which hillocks many Cupids lay,  
Where with her neck or with her teats they play,  
Whilst her quick heart will not with them dispense,  
But heaves her breasts as it would beat them thence,  
Who fearing much to lose so sweet repair,  
Take faster hold by her dishevelled hair.  
Swiftly she ran; the sweet Briers to receive her  
Slipped their-embracements, and (as loath to leave her)  
Stretched themselves to their length: yet on she goes.  
So great Diana frays a heard of Roes  
And speedy follows: Arethusa fled  
So, from the 
* Alpheus.  River, that her ravished.  
When this brave Huntress near the Shepherds drew,  
Her Lily arm in full extent she threw,  
To pluck a little bough (to fan her face)  
From off a thicke-leaued Ash: (no tree did grace  
The low Grove as did this, the branches spread  
Like Neptune's Trident upwards from the head.)  
No sooner did the grieved Shepherd see  
The Nymphs white hand extended towards the tree,  
But rose and to her ran, yet she had done  
Ere he came near, and to the wood was gone;  
Yet now approached the bough the Huntress tore,  
He suck it with his mouth, and kissed it o'er  
A hundred times, and softly 'gan it bind  
With Dock-leaves, and a slip of Willow rind.  
Then round the trunk he wreaths his weakened arms,  
And with his scalding tears the smooth bark warms,  
Sighing and groaning, that the Shepherds by  
Forgot to help him, and lay down to cry:  
" For 'tis impossible a man should be  
" Grieved to himself, or fail of company.  
Much the two Swains admired, but pitied more  
That he no power of words had, to deplore  
Or show what sad misfortune 'twas befell  
To him, whom Nature (seemed) regarded well.  
As thus they lay, and while the speechless Swain  
His tears and sighs spent to the woods in vain,  
One like a wild man overgrown with hair,  
His nails long grown, and all his body bare,  
Save that a wreath of Iuy twist did hide  
Those parts which Nature would not have descried,  
And ●he long hair that curled from his head  
A grassy garland rudely covered.  
But Shepherds I have wronged you, 'tis now late,  
For see our Maid stands hollowing on yond gate,  
'Tis suppertime, withal, and we had need  
Make haste away, unless we mean to speed  
With those that kiss the Hare's foot: Rheums are bred,  
Some say, by going supperless to bed,  
And those I love not; therefore cease my rhyme,  
And put my Pipes up till another time.   

THE THIRD SONG.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
A redbreast doth from pining save  
Marina sh●t in Famines Cave.  
The Golden age described plain,  
And Limos by the Shepherds slain,  
Do give me leave a while to move  
My Pipe of Tavy and his Love..  

ALas that I have done so great a wrong  
Unto the fairest Maiden of my Song,  
Divine Marina, who in Limos' Cave  
Lies ever fearful of a living grave,  
And night and day upon the hardened stones,  
Rests, if a rest can be amongst the moans  
Of dying wretches; where each minute all  
Stand still afraid to hear the Deathsman call.  
Thrice had the golden Sun his hot Steeds washed  
In the West Maine, and thrice them smartly lashed  
Out of the Balmy East, since the sweet Maid  
Had in that dismal Cave been sadly laid.  
Where hunger pinched her so, she need not stand  
In fear of murdering by a second hand:  
For through her tender sides such darts might pass  
'Gainst which strong walls of stone, thick gates of brass  
Deny no entrance, nor the Camps of Kings,  
Since soon there they bend their flaggy wings.  
But heaven that stands still for the best's avail,  
Dareth his hand when humane helpings fail;  
For 'twere impossible that such as she  
Should be forgotten of the Deity;  
Since in the spacious Orb could no man find  
A fairer face matched with a fairer mind.  
A little Robin Redbreast one clear morn,  
Sat sweetly singing on a well-leaued Thorn:  
Whereat Marina rose, and did admire  
He durst approach from whence all else retire:  
And pitying the sweet Bird what in her lay,  
She sully striven to fright him thence away.  
Poor harmless wretch (quoth she) go seek some spring,  
And to her sweet fall with thy fellows sing;  
Fly to the well-replenished Groves, and there  
Do entertain each Swains harmonious ear;  
Traverse the winding branches; chant so free,  
That every lover fall in love with thee;  
And if thou chance to see that lovely Boy  
(To look on whom the Silvans count a joy)  
He whom I loved no sooner than I lost,  
Whose body all the Graces hath engrossed,  
To him unfold (if that thou dar'st to be  
So near a neighbour to my Tragedy)  
As far as can thy voice, (in plaints so sad,  
And in so many mournful accents clad,  
That as thou singest upon a tree there by  
He may some small time weep, yet know not why)  
How I in death was his, though Powers divine  
Will not permit that he in life be mine.  
Do this thou loving Bird; and haste away  
Into the woods: but if so be thou stay  
To do a deed of charity on me  
When my pure soul shall leave mortality,  
By covering this poor body with a sheet  
Of green leaves, gathered from a valley sweet;  
It is in vain: these harmless limbs must have  
Then in the Caitiffs womb, no other grave.  
Hence then sweet Robin; lest in staying long  
At once thou chance forgo both life and song.  
With this she hushed him thence, he sung no more,  
But (afraid the second time) flew towards the shore.  
Within as short time as the swiftest Swain  
Can to our Maypole run and come again,  
The little redbreast to the prickled thorn  
Returned, and sung there as he had before:  
And fair Marina to the loop-hole went,  
Pitying the pretty Bird, whose punishment  
Limos would not defer if he were spied.  
No sooner had the bird the Maiden eyed,  
But leaping on the rock, down from a bough,  
He takes a Cherry up (which he but now  
Had thither brought, and in that place had laid  
Till to the cloven his song had drawn the Maid)  
And flying with the small stem in his bill,  
(A choicer fruit, then hangs on Bacchus' 
* Citharon in Bo●●ia.  hill)  
In fair Marina's bosom took his rest,  
A heavenly seat fit for so sweet a guest:  
Where Citherea's Doves might billing sit,  
And Gods and men with Envy look on it;  
Where rose two mountains, whose rare sweets to crop  
Was harder than to reach Olympus' top:  
For those the Gods can; but to climb these hills  
Their powers no other were then mortal wills.  
Here left the Bird the Cherry, and anon  
Forsook her bosom, and for more is gone,  
Making such speedy flights into the Thick,  
That she admired he went and came so quick.  
Then lest his many Cherries should distaste,  
Some other fruit he brings than he brought last.  
Sometime of Strawberries a little stem,  
Oft changing colours as he gathered them:  
Some green, some white, some red on them infused,  
These loved, those feared, they blushed to be so used.  
The Peascod green, oft with no little toil  
he'd seek for in the fattest fertil'st soil,  
And rend it from the stalk to bring it to her,  
And in her bosom for acceptance woo her.  
No Be●ry in the Grove or Forest grew,  
That sit for nourishment the kind Bird knew,  
Nor any powerful herb in open field,  
To serve her brood the teeming earth did yield,  
But with his utmost industry he sought it,  
And to the Cave for chaste Marina brought it.  
So from one well-stored garden to another,  
To gather Simples runs a careful mother,  
Whose only child lies on the shaking bed  
Gripped with a Fever (sometime honoured  
In Rome as if a 
* Febrem ad minus nocendum templis col●bant, ait Val. Maximus. Vid● Tullium in te●tio de Nat. Deorum, & secundo de Legibus.  God) nor is she bend  
To other herbs than those for which she went.  
The feathered hours five times were over-told,  
And twice as many floods and ebbs had ●old  
The small sands out and in, since fair Marine  
(For whose long loss a hundred Shepherds pine)  
Was by the charitable Robin fed:  
For whom (had she not so been nourished)  
A hundred Doves would search the Sunburnt hills,  
Or fruitful Valleys laced with silver rils,  
To bring her Olives. Th' Eagle strong of sight  
To Countries far remote would bend her flight,  
And with unwearied wing strip through the sky  
To the choice plots of Gaul and Italy,  
And never lin till homeward she escape  
With the Pomegranate, Lemmon, Orange, Grape,  
Or the loved Citron, and attained the Cave.  
The well-plumed Goshawk (by th' Egyptians grave  
Used in their my stick Characters for speed)  
Would not be wanting at so great a need,  
But from the well-stored Orchards of the Land  
Brought the sweet Pear (once by a cursed hand  
At 
* One writes that K. john was poisoned at Swinsted, with a dish of pears: Others, there, in a cup of wine: Some, that he died at Newark of the Flux A fourth, by the distemperature of Peaches eaten in his fit of an Ague. Among so many doubts, I leave you to believe the Author most in credit with our best of Antiquaries.  Swinsted used with poison, for the fall  
Of one who on these Plains ruled Lord of all.)  
The sentfull Osprey by the Rock had fished  
And many a pretty Shrimp in Scallops dished,  
Some way conveyed her; no one of the shoal  
That haunt the waves, but from his lurking hole  
Had pulled the Crayfish, and with much ado  
Brought that the Maid, and Perywinckles too.  
But these for others might their labours spare,  
And not with Robin for their merits share.  
Yet as a Herdesse in a Summer's day,  
Heat with the glorious Suns all-purging ray,  
In the calm Evening (leaving her fair flock)  
Betakes herself unto a froth-girt Rock,  
On which the headlong Tavy throws his waves,  
(And foams to see the stones neglect his braves:)  
Where sitting to undo her Buskins white,  
And wash her neat legs, (as her use each night)  
Th'enamoured flood before she can unlace them,  
Rolls up his waves as hastening to embrace them,  
And though to help them some small gale do blow,  
And one of twenty can but reach her so;  
Yet will a many little surges be  
Flashing upon the rock full busily,  
And do the best they can to kiss her feet,  
But that their power and will, not equal meet:  
So as she for her Nurse looked towards the land,  
(And now beholds the trees that grace the strand,  
Then looks upon a hill whose sliding sides.  
A goodly flock (like winters covering) hides,  
And higher on some stone that jutteth out,  
Their careful master guiding his trim rout  
By sending forth his Dog, (as Shepherds do)  
Or piping sat, or clo●ting of his shoe.)  
Whence, nearer hand drawing her wand'ring sight,  
(So from the earth steals the all-quickning light)  
Beneath the rock, the waters, high, but late,  
(I know not by what sluice or empting gate)  
Were at a low ebb; on the sand she spies  
A busy Bird that to and fro still flies,  
Till pitching where a heatfull Oyster lay,  
Opening his close jaws, (closer none than they  
Unless the griping fist, or cherry lips  
Of happy Lovers in their melting sips.)  
Since the decreasing waves had left him there  
Gaping for thirst, yet meets with nought but air,  
And that so hot; ere the returning tide,  
He in his shell is likely to be fried;  
The wary Bird a pretty pebble takes  
And claps it 'twixt the two pearle-hiding flakes  
Of the broad yawning Oyster, and she then  
Securely picks the fish out (as some men  
A trick of policy thrust, 'tween two friends,  
Sever their powers, and his intention ends)  
The Bird thus getting that, for which she strove  
Brought it to her: to whom the Queen of Love  
Served as a foil, and Cupid could no other,  
But fly to her mistaken for his Mother.  
Marina from the kind Bird took the meat,  
And (looking down) she saw a number great  
Of Birds, each one a pebble in his bill,  
Would do the like, but that they wanted skill:  
Some threw it in too far, and some too short;  
This could not bear a stone fit for such sport,  
But harmless wretch putting in one too small,  
The Oyster shuts and takes his head withal.  
Another bringing one too smooth and round,  
(Unhappy Bird that thine own death hast found)  
Lays it so little way in his hard lips,  
That with their sudden close, the pebble slips  
So strongly forth (as when your little ones  
Do 'twixt their fingers slip their Cherry-stones)▪  
That it in passage meets the breast o● head  
Of the poor wretch, and lays him there for dead.  
A many strived, and gladly would have done  
As much or more than he which first begun,  
But all in vain, scarce one of twenty could  
Perform the deed, which they full gladly would.  
For this not quick is to that act he goeth,  
That wanteth skill, this cunning, and some both:  
Yet none a will, for (from the cave) she sees  
Not in all-lovely May th'industrious Bees  
More busy with the flowers could be, than these  
Among the shellfish of the working Seas.  
Limos' had all this while been wanting thence,  
And but just heaven preserved pure innocence  
By the two Birds; her life to air had flit  
E'er the cursed Caitiff should have forced it.  
The first night that he left her in his den  
He got to shore, and near th'abodes of men  
That live as we by tending of their flocks,  
To interchange for Ceres' golden locks,  
Or with the Neat-herd for his milk and cream:  
Things we respect more than the Diadem  
His choice made-dishes; O! the golden age  
Met all contentment in no surplusage  
Of dainty viands, but (as we do still)  
Drank the pure water of the crystal rill,  
Fed on no other meats than those they fed,  
Labour, the salad that their stomaches bred.  
Nor sought they for the down of silver Swans,  
Nor those Sow-thistle locks each small gale fans,  
But hides of Beasts, which when they lived they kept,  
Served them for bed and covering when they slept.  
If any softer lay, 'twas (by the loss  
Of some rocks warmth) on thick and spongy moss,  
Or on the ground: some simple wall of clay  
Parting their beds from where their cattle lay.  
And on such palates one man clipped then  
More golden slumbers then this age again.  
That time Physicians thrived not: or if any  
I dare say, all: yet then were thrice as many  
As now professed, and more, for every man  
Was his own Patient and Physician.  
None had a body then so weak and thin,  
Bankrupt of nature's store, to feed the sin  
Of an insatiate female, in whose womb  
Could nature all hers past, and all to come  
Infuse, with virtue of all drugs beside,  
She might be tired, but never satisfied.  
To please which Ork her husband's weakened piece  
Must have his Cullis mixed with Ambergris,  
Pheasant and Partridge into ●elly turned,  
Grated with gold, seven times refined and burned,  
With dust of Orient Pearl, richer the East  
Yet ne'er beheld: (O Epicurian feast!)  
This is his breakfast; and his meal at night  
Possets no less provoking appetite,  
Whose dear ingredients valued are at more  
Than all his Ancestors were worth before.  
When such as we by poor and simple fare  
More able lived, and died no● without heir,  
Sprung from our own loins, and a spotless bed  
Of any other power unseconded:  
When th'others issue (like a man fall'n sick,  
Or through the Fever, Gout, or Lunatic,  
Changing his Doctors oft, each as his notion  
Prescribes a several diet, several potion,  
Meeting his friend (who meet we now adays  
That hath not some receipt for each disease?)  
He tells him of a plaster, which he takes;  
And finding after that, his torment slakes,  
(Whether because the humour is outwrought,  
Or by the skill which his Physician brought,  
It makes no matter:) for he surely thinks  
None of their purges, nor their diet drinks  
Have made him sound; but his belief is fast  
That medicine was his health which he took last:  
So (by a mother) being taught to call  
One for his Father, though a Son to all,  
His mothers often 'scapes (though truly known)  
Cannot divert him; but will ever own  
For his begetter, him, whose name and rents  
He must inherit. Such are the descents  
Of these men; to make up whose limber heir  
As many as in him, must have a share;  
When he that keeps the last yet least ado,  
Fathers the people's child, and gladly too.  
Happier those times were, when the Flaxen clew  
By fair Arachne's hand the Lydians knew,  
And sought not to the worm for silken threads,  
To roll their bodies in, or dress their heads.  
When wise Minerva did th' Athenians learn  
To draw their milk-white fleeces into yarn;  
And knowing not the mixtures which began  
(Of colours) from the Babylonian,  
Nor wool in Sardis died, more various known  
By hues, than Iris to the world hath shown:  
The bowels of our mother were not ripped  
For Mader-pits, nor the sweet meadows stripped  
Of their choice beauties, nor for Ceres' load  
The fertile lands burdened with needless Woad.  
Through the wide Seas no winged Pine did go  
To Lands unknown for staining Indigo;  
Nor men in scorching climates moared their Keel  
To traffic for the costly Concheneele.  
Unknown was then the Phrygian brodery,  
The Tyrian purple, and the Scarlet dye,  
Such as their sheep clad, such they wove and wore,  
Russet or white, or those mixed, and no more:  
Except sometimes (to bravery inclined)  
They died them yellow caps with Alder rind.  
The Grecian mantle, Tuscan robes of state,  
Tissue, nor Cloth of gold of highest rate,  
They never saw; only in pleasant woods,  
Or by th'embroidered margin of the floods,  
The dainty Nymphs they often did behold  
Clad in their light silk robes, stitched oft with gold.  
The Arras hangings round their comely Hals,  
Wanted the Cerites' web and minerals:  
Green boughs of trees which fattening Acorns lad,  
Hung full with flowers and Garlands quaintly made,  
Their homely Coats decked trim in low degree,  
As now the Court with richest Tapestry.  
In stead of Cushions wrought in windows lain,  
They picked the Cockle from their fields of Grain,  
Sleep bringing Poppy, by the Ploughmen late  
Not without cause to Ceres consecreate,  
For being round and full at his half birth  
It signified the perfect Orb of earth;  
And by his inequalities when blown,  
The earth's low Vales and higher Hills were shown.  
By multitude of grains it held within,  
Of men and beasts the number noted been;  
And she since taking care all earth to please,  
Had in her 
* 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 were sacrifices peculiar to Ceres, the one for being a Lawgiver, the other as Goddess of the grounds.  Thesmophoria offered these.  
Or cause that seed our Elders used to eat,  
With honey mixed (and was their after meat)  
Or since her Daughter that she loved so well  
By him that in th'infernal shades doth dwell,  
And on the Srygian banks for ever reigns  
(Troubled with horrid cries and noise of chains)  
(Fairest Pros●rpina) was rapt away;  
And she in plaints, the night; in tears, the day  
Had long time spent; when no high Power could give her  
Any redress; the 
* Vide Serui●●m in Virg. Georg. 1.  Poppy did relieve her:  
For eating of the seeds they sleep procured,  
And so beguiled those griefs she long endured.  
Or rather since her Love (than happy man)  
Micon (yclept) the brave Athenian,  
Had been transformed into this gentle Flower,  
And his protection kept from Flora's power.  
The Daizy scattered on each Mead and Downe,  
A golden tuft within a silver Crown,  
(Fair fall that dainty flower▪ and may there be  
No Shepherd graced that doth not honour thee▪)  
The Primrose, when with six leaves gotten grace  
Maids as a True-love in their bosom's place  
The spotless Lily, by whose pure leaves be  
Noted the chaste thoughts of virginity;  
Carnations sweet with colour like the fire,  
The fit Impresa's for imflamed desire;  
The Harebell for her stainless azur'd hue,  
Claims to be worn of none but those are true;  
The Rose, like ready youth enticing stands,  
And would be cropped if it might choose the hands;  
The yellow King-cup, Flora them assigned  
To be the badges of a jealous mind;  
The Oringe-tawny Marigold: the night  
Hides not her colour from a searching sight.  
To thee then dearest Friend (my songs chief mate)  
This colour chiefly I appropriate,  
That spite of all the mists Oblivion can  
Or envious frettings of a guilty man,  
Retain'st thy worth; nay, mak'st it more in prize,  
Like Tennis-bals thrown down hard, highest rise.  
The Columbine in tawny often taken,  
Is then ascribed to such as are forsaken;  
Flora's choice buttons of a russet dye  
Is Hope even in the depth of misery.  
The ●ansie, Thistle, all with prickles set,  
The Cowslip, Honeysuckle, Violet,  
And many hundreds more that graced the Meads,  
Gardens and Groves, (where beauteous Flora treads)  
Were by the Shepherd's Daughters (as yet are  
Used in our Coats) brought home with special care:  
For bruising them they not alone would quell  
But rot the rest, and spoil their pleasing smell.  
Much like a Lad, who in his tender prime  
Sent from his friends to learn the use of time,  
As are his mates, or good or bad, so he  
Thrives to the world, and such his actions be.  
As in the Rainbows many coloured hue  
Here see we watchet deepned with a blue,  
There a dark tawny with a purple mixed,  
Yellow and flame, with streaks of green betwixt,  
A bloody stream into a blushing run  
And ends still with the colour which begun,  
Drawing the deeper to a lighter stain,  
Bringing the lightest to the deep'st again,  
With such rare Art each mingleth with his fellow,  
The blue with watche●, green and red with yellow▪  
Like to the changes which we daily see  
About the Dove's neck with variety,  
Where none can say (though he it strict attends)  
Here one begins; and there the other ends:  
So did the Maidens with their various flowers  
Deck up their windows, and make neat their bowers:  
Using such cunning as they did dispose  
The ruddy Piny with the lighter Rose,  
The Moncks-hood with the bugloss, and intwine  
The white, the blue, the flesh-like Columbine  
With Pinks, Sweet-Williams; that far off the eye  
Could not the manner of their mixtures spy.  
Then with those flowers they most of all did prize,  
(With all their skill, and in most curious wise  
On tufts of Herbs or Rushes) would they frame  
A dainty border round their Shepherd's name.  
Or Poesies make, so acquaint, so apt, so rare,  
As if the Muses only lived there:  
And that the after world should strive in vain  
What they then did to counterfeit again.  
Nor will the Needle nor the Loom ere be  
So perfect in their best embroidery,  
Nor such composures make of silk and gold,  
As theirs, when Nature all her cunning told.  
The word of Mine did no man then bewitch,  
They thought none could be fortunate if rich.  
And to the covetous did wish no wrong  
But what himself desired: to live here long.  
As of their Songs, so of their lives they deemed,  
Not of the longest, but best performed, esteemed.  
They thought that heaven to him no life did give,  
Who only thought upon the means to live.  
Nor wished they 'twere ordained to live here ever,  
But as life was ordained they might persever.  
O happy men! you ever did possess  
No wisdom, but was mixed with simpleness;  
So, wanting malice: and from folly free,  
Since reason went with your simplicity.  
You searched yourselves if all within were fair,  
And did not learn of others what you were.  
Your lives the patterns of those virtues gave  
Which adulation tells men now they have.  
With poverty, in love we only close  
Because our Lovers it most tru●ly shows:  
When they who in that blessed age did move,  
Knew neither poverty, nor want of love.  
The hatred which they bore was only this,  
That every one did hate to do amiss.  
Their fortune still was subject to their will:  
Their want (o happy!) was the want of ill.  
Ye truest, fairest, loveliest Nymphs that can  
Out of your eyes lend fire Promethian,  
All-beautious Ladies, love-alluring Dames,  
That on the banks of Isca, Humber, Thames,  
By your encouragement can make a Swain  
Climb by his Song where none but souls attain:  
And by the graceful reading of our lines  
Renew our heat to further brave designs:  
(You, by whose means my Muse thus boldly says:  
Though she do sing of Shepherd's loves and lays,  
And flagging weakly low gets not on wing  
To second that of Helen's ravishing:  
Nor hath the love nor beauty of a Queen  
My subject graced, as other works have been;  
Yet not to do their age nor ours a wrong,  
Though Queens, nay Goddesses famed Homer's song)  
Mine hath been tuned and heard by beauties more  
Than all the Poets that have lived before.  
Not cause it is more worth: but it doth fall  
That Nature now is turned a prodigal,  
And on this age so much perfection spends,  
That to her last of treasure it extends;  
For all the ages that are slid away  
Had not so many beauties as this day.  
O what a rapture have I gotten now!  
That age of gold, this of the lovely brow  
Have drawn me from my Song! I onward run  
Clean from the end to which I first begun.  
But ye the heavenly creatures of the West,  
In whom the virtues and the grace's rest,  
Pardon! that I have run astray so long,  
And grow so tedious in so rude a song,  
If you yourselves should come to add one grace  
Unto a pleasant Grove or such like place,  
Where here the curious cutting of a hedge,  
There, by a pond, the trimming of the sedge;  
Here the fine setting of well shading trees,  
The walks there mounting up by small degrees,  
The gravel and the green so equal lie,  
It, with the rest, draws on your lingering eye:  
Here the sweet smells that do perfume the air,  
Arising from the infinite repair  
Of odoriferous buds, and herbs of price,  
(As if it were another Paradise)  
So please the smelling sense, that you are fain  
Where last you walked to turn and walk again.  
There the small Birds with their harmonious notes  
Sing to a Spring that smileth as she floats:  
For in her face a many dimples show,  
And often skips as it did dancing go:  
Here further down an over-arched Alley  
That from a hill goes winding in a valley,  
You spy at end thereof a standing Lake,  
Where some ingenious Artist strives to make  
The water (brought in turning pipes of Lead  
Through Birds of earth most lively fashioned)  
To counterfeit and mock the Silvans all,  
In singing well their own set Madrigal.  
This with no small delight retains your ear,  
And makes you think none blest but who live there.  
Then in another place the fruits that be  
In gallant clusters decking each good tree  
Invite your hand to crop some from the stem,  
And liking one, taste every sort of them:  
Then to the arbours walk, then to the bowers,  
Thence to the walks again, thence to the flowers,  
Then to the Birds, and to the clear spring thence,  
Now pleasing one, and then another sense:  
Here one walks oft, and yet anew begin'th,  
As if it were some hidden Labyrinth;  
So loath to part, and so content to stay,  
That when the Gardener knocks for you away,  
It grieves you so to leave the pleasures in it,  
That you could wish that you had never seen it:  
Blame me not then, if while to you I told  
The happiness our fathers clipped of old,  
The mere imagination of their bliss  
So rapt my thoughts, and made me sing amiss.  
And still the more they ran on those day's worth,  
The more unwilling was I to come forth.  
O! if the apprehension joy us so,  
What would the action in a humane show?  
Such were the Shepherds (to all goodness bend)  
About whose 
* Villages.  Thorps' that night cursed Limos went.  
Where he had learned that next day all the Swains,  
That any sheep fed on the fertile plains,  
The feast of Pales Goddess of their grounds  
Did mean to celebrate. Fitly this sounds  
He thought, to what he formerly intended,  
His stealth should by their absence be befriended:  
For whilst they in their offerings busied were,  
He amongst the flocks might range with lesser fear.  
How to contrive his stealth he spent the night.  
The Morning now in colours richly dight  
Stepped o'er the Eastern thresholds, and no lad  
That joyed to see his pastures freshly clad,  
But for the holy rites himself addressed  
With necessaries proper to that feast.  
The Altars every where now smoking be  
With Beane-stalkes, Savine, Laurel, Rosemary,  
Their Cakes of Grummell-seed they did prefer,  
And Pails of milk in sacrifice to her.  
Then Hymns of praise they all devoutly sung  
In those Palilia for increase of young.  
But ere the ceremonies were half past  
One of their Boys came down the hill in haste,  
And told them Limos was among their sheep;  
That he, his fellows, nor their dog's cloud keep  
The Rau'ner from their flocks; great store were killed,  
Whose blood he sucked, and yet his paunch not filled.  
O hasten then away! for in an hour  
He will the chiefest of your fold devour.  
With this most ran (leaving behind some few  
To finish what was to fair Pales due)  
And as they had ascended up the hill  
Limos they met, with no mean pace and skill,  
Following a well-fed Lamb; with many a shout  
They then pursued him all the plain about.  
And either with fore-laying of his way,  
Or he full gorged ran not so swift as they,  
Before he could recover down the strand,  
No Swain but on him had a fastened hand.  
Rejoicing then (the worst Wolf to their flock  
Lay in their powers) they bound him to a Rock,  
With chains ta'en from the plough, and leaving him  
Returned back to their Feast His eyes late dim  
Now sparkle forth in flames, he grinds his teeth,  
And strives to catch at every thing he seeth;  
But to no purpose: all the hope of food  
Was tame away; his little flesh, less blood,  
He sucked and tore at last, and that denied,  
With fearful shrieks most miserably died.  
Unfortunate Marina thou art free  
From his jaws now, though not from misery.  
Within the Cave thou likely art to pine,  
If (o may never) fail a help divine,  
And though such aid thy wants do still supply;  
Yet in a prison thou must ever lie:  
But heaven that fed thee, will not long defer  
To send thee thither some deliverer:  
For, then to spend thy sighs there to the main  
Thou fitter wert to honour Thetis train.  
Who so far now with her harmonious crew  
Scoured through the Seas (o who yet ever knew  
So rare a consort?) she had left behind  
The Kentish, Sussex shores, the 
* Victa quam Vespasianus a Claudio missus sub●●gauit. Vide Eed. in Hist. Ecc. lib. 1. ca 3.  Isle assigned  
To brave Vespasians conquest, and was come  
Where the shrill Trumpet and the rattling Drum  
Made the waves tremble (ere befell this chance)  
And to no softer Music used to dance.  
Hail thou my native soiled thou blessed plot  
Whose equal all the world affordeth not  
Show me who can? so many crystal Rils  
Such sweet-cloathed Valleys, or aspiring Hills,  
Such Wood-ground, Pastures, Quarries, wealthy Mines,  
Such Rocks in whom the Diamond fairly shines:  
And if the earth can show ●he like again;  
Yet will she fail in her Sea-ruling men.  
Time never can produce men to o'ertake  
The fames of Green●il, Davies, Gilbert, Drake▪  
Or worthy Hawkins, or of thousands more  
That by their power made the Devonian shore  
Mock the proud Tagus; for whose richest spoil  
The boasting Spaniard left the Indian soil  
Bankrupt of store, knowing it would quit cost  
By winning this, though all the rest were lost.  
As oft the Sea-Nymphs on her strand have set  
Learning of Fishermen to knit a net,  
Wherein to wind up their dishevelled hairs,  
They have beheld the frolic Mariners  
For exercise (got early from their beds)  
Pitched bars of silver, and cast golden sleds.  
At Ex, a lovely Nymph with Thetis met,  
She singing came, and was all round beset  
With other watery powers, which by her song  
She had allured to float with her along.  
The Lay she chanted she had learned of yore,  
Taught by a 
* joseph of Excestèr writ a Poem of the Trojan War according to Dar●s the Phrygians story, but falsely attributed to Cornelius Nepos, as it is printed. He lived in the time of Hen. 2. and Rich. 1. See the Illustrations of my most worthy friend M. Selden upon M. Draitons' Polyolbion, pag. 98.  skilful Swain, who on her shore  
Fed his fair flock: a work renowned as far  
As His brave subject of the Trojan war.  
When she had done, a pretty Shepherd's boy  
That from the near Downs came (though he small joy  
took in his tuneful Reed, since dire neglect  
Crept to the breast of her he did affect,  
And that an ever-busie-watchfull eye  
Stood as a bar to his felicity,)  
Being with great entreaties of the Swains,  
And by the fair Queen of the liquid plains  
Wooed to his Pipe, and bade to lay aside  
All troubled thoughts, as others at that tide,  
And that he now some merry note should raise,  
To equal others which had sung their lays:  
He shook his head, and knowing that his tongue  
Could not belie his heart, thus sadly sung: 

AS newborn babes salute their age's morn  
With cries unto their woeful mother hurled:  
My infant Muse that was but lately borne  
Began with watery eyes to woo the world.  
She knows not how to speak, and therefore weeps  
Her woes excess,  
And strives to move the heart that senseless sleeps,  
To heaviness;  
Her eyes inuailed with sorrow's clouds  
Scarce see the light,  
Disdain hath wrapped her in the shrowds  
Of loathed night,  
How should she move then her grief-laden wing,  
Or leave my sad complaints, and Paeans sing?  
Six Pleyad's live in light, in darkness one.  
Sing mirthful Swains, but let me sigh alone.  
It is enough that I in silence sit,  
And bend my skill to learn your lays aright;  
Nor strive with you in ready strains of wit,  
Nor move my bearers with so true delight.  
But if for heavy plaints and notes of woe  
Your ears are pressed;  
No Shepherd lives that ●an my Pipe outgo  
In such unrest.  
I have not known so many years  
As chances wrong,  
Nor have they known more floods of tears  
From one so young.  
fain would I tune to please as others do,  
Wert not for feigning Song and numbers too.  
Then (since not fitting now are songs of moan)  
Sing mirthful Swains, but let me sigh alone.   

The Nymphs that float upon these watery plains  
Have oft been drawn to listen to my Song,  
And Sirens left to tune dissembling strains  
In true bewailing of my sorrows long.  
Upon the waves of late a silver Swan  
By me did ride,  
And thrilled with my woes forthwith began  
To sing, and died,  
Yet where they should, they cannot move.  
O hapless Verse!  
That ●itter, then to win a Love,  
Art for a Hearse.  
Henceforward silent be; and ye my cares  
Be known but to myself; or who despairs,  
Since pity now lies turned to a stone,  
Sing mirthful Swai●es; but let me sigh alone.    
The fitting accent of His mournful lay  
So pleased the powerful Lady of the Sea,  
That she entreated him to sing again;  
And he obeying tuned this second strain: 
BOrne to no other comfort then my tears.  
Yet robbed of them by griefs too inly deep.  
I cannot rightly wail my hapless years,  
Nor move a passion that for me might weep.  
Nature alas too short hath knit  
My tongue to reach my woe:  
Nor have I skill sad notes to fit  
That might my sorrow show.  
And to increase my torments ceaseless sting,  
There's no way left to show my pains,  
But by my pen in mournful strains,  
Which others may perhaps take joy to sing.   
As (wooed by May's delights) I have been borne  
To take the kind air of a wistfull morn  
Near Tavies voicefull stream (to whom I owe  
More strains then from my Pipe can ever flow)  
Here have I heard a sweet Bird never lin  
To chide the River for his clamorous din;  
There seemed another in his song to tell,  
That what the fair stream did he liked well;  
And going further heard another too,  
All varying still in what the others do;  
A little thence, a fourth with little pain  
Conned all their lessons, and them sung again;  
So numberless the Songsters are that sing  
In the sweet Groves of the too-carelesse Spring,  
That I no sooner could the hearing lose  
Of one of them, but strait another rose,  
And perching deftly on a quaking spray,  
Nye tired herself to make her hearer stay,  
Whilst in a bush two Nightingales together  
Showed the best skill they had to draw me thither:  
So (as bright Thetis past our cleeves along)  
This shepherds lay pursued the others song,  
And scarce one ended had his skilful stripe,  
But straight another took him to his Pipe.  
By that the younger Swain had fully done,  
Thetis with her brave company had won  
The mouth of Dert, and whilst the Tritons charm  
The dancing-waves, passing the crystal Arm  
Sweet Tulme and Plim; arrived where Thamar pays  
Her daily tribute to the western Seas.  
Here sent she up her Dolphins, and they plied  
So busily their fares on every side,  
They made a quick return, and brought her down  
A many Homagers to Thamar's crown,  
Who in themselves were of as great command  
As any meaner Rivers of the Land.  
With every Nymph the Swain of most account  
That fed his white sheep by her clearer fount:  
And every one to Thetis sweetly sung.  
Among the rest a Shepherd (though but young,  
Yet heartened to his Pipe) with all the skill  
His few years could, began to fit his quill.  
By Tarries speedy stream he fed his flock,  
Where when he sat to sport him on a rock,  
The Water-nymphs would often come unto him,  
And for a dance with many gay gifts woo him.  
Now posies of this flower, and then of that;  
Now with fine shells, then with a rushy hat,  
With Coral or red stones brought from the deep  
To make him bracelets, or to mark his sheep:  
WILLY he hight. Who by the Ocean's Queen  
More cheered to sing then such young Lads had been,  
took his best framed Pipe, and thus 'gan move  
His voice of Walla, Tauy's fairest Love..   

Fair was the day, but fairer was the Maid  
Who that day's morn into the green-woods strayed.  
Sweet was the air, but sweeter was her breathing,  
Such rare perfumes the Roses are bequeathing.  
Bright shone the Sun, but brighter were her eyes,  
Such are the Lamps that guide the Deities;  
Nay such the fire is, whence the Pythian Knight  
Borrows his beams, and lends his Sister light,  
Not Pelops shoulder whiter than her hands,  
Nor snowy Swans that jet on Isca's sands.  
Sweet Flora as if ravished with their sight,  
In emulation made all Lilies white:  
For as I oft have heard the Wood-nimps say,  
The dancing Fairy's when they left to play  
Then black did pull them, and in holes of trees  
Stole the sweet honey from the painful Bees,  
Which in the flower to put they oft were seen,  
And for a banquet brought it to their Queen.  
But she that is the Goddess of the flowers  
(Invited to their groves and shady bowers)  
Misliked their choice. They said that all the field  
No other flower did for that purpose yield;  
But quoth a nimble Fay that by did stand:  
If you could give't the colour of yond hand;  
(Walla by chance was in a meadow by  
Learning to ' sample earth's embroidery)  
It were a gift would Flora well befit,  
And our great Queen the more would honour it.  
She gave consent; and by some other power  
Made Venus' Doves be equalled by the flower,  
But not her hand; for Nature this prefers,  
All other whites but shadowings to hers.  
Her hair was rolled in many a curious fret,  
Much like a rich and artful Coronet,  
Upon whose arches twenty Cupids lay,  
And were or tie, or loath to fly away.  
Upon her bright eyes Phoebus' his inclined,  
And by their radiance was the God struck blind,  
That clean awry th' Ecclipticke than he stripped,  
And from the milky way his horses whipped;  
So that the Eastern world to fear begun  
Some stranger drove the Chariot of the Sun.  
And never but that once did heavens bright eye  
Bestow one look on the Cymmerij.  
A green silk frock her comely shoulders clad,  
And ●ooke delight that such a seat it had,  
Which at her middle gathered up in pleats,  
A love-knot Girdle willing bondage threats.  
Not Venus' Ceston held a braver piece,  
Nor that which girt the fairest flower of Greece.  
Down from her waste, her mantle loose did fall,  
Which Zephyre (as afraid) still played withal,  
And then tucked up somewhat below the knee  
Showed searching eyes where Cupid's columns be.  
The inside lined with rich Carnation silk,  
And in the midst of both, Lawn white as milk.  
Which white beneath the red did seem to shroud,  
As Cynthia's beauty through a blushing cloud,  
About the edges curious to behold  
A deep fringe hung of rich and twisted gold,  
So on the green marge of a crystal brook  
A thousand yellow flowers at fishes look;  
And such the beams are of the glorious Sun,  
That through a tuft of grass dispersed run.  
Upon her leg a pair of Buskins white,  
Studded with orient Pearl and Chrysolite,  
And like her Mantle stircht with gold and green,  
(Fairer yet never wore the Forest's Queen)  
Knit close with ribbons of a party hue,  
A knot of Crimson and a tuft of blue,  
Nor can the Peacock in his spotted train  
So many pleasing colours show again;  
Nor could there be a mixture with more grace,  
Except the heavenly Roses in her face.  
A silver Quiver at her back she wore,  
With Darts and Arrows for the Stag and Boar,  
But in her eyes she had such darts again  
Could conquer Gods, and wound the hearts of men.  
Her left hand held a knotty Brasill Bow,  
Whose strength with tears she made the red Deer know.  
So clad, so armed, so dressed to win her will  
Diana never trod on Latmus' hill.  
Walla, the fairest Nymph that haunts the woods,  
Walla, beloved of Shepherds, Fauns and Floods▪  
Walla, for whom the frolic Satyrs pine,  
Walla, with whose fine foot the flowrets twine,  
Walla, of whom sweet Birds their ditties move,  
Walla, the earth's delight, and Tauy's love.  
This fairest Nymph, when Tavy first prevailed  
And won affection where the Siluans●ail'd ●ail'd,  
Had promised (as a favour to his stream)  
Each week to crown it with an Anadem:  
And now Hyperion from his glittering throne  
seven times his quickening rays had bravely shown  
Unto the other world, since Walla last  
Had on her Tauy's head the Garland placed;  
And this day (as of right) she wends abroad  
To ease the Meadows of their willing load.  
Flora as if to welcome her those hours  
Had been most lavish of her choicest flowers,  
Spreading more beauties to entice that morn  
Than she had done in many days before.  
Look as a Maiden sitting in the shade  
Of some close Arbour by the Woodbine made,  
Withdrawn alone where descry she may  
By her most curious Needle give assay  
Unto some Purse (if so her fancy move)  
Or other token for her truest Love,  
Variety of silk about her pap,  
●●in a box she takes upon her lap,  
Whose pleasing colours wooing her quick eye,  
Now ●his she thinks the ground would beautify,  
And that, to flourish with, she deemeth best;  
When spying others, she is strait possessed  
Those fittest are; yet from that choice doth fall  
And she resolves at last to use them all:  
So Walla, which to gather long time stood,  
Whether those of the field, or of the wood;  
Or those that 'mong the springs and marish lay;  
But then the blossoms which enriched each spray  
Allured her look; whose many coloured graces  
Did in her Garland challenge no mean places:  
And therefore she (not to be poor in plenty)  
From Meadows, springs, woods, sprays, culls some one dainty,  
Which in a scarf she put, and onwards set  
To find a place to dress her Coronet.  
A little Grove is seated on the marge  
Of Tauy's stream, not over-thicke nor large,  
Where every morn a choir of Silvans sung,  
And leaves to chattering winds served as a tongue,  
By whom the water turns in many a ring,  
As if it fain would stay to hear them sing,  
And on the top a thousand young Birds fly,  
To be instructed in their harmony.  
near to end of this all-ioysome Grove  
A dainty circled plot seemed as it strove  
To keep all Briers and bushes from invading  
Her pleasing compass by their needless shading,  
Since it was not so large, but that the store  
Of trees around could shade her breast and more.  
In midst thereof a little swelling hill,  
Gently disburd'ned of a cry stall rill  
Which from the greenside of the flowery bank  
Eat down a channel; here the Wood-nymps drank,  
And great Diana having slain the Deer,  
Did often use to come and bathe her here.  
Here ●alk'd they of their chase, and where next day  
They meant to hunt; here did the shepherd's play,  
And ●any a gaudy Nymph was often seen  
Embracing shepherds boys upon this green.  
From hence the spring hasts down to Tauy's brim,  
And pays a tribute of his drops to him.  
Here Walla rests the rising mount upon,  
That seemed to swell more since she sat thereon,  
And from her scarf upon the grass shook down  
The smelling flowers that should her River crown.  
The Scarf (in shaking it) she brushed oft,  
Whereon were flowers so fresh and lively wrought,  
That her own cunning was her own deceit,  
Thinking those true which were but counterfeit.  
Under an Aldar on his sandy marge,  
Was Tavy set to view his nimble charge,  
And there his Love he long time had expected:  
While many a rose-cheeked Nymph no wile neglected  
To woo him to embraces▪ which he scorned,  
As valluing more the beauties which adorned  
His fairest Walla, than all Nature's pride  
Spent on the cheeks of all her sex beside.  
Now would they tempt him with their open breasts,  
And swear their lips were Loves assured Tests:  
That Walla sure would give him the denial  
Till she had known him true by such a trial,  
Then comes another, and her hand bereaves  
The soone-slipt Alder of two clammy leaves,  
And clapping them together, bids him see  
And learn of love the hidden mystery.  
Brave Flood (quoth she) that hold'st us in suspense,  
And show'st a Godlike power in abstinence,  
At this thy coldness we do nothing wonder,  
These leaves did so, when once they grew asunder;  
But since the one did taste the others bliss,  
And felt his partner's kind, partake with his,  
Behold how close they join, and had they power  
To speak their now content, as we can our,  
They would on Nature lay a heinous crime  
For keeping close such sweets until this time▪  
Is there to such men ought of merit du●,  
That do abstain from what they never knew?  
No: then as well we may account him wise  
For speaking nought, who wants those faculties▪  
Taste thou our sweets; come here and freely sip  
Divinest Nectar from my melting lip;  
Gaze on mine eyes, whose life infusing beams▪  
Have power to melt the Icy Northern streams,  
And so inf●a●● the God● of those bound Seas  
They should unchaine their virgin passages,  
And teach our Mariners from day to day  
To bring us jewels by a nearer way.  
Twine thy long fingers in my shining hair,  
And think it no disgrace to hide them there;  
For I could tell thee how the Paphian Queen  
Met me one day upon yond pleasant Green●,  
And did entreat a slip (though I was coy.)  
Wherewith to fetter her lascivious Boy.  
Play with my teats that swell to have impression;  
And if thou please from thence to make digression,  
Pass thou that milky way where great Apollo  
And higher powers than he would gladly follow.  
When to the full of these thou shalt attain,  
It were some mastery for thee to refrain;  
But since thou knowst not what such pleasures be  
The world will not commend but laugh at thee.  
But thou wilt say, thy Walla yields such store  
Of joys, that no one Love can raise thee more▪  
Admit it so, as who but thinks it strange?  
Yet shalt thou find a pleasure more, in change▪  
If that thou lik'st not gentle Flood but-heare  
To prove that state the best I never fear.  
Tell me wherein the state and glory is  
Of thee, of avon, or brave Thamesis?  
In your own Springs? or by the flowing head  
Of some such River only seconded?  
Or is it through the multitude that do  
Send down their waters to attend on you?  
Your mixture with less Brooks adds to your fames,  
So long as they in you do lose their names:  
And coming to the Ocean, thou dost see,  
It takes in other Floods as well as thee;  
It were no sport to us that hunting love  
If we were still confined to one large Grove.  
The water which in one Pool hath abiding  
Is not so sweet as Rillets ever gliding,  
Nor would the brackish waves in whom you meet  
Contain that state it doth, but be less sweet,  
And with contagious streams all mortals smother,  
But that it moves from this shore to the other.  
There's no one season such delight can bring,  
As Summer, Autumn, Winter, and the Spring.  
Nor the best Flower that doth on earth appear  
Could by itself content us all the year.  
The Salmon, and some more as well as they,  
Now love the fresher, and then love the Sea.  
The flitting Fowls not in one coast do tarry,  
But with the year their habitation vary.  
What Music is there in a Shepherd's quill  
(Played on by him that hath the greatest skill)  
If but a stop or two thereon we spy?  
Music is best in her variety.  
So is discourse, so joys; and why not then  
As well the lives and loves of Gods as men?  
More she had spoke, but that the gallant Flood  
Replied: ye wanton Rangers of the wood  
Leave your allurements; hie ye to your chase;  
See where Diana with a nimble pace  
Follows a struck Deer: if you longer stay  
Her frown will bend to me another day.  
Hark how she winds her Horn; she some doth call  
Perhaps for you, to make in to the fall.  
With this they left him. Now he wonders much  
Why at this time his Walla's stay was such,  
And could have wished the Nymphs back, but for fear  
His Love might come and chance to find them there.  
To pass the time at last he thus began  
(Unto a Pipe joined by the art of ●an)  
To praise his Love: his hasty waves among  
The frothed Rocks, bearing the Undersong. 

AS careful Merchants do expecting stand  
(After long time and merry gales of wind)  
Upon the place where their brave Ship must land:  
So w●ite I for the vessel of my mind.   

Upon a great adventure is it bound,  
Whose safe return will valued be at more  
Than all the wealthy prizes which have crowned  
The golden wishes of an age before.   

Out of the East jewels of worth she brings,  
Th' unvalued Diamond of her sparkling Eye  
Wants in the Treasures of all Europe's Kings,  
And were it mine they nor their cownes should buy.   

The Saphires ringed on her painting breast,  
Run as rich veins of Ore about the mould,  
And are in sickness with a pale possessed,  
So true; for them I should disualue gold.   

The melting Rubies on her cherry lip  
Are of such power to hold; that as one day  
Cupid flew thirsty by, he stooped to sip  
And fastened there could never get away.   

The sweets of Candie are no sweets to me  
When hers I taste; nor the Perfumes of price  
Robbed from the happy shrubs of Araby,  
As her sweet breath, so powerful to entice.   

O hasten then! and if thou be not gone  
Unto that wished traffic through the Main,  
My powerful sighs shall quickly drive thee on,  
And then begin to draw thee back again.   

If in the mean rude waves have it oppressed,  
It shall suffice I ventured at the best.    
Scarce had he given a period to his Lay  
When from a Wood (wherein the Eye of day  
Had long a stranger been, and Phoebe's light  
Vainly contended with the shades of night.)  
One of those wanton Nymphs that wooed him late  
Came crying towards him; O thou most ingrate  
Respectless Flood! canst thou here idly sit,  
And loose desires to loser numbers fit?  
Teaching the air to court thy careless Brook,  
Whil'ft thy poor Walla's cries the hills have shaken  
With an amazed terror: hear! o hear!  
A hundred Echoes shrieking every where!  
See how the frightful Herds run from the Wood;  
Walla alas, as she to crown her Flood,  
Attended the composure of sweet flowers,  
Was by a lust-fired Satire 'mong our bowers  
Well-near surprised, but that she him descried  
Before his rude embracement could betide.  
Now but her feet no help, unless her cries  
A needful aid draw from the Deities.  
It needless was to bid the Flood pursue,  
Anger gave wings; ways that he never knew  
Till now, he treads; through dels and hidden brakes  
Flies through the Meadows, each where overtakes  
Streams swiftly gliding, and them brings along  
To further just revenge for so great wrong,  
His current till that day was never known,  
But as a Mead in july, which unmowne  
Bears in an equal height each bent and stem,  
Unless some gentle gale do play with them.  
Now runs it with such fury and such rage,  
That mighty Rocks opposing vassalage,  
Are from the firm earth rend and over-borne  
In Fords where pebbles lay secure before.  
Lowed Cataracts, and fearful roar now  
Affright the Passenger; upon his brow  
Continual bubbles like compelled drops,  
And where (as now and then) he makes short stops  
In little pools drowning his voice too high,  
'Tis where hethinkes he hears his Walla cry.  
Yet vain was all his haste, bending a way,  
Too much declining to the Southern Sea,  
Since she had turned thence, and now begun  
To cross the brave path of the glorious Sun.  
There lies a Vale extended to the North  
Of Tauy's stream, which (prodigal) sends forth  
In Autumn more rare fruits than have been spent  
In any greater plot of fruitful Kent.  
Two high browed rocks on either side begin,  
As with an ar●h to close the valley in,  
Upon their rugged fronts short writhe Oaks  
Untouched of any fellers baneful strokes,  
The Iuy twisting round their barks, hath fed  
Past time wild Goats which no man followed.  
Low in the Valley some small Herds of Deer,  
For head and footmanship withouten peer,  
Fed undisturbed. The Swains that thereby thrived  
By the tradition from their Sires derived,  
Called it sweet Ina's Coombe: but whether she  
Were of the earth or greater progeny.  
judge by her deeds; once this is truly known  
She many a time hath on a Bugle blown,  
And through the Dale pursued the jolly Chase,  
As she had bid the winged winds a base.  
Pale and distracted hither Walla runs,  
As closely followed as she hardly shuns;  
Her mantle off, her hair now too unkind  
Almost betrayed her with the wanton wind.  
Breathless and faint she now some drops discloses,  
As in a Limbeck the kind sweat of Roses,  
Such hang upon her breast, and on her cheeks;  
Or like the Pearls which the tanned Aethiop seeks.  
The Satire (spurred with lust) still getteth ground,  
And longs to see his damned intention crowned.  
As when a Greyhound (of the rightest strain)  
Let slip to some poor Hare upon the plain;  
He for his prey strives; th'other for her life,  
And one of these or none must end the strife:  
Now seems the Dog by speed and good at bearing  
To have her sure; the other ever fearing,  
Maketh a sudden turn, and doth defer  
The Hound a while from so near reaching her:  
Yet being fetched again and almost ta'en  
Doubting (since touched of him) she escapes her bane:  
So of these two the minded races were,  
For Hope the one made swift, the other Fear.  
O if there be a power (quoth Walla then  
Keeping her earnest course) o'reswaying men  
And their desires! o let it now be shown  
Upon this Satire halfe-part earthly known.  
What I have hitherto with so much care  
Kept undefiled, spotless, white and fair,  
What in all speech of love I still reserved,  
And from its hazard ever gladly swerved;  
O be it now untouched! and may no force  
That happy jewel from myself divorce!  
I that have ever held all women be  
Void of all worth if wanting chastity;  
And who so any lets that best flower pull,  
She might be fair, but never beautiful:  
O let me not forgo it! strike me dead!  
Let on these Rocks my limbs be scattered!  
Burn me to ashes with some powerful flame,  
And in mine own dust bury mine own name,  
Rather than let me live and be defiled.  
Chastest Diana! in the Deserts wild,  
Have I so long thy truest handmaid been?  
Upon the rough rocke-ground thine arrows keen,  
Have I (to make thee crowns) been gathering still  
Faire-cheekt Etesia's yellow Camomile?  
And sitting by thee on our flowery beds  
Knit thy torn Buck-stals with well twisted threads,  
To be forsaken? O now present be,  
If not to save, yet help to ruin me!  
If pure Virginity have heretofore  
By the Olympic powers been honoured more  
Than other states; and Gods have been disposed  
To make them known to us, and still disclosed  
To the chaste hearing of such Nymphs as we  
Many a secret and deep mystery;  
If none can lead without celestial aid  
Th'immaculate and pure life of a Maid,  
O let not then the Powers all-good divine  
Permit vile lust to soil this breast of mine!  
Thus cried she as she ran: and looking back  
Whether her hot pursuer did ought slack  
His former speed; she spies him not at all,  
And somewhat thereby cheered 'gan to recall  
Her nigh fled hopes: yet fearing he might lie  
Near some cross path to work his villainy,  
And being weary, knowing it was vain  
To hope for safety by her feet again,  
She sought about where she herself might hide.  
A hollow vaulted Rock at last she spied,  
About whose sides so many bushes were,  
She thought securely she might rest her there.  
far under it a Cave, whose entrance straight  
Closed with a stone-wrought door of no mean weight;  
Yet from itself the gemels beaten so  
That little strength could thrust it to and fro.  
Thither she came, and being gotten in  
Barred fast the dark Cave with an iron pin.  
The Satire followed, for his cause of stay,  
Was not a mind to leave her, but the way  
Sharpe stoned and thorny, where he passed of late,  
Had cut his cloven foot, and now his gate  
Was not so speedy, yet by chance he sees  
Through some small glade that ran between the trees  
Where Walla went. And with a slower pace  
Fired with hot blood, at last attained the place.  
When like a fearful Hare within her Form,  
Hearing the Hounds come like a threatening storm,  
In full cry on the walk where last she trod,  
Doubts to stay there, yet dreads to go abroad:  
So Walla fared. But since he was come nigh,  
And by an able strength and industry,  
Sought to break in; with tears anew she fell  
To urge the Powers that on Olympus dwell.  
And then to Ina called: O if the rooms  
The Walks and Arbours in these fruitful coombes  
Have famous been through all the Western Plains  
In being guiltless of the lasting stains  
Poured on by lust and murder: keep them free!  
Turn me to stone, or to a barked tree,  
Unto a Bird, or flower, or aught forlorn;  
So I may die as pure as I was borne.  
" Swift are the prayers and of speedy haste,  
" That take their wing from hearts so pure and chaste.  
" And what we ask of Heaven it still appears  
" More plain to it in mirrors of our tears.  
Approved in Walla. When the Satire rude  
Had broke the door in two, and 'gan intrude  
With steps profane into that sacred Cell,  
Where oft (as I have heard our Shepherds tell)  
Fair Ina used to rest from Phoebus' ray:  
She or some other having heard her pray,  
Into a Fountain turned her; and now rise  
Such streams out of the cave, that they surprise  
The Satire with such force and so great din,  
That quenching his life's flame as well as sin,  
They roul'd him through the Dale with mighty roar  
And made him fly that did pursue before.  
Not far beneath i'the Valley as she trends  
Her silver stream, some Wood-nymphs and her friends  
That followed to her aid, beholding how  
A Brook came gliding, where they saw but now  
Some Herds were feeding, wondering whence it came  
Until a Nymph that did attend the game  
In that sweet Valley, all the process told,  
Which from a thicke-leau'd-tree she did behold:  
See quoth the Nymph where the rude Satire lies  
Cast on the grass; as if she did despise  
To have her pure waves soiled (with such as he)  
Retaining still the love of purity.  
To Tauy's Crystal stream her waters go,  
As if some secret power ordained so,  
And as a Maid she loved him, so a Brook  
To his embracements only her betook.  
Where glowing on with him, attained the stare  
Which none but Hymen's bonds can imitate.  
On Walla's brook her sisters now bewail,  
For whom the Rocks spend tears when others fail,  
And all the Woods ring with their piteous moans:  
Which Tavy hearing as he chid the stones,  
That stopped his speedy course, raising his head  
Enquired the cause, and thus was answered:  
Walla is now no more. Nor from the hill  
Will she more pluck for thee the Daffodil,  
No● make sweet Anadems to gird thy brow,  
Yet in the Groves she runs; a River now.  
Look as the feeling 
* Sentid●.  Plant which (learned Swains  
Relate to grow on the East Indian Plains)  
Shrinks up his dainty leaves, if any sand  
You throw thereon, or touch it with your hand:  
So with the chance the heavy Wood-nymphs told,  
The River (inly touched) began to fold  
His arms across, and while the torrent raves)  
Shrunk his grave head, beneath his silver waves.  
Since when he never on his banks appears  
But as one frantic: when the clouds spend tears  
He thinks they of his woes compassion take,  
(And not a Spring but weeps for Walla's sake)  
And then he often (to bemoan her lack)  
Like to a mourner goes, his waters black,  
And enery Brook attending in his way,  
For that time meets him in the like array.  
Here WILLY that time ceased; and I a while:  
For yonder's Roget coming o'er the style,  
'Tis two days since I saw him (and you wonder  
You'll say that we have been so long asunder)  
I think the lovely Heardesse of the Dell  
That to an Oaten Quill can sing so well,  
Is she that's with him: I must needs go meet them,  
And if some other of you rise to greet them  
'Twere not amiss, the day is now so long  
That I ere night may end another Song.    

THE FOURTH SONG.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
The Cornish Swains and British Bard  
Thetis hath with attention heard.  
And after meets an aged man  
That tells the hapless love of Pan:  
And why the flocks do live so free  
From Wolves within rich Britanny.  
LOOK as a Lover with a lingering kiss  
About to part with the best half that's his,  
Feign would he stay but that he fears to do it,  
And curseth time for so fast hastening to it;  
Now takes his leave, and yet begins anew  
To make less vows than are esteemed true,  
Then says he must be gone, and then doth find  
Something he should have spoke that's out of mind,  
And whilst he stands to look for't in her eyes,  
Their sad-sweet glance so tie his faculties,  
To think from what he parts, that he is now  
As far from leaving her, or knowing how,  
As when he came; begins his former strain,  
To kiss, to vow, and take his leave again,  
Then turns, comes back, sighs, parts, & yet doth go,  
Apt to retire, and loath to leave her so:  
Brave Stream, so part I from thy flowery bank,  
Where first I breathed, and (though unworty) drank  
Those sacred waters which the Muses bring  
To woo Britannia to their ceaseless spring.  
Now would I on, 
Vide de am●mitate loci. Malmesb. 2. lib. de gest. Pontif. s●. 146  but that the crystal Wells,  
The fertile Meadows, and their pleasing smells,  
The Woods delightful, and the scattered Groves,  
(Where many Nymphs walk with their chaster Loves)  
Soon make me stay: And think that Ordgar's 
* Ordulphus.  son  
(Admonished by a heavenly vision)  
Not without cause did that apt fabric rear,  
(Wherein we nothing now but Echoes hear  
That wont with heavenly Anthems daily ring  
And duest praises to the greatest King)  
In this choice plot. Since he could light upon  
No place so fit for contemplation.  
Though I a while must leave this happy foil,  
And follow Thetis in a pleasing toil,  
Yet when I shall return, I'll strive to draw  
The Nymphs by Thamar, Tavy, Ex and Tau,  
By Turridge, Otter, Ock▪ by Dert and Plym,  
With all the Naiads that fish and swim  
In their clear streams, to these our rising Downs,  
Where while they make us chaplets, wreaths and crowns▪  
I'll tune my Reed unto a higher key,  
(And have already cond some of the La●.)  
Wherein (as Mantua by her Virgil's birth  
And Thame●s by him that sung her Nuptial mirth)  
You may be known (though not in equal pride)  
As far as Tiber throws his swelling Tide.  
And by a Shepherd (feeding on your plains)  
In humble, lowly, plain, and ruder strains,  
Hear your worths challenge other floods among,  
To have a period equal with their song.  
Where Plym and Thamar with embraces meet,  
Thetis weighs anchor now, and all her Fleet:  
Leaving that spacious 
* 〈◊〉  Sound, within whose arms  
I have those Vessels seen, whose hot alarms  
Have made Iberia tremble, and her towers  
Prostrate themselves before our iron showers  
While their proud bvilder's hearts have been inclined  
To shake (as our brave Ensigns) with the wind.  
For as an Eyerie from their Seeges wood  
Led o'er the Plains and taught to get their food:  
By seeing how their Breeder takes his prey  
Now from an Orchard do they scare the jey,  
Then o'er the Corne-fields as they swiftly fly,  
Where many thousand hurtful Sparrows lie  
Beating the ripe grain from the bearded ●are,  
At their reproach, all (over-gone with fear)  
Seek for their safety; some into the dike;  
Some in the hedges drop, and others like  
The thick-grown corn, as for their hiding best,  
And under turfs or grass most of the rest▪  
That of a flight which covered all the grain,  
Not one appears, but all or hid, or slain▪  
So by Heröes were we led of yore,  
And by our drums that thundered on each shore,  
Struck with amazement Countries far and near;  
Whilst their Inhabitants like Herds of Deer,  
By kingly Lions chased, fled from our Arms.  
If any did oppose, instructed swarms  
Of men immailed; Fate drew them on to be  
A greater Fame to our got Victory.  
But now our Leaders want, those Vessels lie  
Rotting, like houses through ill husbandry,  
And on their Masts, where oft the Ship-boy stood,  
Or silver Trumpets charmed the brackish Flood,  
Some wearied Crow it set; and daily seen  
Their sides in stead of pitch calked over with green:  
Ill hap (alas) have you that once were known  
By reaping what was by Iberina sown.  
By bringing yellow sheaves from out their plain,  
Making our Barns the store-house for their grain:  
When now as if we wanted land to till,  
Wherewith we might our useless Soldiers fill:  
Upon their Hatches where halfe-pikes were borne,  
In every chink rise stems of bearded corn:  
Mocking out idle times that so have wrought us,  
Or putting us in mind what once they brought us.  
Bear with me Shepherds if I do digress,  
And speak of what ourselves do not profess:  
Can I behold a man that in the field,  
Or at a breach hath taken on his Shield  
More Darts than ever 
* M. Scena.  Roman; that hath spent  
Many a cold December, in no Tent  
But such a● Earth and Heaven make; that hath been  
Except in Iron Plates not long time s●ene;  
Upon whose body may be plainly told  
More wounds than his lank purse doth almsdeed haul:  
O● can I see this man (adventring all)  
Be only graced with some poor Hospital,  
Or may be worse, entreating at his door  
For some relief whom he secured before,  
And yet not show my grief? First may I learn  
To see, and yet forget how to discern;  
My hands neglectful be at any need,  
Or to defend my body, or to feed,  
Ere I respect those times that rather give him  
Hundreds to punish, than one to relieve him.  
As in an Evening when the gentle air  
Breathes to the sullen night a soft repair;  
I oft have set on Thames sweet bank to hear  
My Friend with his sweet touch to charm mine ear,  
When he hath played (as well he can) some strain  
Tha● likes me, straight I ask the same again,  
And he as gladly granting, strikes it o'er  
With some sweet relish was forgot before:  
I would have been content if he would play,  
In that one strain to pass the night away;  
But fearing much to do his patience wrong,  
Unwillingly have asked some other song:  
So in this differing Key▪ though I could well  
A many hours but as few minutes tell,  
Yet lest mine own delight might injure you  
(Though loath so soon) I take my Song anew.  
Yet as when I with other Swains have been  
Invited by the Maidens of our green  
To wend to yonder Wood, in time of year  
When Cherry-trees enticing burdens bear,  
He that with wreathed legs doth upwards go,  
Plucks not alone for those which stand below▪  
But now and then is seen to pick a few  
To please himself as well as all his crew:  
Or if from where he is he do espy  
Some Apricocke upon a bough thereby,  
Which overhangs the tree on which he stands,  
Climbs up and strives to take it with his hands:  
So if to please myself I somewhat sing,  
Let it not be to you less pleasuring;  
No thirst of glory tempts me: for my strains  
Be fit poor Shepherds on the lowly Plains;  
The hope of riches cannot draw from me  
One line that tends to servile flattery,  
Nor shall the most in titles on the earth  
Blemish my Muse with an adulterate birth,  
Nor make me lay pure colours on a ground  
Where nought substantial can be ever found.  
No▪ such as soothe a base and dunghill spirit,  
With attributes fit for the most of merit,  
Cloud their free Muse; as when the Sun doth shine  
On straw and dirt mixed by the sweeting Hyne,  
It nothing gets from heaps so much impure  
But noisome steames that do his light obscure.  
My freeborn Muse will not like Danae be,  
Won with base dross to clip with slavery;  
Nor end her choicer Balm to worthless men,  
Whose names would dye but for some hired pen▪  
No: ●f I praise, Virtue shall draw me to it,  
And not a base procurement make me do it.  
What now I sing is but to pass away  
A tedious hour, as some Musician's play;  
Or make another my own griefs bemoan▪  
Or to be least alone when most alone.  
In this can I as oft as I will choose,  
Hug sweet content by my retired Muse,  
And in a study find as much to please  
As others in the greatest Palaces.  
Each man that lives (according to his power)  
On what he loves bestows an idle hour;  
In stead of Hounds that make the woodded hills  
Talk in a hundred voices to the Rils,  
I like the pleasing cadence of aline  
Struck by the consort of the sacred Nine.  
In lieu of Hawks, the raptures of my soul  
Transcend their pitch and base earth's control.  
For running Horses, Contemplation flies  
With quickest speed to win the greatest prize.  
For courtly dancing I can take more pleasure  
To hear a Verse keep time and equal measure.  
For winning Riches, seek the best directions  
How I may well subdue mine own affections.  
For raising stately piles for heirs to come,  
Here in this Poem I erect my tomb.  
And time may be so kind in these weak lines  
To keep my Name enroled, past his, that shines  
In guilded Marble, or in brazen leaves:  
Since Verse preserves, when Stone & Brass deceives.  
Or if (as worthless) Time not lets it live  
To those full days which others Muses give,  
Yet I am sure I shall be heard and sung  
Of most severest eld, and kinder young  
beyond my days, and maugre Envy's strife,  
Add to my name some hours beyond my life.  
Such of the Muses are the able powers,  
And since with them I spent my vacant hours,  
I find nor Hawk, nor Hound, nor other thing,  
Turnies nor Revels, pleasures for a King,  
Yield more delight, for I have of● possessed  
As much in this as all in all the rest,  
And that without expense, when others oft  
With their undo have their pleasures bought.  
On now my loved Muse, and let us bring  
Thetis to hear the C●r●ist Michael sing;  
And after him to see a 〈◊〉 unfold  
The Tragedy of DR 〈◊〉 leaves of gold.  
Then hear another GREENVILS name relate,  
Which ●imes succeeding shall perpetuate.  
And make those two the Pillars great of Fame,  
Beyond whose worths shall never sound a Name.  
Nor Honour in her everlasting story  
More deeper grave for all ensuing glory.  
New Thetis stays to hear the Shepherds tell  
Where Arthur met his death, and Mordred fell.  
Of holy Ursula (that famed her age)  
With other Virgins in her pilgrimage.  
And as she forwards steers is shown the Rock  
Mai●e-Amber, to be shaken with weakest shock,  
So equal is it poised; but to remove  
All strength would fail, and but an infants prove.  
Thus while to please her some new Songs devose,  
And others Diamonds (shaped angle-wise,  
And smoothed by Nature, as she did impart  
Some willing time to trim herself by Art)  
Sought to present her and her happy crew:  
She of the Gulf and Syllieses took a view.  
And doubling then the point, made on away  
Towards goodly Se●erne and the Irish Sea,  
There meets a Shepherd that began sing o'er  
The Lay which aged 
* Robert of Gloucester.  Robert sung of yore,  
In praise of England and the deeds of Swains  
That whilom fed and ruled upon our plames.  
The British Bards than were not long time mu●e,  
But to their sweet Harps sung their famous Brute:  
Stri●ing in spite of all the mists of eld,  
To have his Story more authentic held.  
Why should we envy them those wreaths of Fame?  
Being as proper to the Trojan name,  
As are the dainty flowers which Flora spreads  
Unto the Spring in the discoloured Meads.  
Rather afford them all the worth we may,  
For what we give to them adds to our Ray.  
And Britons: think not that your glories fall,  
Derived from a mean original;  
Since lights that may have power to check the dark,  
Can have their lustre from the smallest spark.  
" Not from Nobility doth Virtue spring,  
" But Virtue makes fit Nobles for a King.  
" From highest nests are croaking Ravens borne,  
" When sweetest Nightingales sit in the Thorn.  
From what low Fount soe'er your beings are  
(In softer peace and mighty brunts of war)  
Your own worths challenge as triumphant Bays  
As ever Trojan hand had power to raise.  
And when I leave my Musics plainer ground,  
The world shall know it from Bellona's sound.  
Nor shall I err from Truth; for what I write  
She doth peruse, and helps me to indite.  
The small converse which I have had with some,  
Branches, which from those gallant trees have come,  
Doth, what I sing, in all their acts approve,  
And with more days increase a further love.  
As I have seen the Lady of the May  
Set in an Arbour (on a Holiday)  
Built by the Maypole, where the jocund Swains  
Dance with the Maidens to the Bagpipes strains,  
When envious Night commands them to be gone,  
Call for the merry youngsters one by one,  
And for their well performance soon disposes,  
To this, a Garland interwove with Roses.  
To that, a carved Hook, or well-wrought Scrip,  
Gracing another with her cherry lip:  
To ●ne her Garter, to another then  
A Handkerchief cast o'er and o'er again:  
And none returneth empty that hath spent  
His pains to fill their rural merriment:  
So Hereus Daughter when the Swains had done  
With an unsparing, liberal hand, begun  
To give to every one that sung before,  
Rich orient Pearls brought from her hidden store,  
Red branching Coral, and as precious gems  
As ever beautified the Diadems:  
That they might live what chance their sheep betide,  
On her reward, yet leave their heirs beside.  
Since when I think the world doth nothing give them  
As weening Thetis ever should relieve them.  
And Poets freely spend a golden shower,  
As they expected Her again each hour.  
Then with her thanks and praises for their skill  
In tuning numbers of the sacred Hill.  
She them dismissed to their contented Coats:  
And every Swain a several passage floats  
Upon his Dolphin. Since whose safe repair,  
Those Fishes, like, a well composed air.  
And (as in love to men) are ever seen  
Before a tempests rough regardless teen,  
To swim high on the waves: as none should dare  
Excepting fishes to adventure there.  
When these had left her, she drove on in pride  
He● prouder Coursers through the swelling tide,  
To view the Cambrian Cliffs, and had not gone  
An hours full speed, but near a Rock (whereon  
Congealed frost and snow in Summer lay,  
Seldom dissolved by Hyperious ray)  
She saw a troop of people take their seat,  
Whereof some wrung their hands, and some did beat  
Their troubled breasts, in sign of much woe,  
For those are actions grief enforceth to.  
Willing to know the cause, somewhat near hand  
She spies an aged man sit by the strand,  
Upon a green hill side (not meanly crowned  
With golden flowers; as chief of all the ground)  
By him a little Lad, his cunning heir,  
Tracing green Rushes for a Winter Chair.  
The old man while his son full neatly knits them  
Unto his work begun, as trimly fits them.  
Both so intending what they first propounded,  
As all their thoughts by what they wrought were bounded.  
To them She came, and kindly thus bespoke:  
Ye happy creatures, that your pleasures take  
In what your needs enforce, and never aim  
A limitless desire to what may maim  
The settled quiet of a peaceful state,  
Patience attend your labours! And when Fate  
Brings on the restful night to your long days,  
Wend to the fields of bliss! Thus Thetis prays.  
Fair Queen, to whom all duteous praise we owe,  
Since from thy spacious Cestorne daily flow  
(Replied the Swain) refreshing streams that fill  
Earth's dugs (the hillocks) so preserving still  
The infant grass, when else our Lambs might bleat  
In vain for suke, whose Dams have nought to eat.  
For these thy prayers we are doubly bound,  
And that these Cleeves should know; but (o) to sound  
My often mended Pipe presumption were,  
Since Pan would play if thou wouldst please to hear.  
The louder blasts which I was wont to blow  
Are now but faint, nor do my fingers know  
To touch half part those merry tunes I had.  
Yet if thou please to grace my little Lad  
With thy attention, he may somewhat strike  
Which thou from one so young mayst chance to like.  
With that the little Shepherd left his task,  
And with a blush (the Roses only mask)  
Denied to sing. Ah father (quoth the Boy)  
How can I tune a seeming note of joy?  
The work which you command me, I intent  
Scarce with a half ben● mind, and therefore spend  
In doing little, now, an hour or two,  
Which I in lesser time could neater do.  
As oft as I with my more ●umble joints  
Trace the sharp Rushes ends, I mind the points  
Which Philocel did give; and when I brush  
The pretty tuft that grows beside the rush,  
I never can forget (in yonder layre)  
How Philocel was wont to stroke my hair.  
No more shall I be ta'en unto the Wake,  
Nor wend a fishing to the winding Lake,  
No more shall I be taught on silver strings  
To learn the measures of our banquet.  
The twisted Collars, and the ringing Bells,  
The Morris Scarves, and cleanest drinking shells  
Will never be renewed by any one;  
Nor shall I care for more when he is gone.  
See; yonder hill where he was wont to sit,  
A cloud doth keep the golden Sun from it,  
And for his seat (as teaching us) hath made  
A mourning covering with a scowling shade.  
The dew on every flower, this morn, hath lain  
Longer than it was wont, this side the plain,  
Belike they mean since my best friend must die,  
To shed their silver drops as he goes by.  
Not all this day here, nor in coming hither,  
Herd I the sweet Birds tune their Songs together,  
Except one Nightingale in yonder Dell  
Sighed a sad Elegy for Philocel.  
Near whom a Wood-dove kept no small ado,  
To bid me in her language Do so too,  
The Wether's bell that leads our flock around  
Yields as me thinks this day a deader sound.  
The little Sparrows which in hedges creep,  
Ere I was up did seem to bid me weep.  
If these do so, can I have feeling less,  
That am more apt to take and to express?  
No: let my own tunes be the Mandrake's groan  
If now they tend to mirth when all have none.  
My pretty Lad (quoth Thetis) thou dost well  
To fear the loss of thy dear Philocel.  
But tell me Si●e, what may that Shepherd be?  
Or if it lie in us to set him free,  
Or if with you yond people touched with woe,  
Under the self same load of sorrow go.  
Fair Queen (replied the Swain) one is the cause  
That moves our grief, & those kind shepherds draws  
To yonder rock. Thy more than mortal spirit  
May give a good beyond our power to merit.  
And therefore please to hear while I shall tell  
The hapless Fate of hopeless Philocel.  
Whilom great Pan, the Father of our flocks  
Loved a fair lass so famous for her locks,  
That in her time all women first begun  
To lay their loser tresses to the Sun.  
And theirs whose hue to hers was not agreeing,  
Were still rolled up as hardly worth the seeing.  
Fond have some been led to think, that Man  
Musics invention first of all began  
From the dull Hammers stroke; since well we know,  
From sure tradition that hath taught us so,  
Pan sitting once to sport him with his Fair,  
Marked the intention of the gentle air,  
In the sweet sound her chaste words brought along;  
Framed by the repercussion of her tongue:  
And from that harmony begun the Art  
Which others (though unjustly) do impart  
To bright Apollo, from a meaner ground,  
A sledge or parched nerves; mean things to found  
So rare an Art on; when there might be given  
All earth for matter with the gyre of heaven.  
To keep her slender fingers from the Sun,  
Pan through the pastures oftentimes hath run  
To pluck the speckled Fox-gloves from their stem,  
And on those fingers neatly placed them.  
The Honeysuckles would he often strip  
And lay their sweetness on her sweeter lip:  
And then as in reward of such his pain,  
Sip from those cherries some of it again.  
Some say, that Nature, while this lovely Maid  
Lived on our plains, the teeming earth arrayed  
With Damask Roses in each pleasant place,  
That men might liken somewhat to her face.  
Others report: Venus, afraid her son  
Might love a mortal as he once had done,  
Preferred an earnest suit to highest jove,  
That he which bore the winged shafts of love,  
Might be debarred his sight, which suit was signed,  
And ever since the God of Love is blind.  
Hence is't he shoots his shafts so clean awry,  
Men learn to love when they should learn to dye.  
And women, which before, to love began  
Man without wealth, love wealth without a man.  
Great Pan of his kind Nymph had the embracing  
Long, yet too short a time. For as in tracing  
These pithfull Rushes, such as are aloft,  
By those that raised them presently are brought  
Beneath unseen: So in the love of Pan  
(For Gods in love do undergo as man)  
She, whose affection made him raise his song,  
And (for her sport) the Satyrs rude among  
Tread wilder measures, than the frolic guests,  
That lift their light heels at Lyeus' feasts;  
She, by the light of whose quick-turning eye  
He never read but of felicity.  
She whose assurance made him more than Pan,  
Now makes him far more wretched than a man.  
For mortals in their loss have death a friend,  
When gods have losses, but their loss no end.  
It chanced one morn (clad in a robe of grey,  
And blushing oft as rising to betray)  
Enticed this lovely Maiden from her bed  
(So when the Roses have discovered  
Their taintless beauties, flies the early Bee  
About the winding Allies merrily.)  
Into the Wood, and 'twas her usual sport,  
Sitting where most harmonious Birds resort,  
To imitate their warbling in a quill  
Wrought by the hand of ●an, which she did fill  
Half full with water: and with it hath made  
Th● Nightingale (beneath a sullen shade)  
To chant her utmost Lay, nay, to invent  
New notes to pass the others instrument,  
And (harmless soul) ere she would leave that strife.  
Sung he blast song, and ended with her life.  
So gladly choosing (as do other some)  
Rather to dye then live and be o'er come.  
But as in Autumn (when birds cease their notes,  
And stately Forests don their yellow coats,  
When Ceres golden locks are nearly shorn  
And mellow fruit from trees are roughly torn)  
A little Lad set on a bank to shalt  
The ripened Nuts plucked in a woody Vale,  
Is ●rigl●ed thence (of his dear life 〈◊〉)  
By some wild Bull loud bellowing for the heard:  
So while the Nymph did earnestly contest  
Whether the Birds or she recorded best,  
A Ravenous Wolf, bend eager to his prey  
Rushed from a thievish brake, and making way,  
The twined Thorns did crackle one by one,  
As if they gave her warning to be gone.  
A rougher gale bend down the lashing boughs,  
To beat the beast from what his hunger vows.  
When she (amazed) rose from her hapless seat  
(Small is resistance where the fear is great)  
And striving to be gone, with gaping ●awes  
The Wolf pursue●, and as his rending paws  
Were like to seize, a Holly bend between,  
For which good deed his leaves are ever green.  
Saw you a lusty Mastiff at the stake  
Thrown from a cunning Bull, more fiercely make  
A quick return; yet to prevent the gore  
Or deadly bruise which he escaped before,  
Wind here and there, nay creep if rightly bred,  
And proffering otherwhere, fight still at head:  
So though the stubborn boughs did thrust him back,  
(For Nature, loath, so rate a jewels wrack,  
Seemed as she here and there had plashed a tre●,  
If possible to hinder Destiny.)  
The savage Beast foaming with anger flies  
More fiercely than before, and now he tries  
By sleights to take the Maid; as I have seen  
A nimble Tumbler on a burrowed green,  
Bend clean awry his course, ve● give a check  
And throw himself upon a Rabbits neck.  
For as he ho●ly chased the Love of Pan,  
A heard of Dear out of a thicket ran,  
To whom he quickly turned, as if he meant  
To leave the Maid, but when she swiftly bend  
Her race down to the Plain, the swifter Deer  
He so one forsook. And now was got so near  
That (all in vain) she turned to and fro  
(As well she could) but not prevailing so,  
Breathless and weary calling on her Love  
With fearful shrieks that all the Echoes move  
(To call him to) she fell down deadly wan,  
And ends her sweet life with the name of Pan.  
A youthful Shepherd of the neighbour W●ld  
Missing that morn a sheep out of his Fold,  
Carefully seeking round to find his stray,  
Came on the instant where this Damsel lay.  
Anger and pity in his manly breast  
Urge yet restrain his tears. Sweet Maid possessed  
(Quoth he) with lasting sleep, accept from me  
His end, who ended thy hard destiny!  
With that his strong Dog of no dastard kind  
(Swift as the Foales conceived by the wind)  
He sets upon the Wolf, that now with speed  
Flies to the neighbour-wood, and lest a deed  
So full of ruth should unrevenged be,  
The Shepherd follows too, so earnestly  
Cheering his Dog, that he ne'er turned again  
Till the cursed Wolf lay strangled on the plain.  
The ruin'd temple of her purer soul  
The Shepherd buries. All the Nymphs condole  
So great a loss while on a Cypress graft  
near to her grave they hung this Epitaph: 
Lest loathed age might spoil the work in whom  
All earth delighted, Nature took it home.  
Or angry all hers else were careless deemed,  
Here did her best to have the rest esteemed.  
For ●eare men might not think the Fates so cross,  
But by their rigour in as great a loss;  
If to the grave there ever was assigned  
One like this Nymph in body and in mind.  
We wish her here in balm not vainly spent,  
To fit this Maiden with a Monument.  
For Brass and Marble were they seated here,  
Would fret or melt in tears to lie so near.   
Now Pan may sit and tune his Pipe alone  
Among the wished shades, since she is gone,  
Whose willing care allured him more to play,  
Then if to hear him should Apollo stay.  
Yet happy Pan! and in thy Love more blest,  
Whom none but only death hath dispossessed;  
While others love as well, yet live to be  
Less wronged by Fate then by inconstancy.  
The sable mantle of the silent night,  
Shut from the world the ever-ioy some light▪  
Care fled away, and so fresh slumbers please  
To leave the Court for lowly Cottages.  
Wild beasts forsook their dens on woody hills,  
And sleightfull Otters left the purling Rils;  
Rooks to their Nests in high woods now were flung  
And with their spread wings shield their naked young.  
When thieves from thickets to the cross-ways stir,  
And terror frights the loanely passenger.  
When nought was heard but now & then the howl  
Of some vild Cur, or whooping of the Owl;  
Pan that the day before was far away  
At shepherd's sports, returned, and as he lay  
Within the bower wherein he most delighted,  
Was by a ghastly vision thus affrighted▪  
Heart-thrilling groans first heard he round his bower,  
And then the Schrich-owle with her utmost power  
Laboured her loathed note, the forests bending  
With winds, as Hecate had been ascending.  
Her ●at his curled hairs on end do rise,  
And chilly drops trill o'er his staring eyes;  
Fai●e would he call, but knew not who, nor why,  
Yet getting heart at last would up and ●ry  
If any devilish Hag were come abroad  
With some kind Mothers late delivered load,  
A ruthless bloody sacrifice to make  
To those infernal Powers, that by the Lake  
Of mighty S●●x and black Cocytus dwell,  
Aiding each Witch's Charm and mystic Spell:  
But as he raised himself within his best  
A sudden light about his lodging spread,  
And there withal his Love all ashy pale  
As ●ue●ing missed from up a watery Vale,  
Appeared, and weakly near his bed she pressed,  
A rauelled wound distained her purer breast.  
(Breasts softer far than tufts of unwrought silk)  
Whence had she lived to give an infant milk,  
The virtue of that liquor (without odds)  
Had made her babe immoral as the Gods.  
Pan would have spoke, but him she thus prevents:  
Wonder not that the troubled Elements  
Speak my approach; I draw no longer breath,  
But am enforced to the shades of death.  
My exequys are done, and yet before  
I take my turn to be transported o'er  
The neither floods among the shades of This  
To end my journey in the fields of bliss:  
I come to tell thee that no humane hand  
Made me to seek wastage on the Stygian strand;  
It was an hungry Wol●e that did imbrue  
Himself in my last blood▪ And now I sue  
In hate to all that kinds, and shepherds good  
To be revenged on that cursed brood.  
Pan vowed, and would have ●lip● her, but she fled,  
And as she came so quickly vanished.  
Look as a well-grown stately headed B●ck●  
But lately by the Woodmans' arrow struck,  
Runs gadding o'er the Lawns, or nimbly strays  
Among the cumbrous Brakes a thousand ways▪  
Now through the high-wood s●●wres, then by the brooks,  
On every hill side, and each vale he looks,  
If'mongst their store of simple● may be found  
An hear be to draw and heal his smarring wound,  
But when he long hath sought, and all in vain,  
Steals to the Covert closely back again,  
Where round engird with Ferne more highly sprung,  
Strives to appease the raging with his tongue,  
And from the speckled Herd absents him till  
He be recovered somewhat of his ill  
So wounded Pan turns in his restless bed,  
But finding thence all ease abandoned,  
He rose, and through the wood distracted runs  
Yet carries with him what in vain he shunt▪  
Now he exclaimed on 〈◊〉 and wished he ne'er  
Had mortal loved, or that he mortal were.  
And sitting lastly on an Oake● bare trunk  
(Where ●●●ne in Winter stood long time unsunke)  
His plaints he g●n renew▪ but than the light  
That through the boughs flew from the Queen of night,  
(As giving him occasion to repine)  
Be●●raid an Elm embraced by a Vine▪  
Clipping so strictly that they seemed to be  
One in their growth, one shade, one fruit, one tree.  
Her boughs his arms, his leaves so mixed with hers,  
That with no wind he moved but straight she sti●s.  
As showing all should be, whom love combined,  
In notion one and only two in kind▪  
This more afflicts him while he thinketh most▪  
Not on his loss, but on the substance lost.  
O hapless Pan, had there but been one by,  
To tell thee (though as poor a Swain as I)  
Though (whether casual means or death do move)  
" We part not without grief things held with love:  
" Yet in their loss some comfort may be got  
" If we do mind the time we had them not.  
This might have lessened somewhat of thy pain,  
O● made thee love as thou mightst lose again.  
If thou the best of women didst forgo,  
Weigh if thou foundst her, or didst make her so;  
If she were found so, know there's more than one;  
If made, the Workman lives, though she be gone.  
Should from mine eyes the light be 〈◊〉 away.  
Yet night her pleasures hath as well as day.  
And my desires to heaven, yield less offence,  
Since blindness is a part of Innocence.  
So though thy Love sleep in eternal night,  
Yet there's in lo●nnesse somewhat may delight.  
Instead of dalliance, partnership in woes,  
It wants, the care to keep, and fear to los●.  
For jealousies and fortunes base pelf,  
He rest enjoys that well enjoys himself.  
Had some one told thee thus, or thou bethought thee  
Of inward help, thy sorrow had not brought thee  
To weigh misfortune by another's good:  
Nor leave thy seat to range about the wood.  
Stay where thou art, turn where thou wert before,  
Light yields small comfort, no● hath darkness more.  
A woody hill there stood, at whose low fee●  
Two goodly streams in one broad channel meet,  
Whose fretful waves bea●ing against the hill,  
Did all the bottom with soft muttring fill.  
Here in a nook made by another mount,  
(Whose stately Oaks are in no less account  
For height or spreading, than the proudest be  
That from Oëta look on Thessaly)  
Rudely o'er hung there is a vaulted Cave,  
That in the day as sullen shadows gave,  
As Evening to the woods. An uncouth place,  
(Where Hags and Goblins might retire a space)  
And hated now of Shepherd●, since there lie●  
The corpse of one (less loving Deities  
Than we affected him) that never lent  
Hi● hand to aught but to our detriment.  
A man that only lived to live no more,  
And died still to be dying. Whose chief store  
Of virtue, was, his hate did not pursue her,  
Because he only heard of her, not knew her.  
That knew no good, but only that his sight  
Saw every thing had still his opposite▪  
And ever this his apprehension caught,  
That what he did was best, the other naught.  
That always loved the man that never loved,  
And hated him whose hate no death had moved.  
That (politic) at fitting time and season  
Could hate the Traitor, and yet love the Treason.  
That many a woeful heart (ere his decease)  
In pieces tore to purchase his own peace.  
Who never gave his alms but in this fashion,  
To salve his credit, more than for salvation.  
Who on the names of goodmen ever fed,  
And (most accursed) sold the poor for bread.  
Right like the Pitch-tree, from whose any limb  
Comes never twig, shall be the seed of him.  
The Muses scorned by him, laugh at his fame,  
And never will vouchsafe to speak his Name.  
Let no man for his loss one tear let fall,  
But perish with him his memorial▪  
Into this 〈◊〉 the God of Shepherd● went,  
The Trees in groans, the Books in t●are●●ament  
His fatal chance, the Brooks that whilom leapt  
To hear him play while his fair● Mistress slept,  
Now left their 〈◊〉 and such wanton moods,  
And with loud clamours 〈◊〉 the neighbouring woods.  
There spent h● most of might▪ but when the day  
Drew from the earth her pitchy veil away,  
When all the ●●owry plains with Carols ●●ng  
That by the mounting Lark were shrilly sung,  
When dusky mists ro●e from the crystal floods,  
And darkness no where reigned but in the woods;  
Pan left the Cave, and now intends to find  
The sacred place where lay his love 〈◊〉.  
A plot of earth, in whose i'll arms was laid  
As much perfection as had ever Maid  
If curious Nature had but taken care  
To make more lasting, what she made so fair.  
Now wanders Pan the arched Groves, and hills  
Where Fa●er●es often da●●'d, and Shepherds quills  
In sweet contentions passed the tedious day▪  
Yet (being early) in his unknown way  
Met not a Shepherd, nor on all the Plain  
A Flock then feeding saw, nor of his train  
One jolly Satire stirring yet abroad,  
Of whom he might inquire, this to the load  
Of his affliction adds; Now he invokes  
Those. 
* Hamadryads.  Nymphs in mighty For rests, that with Oaks  
Have equal Pates, each with her several Tree  
Receiving birth, and ending, Destiny.  
Calls on all Powers, entreats that he might have  
But for his Love, the knowledge of her grave;  
That since the Fates had ta'en the gem away,  
He might but see the Carcanet where it lay;  
To do fit right to such a part of mould,  
Covering so rare a piece, that all the Gold  
Or Diamond Earth can yield, for value, ne'er  
Shall match the treasure which was hidden there!  
A hunting Nymph awakened with his moan,  
(That in a bower near-hand lay all alone,  
Twining her small arms round her slender waste,  
That by no others used to be embraced)  
Got up, and knowing what the day before  
Was guilty of; she adds not to his store  
As many simply do, whose friends so crossed  
They more afflict by showing what is lost:  
But bade him follow her. He as she leads,  
Urgeth her haste. So a kind mother treads  
Earnest, distracted, where, with blood defiled  
She hears lies dead her dear and only child.  
Mistrust now winged his fear, than raging ire,  
" For Speed comes ever lamely to Desire.  
Delays, the stones that waiting Suitors grind.  
By whom at Court the poor man's cause is signed.  
Who to dispatch a suit, will not defer  
To take death for a joint Commissioner.  
Delay, the Wooer's bane, Revenges hate,  
The plague to Creditors decayed estate,  
The Test of Patience, of our Hopes the Rack,  
That draws them forth so long until they crack,  
Virtue's best benefactor in our times,  
One that is set to punish great men's crimes,  
She that had hindered mighty Pan a while,  
Now steps aside: and as o'erflowing Nile  
Hid from Clymene's son his recking head  
So from his rage all opposition fled;  
Giving him way, to reach the timeless Tomb  
Of Nature's glory, for whose ruthless doom  
(When all the Graces did for mercy plead,  
And Youth and Goodness both did intercede)  
The Sons of Earth (if living) had been driven  
To heap on hills, and war anew with heaven.  
The Shepherds which he missed upon the Downs  
Here meets he with: for from the neighbouring Towns  
Maidens and Men resorted to the grave  
To see a wonder more than time e'er gave.  
The holy Priests had told them long agone  
Amongst the learned Shepherds there was one  
So given to piety, and did adore  
So much the name of Pan, that when no more  
He breadthed, those that to open his heart began,  
Found written there with gold the name of Pan.  
Which, unbelieving man, that is not moved  
To credit aught, if not by reason proved,  
And ties the over-working power to do  
Nought otherwise then Nature ceacheth to,  
Held as most fabulous: Not inly seeing,  
The hand by whom we live, and All have being  
No work for admirable doth intend,  
Which Reason hath the power to comprehend,  
And Faith no merit hath from heaven lent  
Where humane reason yields experiment.  
Till now they durst not trust the Legend old,  
Esteeming all not true their Elders told,  
And had not this last accident made good  
The former, most, in unbelief had stood,  
But Fame that spread the bruit of such a wonder,  
Bringing the Swain of places far a sunder  
To this selected plot (now famous more  
Than any Grove, Mount, Plaine, had been before  
By relic, vision, burial or birth  
O● Anchoress, or Hermit yet on earth)  
Out of the Maiden's bed of endless rest  
Shows them a Tree new grown, so fairly dressed  
With spreading arms and curled top, that jove  
ne'er braver saw in his D●d●nian Grove.  
The hart-like leaves oft each with other pile,  
As do the hard scales of the Crocodyle,  
And none on all the tree was scene but bore  
Written thereon in rich and purest o'er  
The name of Pan; whose lustre far beyond  
Sparkled, as by a Torch the Diamond.  
Or those bright spangles which fair Goddess do  
Shine in the hair of these which follow you.  
The Shepherds by direction of great Pan,  
Searched for the root, and finding it began  
In her true heart, bids them again enclose  
What now his eyes for ever, ever, lose.  
Now in the selfsame Sphere his thoughts must move  
With 
* Xerxes.  him that did the shady Planetree love.  
Yet though no issue from her loins shall be  
To draw from Pan a noble peddigree,  
And Pan shall not as other Gods have done  
Glory in deeds of an heroic Son,  
Nor have his Name in Countries near and far  
Proclaimed; as by his Child the Thunderer;  
If Phoebus on this Tree spread warming rays,  
And Northern blasts kill not her tender sprays,  
His Love shall make him famous in repute,  
And still increase his Name, yet bear no fruit.  
To make this sure (the God of Shepherds last)  
(When other Ceremonies were o'er past)  
And to perform what he before had vowed  
To dire Revenge. Thus spoke unto the crowed:  
What I have lost kind Shepherds all you know;  
And to recount it were to dwell in woe;  
To show my passion in a Funeral Song,  
And with my sorrow draw your sighs along,  
Words, then, well placed might challenge somewhat due,  
And not the cause alone, win tears from you.  
This to prevent, I set Orations by  
" For passion seldom loves formality.  
What profits it a prisoner at the Bar,  
To have his judgement spoken regular?  
Or in the prison hear it often read,  
When he at first knew what was forfeited?  
Our griefs in others tears, like plates in water  
Seem more in quantity. To be relator  
Of my mishaps, speaks weakness, and that I  
Have in myself no power of remedy.  
〈◊〉 (yet that once too often) heretofore  
The silver Ladon on his sandy shore  
Herd my complaines, and those cool groves that be  
Shading the breast of lovely Arcady  
Witness the tears which I for Syrinx spent.  
Syrinx the fair; from whom the instrument  
That fills your feasts with joy (which when I blow  
Draws to the ●agging dug milk white as snow)  
Had his beginning. This enough had been  
To show the Fates (my 
* Pron●p●●, in suo Pr●tocosm●.  deemed sisters) e'en,  
Here had they stayed this Adage had been none  
" That our disasters never come alone▪  
What boot is it though I am said to be  
The worthy son of winged Mercury▪  
That I with gentle Nymphs in Forests high  
●ist out the sweet time of my infancie●  
And when more years had made me able grown  
Was through the Mountains for their leader known?  
That high-browed Maenalus where I was bred  
And stony hills not few have honoured  
Me as protector, by the hands of Swains,  
Whose sheep retire there from the open plains?  
That Inn Shepherds cups (
* Apoll●nius Smyrn●us.  rejecting gold)  
Of milk and honey measures eight times told  
Have offered to me; and the ruddy wine  
Fresh and new pressed from the bleeding Vine?  
That gleesome Hunters pleased with their sport,  
With sacrifices due have thanked me for't.  
That patient Anglers standing all the day  
near to some shallow stickle or deep bay.  
And Fisherm●n whose nets have drawn to land  
A shoal so great it well-nye hides the sand,  
For such success, some Promontories head  
Thrust at by waves, hath known me worshipped?  
But to increase my grief, what profits this?  
" Since still the loss is as the loser is.  
The many-kernell-bearing Pine of late  
From all trees else to me was consecrate,  
But now behold a root more worth my love,  
Equal to that which in an obscure Grove  
Infernal 〈◊〉 proper takes to her:  
Whose golden slip the Trojan wanderer  
(By sage Cumoean Sibyl taught) did bring  
(By Pates decreed) to be the warranting  
Of his free passage, and a safe repair  
Through dark Avernus to the upper air.  
This must I succour, this must I defend  
And from the wild Boars rooting ever shend,  
Here shall the Wood-pecker no entrance find,  
Nor Tiny's Bevers gnaw the clothing rind,  
Lambeders Herds, nor Radnors goodly Deer  
Shall never once be seen a browsing here.  
And now ye British Swains (whose harmless sheep  
Then all the worlds beside I joy to keep,  
Which spread on every Plain and hilly Wold  
Fleeces no less esteemed than that of Gold,  
For whose exchange one India gems of price,  
The other gives you of her choicest spice.  
And well she may; but we unwise the while  
Lessen the glory of our fruitful Isle:  
Making those Nations think we foolish are,  
For base Drugs to vent our richer ware,  
Which (save the bringer) never profit man  
Except the Sexton and Physician.  
And whether change of Climbs or what it be  
That proves our Mariner's mortality,  
Such expert men are spent for such bad fares  
As night have made us Lords of what is theirs.  
Stay, stay at home ye Nobler spirits, and prize  
Your lives more high than such base trumperies,  
For bear to fetch, and they'll go near to sue,  
And at your own doors offer them to you;  
Or have their woods and plains so over grown  
With poisonous weeds, roots, gums & feeds unknown▪  
That they would hire such Weeders as you be  
To free their land from such fertility.  
Their Spices hot their nature best endures,  
But 'twill impair and much distemper yours.  
What our own soil affords befits us best.  
And long, and long, for ever may we rest  
Needless of help! and may this Isle alone  
Furnish all other Lands, and this Land none!  
Excuse me Thetis, quoth the aged man,  
If passion drew me from the words of Pan!  
Which thus I follow: You whose flocks, quoth he,  
By my protection, quit your industry,  
For all the good I have and yet may give  
To such as on the Plains hereafter live,  
I do entreat what is not hard to grant,  
That not a hand rend from this holy Plant  
The smallest branch; and who so cutteth this  
Dye for th'offence; to me so heinous ' 'tis.  
And by the Floods infernal here I swear,  
(An oath whose breach the greatest Gods forbear)  
E'er Phoebe thrice twelve times shall fill her homes  
No furzy tuft, thick wood, nor broke of thorns  
Shall harbour Wolf nor in this I'll shall breed,  
Nor live one of that kind; if what's decreed  
You keep inviolate. To this they swore:  
And since, those beasts have frighted us no mo●●.  
But Swain (quoth Thetis) what is this you tell,  
To what you fear shall ●●ll on Philo●el?  
Fair Queen at end; but oh I fear, quoth he,  
Ere I have ended my sad History▪  
Vnstaying time may bring on his last hour,  
And so defraud us of thy wished power.  
Yond goes a Shepherd; give me leave to run  
And know the time of execution,  
Mine aged limbs I can a little strain,  
And quickly come (to end the rest) again.   

THE FIFTH SONG.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
Within this Song my Muse doth tell  
The worthy fact of Philocel,  
And how his Love and he in thrall  
To death deprived of Funeral  
The Queen of Waves doth gladly save,  
And frees Marina from the Cave.  
SO soon a● can a Martin from our Town  
Fly to the River underneath the Down,  
And back return with mort●● in her hill,  
Some little ●●●nny in her nest to fill▪  
The Shepherd came. And thus began anew:  
Two hours alas, only two hours are due  
From time to him, 'tis sentenced so of those  
That here on earth as Destinies dispose  
The lives and deaths of men; and that time passed  
He yields his judgement leave and breaths his last.  
But to the cause. Great Goddess understand  
In Mona-Ile thrust from the British land,  
As (since it needed nought of others store)  
It would entire be, and a part no more,  
There lived a Maid so fair, that for her sake  
Since she was borne the Isle had never Snake,  
Nor were it fit a deadly sting should be  
To hazard such admired Symmetry,  
So many beauties so comm●●● in one,  
That all delight were dead if she were gone,  
Shepherds that in her clear eyes did delight,  
Whilst they were open never held it night:  
And were they shut, although the morning grey  
Called up the Sun, they hardly thought it day.  
Or if they called it so, they did not pass  
Withal to say that it eclipsed 〈◊〉.  
The Roses on her cheeks, such, as each turn  
Phoebus might kiss, but had no power to burn.  
From her sweet lips distil sweet● sweete● do,  
Then from a Cherry half way cut in two  
Whose yielding touch would a● Promet 〈…〉  
Lumps truly senseless with a Muse inspire▪  
Who praising her would youths desire ●o 〈◊〉,  
Each man in mind should be a ravisher.  
Some say the nimble-witted Mercury  
Went late disguised professing Palmistry,  
And Milkmaids fortunes told abou● the Land,  
Only to get a touch of her soft hand.  
And that a Shepherd walking on the brim  
Of a clear stream where she did use to swim,  
Saw her by chance, and thinking she had been  
Of Chastity the pure and fairest Queen,  
Stole thence dismayed, lest he by her decree  
Might undergo Actaeon's destiny.  
Did youths kind heat inflame me (but the snow  
Upon my head, shows it cooled long ago)  
I then could give (fitting so fair a feature)  
Right to her fame, and fame to such a creature.  
When now much like a man the Palsy shakes,  
And spectacles befriend, yet undertakes  
To limne a Lady, to whose red and white  
Apelles curious hand would owe some right;  
His too unsteady pencil, shadows here  
Somewhat too much, and gives not over, clear;  
His eye deceived mingles his colours wrong,  
There strikes too little, and here stays too long,  
Does and undoes, takes off, putteth on (in vain)  
Now too much white, then too much read again,  
And thinking then to give some special grace,  
He works it ill, or so mistakes the place,  
That she which sits were better pay for nought,  
Then have it ended, and so lamely wrought:  
So do I in this weak description err;  
And striving more to grace more injure her.  
For ever where true worth for praise doth call,  
He rightly nothing gives that gives not all.  
But as a Lad who learning to divide,  
By one small miss the whole hath falsified.  
Caelia men called, and rightly called her so:  
Whom Philocel (of all the Swains I know  
Most worthy) loved: alas! that love should be  
Subject to fortune's mutability!  
What ever learned Bards to fore have sung,  
Or on the Plains Shepherds and Maidens young,  
Of sad mishaps in love are set to tell,  
Comes short to match the Fate of Philocel.  
For as a Labourer toiling at a Bay  
To force some clear stream from his wont way,  
Working on this side sees the water run  
Where he wrought last, and thought it firmly done;  
And that leak stopped, hears it come breaking out  
Another where, in a far greater spout,  
Which mended to, and with a turf made trim  
The brook is ready to o'erflow the brim,  
Or in the bank the water having got:  
Some Mole-hole, runs, where he expected not:  
And when all's done, still fears, lest some great rain  
Might bring a flood and throw all down again:  
So in our Shepherd's love; one hazard gone  
Another still as bad was coming on.  
This danger past another doth begin,  
And one mishap thrust out lets twenty in.  
For he that loves, and in it hath no stay,  
Limits his bliss seld ' past the Marriage day.  
But Philocels alas and Caelia's too  
Must ne'er attain so far, as others do.  
Else Fortune in them from her course should swerve  
Who most afflicts those that most good deserve.  
Twice had the glorious Sun run through the Signer,  
And with his kindly heat improved the Mines,  
(As such affirm with certain hopes that try  
The vain and fruitless Art of Alohymie)  
Since our Swain loved: and twice had Phoebus been  
In horned Aries taking up his Inn,  
Ere he of Caelia's heart possession won.  
And since that time all his intentions done  
Nothing, to bring her thence. All eyes upon her,  
Watchful, as Virtues are on truest Honour.  
Kept on the I'll as carefully of some,  
As by the Troyans' their Palladium.  
But where's the Fortress that can Love debar?  
The forces to oppose when he makes war?  
The Watch which he shall never find asleep?  
The Spy that shall disclose his counsels deep?  
That Fort, that Force, that Watch, that Spy would be  
A lasting stop to a fifth Empery.  
But we as well may keep the heat from fire  
As sever hearts whom love hath made entire.  
In lovely May when Titan's golden rays  
Make odds in hours between the nights and days;  
And weigheth almost down the once-even Scale  
Where night and day, by th' Equinoctial  
Were laid in balance, as his power he bend  
To banish Cynthia from her Regiment,  
To Latmus' stately Hill; and with his light  
To rule the upper world both day and night,  
Making the poor Antipodes to fear  
A like conjunction 'twixt great jupiter  
And some Alo●mena new, or that the Sun  
From their Horizon did obliquely run:  
This time the Swaine● and Maidens of the I'll  
The day with sportive dances do beguile,  
And every Valley ring● with shepherd's songs,  
And every Echo each sweet note prolongs,  
And every River with unusual pride  
And dimpled cheek rowles sleeping to the tide,  
And lesser springs, which ayrie-breeding Woods,  
Prefer as handmaids to the mighty floods,  
Scarce fill up half their channels, making haste  
(In fear, as boys) lest all the sport be passed  
Now was the Lord and Lady of the May  
Meeting the Maypole at the break of day,  
And Caelia as the fairest on the Green,  
Not without some Maids envy chosen Queen,  
Now was the time come when our gentle Swain  
Must inn his harvest or lose all again.  
Now must he pluck the Rose lest other hands,  
Or tempests blemish what so fairly stands:  
And therefore as they had before decreed  
Our shepherd go●s a Boat, and with all speed  
In night (that doth on Lover's actions smile)  
Arrived safe on Mona's fruitful Isle.  
Between two ●ooks (immortal, without mother)  
That stand as if one facing one another,  
There ran a Creek● up, intricate and blind,  
As if the waters hid them from the wind,  
Which never washed but at a higher tide  
The frizzled coat● which do the Mountains hide,  
Where never gale was longer known to stay  
Then from the smooth wave it had swept away  
The new divorced leaves, that from each side  
Left the thick boughs to dance out with the tide.  
At further end the Creek, a stately Wood  
Gave a kind shadow (to the brackish Flood)  
Made up of trees, not less kend by each skiff  
Then that sky-scaling Pike of Tenerife,  
Upon whose tops the Herneshew bred her young,  
And hoary moss upon their branches hung:  
Whose rugged rinds sufficient were to show  
Without their height, what time they 'gan to grow.  
And if dry eld by wrinkled skin appears,  
None could allot them less than Nestor's years.  
As under their command the thronged Creek  
Ran lessened up. Here did the Shepherd seek  
Where he his little Boat might safely hide,  
Till it was fraught with what the world beside  
Could not outvalew; nor give equal weight  
Though in the time when Greece was at her height.  
The ruddy Horses of the Rosy morn  
Out of the Eastern gates had newly borne  
Their blushing Mistress in her golden Chair,  
Spreading new light throughout our Hemisphere.  
When fairest Caelia with a lovelier crew  
Of Damsels then brave Latmus ever knew,  
Came forth to meet the Youngsters; who had here  
Cut down an Oak that long withouten peer  
Bore his round head imperiously above  
His other Mates there, consecrate to jove.  
The wished time drew on: and Caelia now  
(That had the fame for her white arched brow)  
While all her lovely fellows busied were  
In picking off the gems from Tellus hair,  
Made towards the Creek, where Philocel unspide,  
(Of Maid or Shepherd that their May-games plied)  
Received his wished-for Caelia; and begun  
To steer his Boat contrary to the Sun,  
Who could have wished another in his place  
To guide the Car of light, or that his race  
Were to have end (so he might bless his hap)  
In Caelia's bosom, not in Thetis lap.  
The Boat oft danced for joy of what it held.  
The hoyst-up Sail, not quick but gently swelled,  
And often shook, as fearing what might fall,  
Ere she delivered what she went withal.  
Winged 
* The Western wind. And supposed (with the Star●es) the birth of Aurora by A●tra●●, as Apollodor●s: 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  Argestes fair Aurora's son,  
Licenc'd, that day to leave his Dungeon,  
Meekly attended, and did never err  
Till Caelia graced our Land and our Land her.  
As through the waves their love-fraught Wherry ran  
A many Cupids, each set on his Swan,  
Guided with reins of gold and silver twist  
The spotless Birds about them, as they list,  
Which would have sung a Song (ere they were gone)  
Had unkind Nature given them more than one;  
Or in bestowing that, had not done wrong,  
And made their sweet lives forfeit, one sad song.  
Yet that their happy Voyage might not be  
Without Time's shortner, Heaven-taught Melody,  
(Music that lent feet to the stable Woods,  
And in their currents turned the mighty Floods,  
Sorrows sweet Nurse, yet keeping joy alive,  
Sad discontent's most welcome Corrosive,  
The soul of Art, best loved when Love is by,  
The kind inspirer of sweet Poesy,  
Lest thou shouldst wanting be, when Swans would fain  
Have sung one Song, and never sung again)  
The gentle Shepherd hasting to the shore  
Began this Lay, and timed it with his Oar.  

Never more let holy Dee  
O'er other River's brave,  
Or boast bow (in his jollity)  
Kings rowed upon his wave.  
But silent be, and ever know  
That Neptune for my Fare would row.   

Those were Captives. If he say  
That now I am no other,  
Yet she that bears my prison's key  
Is fairer than Love's Mother;  
A God took me, those one less high,  
They wore their bonds, so do not I.   

Swell then, gently swell ye Floods  
As proud of what ye bear,  
And Nymphs that in low coral Woods  
String Pearls upon your hair,  
Ascend: and tell if ere this day  
A fairer pri●● was seen at Sea.   

See the Salmon leap and bound  
To please us as we pass,  
Each Mermaid on the Rocks around,  
Le's fall her brittle glass,  
As they their beauties did despise,  
And loved no mirror but your eyes.   

Blow, but gently blow fair wind  
From the forsaken shore,  
And be as to the Halcyon kind,  
Till we have ferried o'er:  
So mayst thou still have leave to blow,  
And fan the way where she shall go.   

Floods, and Nymphs, and Winds, and all  
That see us both together,  
Into a disputation fall;  
And then resolve me, whether  
The greatest kindness each can show,  
Will quit our trust of you or no.   
Thus as a merry Milkmaid neat and fine  
Returning late from milking of her Kine,  
Shortens the dewed way which she treads along  
With some selfe-pleasing-since-new-gotten Song,  
The Shepherd did their passage well beguile.  
And now the horned Flood bore to our Isle  
His head more high than he had used to do,  
Except by Cynthia's newness forced to.  
Not januaries snow dissolved in Floods  
Makes Thamar more intrude on Blanchden Woods,  
Nor the concourse of waters when they fleet  
After a long Rain, and in Soverne meet,  
Rais'th her enraged head to root fair Plants,  
Or more affright her high inhabitants,  
(When they behold the waters rusully,  
And save the waters nothing else can see)  
Than Neptune's subject now, more than of yore:  
As loath to set his burden soon on shore.  
O Neptune! hadst thou kept them still with thee,  
Though both were lost to us, and such as we,  
And with those beauteous birds which on thy breast  
Get and bring up; afforded them a rest;  
Delos, that long time wand'ring piece of earth  
Had not been famed more for Diana's birth;  
Then those few planks that bore them on the Seas,  
By the blessed issue of two such as these.  
But they were landed▪ so are not our woes,  
Nor ever shall, whilst from an eye there flows  
One drop of moisture; to these present times  
We will relate, and some ●ad Shepherds ●imes  
To after ages may their Fates make known,  
And in their depth of sorrow drown his own.  
So our Relation and his mournful Verse,  
Of tears, shall force such tribute to their Hearse,  
That not a private grief shall ever thrive  
But in that deluge fall, yet this survive.  
Two furlongs from the shore they had not gone,  
When from a low-cast Valley (having on  
Each hand a woody hill, whose boughs unlopt  
Have not alone at all time sadly dropped,  
And turned their storms on her dejected breast,  
But when the fire of heaven is ready pressed  
To warm and further what it should bring forth,  
(For lowly Dales mate Mountains in their worth)  
The Trees (as screenlike Greatness) shades his ray,  
As it should shine on none but such as they)  
Came (and full sadly came) a hapless Wretch,  
Whose walks & pastures once were known to stretch  
From East to West so far that no dike ran  
For noted bounds, but where the Ocean  
His wrathful billows thrust, and grew as great  
In shoals of Fish as were the others Neat.  
Who now dejected and deprived of all,  
Longs (and hath done so long) for funeral.  
For as with hanging head I have beheld  
A widow Vine, stand, in a naked field,  
Vnhusbanded, neglected, all forlorn,  
Browsed on by Deer, by Cattle cropped and torn,  
Vnpropt, unsuccoured by stake or tree,  
From wreakful storms impetuous tyranny,  
When had a willing hand lent kind redress,  
Her pregnant bunches might from out the Press  
Have sent a liquor both for taste and show  
No less divine than those of Malligo:  
Such was this wight, and such she might have been.  
She both th'extremes hath felt of Fortune's teen,  
For never have we heard from times of yore,  
One sometime envied and now pitied more.  
Her object, as her state, is, low as earth;  
Privation her companion; thoughts of mirth  
likesome; and in one selfe-same circle turning,  
With sudden sports brought to a house of mourning.  
Of others good her best belief is still  
And constant to her own in nought but ill.  
The only enemy and friend she knows  
Is Death, who though defers must end her woes,  
Her contemplation frightful as the night.  
She never looks on any living wight  
Without comparison; and as the day  
Gives us, but takes the Glow-worms light away:  
So the least ray of Bliss on others thrown  
Deprives and blinds all knowledge of her own.  
Her comfort is (if for her any be)  
That none can show more cause of grief than she.  
Yet somewhat she of adverse Fate hath won,  
Who had undone her were she not undone.  
For those that on the Sea of Greatness ride  
far from the quiet shore, and where the tide  
In ebbs and floods is guessed, not truly known;  
Expert of all estates except their own;  
Keeping their station at the Helm of State,  
Not by their Virtues but auspicious Fate,  
Subject to calms of favour storms of rage,  
Their actions noted as the common Stage,  
Who, like a man borne blind that cannot be  
By demonstration shown what 'tis to see,  
Live still in Ignorance of what they want,  
Till Misery become the Adamant,  
And touch them for that point, to which, with speed,  
None comes so sure as by the hand of Need.  
A Mirror strange she in her right hand bore,  
By which her friends from flatterers heretofore  
She could distinguish well; and by her side,  
(As in her full of happiness) untied,  
Unforced, and uncompelled, did sadly go  
(As if partaker of his Mistress woe)  
A loving Spaniel, from whose rugged back  
(The only thing (but death) she moans to lack)  
She plucks the hair, and working them in pleats  
Furthers the suit which Modesty entreats.  
Men call her Athliot: who cannot be  
More wretched made by infelicity,  
Unless she here had an immortal breath,  
Or living thus, lived timorous of death.  
Out of her lowly and forsaken dell  
She running came, and cried to Philocel,  
Help! help! kind shepherd help! see yonder where  
A lovely Lady hung up by the hair,  
Struggles, but mildly struggles with the Fates,  
Whose thread of life spun to a thread that mates  
Dame Natures in her hair, stays them to wonder,  
While too fine twisting makes it break in sunder.  
So shrinks the Rose that with the flames doth meet;  
So gently bows the Virgin parchment sheet,  
So rowlethe waves up and fall out again,  
As all her beauteous parts, and all in vain.  
far, far, above my help or hope in trying,  
Unknown, and so more miserably dying,  
Smothering her torments, in her panting breast,  
She meekly waits the time of her long rest.  
Hasten! o hasten then! kind Shepherd haste.  
He went with her: And Caelia (that had graced  
Him past the world beside) seeing the way  
He had to go, not far, rests on the lay.  
'Twas near the place where Pan's transformed Love  
Her guilded leaves displayed, and boldly striven  
For lustre with the Sun: a sacred tree  
(Paled round) and kept from violation free:  
Whose smallest spray rend off, we never prise  
At less than life▪ Here, though her heavenly eyes  
From him she loved could scarce afford a sight,  
(As if for him they only had their light)  
Those kind and brighter Stars were known to err  
And to all misery betrayed her.  
For turning them aside, she (hapless) spies  
The holy Tree, and (as all novelties  
In tempting women have small labour lost  
Whether for value nought, or of more cost)  
Led by the hand of uncontrolled desire  
She rose, and thither went. A wrested Bryre  
Only kept close the gate which led into it,  
(Easy for any all times to undo it,  
That with a pious hand hung on the tree  
Garlands or raptures of sweet Poesy)  
Which by her opened, with unwitting hand,  
A little spray she plucked, whose rich leaves fanned  
And chattered with the air, as who should say  
Do not for once, o do not this bewray!  
Nor give sound to a tongue for that intent▪  
" Who ignorantly sins, dies innocent.  
By this was Philocel returning back,  
And in his hand the Lady; for whose wrack  
Nature had clean forsworn to frame a wight  
So wholly pure, so truly exquisite:  
But more deformed, and from a rough-hewne mould,  
Since what is best lives seldom to be old.  
Within their sight was fairest Caelia now;  
Who drawing near, the life-prized golden bough  
Her Love beheld. And as a Mother kind  
What time the new-cloathed trees by gusts of wind  
Unmoved, stand wistly listening to those lays  
The feathered Choristers upon their sprays  
Chant to the merry Spring, and in the Even  
She with her little son for pleasure given,  
To tread the fringed banks of an amorous flood,  
That with her music courts a sullen wood,  
Where ever talking with her only bliss  
That now before and then behind her is,  
She stoops for flowers the choicest may be had,  
And bringing them to please her pretty Lad,  
Spies in his hand some baneful flower or weed,  
Whereon he 'gins to smell, perhaps to feed,  
With a more earnest haste she runs unto him,  
And pulls that from him which might else undo him:  
So to his Caelia hastened Philocel,  
And reached the bough away. Hid it: and fell  
To question if she broke it, or if then  
An eye beheld her? Of the race of men  
(Replied she) when I took it from the tree  
Assure yourself was none to testify,  
But what hath passed since in your hand, behold  
A fellow running yonder o'er the Wold  
I● well informed of. Can there (Love) ensue  
Tell me! oh tell me! any wrong to you,  
By what my hand hath ignorantly done?  
(Quoth fearful Caelia) Philocel! be won  
By these unfeigned tears, as I by thine,  
To make thy greatest sorrows partly mine▪  
Clear up these showers (my Sun) quoth Philocel,  
The ground it needs not. Nought is so from Well  
But that reward and kind entreaties may  
Make smooth the front of wrath, and this allay.  
Thus wisely he suppressed his height of woe,  
And did resolve, since none but they did know  
Truly who rend it: And the hateful Swain  
That lately passed by them upon the Plain  
(Whom well he knew did bear to him a hate,  
(Though undeserved) so inveterate  
That to his utmost power he would assay  
To make his life have ended with that day.)  
Except in his, had seen it in no hand,  
That he against all throes of Fate would stand,  
Acknowledge it his deed, and so afford  
A passage to his heart for justice sword,  
Rather than by her loss the world should be  
Despized and scorned for losing such as she.  
Now (with a vow of secrecy from both)  
Enforcing mirth, he with them homewards goeth;  
And by the time the shades of mighty woods  
Began to turn them to the Eastern Floods,  
They thither got: where with undaunted heart  
He welcomes both; and freely doth impart  
Such dainties as a Shepherd's cottage yield  
Ta'en from the fruitful woods and fertile fields;  
No way distracted nor disturbed at all.  
And to prevent what likely might befall  
His truest Caelia, in his apprehending  
Thus to all future care gave final ending:  
Into their cup (wherein for such sweet Girl's  
Nature would Myriad of richest Pearls  
Dissolve, and by her powerful simples strive▪  
To keep them still on earth, and still alive)  
Our Swain infused a powder, which they drank:  
And to a pleasant room (set on a bank  
near to his Coa●, where he did often use  
At vacant hours to entertain his Muse.)  
Brought them, and seated on a curious bed  
Till what he gave in operation sped,  
And robbed them of his sight, and him of theirs,  
Whose new enlightening will be quenched with tears.  
The Glass of Time had well nigh spent the Sand  
It had to run, ere with impartial hand  
justice must to her upright Balance take him.  
Which he (afraid it might too soon forsake him)  
Began to use, as quickly as perceive,  
And of his Love thus took his latest leave.  
Caelia! thou fairest creature ever eye  
Beheld, or yet put on mortality▪  
Caelia that haste but just so much of earth,  
As makes thee capable of death! Thou birth  
Of every Virtue, life of every good▪  
Whose chastest sports, and daily taking food  
Is imitation of the highest powers,  
Who to the earth lend seasonable showers,  
That it may bear, we to their Altars bring  
Things worthy their accept, our offering.  
I the most wretched creature ever eye  
Beheld, or yet put on mortality,  
Unhappy Philocel, that have of earth  
Too much to give my sorrows endless birth,  
The spring of sad misfortunes; in whom lies  
No bliss that with thy worth can sympathise,  
Clouded with woe that hence will never flit,  
Till death eternal night grow one with it,  
I as a dying Swan that sadly sings  
Her moanfull Dirge unto the silver springs,  
Which careless of her Song glide sleeping by  
Without one murmur of kind Elegy,  
Now stand by thee; and as a Turtles ma●e,  
With lamentations inarticulate,  
The near departure from her love bemoans,  
Spend these my bootless sighs and ●illing groans.  
Here as a man (by justice doom) exiled  
To Coasts unknown, to Deserts rough and wild,  
Stand I to take my latest leave of thee.  
Whose happy and heaven-making company  
Might I enjoy in Libia's Continent,  
Were blest fruition and not banishment.  
First of those Eyes that have already ta'en  
Their leave of me: Lamps fitting for the Fane  
Of heavens most power, & which might ne'er expire  
But be as sacred as the Vestal fire.  
Then of those plots, where halfe-rosed Lilies be,  
Not one by Art but Nature's industry,  
From which I go as one excluded from  
The taintless flowers of blessed Elixium.  
Next from those Lips I part, and may there be  
No one that shall hereafter second me▪  
Guiltless of any kisses but their own,  
Their sweets but to themselves to all unknown:  
For should our Swains diuulge what swee●● there be  
Within the Sea-clipt bounds of Brittany,  
We should not from invasions be exempted;  
But with that prize would all the world be tempted.  
Then from her heart; o no! let that be never,  
For if I part from hence I die for ever.  
Be that the Record of my love and name!  
Be that to me as is the Phoenix flame!  
Creating still anew what justice doom  
Must yield to dust and a forgotten tomb.  
Let thy chaste love to me (as shadows run  
In full extent unto the setting Sun)  
Meet with my fall, and when that I am gone  
Back to thyself retire, and there grow one;  
If to a second light thy shadow be.  
Let him still have his ray of love from me▪  
And if as I, that likewise do decline,  
Be mine or his, or else be his and mine.  
But know no other, nor again be sped,  
" She dies a virgin that but knows one bed.  
And now from all at once my leave I take,  
With this petition, that when thou shalt wake,  
My tears already spent may serve for thine▪  
And all thy sorrows be excused by mine  
●ea rather than my loss should draw on hers,  
(Hear Heaven the suit which my (sad soul prefers▪)  
Let this her slumber like Oblivion's stream,  
Make her believe our love was but a dream!  
Let me be dead in her as to the earth,  
Ere Nature lose the grace of such a birth.  
Sleep thou sweet soul from all disquiet free,  
And since I now beguile thy destiny,  
Let after patience in thy breast arise,  
To give his name a life who for thee dies.  
He dies for thee that worthy is to dye,  
Since now in leaving that sweet harmony  
Which Nature wrought in thee, he draws not to him  
Enough of sorrow that might straight undo him.  
And have for means of death his parting hence,  
So keeping justice still in Innocence.  
Here stayed his tongue, and tears anew began.  
" Parting knows more of grief than absence can.  
And with a backward pace and lingering eye  
Left and for ever left their company.  
By this the cursed Informer of the deed  
With wings of mischief (and those have most speed)  
Unto the Priests of Pan had made it known.  
And (though with grief enough) were thither flown  
With strict command the Officers that be  
As hands of Iusti●● in her each decree.  
Those unto judgement brought him: where accused  
That with unhappy hand he had abused  
The holy Tree; and by the oath of him  
Whose eye beheld the separated limb,  
All doubts dissolved; quick judgement was ●warded,  
(And but last night) that hi●her strongly guarded  
This morn he should be brought; & from yond ●o●k  
(Where every hour new store of mourner's flock)  
He should be headlong thrown (too hard a doom)  
To be deprived of life; and dead, of tomb.  
This is the cause fair Goddess that appears  
Before you now clad in an old man's tears,  
Which willingly flow out, and shall do more  
Than many Winters have seen heretofore.  
But Father (quoth she) let me understand  
How you are sure that it was Caelia's hand  
Which rend the branch; and then (if you can) tell  
What Nymph it was which near the lonely Dell  
Your shepherd succoured▪ Quoth the good old man:  
The last time in her Orb pale Cynthia ran,  
I to the prison went, and from him knew  
(Upon my vow) what now is known to you.  
And that the Lady which he found distressed  
Is Pida called, a Maid not meanly blest  
By heaven's endowments, and. Alas ● but see  
Kind Philocel engird with misery,  
More strong than by his bonds, is drawing nigh  
The place appointed for his tragedy:  
You may walk thither and behold his fall;  
While I come near enough, yet not at all.  
Nor shall it need I to my sorrow knit  
The grief of knowing with beholding it.  
The Goddess went: (but ere she came did shroud  
Herself from every eye within a cloud)  
Where she beheld the Shepherd on his way,  
Much like a Bridegroom on his marriage-day;  
Increasing not his misery with fear.  
Others for him, but he shed not a tear.  
His knitting sinews did not tremble aught,  
Nor to unusual palpitation brought  
Was or his heart or liver, nor his eye,  
Nor tongue, nor colour showed a dread to dye.  
His resolution keeping with his spirit,  
(●oth worthy him that did them both inherit)  
Held in subjection every thought of fear,  
Scorning so base an executioner.  
Some time he spent in speech; and then began  
Submissly prayer to the name of Pan,  
When suddenly this cry came from the Plains:  
From guiltless blood be free ye British Swains!  
Mine be those bonds, and mine the death appointed!  
Let me be headlong thrown, these limbs disjointed!  
Or if you needs must hurl him from that brim,  
Except I die there dies but part of him.  
Do then right justice and perform your oath!  
Which cannot be without the death of both.  
Wonder, drew thitherward their drowned eyes,  
And Sorrow Philocels. Where he espies,  
What he did only fear, the beauteous Maid,  
His woeful Caelia, whom (ere night arrayed  
Last time the world in suit of mournful black,  
More dark than use, as to bemoan their wrack)  
He at his cottage left in sleeps soft arms,  
By power of simples and the force of charms,  
Which time had now dissolved, and made her know  
For what intent her Love had left her so.  
She stayed not to awake her mate in sleep,  
Nor to bemoan her Fate. She scorned to weep,  
Or have the passion that within her lies  
So distant from her heart as in her eyes.  
But rending of her hair, her throbbing breast  
Beating with ruthless strokes, she onwards pressed  
As an enraged furious Lioness,  
Through uncouth ●●e●dings of the wilderness,  
In hot pursuit of her late miss brood.  
The name of Philocel speaks every wood,  
And she begins it still, and still her pace.  
Her face-deckt anger, anger deck her face.  
So ran distracted He●u●a along  
The streets of Troy. So did the people throng  
With helpless hands and heavy hearts to see  
Their woeful ruin in her progeny.  
As harmless flocks of sheep that nearly fed  
Upon the open plains wide scattered,  
Ran all affront, and gazed with earnest eye  
(Not without tears) while thus she passed by.  
Springs that long time before had held no drop,  
Now welled forth and over-went the top,  
Birds left to pay the Spring their wont vows,  
And all forlome sat drooping on the boughs.  
Sheep, Springs and Birds, nay trees unwonted groans  
Bewailed her chance, and forced it from the stones.  
Thus came she to the place (where aged men,  
Maidens, and wives, and youth and children  
That had but newly learned their Mother's name,  
Had almost spent their tears before she came.)  
And those her earnest and related words  
Threw from her breast; and unto them affords  
These as the means to further her pretence:  
Receive not on your souls, by Innocence  
Wronged, lasting stains; which from a sluice the Sea  
May still wash o'er but never wash away.  
Turn all your wraths on me; for here behold  
The hand that tore your sacred Tree of gold;  
These are the feet that led to that intent;  
Mine was th'offence, be mine the punishment.  
Long hath he lived among you, and he knew  
The danger imminent that would ensue;  
His virtuous life speaks for him, hear it then  
And cast not hence the miracle of men▪  
What now he doth is through some discontent,  
Mine was the fact, be mine the punishment!  
What certain death could never make him do  
(With Caelia's loss) her presence forced him to.  
She that could clear his greatest clouds of woes,  
Some part of woman made him now disclose,  
And showed him all in tears: And for a while  
Out of his heart unable to exile  
His troubling thoughts in words to be conceived;  
But weighing what the world should be bereaved,  
He of his sighs and throbs some licence wan,  
And to the sad spectators thus began:  
Hasten! o haste! the hour's already gone,  
Do not defer the execution!  
Nor make my patience suffer aught of wrong!  
'Tis nought to dye, but to be dying long!  
Some fit of Frenzy hath possessed the Maid,  
She could not do it, though she had assayed,  
No bough grows in her reach; nor hath the tree  
A spray so weak to yield to such as she.  
To win her love I broke it, but unknown  
And vndesired of her; Then let her own  
No touch of prejudice without consent,  
Mine was the fact, be mine the punishment!  
O! who did ever such contention see  
Where death stood for the prize of victory?  
Where love and strife were firm and truly known,  
And where the victor must be overthrown?  
Where both pursued, and both held equal strife  
That life should further death, death further life.  
Amazement struck the multitude. And now  
They knew not which way to perform their vow.  
If only one should be deprived of breath,  
They were not certain of th' offender's death;  
If both of them should dye for that offence,  
They certainly should murder Innocence;  
If none did suffer for it, than there ran  
Upon their heads the wrath and curse of Pan.  
This much perplexed and made them to defer  
The deadly hand of th' Executioner,  
Till they had sent an Officer to know  
The judge's wil●: (and those with Fates do go)  
Who back returned, and thus with tears began:  
The Substitutes on earth of mighty Pan,  
Have thus decreed (although the one be free)  
To clea●● themselves from all impunity,  
If, who the offender is, no means procure,  
Th'offence is certain, be their death as sure.  
This is their doom (which may all plagues prevent)  
To have the guilty kill the innocent.  
Look as two little Lads (their parents treasure)  
Under a Tutor strictly kept from pleasure,  
While they their new-given lesson closely scan  
Hear of a message by their father's man,  
That one of them, but which he hath forgot,  
Must come along and walk to some fair plot;  
Both have a hope: their careful Tutor loath  
To hinder either, or to licence both;  
Sends back the Messenger that he may know  
His Master's pleasure which of them must go:  
While both his Scholars stand alike in fear  
Both of their freedom and abiding there,  
The Servant comes and says that for that day  
Their Father wils to have them both away:  
Such was the fear these loving souls were in  
That time the messenger had absent been.  
But far more was their joy 'twixt one another,  
In hearing neither should outlive the other.  
Now both intwinde, because no conquest won,  
Yet either ruined: Philocel begun  
To arm his Love for death: a robe unfit  
Till Hymen●s saffroned weed had ushered it▪  
My fairest Caelia! come; let thou and I,  
That long have learned to love, now learn to dye;  
It is a lesson hard if we discern it,  
Yet none is borne so soon as bound to learn it.  
Unpartial Fate lays open the Book to us,  
And let us con it still embracing thus;  
We may it perfect have, and go before  
Those that have longer time to read it o●re;  
And we had need begin and not delay,  
For●tis our turn to read it first to day.  
Help when I miss, and when thou art in doubt  
I'll be thy prompter, and will help thee out.  
But see how much I err: vain Metaphor  
And elocution Destinies abhor.  
Could death be stayed with words, or won with tears,  
Or moved with beauty, o● with unripe years;  
Sure thou couldst do't; this Rose, this Sunlike eye  
Should not so soon be quelled, so quickly dye.  
But we must dye my Love; not thou alone,  
Nor only I, but both; and yet but one.  
Nor let us grieve; for we are married thus,  
And have by death what life denied us.  
It is a comfort from him more than due;  
" Death severs many, but he couples few.  
Life is a Flood that keeps us from our bliss,  
The Ferryman to waft us thither, is  
Death, and none else; the sooner we get o'er  
Should we not thank the Ferryman the more?  
O●hers entreat him for a passage hence,  
And groan beneath their griefs and impotence,  
Yet (merciless) he l●ts those longer stay,  
And sooner takes the happy man away▪  
Some little happiness have thou and I,  
Since we shall dye before we wish to dye.  
Should we here longer live, and have our days  
As full in number as the most of these,  
And in them meet all pleasures may betide,  
We gladly might have lined and patient died:  
When now our fewer years made long by cares  
(That without age can snow down silver hairs)  
Make all affirm (which do our griefs descry)  
We patiently did live, and gladly dye.  
The difference (my Love) that doth appear  
Betwixt our Fates and theirs that see us here,  
Is only this: the high-all-knowing power  
Conceals from them, but tells us our last hour.  
For which to Heaven we far-farre more are bound,  
Since in the hour of death we may be found  
(By its prescience) ready for the hand  
That shall conduct us to the Holy-land.  
When those, from whom that hour concealed is, may  
Even in their height of Sin be ta'en away.  
Besides, to us justice a friend is known,  
Which neither lets us dye nor live alone.  
That we are forced to it cannot be held;  
" Who fears not Death, denies to be compelled.  
O that thou wert no Actor in this Play,  
My sweetest Caelia! or divorced away  
From me in this: o Nature! I confess  
I cannot look upon her heaviness  
Without betraying that infirmity  
Which at my birth thy hand bestowed on me.  
Would I had died when I received my birth!  
Or known the grave before I knew the earth!  
Heavens! I but one life did receive from you,  
And must so short a loan be paid with two?  
Cannot I dye but like that brutish stem  
Which have their best beloved to dye with them?  
O let her live! some blessed power hear my cry?  
Let Caelia live and I contented dye.  
My Philocel (quoth she) neglect these throes!  
Ask not for me, nor add not to my woes!  
Can there be any life when thou art gone?  
Nay, can there be but desolation?  
Art thou so cruel as to wish my stay,  
To wait a passage at an unknown day?  
Or have me dwell within this Vale of woe  
Excluded from those joys which thou shalt know?  
Envy not me that bliss! I will assay it,  
My love deserves it, and thou canst not stay it.  
justice! then take thy doom; for we intent,  
Except both live, no life; one love, one end.  
Thus with embraces, and exhorting other,  
With teare-dewed kisses that had pour to smother;  
Their foft and ruddy lips close joined with either,  
That in their deaths their souls might meet together.  
With prayers as hopeful as sincerely good,  
Expecting death they on the Cliffs edge stood;  
And lastly were (by one oft forcing breath)  
Thrown from the Rock into the arms of death.  
Fair Thetis whose command the waves obey,  
Loathing the loss of so much worth as they,  
Was gone before their fall; and by her power  
The Billows (merciless, used to devour,  
And not to save) she made to swell up high,  
Even at the instant when the tragedy  
Of those kind souls should end: so to receive them,  
And keep what cruelty would fain bereave them.  
Her hest was soon performed: and now they lay  
Embracing on the surface of the Sea,  
Void of all sense; a spectacle so sad  
That Thetis, nor no Nymph which there she had,  
Touched with their woes, could for a while refrain  
But from their heavenly eyes did sadly rain  
Such showers of tears (so powerful since divine)  
That ever since the Sea doth taste of Bryne.  
With tears, thus, to make good her first intent  
She both the Lovers to her Chariot hent:  
Recalling Life that had not clearly ta'en  
Full leave of his or her more curious Fane,  
And with her praise sung by these thankful pair  
Steered on her Coursers (swift as fleeting air)  
Towards her Palace built beneath the Seas:  
Proud of her journey, but more proud of these.  
By that time Night had newly spread her robe  
Over our halfe-part of this massy Globe,  
She won that famous I'll which jove did please  
To honour with the holy druids.  
And as the Western side she stripped along,  
Herd (and so stayed to hear) this heavy Song.  

O Heaven! what may I hope for in this Cave?  
A Grave.  
But who to me this last of helps shall retch?  
A Wretch.  
Shall none be by pitying so said a wight?  
Yes▪ Night.  
Small comfort can befall in heavy plight  
To me poor Maid, in whose d●stresses be  
Nor hope, nor help, nor one to pity me,  
But a cold Grave, a Wretch, and darksome Night.   

To dig that Grave what fatal thing appears?  
Thy Tears.  
What Bell shall ring me to that bed of ease?  
Rough Seas.  
And who for Mourners hath my Fate assigned?  
Each Wind.  
Can any be debarred from such I find?  
When to my last Rites Gods no other send  
To make my Grave, for Knell, or mourning friend,  
Then mine own Tears, rough Seas, & gusts of Wind.   

Tears must my grave dig: but who bringeth those▪  
Thy Woes.  
What Monument will Heaven my body spare?  
The Air.  
And what the Epitaph when I am gone?  
Oblivion.  
Most miserable I, and like me none  
Both dying, and in death, to whom is lent  
Nor Spade, nor Epitaph, nor Monument.  
Excepting Woes, Air and Oblivion.   
The end of this gave life unto a groan,  
As if her life and it had been but one;  
Yet she as careless of reserving either,  
If possible would leave them both together.  
It was the fair Marina, almost spent  
With grief and fear of future famishment.  
For (hapless chance) but the last rosy morn  
The willing redbreast flying through a Thorn,  
Against a prickle gored his tender side,  
And in an instant, so, poor creature, died.  
Thetis much moved with those sad notes she heard,  
He● freeing thence to Triton soon referred;  
Who found the Cave as soon as set on shore,  
And by his strength removing from the door  
A weighty stone, brought forth the fearful Maid,  
Which kindly led where his fair Mistress stayed  
Was entertained as well became her sort,  
And with the rest steered on to Thetis Court,  
Fo● whose release from imminent decay  
My Muse a while will here keep Holiday.   
FINIS.