THE shepherds PIPE.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
LONDON Printed by N. O. for George Norton, and are to be sold at his Shop without Temple-bar. 1614   

Of his Friend Master William Browne.  

A Poets borne, not made: No wonder then  
Though Spencer, Sidney: (miracles of men,  
Sole English Makers; whose cu●…n names so buy  
Express by implication Poesy)  
Were long unparaleld: For nature bold  
In their creation, spent that precious mould,  
That Nobly better earth, that purer spirit  
Which Poets, as their Birth ●…ights, claim ●…inherite:  
And in their great production, Prodigal;  
Careless of future's wellnigh spent her-all  
Viewing her work: conscious sh'had suffered wrack  
Hath caused our Countrymen ere since to lack  
That better earth, and form: Long thrifty grown  
Who truly might hear Poets, brought forth none:  
Till now of late, seeing her stocks new-full  
(By Time, and Thrift) of matter beautiful,  
And quint-essence of forms; what several  
Our elder Poets graces had, those all  
She now determined to unite in one;  
So to surpass herself; and called him Brown.  
‛ That beggared by his birth, she's now so poor  
That of true Makers she can make no more.  
Hereof accused; answered, she meant that ●…ee  
A species should, no individuum be.  
That (Phoenixlike) He in himself should find  
Of Poesy contained each several kind.  
And from this Phoenix's urn, thought she could take  
Whereof all following-Poetswell to make.  
For of some form, she had, now made known  
They were her errors whilst ●…'intented Browne.   

In libellum, inscriptionemque.  
Not Aeglogues your, but Eclogues: To compare:  
Virgil's selected, yours elected are.  
He Imitates, you Make: and this your creature  
Expresseth well your Name, and theirs, their Nature.   
E. JOHNSON Int. Temp.   

To the truly Virtuous, and worthy of all Honour, the Right Honourable EDWARD, Lord ZOVCH, Saint MAURE and CANTELUPE, and one of his Mties. most Honourable Privy Council.  

BE pleased (great Lord) when underneath the shades  
Of your delightful Brams-hill, (where the spring  
Her flowers for gentle blasts with Zephir trades)  
Once more to hear a silly Shepherd sing.  
Yours be the pleasure, mine the Sonneting;  
e'en that hath his delight; nor shall I need  
To seek applause amongst the common store  
●…t is enough if this mine-oaten Reed  
Please but the ear it should; I ask no more.  
Nor shall those rural notes which heretofore  
Your true attention graced and winged for fame  
●…mperfect lie; Oblivion shall not gain  
Ought on your worth, but sung shall be your name  
●…o long as England yields or song or Swain.  
Free are my lines, though dressed in lowly state,  
And scorn to flatter but the men I hate.   Your Honours. W. BROWNE.  

THE shepherds PIPE. The first Eglogue.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Roget and Willy both ymet,  
Upon a greeny Ley,  
With Rondelayes and Tales are set.  
To spend the length of day.   
WILLIE. ROGET.  Willie. 
ROGET, droop not, see the spring  
Is the earth enameling,  
And the birds on every Tree  
Greet this morn with melody:  
Hark, how yonder Thrustle chants it,  
And her mate as proudly vaunts it;  
See how every stream is dressed  
By her Margin, with the best  
Of Flora's gifts, she seems glad  
For such Brooks such flowers she had.  
All the trees are quaintly tired  
With green buds, of all desired;  
And the Hauthorne every day,  
Spreads some little show of May:  
See the Primrose sweetly set  
By the much-loved Violet  
All the Banks do sweetly cover,  
As they would invite a Lover  
With his Lass, to see their dressing  
And to grace them by their pressing?  
Yet in all this merry tide  
When all cares are laid aside,  
Roget sits as if his blood  
Had not felt the quickening good  
Of the Sun, nor cares to play,  
Or with songs to pass the day  
As he want: Fie, Roget fly,  
Raise thy head, and merrily  
Tune us somewhat to thy reed:  
See our Flocks do freely feed,  
here we may together sit,  
And for Music very fit  
Is this place; from yonder wood  
Comes an Echo shrill and good,  
Twice full perfectly it will  
Answer to thine Oaten quill.  
●…oget, droop not then, but sing  
Some kind welcome to the Spring.  Roget. 
AH Willie, Willy, why should I,  
Sound my notes of jollity?  
Since no sooner can I play  
Any pleasing Roundelay,  
But some one or other still  
Begins to descant on my Quill;  
And will say, by this, he me  
Meaneth in his Minstrelsy.  
If I chance to name an Ass  
In my song, it comes to pass,  
One or other sure will take it  
As his proper name, and make it  
Fit to tell his nature too.  
Thus what e'er I chance to do  
Happens to my loss, and brings  
To my name the venomed stings  
Of ill report: How should I  
Sound then notes of jollity?  Willie. 
'tIs true indeed, we say all  
Rub a galled horse on the gall,  
Kick he will, storm and bite,  
But the horse of sounder plight  
Gently feels his masters hand.  
In the water thrust a brand  
Kindled in the fire, 'twill hiss,  
When a stick that taken is  
From the Hedge, in water thrust,  
Never rokes as would the first,  
But endures the waters touch:  
Roget, so it fares with such  
Whose own guilt hath them inflamed,  
Rage's when e'er their vice is blamed.  
But who in himself is free  
From all spots, as Lilies be,  
Never stirs, do what thou can.  
If thou slander such a man  
Yet he's quiet, for he knows  
With him no such vices close.  
Only he that is indeed  
Spotted with the leprous seed  
Of corrupted thoughts, and hath  
An ulcerous soul in the path  
Of reproof, he strait will brawl  
If you rub him on the gall.  
But in vain then shall I keep  
These my harmless flock of sheep.  
And though all the day I tend them,  
And from Wolves & Foxes shend them.  
Wicked Swains that bear me spite,  
In the gloomy vail of night,  
Of my fold will draw the pegs,  
Or else break my Lambkin's legs:  
Or unhang my Wether's bell,  
Or bring briars from the dell,  
And them in my fold by pieces  
Cast, to tangle all their fleeces.  
Welladay! such churlish Swains  
Now and then lurk on our plains:  
That I fear, a time, ere long  
Shall not hear a shepherds song.  
Nor a Swain shall take in task  
Any wrong, nor once unmask  
Such as do with vices rife  
Soil the shepherds happy life:  
Except he means his Sheep shall be  
A prey to all their injury.  
This causeth me I do no more  
Chant so as I want of yore:  
Since in vain then should I keep  
These my harmless flock of Sheope.  Willie. 
YEt if such thou wilt not sing,  
Make the Woods and Valleys ring  
With some other kind of lore,  
Roget hath enough in store,  
Sing of love, or tell some tale,  
Praise the flowers, the Hills, the Vale:  
Let us not here idle be;  
Next day I will sing to thee.  
Hark on knap of yonder Hill  
Some sweet shepherds tune his quill;  
And the Maidens in a round  
Sat (to hear him) on the ground.  
And if thou begin, shall we  
Graced be with like company.  
And to gird thy Temples bring  
Garlands for such fingering.  
Then raise thee Roget.  Roget. 
Gentle Swain  
Whom I honour for thy strain,  
Though it would beseem me more  
To attend thee and thy lore:  
Yet lest thou mightst find in me  
〈◊〉 neglect of courtesy,  
〈◊〉 will sing what I did leer  
Long agone in janiveere  
Of a skilful aged Site,  
As we toasted by the fire.  Willy. 
SIng it out, it needs must be  
Very good what comes from thee.  Roget. 

Whllome an Emperor prudent and wise,  
Reigned in Rome, and had sons three  
Which he had in great chertee & great prize,  
And when it shop so, that th'infirmity  
Of death, which no wight may eschew or flee  
Him threw down in his bed, he let do call  
His sons, and before him they came all.   

And to the first he said in this maneere,  
All th'heritage which at the dying  
Of my father, he me left, all in fear  
Leave I thee: And all that of my buying  
Was with my penny, all my purchasing,  
My second son bequeath I to thee,  
And to the third son thus said he:   

unmovable good, right none withouten oath  
Thee give I may; but I to thee devise  
jewels three, a Ring, Brooch and a Cloth:  
With which, and thou be guied as the wise,  
Thou mayst get all that ought thee suffi●…;  
Who so that the Ring useth still to wear  
Of all folks the love he shall conquer.   

And who so the broach beareth on his breast,  
It is eke of such virtue and such kind,  
That think upon what thing him liketh best,  
And he as believe shall it have and find.  
My words son imprint well in mind:  
The Cloth eke hath a marvelous nature,  
Which that shall be committed to thy cure.   

Who so sit on it, if he wish where  
In all the world to been, he suddenly  
Without more labour shall be there.  
Son those three jewels bequeath I  
To thee, unto this effect certainly  
That to study of the university  
Thou go, and that I bid and charge thee.   

When he had thus said the vexation  
Of death so hasted him, that his spirit  
Anon forsook his habitation  
In his body, death would no respite  
Him give at all, he was of his life quit.  
And buried was with such solemnity,  
As fell to his Imperial dignity.   

Of the youngest son I tell shall,  
And speak no more of his brethren two,  
For with them have I not to do at all.  
Thus spoke the mother jonathas unto:  
Sin God hath his will of thy father do:  
To thy father's Will, would I me conform,  
And truly all his Testament perform.   

He three jewels, as thou knowest well  
A Ring, a Brooch, and a Cloth thee bequeath,  
Whose virtues, he thee told every deal,  
Or that he passed hence and yalde up the breath:  
O good God, his departing, his death  
Full grievously sticketh unto mine heart,  
But suffered mot been all how sore it smart.   

In that case women have such heaviness,  
That it not lieth in my cunning aright  
You tell, of so great sorrow the excess,  
But wise women can take it light,  
And in short while put unto the flight  
All sorrow & woe, and catch again comfort,  
Now to my tale make I my resort.   

Thy father's will, my son, as I said ere,  
Will I perform, have here the ring and go  
To study anon, and when that thou art there,  
As thy father thee bade, do even so,  
And as thou wilt my blessing have also:  
She unto him as swy the took the Ring  
And bade him keep it well, for any thing.   

He went unto the study general  
Where he got love enough, and acquaintance  
Right good and friendly, the ring causing all,  
And on a day to him befell this chance,  
With a woman, a morsel of pleasance  
By the streets of the University,  
As he was in his walking, met he.   

And right as believe he had with her a tale,  
●…nd therewithal sore in her love he brent,  
●…ay, fresh and picked was she to the sale,  
●…or to that end, and to that intent  
●…he thither came, and both forth they went:  
And he a pistle row in her ear,  
Nat wot I what, for I ne came nat there.   

●…he was his Paramour shortly to say,  
This man to folks all was so lief,  
That they him gave abundance of money,  
He feasted folk, and stood at high boucheefe,  
Of the lack of good, he felt no grief,  
All whiles the ring he with him had,  
But failing it, his friendship 'gan sad.   

His Paramour which that'y called was  
●…ellicula, marveled right greatly  
Of the dispenses of this jonathas,  
●…in she no penny at all with him sy,  
And on a night as there she lay him by  
In the bed, thus she to him spoke, and said,  
And this petition assoil him prayed.   

O reverent sir, unto whom quoth she,  
Obey I would ay with heart's humbleness,  
●…ince that ye han had my virginity,  
●…u I beseech of your high gentleness,  
telleth me whence cometh the good and richesse  
That ye with feasten folk, and han no store,  
By aught I see can, ne gold, ne treasure.   

If I tell it, quoth he, par adventure  
Thou wilt discover it, and out it publish,  
Such is woman's inconstant nature,  
They cannot keep Council worth a rish:  
Better is my tongue keep, than to wish  
That I had kept close that is gone at large,  
And repentance is thing that I more charge.   

Nay good sir, quoth she, holdeth me not suspect  
Doubteth nothing, I can be right secret,  
Well worthy were it me to been abject  
From all good company, if I quoth she  
Unto you should so mistake me.  
Be not adread your council me to show.  
Well, said he, thus it is at words few.   

My father the ring which that thou mayst see  
On my finger, me at his dying day  
Bequeathed, which this virtue and property  
Hath, that the love of men he shall have aye  
That weareth it, and there shall be no nay  
Of what thing that him liketh ask & crave  
But with good will, he shall as believe it have.   

Through the rings virtuous excellence  
Thus am I rich, and have ever enough.  
Now Sir, yet a word by your licence  
suffereth me to say, and to speak now:  
Is it wisdom, as that it seemeth you,  
Wear it on your finger continually?  
What wouldst thou mean, quoth he, thereby?   

What peril thereof might there befall?  
Right great, quoth she, as ye in company  
Walk often, fro your finger might it fall,  
Or plucked off been in a ragery  
And so be lost, and that were folly:  
Take it me, let me been of it warden,  
For as my life keep it would I certain.   

This jonathas, this innocent young man,  
Giving unto her words full credence,  
As youth not avised best be can:  
The Ring her took of his insipience.  
When this was done, the heat & the fervence  
Of love which he before had purchased,  
Was quenched, and loves knot was unlaced.   

Men of their gifts to stint began.  
Ah thought he, for the ring I not ne bear,  
Faileth my love; fetch me woman  
(Said he) my Ring, anon I will it wear.  
She rose, and into chamber dresseth her,  
And when she therein had been a while,  
Alas (quoth she) out on falsehood and guile.   

The chest is broken, and the Ring take out,  
And when he heard her complaint and cry,  
He was astonished sore, and made a shout,  
And said, Cursed be the day that I  
Thee met first, or with mine eyen sy.  
She wept and showed outward cheer of woe,  
But in her heart was it nothing so.   

The ring was safe enough, and in her Chest  
It was, all that she said was leasing,  
As some woman other while at best  
Can lie and weep when is her liking.  
This man saw her we, and said Darling  
Weep no more, God's help is nigh,  
To him unwiste how false she was and sly.   

He twined thence, and home to his country  
Unto his mother the straight way he went,  
And when she saw thither comen was he,  
My son, quoth she, what was thine intent  
Thee, fro the school, now to absent?  
What caused thee fro school hither to high?  
Mother, right this, said he, not would I lie.   

Forsooth mother, my ring is a go,  
My Paramour to keep I betook it,  
And it is lost, for which I am full woe,  
Sorrowfully unto mine heart it sit.  
Son, often have I warned thee, and yet  
For thy profit I warn thee my son,  
Unhonest women thou hereafter shun.   

Thy brooch anon right will I to thee fet,  
She brought it him, and charged him full deep  
When he it took, and on his breast it set,  
Bet than his ring he should it keep,  
Lest he the loss bewail should and weep.  
To the university shortly to say  
In what he could, he hasted him again.   

And when he comen was, his Paramour  
Him met anon, and unto her him took  
As that he did erst, this young revelour,  
Her company he nat a deal forsook,  
Though he cause had, but as with the hook  
Of her sleight, he before was caught and hent,  
Right so he was deceived oft and blended.   

And as through virtue of the Ring before  
Of good he had abundance and plenty  
While it was with him, or he had it lo●…e:  
Right so through virtue of the brooch had he  
What good him list; she thought, how may this be,  
Some privy thing now causeth this richesse:  
As did the Ring herebefore I guess.   

Wondering hereon she prayed him, and besought  
Besily night and day, that tell he would  
The cause of this; but he another thought,  
He meant it close for him it kept be should,  
And a long time it was or he it told.  
She wept aye too and too, and said alas,  
The time and hour that ever I borne was!   

Trust ye not on me Sir? she said,  
liefer me were be slain in this place,  
By that good Lord that for us all died,  
Then purpose again you any fallacy;  
Unto you would I be my lives space  
As true, as any woman in earth is  
Unto a man doubteth nothing of this.   

Small may she do, that cannot well by heat,  
Though not performed be such a promise.  
This jonathas thought her words so sweet,  
That he was drunk of the pleasant sweetness  
Of them, and of his foolish tenderness.  
Thus unto her he spoke, and said tho,  
Be of good comfort, why weepest thou so?   

And she thereto answered thus, sobbing,  
Sir quoth she, my heaviness and dread  
Is this; I am adread of the losing  
Of your brooch, as Almighty God forbeed  
It happen so: Now what so God thee speed,  
Said he, wouldst thou in this case counsel,  
Quoth she, that I keep it might sans fail.   

He said, I have a fear and dread algate,  
If I so did thou wouldst it lose  
As thou lostest my ring, now gone but late,  
First God pray I quoth she, that I not cheese,  
But that my heart as the cold frost may freeze:  
Or else be it brent with wild fire:  
Nay, surely it to keep is my desire.   

To her words credence he gave pleneere,  
And the brooch took her, and after anon,  
Whereas he was before full lief and cheer  
To folk, and had good, all was gone,  
Good & friendship him lacked, there was none.  
Woman, me fetch the brooch quoth he, swythee  
Into thy chamber for it go; high thee.   

She into chamber went, as than he bade,  
●…ut she not brought that he sent her fore,  
●…he meant it nat, but as she had be mad  
Her clothes hath she all to rent and tore,  
And cried alas, the brooch away is boar.  
For which I will anon right with my knife  
Myself slay, I am weary of my life.   

This noise he heard, and believe he to her ran,  
●…eening she would han done as she spoke,  
And the knife in all haste that he can  
From her took, and threw it behind his back,  
And said, ne for the loss, ne for the lack  
Of the brooch, sorrow not, I forgive all,  
I trust in God, that yet us help he shall.   

To th'empress his mother this youngman  
Again him dresseth, he went her unto,  
And when she saw him, she to wonder 'gan,  
The thought now somewhat there is misdo,  
And said, I dread thy jewels two  
Been lost now, percase the brooch with the ring.  
Mother he said, yea, by heaven King.   

●…onne, thou wotst well no jewel is left  
●…nto thee now, but the cloth precious  
Which I thee take shall, thee charging eft  
The company of women riotous  
●…hou flee, lest it be to thee so gricuous  
That thou it nat sustain shalt ne bear  
Such company on my blessing forbear.   

The cloth she felt, and it hath him take,  
And of his Lady his mother, his leave  
He took, but first this forward 'gan he make▪  
Mother said he, trusteth this we'll and leeve,  
That I shall seyn, for soothe ye shall it preeve,  
If I lose this cloth, never I your face,  
Henceforth see will, ne you pray of grace;   

With Gods help I shall do well enough,  
Her blessing he took, and to study is go,  
And as before told have I unto you,  
His Paramour his privy mortal foe  
Was wont to meet him, right even so  
She did than, & made him pleasant cheer:  
They clip and kiss and walk homeward in fear.   

When they were entered in the house, he spread  
This cloth upon the ground, and thereon sit,  
And bad his Paramour, this woman bad,  
To sit also by him adown on it.  
She doth as he commandeth, and bit,  
Had she this thought and virtue of the cloth  
Witted, to han set on it, had she been loath.   

She for a while was full sore affesed.  
This jonathas wish in his heart 'gan:  
Would God that I might thus been eased,  
That as on this cloth I and this woman  
Sat hear, as far were, as that never man  
Or this came, & uneath had he so thought,  
But they with the cloth thither weren brought.   

Right to the world's end, as that it were.  
When apparceived had she this, she cried  
As though she through girt had be with a spear.  
Harrow! alas that ever shope this tide!  
How came we hither? Nay, he said, abide,  
Worse is coming here sole will I thee leave  
Wild beasts shallen thee devour or cave.   

For thou my Ring & Brooch haste fro me holden.  
O reverent Sir! have upon me pity,  
Quoth she, if ye this grace do me wolden,  
As bring me home again to the city  
Where as I this day was, but if that ye  
Them have again, of foul death do me die  
Your bounty on me kith, I mercy cry,   

This jonathas could nothing beware,  
Ne take ensample of the deceits tweine  
That she did him before, but faith him bare,  
And her he commanded on deaths pain  
Fro such offences thenceforth her restrain:  
She swore, and made thereto forward,  
But herkneth how she bore her afterward.   

When she saw and knew that the wrath and ire  
That he to her had borne, was gone and passed,  
And all was well: she thought him eft to fire,  
In her malice aye stood she steadfast,  
And to inquire of him was not aghast  
In so short time how that it might be  
That they came thither out of her country.   

Such virtue hath this cloth on which we sit,  
Said he, that where in this world us be list  
Suddenly with the thought shallen thither flit,  
And how thither come unto us unwist:  
As thing fro far, unknown in the mist.  
And therewith, to this woman fraudulent  
To sleep he said, have I good talon.   

Let see, quoth he, stretch out anon thy lap,  
In which will I my head down lay and rest,  
So was it done, and he anon 'gan nap,  
Nap? nay, he slept right well, at best,  
What doth this woman, one the sicklest  
Of women all, but that cloth that lay  
Under him, she drew light and light away   

When she it had all: would God, quoth she,  
I were as I was this day morning!  
And therewith this root of iniquity  
Had her wish, and sole left him there sleeping.  
O jonathas! like to thy perishing  
Art thou, thy paramour made hath thy beard,  
When thou wakest, cause hast thou to be ferd   

But thou shalt do full well, thou shalt obteene  
Victory on her, thou hast done some deed  
Pleasant to thy mother, well can I ween,  
For which our Lord quite shall thy meed,  
And thee deliver out of thy woeful dread.  
The child whom that the mother useth bless  
Full often sith is eased in distress.   

When he awoke, and neither he ne fond  
Woman ne Cloth, he wept bitterly,  
And said, Alas! now is there in no land  
Man worse I know begun then am I  
On every side his look he cast, and sy  
Nothing but birds in the air flying,  
And wild beasts about him running.   

Of whose sight he full sore was agrysed,  
He thought all this well deserved I have,  
What ailed me to be so evil avised,  
That my counsel could I nat keep and save?  
Who can fool play? who can mad and rave?  
But he that to a woman his secret  
Discovereth, the smart cleaveth now on me;   

He thus departeth as God would harmless;  
And forth of adventure his way is went,  
But whitherward he draw, he conceitlesse  
Was, he not knew to what place he was bend.  
He passed a water which was so fervent  
That flesh upon his feet left it him none;  
All clean was departed from the bone.   

It shope so that he had a little glass,  
Which with that water anon filled he  
And when he further in his way gone was,  
Before him he beheld and saw a tree  
That fair fruit bore, and in great plenty:  
He eat thereof, the taste him liked well,  
But he therethrough became a foul mesel.   

For which unto the ground for sorrow and woe  
He fell, and said, cursed be that day  
That'I was borne, and time and hour also  
That my mother conceived me, for ay  
Now am I lost; alas and well away!  
And when some deel slaked his heaviness,  
He rose, and on his way he 'gan him dress,   

Another water before him he sye,  
Which (sore) to comen in he was adread:  
But nevertheless, since thereby, other way  
Ne about it there could none be had,  
He thought so straightly am I bestead,  
That though it sore me affese or gast,  
Assoil it will I, and through it he past.   

And right as the first water his flesh  
Departed from his feet, so the secownd  
Restored it, and made all whole and fresh:  
And glad was he, and joyful that stound  
When he felt his feet whole were and sound:  
A viol of the water of that brook  
He filled, and fruit of the tree with him took.   

Forth his journey this jonathas held,  
And as he his look about him cast,  
Another tree from a far he beheld,  
To which he hasted, and him hied fast,  
Hungry he was, and of the fruit he thrust  
Into his mouth, and eat of it sadly,  
And of the lepry he purged was thereby.   

Of that fruit more he reached, & thence is gone  
And a fair Castle from a far, saw he  
In compass of which, heads many one  
Of men there hung, as he might well see,  
But not for that he shun would, or flee,  
He thither him dresseth the straight way  
In that ever that he can or may.   

Walking so, two men came him again,  
And saiden thus: dear friend we you pray  
What man be ye? Sirs, quoth he, certain  
A leech I am, and though myself it say,  
Can for the health of sick folks well pu●…uay.  
They said him, of yonder castle the King  
A leper is, and can whole be for nothing.   

With him there hath been many a sundry leech  
That undertook him well to cure and heal  
On pain of their heads, but all to seech  
Their Art was, ' ware that thou not with him deal,  
But if thou canst the charter of health enseale;  
Lest that thou lose thy head, as didden they,  
But thou be wise thou find it shall no play.   

Sirs, said he, you thank I of your reed,  
For gently ye han you to me quit:  
But I nat dread to lose mine heed,  
By Gods help full safe keep I will it,  
God of his grace such cunning and wit  
Hath lent me, that I hope I shall him cure,  
Full well dare I me put in adventure.   

They to the king's presence han him lad,  
And him of the fruit of the second tree  
He gave to eat, and bade him to be glad,  
And said, anon your health han shall ye;  
Eke of the second water him gave he  
To drink, & when he those two had received  
His Lepry from him voided was and weived.   

The King (as unto his high dignity  
Convenient was) gave him largely,  
And to him said, If that it like thee  
Abiden here, I more abundantly  
Thee give will. My Lord sickerly,  
Quoth he, fain would I your pleasure fulfil.  
And in your high presence abide still.   

But I no while may with you abide  
So mochill have I to done elsewhere.  
jonathas every day to the sea side  
Which was nigh, went, to look and inquire  
If any ship drawing thither were  
Which him home to his country lead might,  
And on a day of ships had he sight.   

Well a thirty, toward the Castle draw,  
And at time of Evensong, they all  
Arriveden, of which he was full faugh,  
And to the shipmen cry he 'gan and call,  
And said, if it so hap might and fall,  
That some of you me home to my country  
Me bring would, well quit should he be.   

And told them whither that they shoulden go.  
One of the shipmen forth start at last,  
And to him said, my ship and no more  
Of them that here been, doth shaped and cast  
Thither to wend; let see, tell on fast,  
Quoth the shipman, that thou for my travail  
Me give, if that I thither sail.   

They were accorded, jonathas forth goeth  
Unto the King to ask him licence  
To twine thence, to which the king was loath,  
And netheless with his benevolence,  
This jonathas from his magnificence  
Departed is, and forth to the shipman  
His way he taketh, as swyth as he can.   

Into the ship he entereth, and as believe  
As wind and wether good shope to be,  
Thither as he purposed him arrive  
They sailed forth, and came to the city  
In which this Serpentine woman was, she  
That had him terned with false deceitis,  
But where no remedy followeth, straight is.   

Turns been quit, all be they good or bad  
Sometime; though they put been in delay.  
But to my purpose, she deemed he had  
Been devoured with beasts many a day  
Gone, she thought he delivered was for ay.  
folk of the City knew not jonathas,  
So many a year was past, that he there was.   

Misliking and thought changed eke his face,  
Abouten he goeth, and for his dwelling  
In the City, he hired him a place,  
And therein exercised his cunning  
Of Physic, to whom weren repairing  
Many a sick wight, and all were healed,  
Well was the sick man that with him dealt.   

Now shape it thus that this Fellicula,  
(The well of deceivable doubleness,  
Follower of the steps of Dallida)  
Was than exalted unto high richesses,  
But she was fallen into great sickness  
And heard seine, for not might it been hid  
How masterfull a leech he had him kid.   

Messages solemn to him she sent,  
Praying him to do so mochill labour  
As come and see her; and he thither went:  
When he her saw, that she his Paramour  
Had been, he well knew, and for that debtor  
To her he was, her he thought to quite  
Or he went, and no longer it respite.   

But what that he was, she ne wist nat  
He saw her urine, and eke felt her pous,  
And said, the sooth is this plain and flat,  
A sickness han ye strange and marvelous,  
Which to avoid is wonder dangerous:  
To heal you there is no way but one,  
Leech in this world other can find none.   

Auiseth you whether you list it take  
Or not, for I told have you my wit.  
Ah sir, said she, for God's sake,  
That way me show, and I shall follow it  
What ever it be: for this sickness sit  
So nigh mine heart, that I wot not how,  
Me to demene, tell on I pray you.   

Lady ye must openly you confess,  
And if against good conscience and right,  
Any good han ye take more or less,  
Before this hour, of any manner wight,  
Yield it anon; else not in the might  
Of man is it, to give a medicine  
That you may heal of your sickness & pine.   

If any such thing be, tell out it reed,  
And ye shall been all whole I you beheet;  
Else mine Art is nought withouten dread.  
O Lord she thought health is a thing full sweet  
Therewith desire I sovereignly to meet:  
Since I it by confession may recover,  
A fool am I but I my guilt discover.   

How falsely to the son of th'emperor  
jonathas, had she done, before them all  
As ye han heard above, all that error  
By knew she, o Fellicula thee call  
Well may I so, for of the bitter gall  
Thou takest the beginning of thy name,  
Thou root of malice and mirror of shame.   

Than said jonathas, where are those three  
jewels, that thee fro the Clerk withdrew?  
Sat in a Coffer at my beds feet, ye  
Shall find them; open it, and so pray I you.  
He thought not to make it quaint and tow  
And say nay, and strain courtesy,  
But with right good will thither he 'gan high.   

The Coffer he opened, and them there fond,  
Who was a glad man but jonathas? who  
The ring upon a finger of his hand  
He put, and the brooch on his breast also,  
The cloth eke under his arm held he tho;  
And to her him dresseth to done his cure.  
Cure mortal, way to her sepulture.   

He thought rue she should, and forethink  
That she her had unto him mis bore.  
And of that water her he gave to drink,  
Which that his flesh from his bones before  
Had twined, where through he was almost lore  
Nad he relieved been, as ye above  
Han heard, and this he did eke for her love.   

Of the fruit of the tree he gave her eat,  
Which that him made into the Leper start,  
And as believe in her womb 'gan they fret  
And gnaw so, that change 'gan her heart,  
Now harkneth how it her made smart.  
Her womb opened, & out fell each intraile  
That in her was, thus it is said sans fail.   

Thus wretchedly, (lo) this guile-man died,  
And jonathas with jewels three  
No lenget there thought to abide,  
But home to the Empress his mother hasteth he,  
Whereas in joy, and in prosperity  
His life led he to his dying day,  
And so God us grant that we do may.   Willy. 
By my hook this is a Tale  
Would befit our Whitson-ale:  
Better cannot be I wist,  
Descant on it he that list.  
And full gladly give I would  
The best Cosset in my fold,  
And a Mazor for a fee,  
If this song thou'lt teachen me.  
'tis so acquaint and fine a lay,  
That upon our revel day  
If I sung it, I might chance  
(For my pains) be took to dance  
With our Lady of the May.  Roget. 
Roget will not say thee nay,  
If thou deemest it worth thy pains.  
'tis a song, not many Swains  
Singen can, and though it be  
Not so decked with nicety  
Of sweet words full neatly choosed  
As are now by Shepherds used:  
Yet if well you sound the sense,  
And the Morals excellence,  
You shall find it quit the while,  
And excuse the homely stile.  
Well I wot, the man that first  
Sung this Lay, did quench his thirst,  
Deeply as did ever one  
In the Muses Helicon.  
Many times he hath been seen  
With the Farries on the green,  
And to them his Pipe did sound,  
Whilst they danced in a round.  
Much solace would they make him,  
And at midnight often wake him,  
And convey him from his room  
To a field of yellow broom;  
Or into the Meadows, where  
Mints perfume the gentle Air,  
And where Flora spends her treasure:  
There they would begin their measure.  
If it chanced nights sable shrouds  
Muffled Cynthia up in clouds;  
Safely home, they then would see him,  
And from brakes and quagmires free him.  
There are few such swains as he  
Now adays for harmony.  Willie. 
What was he thou praisest thus?  Roget. 
Scholar unto Tityrus.  
Tityrus the bravest Swain  
Ever lived on the plain,  
Taught him how to feed his Lambs,  
How to cure them, and their Dams:  
How to pitch the fold, and then,  
How he should remove again:  
Taught him when the Corn was ripe,  
How to make an Oaten Pipe,  
How to join them, how to cut them,  
When to open, when to shut them,  
And with all the skill he had  
Did instruct this willing lad.  Willie. 
Happy surely was that Swain!  
And he was not taught in vain:  
Many a one that prouder is,  
Han not such a song as this;  
And have garlands for their meed,  
That but jar as Skelton's reed.  Roget. 
'tis too true: But see the Sun  
Hath his journey fully run;  
And his horses all in sweat,  
In the Ocean cool their heat;  
Sever we our sheep and fold them,  
'Twill be night ere we have told them.  
THOMAS OCCLEEVE, one of the privy Seal, composed first this tale, and was never till now imprinted. As this shall please, I may be drawn to publish the rest of his works, being all perfect in my hands. He wrote in CHAUCER Stime.   

THE shepherds PIPE. The second Eglogue.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Two Shepherds here complain the wrong  
Done by a swinish Lout,  
That brings his Hogs their Sheep among,  
And spoils the Plain throughout.   
WILLIE. JOCKEY.  Willie. 
JOCKEY, say: what might he be  
That sits on yonder hill?  
And tooteth out his notes of glee  
So uncouth and so shrill?  jockey. 
Notes of glee? bad ones I trow,  
I have not heard before  
One so mistook as Willie now,  
'tis some Sowgelder's horn.  
And well thou asken mightst if I  
Do know him, or from whence  
He comes, that to his Minstrelsy  
Requires such patience.  
He is a Swinward, but I think  
No Swinward of the best.  
For much he reketh of his swink,  
And carketh for his rest.  Willie. 
harm take the Swine! What makes he here?  
What luckless planets frowns  
Have drawn him and his Hogs in fear  
To root our daisied downs.  
●…ll more he thrive! and may his Hogs  
And all that ere they breed  
Be ever worried by our Dogs,  
For so presumptuous deed.  
Why kept he not among the Fens?  
Or in the Copses by,  
Or in the Woods, and braky glennes,  
Where Haws and Acorns lie?  
About the Ditches of the Town,  
Or hedgerows he might bring them.  jockey. 
But then some pence 'twould cost the Clown  
To yoke and eke to ring them.  
And well I ween he loves no cost  
But what is for his back:  
To go full gay him pleaseth most,  
And lets his belly lack▪  
Two suits he hath, the one of blue,  
The other homespun grey:  
And yet he means to make a new  
Against next revel day;  
And though our May-lord at the feast  
Seemed very trimly clad,  
In cloth by his own mother dressed,  
Yet comes not near this lad.  
His bonnet neatly on his head,  
With button on the top,  
His shoes with strings of leather red,  
And stocking to his slop.  
And yet for all it comes to pass,  
He not our gibing 'scapes:  
Some like him to a trimmed Ass,  
And some to lacke-an-Apes.  Willie. 
It seemeth then by what is said,  
That jockey knows the Boor;  
I would my scrip and hook have laid  
Thou knewst him not before.  jockey. 
Sike loathed chance by fortune fell,  
(If fortune aught can do)  
Not kend him? Yes. I ken him well  
And sometime paid for't too.  Willie. 
Would jockey ever stoop so low,  
As conissance to take  
Of sick a Churl? Full well I know  
No Nymph of spring or lake,  
No Heardesse, nor no shepherds girl  
But fain would sit by thee,  
And Sea-nymphs offer shells of pearl  
For thy sweet melody.  
The Satyrs bring thee from the woods  
The Straw-berrie for hire,  
And all the first fruits of the buds  
To woo thee to their choir.  
●…iluanus songsters learn thy strain,  
For by a neighbour spring  
The Nightingale records again  
What thou dost primely sing.  
Nor canst thou tune a Madrigal,  
Or any dreary moan,  
But Nymphs, or Swains, or Birds, or all  
Permit thee not alone.  
And yet (as though devoid of these)  
Canst thou so low decline,  
As leave the lovely Naides  
For one that keepeth Swine?  
But how befell it?  jockey. 
T'other day  
As to the field I set me,  
near to the Maypole on the way  
This sluggish Swinward met me.  
And seeing Weptol with him there,  
Our fellow-swaine and friend,  
bad, good day, so on did fare  
To my preposed end.  
But as back from my wintering ground  
I came the way before,  
This rude groom all alone I found  
Stand by the Alehouse door.  
There was no nay but I must in  
And taste a cup of Ale;  
Where on his pot he did begin  
To stammer out a tale.  
He told me how he much desired  
Th'acquaintance of us Swains,  
And from the forest was retired  
To graze upon our plains:  
But for what cause I cannot tell,  
He can nor pipe nor sing,  
Nor knows he how to dig a well,  
Nor neatly dress a spring:  
Nor knows a trap nor snare to till,  
He sits as in a dream;  
Nor scarce hath so much whistling skill  
Will hearten-on a team.  
Well, we so long together were,  
I 'gan to haste a way,  
He licensed me to leave him there,  
And gave me leave to pay.  Willie. 
Done like a Swinward; may you all  
That close with such as he,  
Be used so! that gladly fall  
Into like company.  
But if I fail not in mine Art,  
I'll send him to his yard,  
And make him from our plains depart  
With all his dirty herd.  
I wonder he hath suffered been  
Upon our Common here,  
His Hogs do root our younger treen  
And spoil the smelling breere.  
Our purest wells they wallow in,  
All overspread with dirt,  
Nor will they from our Arbours lin,  
But all our pleasures hurt.  
Our curious benches that we build  
Beneath a shady tree,  
Shall be o'erthrown, or so defiled  
As we would loathe to see.  
Then join we jockey; for the rest  
Of all our fellow Swains,  
I am assured will do their best  
To rid him fro our plains.  jockey. 
What is in me shall never fail  
To forward such a deed.  
And sure I think we might prevail  
By some Satyric reed.  Willie, 
●…f that will do, I know a lad  
Can hit the maister-vaine.  
But let us home, the skies are sad,  
And clouds distill in rain.   

THE shepherds PIPE. THE THIRD EGLOGVE.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

Old NEDDY'S poverty they moan.  
Who whilom was a Swain  
That had more Sheep himself alone,  
Then ten upon the plain.   
PIERS. THOMALIN.  Thomalin. 
WHere is every piping lad  
That the fields are not clad  
With their milk-white she  
Tell me: Is it Holiday,  
Or if in the Month of May  
Use they long to sleep?  Piers. 
Thomalin 'tis not too late,  
For the Turtle and her mate  
Satin yet in nest:  
And the Thrustle hath not been  
Gathering worms yet on the green  
But attends her rest.  
Not a bird hath taught her young,  
Nor her morning's lesson sung  
In the shady grove:  
But the Nightingale in dark  
Singing, work the mounting Lark  
She records her love.  
Not the Sun hath with his beams  
Guilded yet our crystal streams  
Rising from the Sea,  
Mists do crown the mountains tops,  
And each pretty myrtle drops,  
'tis but newly day.  
Yet see yonder (though unwist)  
●…ome man cometh in the mist;  
Hast thou him be held?  
●…ee he crosseth o'er the land  
With a dog and staff in hand,  
Limping for his eld.  Thomalin. 
●…es, I see him, and do? know him,  
●…nd we all do reverence owe him,  
'tis the aged Sire  
●…EDDY, that was wont to make  
●…ch great feasting at the wake,  
And the 
* The Midsummer fires are termed so in the West parts of England.  blessing-fire.  
Good old man! see how he walks  
Painful and among the balks  
Picking locks of will:  
I have known the day when he  
Had as much as any three,  
When their lofts were full.  
underneath yond hanging rocks  
All the valley with his Flocks  
Was whilom overspread:  
He had milch-goates without peers,  
Well-hung kine, and fattened steers  
Many hundred head.  
WILKINS core his Dairy was,  
For a dwelling it may pass  
With the best in town.  
Curds and Cream with other cheer,  
Have I had there in the year  
For a greeny gown.  
Lasses kept it, as again  
Were not fitted on the plain  
For a lusty dance:  
And at parting, home would take us,  
Flawnes or Sillibubs to make us  
For our iovisance.  
And though some in spite would tell,  
Yet old NEDDY took it well;  
Bidding us again  
Never at his Coat be strange:  
Unto him that wrought this change,  
Mickle be the pain!  Piers. 
What disaster THOMALIN  
This mischance hath clothed him in,  
Quickly tell me;  
Rue I do his state the more,  
That he clipped heretofore  
Some felicity.  
Han by night accursed thieves  
Slain his Lambs, or stoine his beeves?  
Or consuming fire  
Brent his shearing-house, or stall;  
Or a deluge drowned all?  
Tell me it entire.  
Have the Winters been so set  
To rain and snow, they have wet  
All his driest Laire:  
By which means his sheep have got  
Such a deadly cureless rot,  
That none living are?  Thomal●…n. 
Neither waves, nor thieves, nor fire,  
Nor have rots impoored this Sire,  
Suretyship, nor yet  
Was the usurer helping on  
With his damned extortion,  
Nor the chains of debt.  
But deceit that ever lies  
Strongest armed for treacheries  
In a bosomed friend:  
That (and only that) hath brought it.  
Cursed be the head that wrought it!  
And the basest end.  
Grooms he had, and he did send them  
With his herds a field, to tend them,  
Had they further been;  
Sluggish, lazy, thriftless elves,  
Sheep had better kept themselves  
From the Fox's teen.  
Some would kill their sheep, and then  
Bring their master home again  
Nothing but the skin;  
Telling him, how in the morn  
In the fold they found them torn,  
And near lying lin.  
If they went unto the fair  
With a score of farned ware,  
And did chance to sell,  
If old NEDDY had again  
Half his own; I dare well sane,  
That but seldom fell.  
They at their return would say,  
Such a man, or such would pay,  
Well known of your Hyne.  
Alas poor man! that subtle knave  
Undid him, and vaun●… i●… brave  
Though his Master pine.  
Of his master he would beg  
Such a lamb that broke his leg,  
And if there were none:  
To the fold by night he'd high,  
And them hurt full ruefully  
Or with staff or stone.  
He would have petitions new,  
And for desperate debts would sue  
NEDDY had forgot:  
He would grant: the other than  
tars from poor and aged men:  
Or in jails they rot.  
NEDDY lately rich in store,  
Giving much, deceived more,  
On a sudden fell:  
Then the Steward lent him gold,  
Yet no more than might be told  
Worth his masters Cell.  
That is gone, and all beside,  
(Welladay, alack the tide)  
In a hollow den,  
underneath yond gloo my wood  
Won he now, and wails the brood  
Of ingrateful men.  Piers. 
But alas! now he is old,  
Bit with hunger, nipped with cold,  
What is left him?  
Or to succour, or relieve him,  
Or from wants oft to reprieve him  Thomalin. 
all's bereft him,  
Save he hath a little crowd,  
(He in youth was of it proud)  
And a dog to dance:  
With them, he on holidays  
In the Farmer's houses plays  
For his sustenance.  Piers. 
See; he's near, let's rise and meet him,  
And with dues to old age, greet him,  
It is fitting so.  Thomalin. 
'tis a motion good and sage,  
Honour still is due to age:  
up, and let us go.   

THE shepherds PIPE. THE FOURTH EGLOGVE.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
In this the Author bewails the death of one whom he shadoweth under the name of Philarete, compounded of the Greek words 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a lover of virtue, a name well be fitting him to whose memory these lines are consecrated, being sometime his truly loved 〈◊〉 now as much lamented) friend Mr THOMAS MANWOOD. son to the worthy Sir PETER MANWOOD Knight.  

UNDER an aged Oak was WILLY laid,  
Willy, the lad who whilom made the rocks  
To ring with joy, whilst on his pipe he played,  
And from their masters wood the neighbouring flocks.  
But now overcome with dolours deep  
That nigh his heartstrings rend,  
Ne cared he for his silly sheep,  
Ne cared for merriment.  
But changed his wont walks  
For uncouth paths unknown,  
Where none but trees might hear his plaints,  
And echo rue his moan.   

Autumn it was, when drooped the sweetest flowers,  
And Rivers (swollen with pride) orelooked the banks,  
Poor grew the day of Summer's golden hours,  
And void of sap stood Ida's Cedar-rankes,  
The pleasant meadows sadly lay  
In i'll and cooling swears  
By rising fountains, or as they  
Feared Winters wasteful threats.  
Against the broad-spred Oak,  
Each wind in fury bears;  
Yet fell their leaves not half so fast  
As did the shepherds tears.   

As was his seat, so was his gentle heart,  
Meek and dejected, but his thoughts as high  
As those aye-wandring lights, who both impart  
Their beams on us, and heaven still beautify.  
Sad was his look, (ò heavy Fate!  
That Swain should be so sad  
Whose merry notes the forlorn mate  
With greatest pleasure clad.)  
Broke was his tuneful pipe  
That charmed the crystal Floods,  
And thus his grief took airy wings  
And flew about the woods.   

Day, thou art too officious in thy place,  
And night too sparing of a wished stay,  
Ye wandering lamps: o be ye fixed a space!  
Some other Hemisphere grace with your ray.  
Great Phoebus! Daphne is not here,  
Nor Hyacinthus fair;  
Phoebe! Endymion and thy dear  
Hath long since clef●… the air.  
But ye have surely seen  
(Whom we in sorrow miss)  
A Swain whom Phoebe thought her love,  
And Titan deemed his.   

But he is gone; then inwards turn your light,  
Behold him there; here never shall you more;  
O're-hang this sad plain with eternal night!  
Or change the gaudy green she whilom wore  
To fenny black. HYPERION great  
To ashy paleness turn her!  
green well befits a lovers heat  
But black beseernes a mourner.  
Yet neither this thou canst,  
Nor see his second birth,  
His brightness blinds thine eye more now,  
Then thine did his on earth.   

Let not a shepherd on our hapless plains,  
Tune notes of glee, as used were of yore!  
For PHILARET is dead, let mirthful strains  
With PHILARETE cease for evermore!  
And if a fellow swain do live  
A niggard of his tears;  
The Shepherdesses all will give  
To store him, part of theirs.  
Or I would lend him some,  
But that the store I have  
Will all be spent before I pay  
The debt I owe his grave.   

O what is left can make me leave to moon?  
Or what remains but doth increase it more!  
Look on his sheep: alas! their masters gone.  
Look on the place where we two heretofore  
With locked arms have vowed our love,  
(Our love which time shall see  
In shepherds songs for ever move,  
And grace their harmony)  
It solitary seems.  
Behold our flowery beds;  
Their beauties fade, and Violets  
For sorrow hang their heads.   

'tis not a Cypress bough, a countenance sad,  
A mourning garment, wailing Elegy,  
A standing hearse in sable vesture clad,  
A Tomb built to his name's eternity,  
Although the shepherds all should strive  
By yearly obsequies,  
And vow to keep thy fame alive  
In spite of destinies  
That can suppress my grief:  
All these and more may be,  
Yet all in vain to recompense  
My greatest loss of thee   

Cypress may fade, the countenance be changed,  
A garment rot, an Elegy forgotten,  
A herse'mongst irreligious rites be ranged,  
A tomb plucked down, or else through age be rotten:  
All things th'unpartial hand of Fate  
Can raze out with a thought,  
These have a several fixed date,  
Which ended, turn to nought,  
Yet shall my truest cause  
Of sorrow firmly stay,  
When these effects the wings of Time  
Shall fan and sweep away.   

Look as a sweet Rose fairly budding forth  
bewrays her beauties to th'enamoured morn,  
Until some keeneblast from the envious North,  
Kills the sweet bud that was but newly borne,  
Or else her rarest smells delighting  
Make her, herself betray  
Some white and eurious hand inviting  
To pluck her thence away.  
So stands my mournful case,  
For had he been less good,  
He yet (uncropped) had kept the stock  
Whereon he fairly stood.   

Yet though so long he lived not as he might,  
He had the time appointed to him given.  
Who liveth but the space of one poor night,  
His birth, his youth, his age is in that even.  
Who ever doth the period see  
Of days by heaven forth plotted,  
Dies full of age, as well as he  
That had more years allotted.  
In sad Tones then my verse  
Shall with incessant tears  
Bemoan my hapless loss of him  
And not his want of years.   

In deepest passions of my grief-swollen breast  
(Sweet soul!) t●…is only comfort seizeth me,  
That so few years should make thee so much blest,  
And gave such wings to reach ETERNITY.  
Is this to die? No: as a ship  
Well built, with easy wind  
A lazy hulk doth far outstrip,  
And soon harbour find:  
So PHILARETE fled,  
Quick was his passage given,  
When others must have longer time  
To make them fit for heaven.   

Than not for thee these briny tears are spent,  
But as the Nightingale against the breere  
'tis for myself I moan, and do lament  
Not that thou left'st the world, but left'st me here.  
here, where without thee all delights  
Fail of their pleasing power,  
All glorious days seem ugly nights,  
Me thinks no April shower  
Embroder should the earth,  
But briny rears distill,  
Since FLORA'S beauties shall no more  
Be honoured by thy quill.   

And ye his sheep (in token of his lack)  
Whilom the fairest flock on all the plain:  
Yeane never Lamb, but be it clothed in black.  
Ye shady Sycamores! when any Swain,  
To carve his name upon your rind  
Doth come, where his doth stand,  
Shed drops, if he be so unkind  
To raze it with his hand.  
And thou my loved Muse  
No more shouldst numbers move,  
But that his name should ever live,  
And after death my love.   

This said, he sighed, and with o're-drowned eyes  
Gazed on the heavens for what he missed on earth;  
Then from the earth, full sadly 'gan arise  
As far from future hope as present mirth,  
Unto his Coat with heavy pace  
As ever sorrow trod  
He went, with mind no more to trace  
Where mirthful Swains abode,  
And as he spent the day,  
The night he passed alone,  
Was never Shepherd loved more dear,  
Nor made a truer moan.    

TO THE VIRTUOUS and much lamenting Sisters of my ever admired friend, Mr THOMAS MANWOOD.  

To me more known than you, is your sad chance,  
Oh! had I still enjoyed such ignorance;  
Then, I by these spent tear not been known,  
Nor left another's grief to sing mine own.  
Yet since his fate hath wrought these throes  
Permit a Partner in your woes  
The cause doth yield, and still may do  
Enough for YOU, and others to●…  
But if such plaints for YOU are kep.  
Yet may I grieve since you have wept.  
For he more perfect grows to be●…  
That feels another's MISERY  
And though these drops which mourning run  
From several Fountains first begun  
And some far off, some nearer sleet  
They will (at last) in one stream meet  
Mine shall with yours, yours mix with mine  
And make one Offering at his Shrine:  
For whose ETERNITY on earth, my Muse  
To build this ALTAR, did her best skill use;  
And that you, ay, and all that held him dear,  
Our tears and sighs might freely offer here.    

THE shepherds PIPE. THE FIFTH EGLOGVE. To his ingenious friend Mr. CHRISTOPHER BROOKE.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

WILLY incites his friend to write  
Things of a higher fame  
Then silly shepherds use indite  
Valid in a shepherds name.   WILLY and CUTTY. 
Morn had got the start of night,  
Labouring men were ready dight  
With their shovels and their spades  
For the field, and (as their trades)  
Or at hedging wrought, or ditching  
For their food more than enritching.  
When the shepherds from the fold  
All their bleating charges told,  
And (full careful) searched if one  
Of all their flock were hurt or gone,  
Or (if in the nighttime culled)  
Any had their fleeces pulled:  
Amongst the rest (not least in care)  
CUTTY to his fold 'gan far,  
And young WILLY (that had given  
To his flock the latest even  
Neighbourhood with CVTTY's sheep)  
Shaking off refreshing sleep,  
Hied him to his charge that blet;  
Where he (busied) CUTTY met.  
Both their sheep told, and none missed  
Of their number; then they blessed  
PAN, and all the Gods of plains  
For respecting of their trains  
Of silly sheep; and in a song  
Praise gave to that holy throng.  
Thus they drove their flocks to graze,  
Whose white fleeces did amaze  
All the Lilies, as they pass  
Where their usual feeding was.  
Lilies angry that a creature  
Of no more eye-pleasing feature  
Then a sheep, by nature's duty  
should be crowned with far more beauty  
Than a Lily; and the power  
Of white in sheep, ourgoe a flower:  
From the middle of their sprout  
(Like a Furies sting) thrust out  
Dart-like forks in death to steep them,  
But great PAN did safely keep them;  
And afforded kind repair  
To their dry and wont lair,  
Where their masters (that did eye them)  
underneath a Haw-thorne by them,  
On their pipes thus 'gan to play,  
And with rhymes wear out the day.  Willie. 
CEase CUTTY: cease, to feed these simple Flocks,  
And for a Trumpet change thine Oaten-reeds;  
O'erlook the valleys as aspiring rocks,  
And rather march in steel, then shepherds weeds.  
Believe me CUTTY! for heroic deeds  
Thy verse is fit; not for the lives of Swains,  
(Though both thou canst do well) and none proceeds  
To leave high pitches for the lowly plains:  
Take thou a Harp in hand, strive with APOLLO;  
Thy Muse was made to lead, then scorn to follow.  Cuttie. 
WILLY: to follow sheep I ne'er shall scorn;  
Much less to follow any Deity;  
Who'gainst the Sun (though weakened by the morn)  
Would vie with looks, needeth an Eagles eye,  
〈◊〉 dare not search the hidden mystery  
Of tragic Scenes; nor in a buskined stile  
Through death and horror march, nor their height fly  
Whose pens were fed with blood of this fair I'll.  
It shall content me, on these happy downs  
To sing the strife for garlands, not for crowns.  Willie. 

O who would not aspire, and by his wing  
Keep stroke with fame, and of an earthly jar  
Another lesson teach the Spheres to sing?  
Who would a shepherd that might be a star?  
See learned Cutty, on yond mountains are  
Clear springs arising, and the climbing goat  
That can get up, hath water clearer far  
Than when the streams do in the valleys float.  
What madman would a race by torchlight run  
That might his steps have ushered by the Sun?   

We Shepherds tune out lays of shepherds loves,  
Or in the praise of shady groves, or springs;  
We seldom hear of CITHEREA's Doves,  
Except when some more learned Shepherd sings;  
And equal meed have to our sonetings:  
A Belt, a sheephook, or a wreath of flowers,  
Is all we seek; and all our versing brings,  
And more deserts than these are seldom ours.  
But thou whose muse a falcons pitch can sore  
Mayst share the bays even with a Conqueror.   Cuttie. 
Why doth not WILLY then produce such lines  
Of men and arms as might accord with these?  Willie. 
Cause Cutties' spirit not in Willy shines,  
Pan cannot wield the Club of Hercules,  
Nor dare a Merlin on a Heron seize.  
Scarce know I how to fit a shepherds ear;  
far more unable shall I be to please  
In aught, which none but semigods must hear;  
When by thy verse (more able) time shall see  
Thou canst give more to kings than kings to thee.  Cuttie. 
But (welladay) who loves the muses now?  
Or helps the climber of the sacred hill?  
None lean to them: but strive to disallow  
All heavenly dews the goddesses distill.  Willie. 

Let earthly minds base muck for ever fill,  
Whose music only is the chime of gold,  
Deaf be their ears to each harmonious quill!  
As they of learning think, so of them hold.  
And if there's none deserves what thou canst do,  
Be then the Poet and the Patron too.   

I tell thee Cuttie, had I all the sheep  
With thrice as many more, as on these plains  
Or shepherd or fair maiden sits to keep,  
I would them all forego, so I thy strains  
Could equalize: O how our nearest swains  
Do trim themselves, when on a holiday  
They hast to hear thee sing, knowing the trains  
Of fairest Nymphs will come to learn thy lay.  
Well may they run and wish a parting never, (ver,  
So thy sweet tongue might charm their ears for e●…   Cuttie. 
These attributes (my lad) are not for me,  
Bestow them where true merit hath assigned;  Willie. 
And do I not? bestowing them on thee:  
Believe me Cuttie, I do bear this mind,  
That wheresoever we true deserving find,  
To give a silent praise is to detract;  
Obscure thy verses (more than most refined)  
From any one, of dullness so compact.  
And rather sing to trees then to such men,  
Who know not how to crown a Poets pen.  Cuttie. 
WILLY, by thy incitement I'll assay  
To raise my subject higher than tofore,  
And sing it to our Swains next holiday,  
Which (as approved) shall fill them with the store  
Of such rare accents; if disliked, no more  
Will I a higher strain than shepherds use,  
But sing of Woods and Rivers as before.  Willie. 
Thou wilt be ever happy in thy Muse.  
But see, the radiant Sun is gotten high,  
Let's seek for shadow in the grove hereby.   

THE shepherds PIPE. THE six EGLOGVE.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

PHILOS of his Dog doth brag  
For having many feats;  
The while the Cur undoes his bag,  
And all his dinner eats.   
WILLY. JOCKEY. PHILOS.  WILLY. 
STay JOCKEY, let us rest here by this spring,  
And PHILOS too, since we so well are met;  
This spreading Oak will yield us shadowing  
Till Phoebus' steeds be in the Ocean wet.  jockey. 
Gladly (kind swain) I yield, so thou wilt play  
And make us merry with a Roundelay.  Philos. 
No jockey, rather wend we to the wood,  
The time is fit, and filberts waxen ripe,  
Let's go and fray the Squirrel from his food;  
We will another time hear Willie pipe.  Willie. 
But who shall keep our flocks when we are gone?  
I dare not go and let them feed alone.  jockey. 
Nor I: since but the other day it fell,  
Leaving my sheep to graze on yonder plain,  
I went to fill my bottle at the well,  
And ere I could return two lambs were slain.  Philos. 
Then was thy dog iil taught, or else a sleep;  
Such Curs as those shall never watch my sheep.  Willie. 
Yet Philos hath a dog not of the best;  
He seems too lazy, and will take no pains,  
More fit to lie at home and take his rest  
Then catch a wandering sheep upon the plains.  jockey. 
'tis true indeed: and Philos wot ye what?  
I think he plays the Fox he grows so fat.  Philos. 

Yet hath not jockey nor yet Willie seen  
A dog more nimble than is this of mine,  
Nor any of the Fox more heedful been  
When in the shade I slept, or list to dine.  
And though I say't, hath better tricks in store  
Then both of yours, or twenty couple more.   

How often have the maidens strove to take him,  
When he hath crossed the plain to bark at Crows?  
How many Lasses have I known to make him  
Garlands to gird his neck, with which he goes  
Vaunting along the lands so wondrous trim,  
That not a dog of yours durst bark at him.   

And when I list (as oftentimes I use)  
To tune a Hornpipe, or a Morris-dance,  
The dog (as he by nature could not choose)  
Seeming asleep before, will leap and dance.   Willie. 
Belike your dog came of a peddlers brood,  
Or Philos music is exceeding good.  Philos. 
I boast not of his kin, nor of my Reed,  
(Though of my reed and him I well may boast)  
Yet if you will adventure that some meed  
Shall be to him that is in action most,  
As for a collar of shrill sounding bells  
My dog shall strive with yours, or any's else.  jockey. 
PHILOS in truth I must confess your Wag  
(For so you call him) hath of tricks good store,  
To steal the victuals from his masters bag,  
More cunningly, I near saw dog before.  
See WILLY, see! I prithee PHILOS note  
How fast thy bread & cheese goes down his throat.  Willie. 
Now PHILOS see how mannerly your Cur,  
Your well-taught dog, that hath so many tricks,  
Devours your Dinner.  Philos. 
I wish 'twere a burr  
To choke the Mungtell!  jockey. 
See how clean he licks  
Your Butterbox; by Pan, I do not meanly  
Love Philos dog that loves to be so cleanly.  Philos. 
Well flouted JOCKEY.  Willie. 
PHILOS! run amain,  
For in your scrip he now hath thrust his head  
So far, he cannot get it forth again;  
See how he blindfold strags along the mead;  
And at your scrip your bottle hangs, I think.  
He loves your meat, but cares not for your drink.  jockey. 
ay, so it seems: and PHILOS now may go  
Unto the wood, or home for other cheer.  Philos. 
'twere better he had never served me so,  
Sweet meat, sour sauce, he shall abye it dear.  
What must he be aforehand with his master?  Willie. 
Only in kindness he would be your taster.  Philos. 
Well Willy you may laugh, and urge my spleen;  
But by my hook I swear he shall it rue,  
And had fared better had he fasting been.  
But I must home for my allowance new.  
So farewell lads. Look to my fleeced ●…raine  
Till my return.  jockey. 
We will.  Willie. 
Make haste again.   

THE shepherds PIPE. THE SEVENTH EGLOGVE.  
THE ARGUMENT.  

PALINODE entreats his friend  
To leave a wanton Lass;  
Yet he pursue her to his end  
And 〈◊〉 all Council pass.   PALINODE. and HOBBINOL. 
WHither wends Hobbinoll so early day?  
What be thy Lamkins broken from the fold,  
And on the plains all night have run hast ray?  
Or are thy sheep and sheep-walks both ysold?  
What mister-chance hath brought thee to the field  
Without thy sheep? thou wert not wont to yield  
To idle sport,  
But didst resort  
As early to thy charge from drowsy bed  
As any shepherd that his flock hath fed  
Upon these downs.  Hobbinoll. 
Such heavy frowns  
Fortune for others keeps; but bends on me  
Smiles would be fit the seat of majesty.  
Hath Palinode  
Made his abode  
Upon our plains, or in some uncouth Cell?  
That hears not what to Hobbinoll befell;  
Phillis the fair, and fairer is there none,  
To morrow must be linked in marriage bands,  
'tis I that must undo her virgin Zone.  
Behold the man, behold the happy hands.  Palinode. 
Behold the man? Nay then the woman too,  
Though both of them are very small beholding  
To any power that set them on to woo;  
Ah Hobbinoll! it is not worth unfolding  
What shepherds say of her; thou canst not choose  
But hear what language all of Phillis use;  
Yet, than such tongues,  
To her belongs  
More men to sat her lust; unhappy elf!  
That wilt be bound to her to lose thyself.  
Forsake her first.  Hobinoll. 
Thou most accursed!  
Durst thou to slander thus the innocent,  
The grace's pattern, virtues precedent?  
She, in whose eye  
Shines modesty,  
Upon whose brow lust never looks with hope,  
Venus ruled not in Phillis Horoscope;  
'tis not the vapour of a Hemblocke stem  
Can spoil the perfume of sweet Cinnamon;  
Nor vile aspersions, or by thee or them  
Cast on her name, can stay my going on.  Palinode. 
On mayst thou go, but not with such a one,  
Whom (I dare swear) thou know'st is not a maid:  
Remember when I met her last alone  
As we to yonder Grove for filberts strayed,  
Like to a new-strook do from out the bushes,  
Lacing herself, and red with gamesome blushes  
Made towards the green,  
Loath to be seen:  
And after in the grove the goatheard met:  
What saidst thou then? If this prevail not, yet  
I'll tell thee more.  
Not long ago  
Too long I loved her, and as thou dost now  
Would swear Diana was less chaste than she,  
That jupiter would court her, knew he how  
To find a shape might tempt such chastity:  
And that her thoughts were pure, as newfallen snow  
Or silver swans that trace the banks of Poe,  
And free within  
From spot of sin:  
Yet like the flint her lust-swolne breast concealed  
A hidden fire; and thus it was revealed:  
Cladon, the Lad  
Who whilom had  
The Garland given for throwing best the bar,  
I know not by what chance or lucky star  
Was chosen late  
To be the mate  
Unto our Lady of the gleesome May  
And was the first that danced each holiday,  
None would he take but Phillis forth to dance,  
Nor any could with Phillis dance but he,  
On Palinode she then ceforth not a glance  
Bestows, but hates him and his poverty,  
Cladon had sheep and limbs for stronger load  
Then ere she saw in simple Palinode,  
He was the man  
Must clip her than,  
For him she wreaths of flowers, and chaplets made  
To strawberries invites him in the shade,  
In shearing time  
And in the prime  
Would help to clip his sheep, and guard his lambs,  
And at a need lend him her choicest rams,  
And on each stock  
Work such a clock  
With twisted coloured thread; as not a Swain  
On all these downs could show the like again.  
But as it seems, the Well grew dry at last,  
Her fire unquenched; and she hath Cladon left,  
Nor was I sorry; nor do wish to taste  
The flesh whereto so many flies have cleft.  
Oh Hobbinoll! Canst thou imagine she  
That hath so oft been tried so oft misdone,  
Can from all other men be true to thee?  
Thou know'st with me, with Cladon, she hath gone  
Beyond the limits that a maiden may,  
And can the name of wife those rovings stay?  
She hath not aught  
That's hid, unsought,  
These eyes, these hands, so much know of that woman  
As more thou canst not; can that please that's common?  
No: should I wed,  
My marriage bed  
And all that it contains, should as my heart  
Be known but to myself; if we impart  
What golden rings  
The Fairy brings,  
We lose the gem nor will they give us more,  
Wives lose their value if once known before  
Behold this Violet that cropped lies,  
I know not by what hand first from the stem,  
With what I pluck myself shall I it prize?  
I scorn the offals of a Diadem.  
A Virgin's bed hath millions of delights  
If then good parents please she know no more:  
Nor hath her servants nor her favourites  
That wait her husbands issuing at door:  
She that is free both from the act and eye  
Only deserves the due of Chastity.  
But Phillis is  
As far from this,  
As are the Poles in distance from each other  
She well beseems the daughter of her mother.  
Is there a brake  
By Hill or Lake  
In all our plains that hath not guilty been  
In keeping close her stealths; the Paphian Queen  
ne'er used her skill  
To win her will  
Of young Adonis, with more heart than she  
Hath her allurements spent to work on more.  
Leave, leave her Hobinol; she is so ill  
That any one is good that's nought of her,  
Though she be fair, the ground which oft we till  
Grows with his burden old and barrenner.  Hobbinoll. 
With much ado, and with no little pain  
Have I out-heard thy railing against my love:  
But it is common, what we cannot gain  
We oft disvalue; sooner shalt thou move  
Yond lofty Mountain from the place it stands,  
Or count the Meadows flowers, or Isis' sands  
Then stir one thought  
In me, that aught  
Can be in Phillis which Diana fair  
And all the Goddesses would not wish their.  
Fond man than cease  
To cross that peace  
Which Phillis virtue and this heart of mine  
Have well begun; and for those words of thine  
I do forgive  
If thou wilt live  
Hereafter free from such reproaches more,  
●…ince goodness never was without her foe.  Palinode. 
●…eleeue me Hobinoll what I have said  
●…as more in love to thee then hate to her:  
Think on thy liberty; let that be weighed;  
Great good may oft betide if we defer  
And use some short delays ere marriage rites  
Wedlock hath days of toil as ioysome nights.  
Canst thou be free  
From jealousy?  
Oh no: that plague will so infect thy brain  
That only death must work thy peace again.  
Thou canst not dwell  
One minute well  
From whence thou leav'st her; lock on her thy gate  
Yet will her mind be still adulterate.  
Not Argos eyes  
Nor ten such spies  
Can make her only thine; for she will do  
With those, that, shall make thee mistrust them to●….  Hobbinoll. 
Wilt thou not leave to taint a virgins name●…  Palinode. 
A virgin ' yes: as sure as is her mother.  
Dost thou not hear her good report by fame?  Hobbinoll. 
Fame is a liar and was never other.  Palinode. 
Nay, if she ever spoke true; now she did:  
And thou wilt once confess what I foretold  
The fire will be discosed that now lies hid,  
Nor will thy thought of her thus long time hold.  
Yet may she (if that possible can fall)  
Be true to thee that hath been false to all.  Hobbinoll. 
So pierce the rocks  
A Redbreasts knocks  
As the belief of aught thou tell'st me now.  
Yet be my guest to morrow.  Palinode. 
Speed your plough.  
I fear ere long  
You'll sing a song  
Like that was sung hereby not long ago.  
Where there is carrion never wants a crow.  Hobinoll. 
Ill tuto●…'d Swain,  
If one the plain  
Thy sheep henceforward come where mine do feed,  
They shall be sure to smart for thy misdeed.  Palinode. 
Such are the thanks a friends forewarning brings.  
Now by the love I ever bore thee, stay!  
Meet not mishaps! themselves have speedy wings.  Hobbinoll. 
It is in vain. Farewell. I must away.  
FINIS.  W. B.  

OTHER EGLOGVES: BY Mr. BROOKE, Mr. WHITHER, and Mr. DAVI●…S.  
LONDON Printed by N. O. for G. Norton. 1614   

To his much loved friend Mr W. Browne of the Inner Temple. D. D.  Cuttie. 
WIlly well met, now whiles thy flocks do feed  
So dangerless, and free from any fear;  
Lay by thy Hook, and take thy pleasant Reed,  
And with thy melody reblesse mine ear,  
Which (upon Lammas last) and on this plain,  
Thou play'dst so sweetly to thy skipping Train.  Willy. 
I Cutty, than I played unto my sheep  
Notes apt for them, but far unfit for thee;  
How should my lays (alas) true measure keep  
With thy choice ears, or make thee melody:  
For in thy strain thou dost so far exceed,  
Thou canst not relish such my homely Reed.  Cuttie. 
Thy niceness shows thy cunning, nothing more,  
Yet since thou seem'st so lowly in thy thought;  
(Who in thy Pastoral vein, and learned lore  
Art so much praised; so far and near art sought.)  
Lend me thine ears, and thou shalt hear me sing  
In praise of Shepherds, and of thee their King.  
MY loved WILLY, if there be a Man  
That never heard of a brown coloured Swan;  
Whose tender Pinions scarcely fledged in show  
Could make his way with whitest Swans in Poe;  
Or if there be among the Spawn of earth,  
That thinks so vilely of a shepherds birth,  
That though he tune his Reed in meanest key,  
Yet in his brain holds not heaven, earth, and sea:  
Then let him know, thou art that young brown Swan,  
That through the winding streams of Albion  
Taking thy course dost seem to make thy pace  
With flocks full plumed equal in love and grace;  
And thou art he (that though thy humble strains  
Do move delight to those that love the plains:)  
Yet to thyself (as to thy sort) is given  
A Jacob's staff, to take the height of Heaven;  
And with a natural Cosmography,  
To comprehend the earth's rotundity:  
Besides the working plummet of thy brain,  
Can sound the deeps, and secrets of the main:  
For if the Shepherd a true figure be  
Of Contemplation (as the learned agree)  
Which in his seeming rest, doth (restless) move  
About the Centre, and to Heaven above;  
And in his thought is only bounded there,  
See's Nature's chain fastened to joves high Chair,  
Then thou (that art of PAN the sweetest Swain  
And far transcending all his lowly train)  
In thy discursive thought, dost range as far  
Nor canst thou err; led by thine own fair star.  
Thought hath no prison and the mind is free  
Under the greatest King and tyranny.  
Though low thou seem'st thy Genius mounts the Hill  
Where heavenly Nectar doth from jove distill;  
Where Bays still grows (by thunder not struck down)  
The Victors-Garland; and the Poets-Crowne,  
And underneath the Horse-foote-foun●… doth flow,  
Which gives Wit verdure, and makes learning grow.  
To this fair Hill (from storms and tempests free.)  
Thou oft repair'st for Truths discovery,  
A prospect upon all times wandering mazes  
Displaying vanity; disclosing graces,  
Nay in some cliff it leads the eye beyond  
The times horizon stripping sea and land.  
And farther (not obscurely) doth divine  
All future times: here do the Muses shine,  
here dignity with safety do combine,  
Pleasure with merit make a lovely twine.  
Vitam vitalem they shall ever lead  
That mount this hill and Learning's path do tread:  
here admiration without envy's won,  
All in the light, but in the heat sit none.  
And to this Mount thou dost translate thine Essence  
Although the plains contain thy corporal presence,  
Where though poor people's misery thou show  
That under g●…iping Lords they undergo,  
And what content they (that do lowest lie)  
Receive from Goodmen; that do sit on high.  
And in each witty Ditty (that surpasses)  
Dost (for thy love) make strife'mongst Country lasses  
Yet in thy humble strain; Fame makes thee rise  
And strikes thy mounting forehead'●…ainst the skies  
Renowned friend; what Trophy may I raise  
To memorise thy name; would I could praise  
(In any mean) thy worth; strike envy dumb,  
But I die here; thou liv'st in time to come;  
States have their Period statues lost with rust:  
Souls to Elysium, Nature yields to dust,  
All monuments of Arms and Power decay,  
But that which lives to an Eternal day,  
Letters preserve; Nay Gods, with mortal men  
Do sympathize by virtue of the pen.  
And so shalt thou: sweet Willy then proceed  
And in eternal merit fame thy Reed.  
PAN to thy fleeced numbers give increase  
And Pales to thy love-thoughts give true peace  
Let fair Feronia (Goddess of the woods)  
Preserve thy young Plants multiply thy buds.  
And whiles thy Rams do Tup, thy Ewes do twin  
Do thou in peaceful shade (from men's rude din)  
Add pinions to thy Fame: whose active wit  
With Hermes winged cap doth suit most fit.  Christopher Brooke.  

THIRSIS AND ALEXIS.  Thirsis. 
ALEXIS if thy worth do not disdain  
The humble friendship of a meaner Swain;  
Or some more needful business of the day  
Urge thee to be too hasty on thy way;  
Come (gentle shepherd) rest thee here by me  
Under the shadow of this broad-leaved tree:  
For though I seem a stranger, yet mine eye  
Observes in thee the marks of courtesy:  
And if my judgement err not, noted too  
More then in those that more would seem to do:  
Such virtues thy rude modesty doth hide  
Which by thy proper lustre I espied;  
And though long masked in silence they have been,  
I have a wisdom through that silence seen:  
Yea I have learned knowledge from thy tongue,  
And heard when thou hast in concealment sung:  
Which me the bolder and more willing made  
Thus to invite thee to this homely shade.  
And though (it may be) thou couldst never spy  
Such worth in me to make me known thereby,  
In thee I do; for here my neighbouring sheep  
Upon the border of these downs I keep:  
Where often thou at Pastorals and plays  
Hast graced our Wakes on Summer Holidays:  
And many a time with thee at this cold spring  
Met I, to hear your learned shepherrds sing,  
Saw them disporting in the shady groves,  
And in chaste Sonnets woo their chaster loves:  
When I endued with the meanest skill,  
'mongst others have been urged to tune my quill,  
Where (cause but little cunning I had got)  
Perhaps thou saw'st me, though thou knewest me 〈◊〉  Alexis. 
Yes Thirsis I do know thee and thy name,  
Nor is my knowledge grounded all on fame,  
Art not thou he, that but this other year,  
Scard'st all the Wolves and Foxes in the shear?  
And in a match at Football lately tried  
(Having scarce twenty satires on thy side)  
Held'st play: and though assailed, keptest thy stand  
'Gainst all the best-tryed Ruffians in the land:  
Didst thou not then in doleful Sonnets ●…one,  
When the beloved of great Pan was gone;  
And at the wedding of fair THAME and RHYNE,  
Sing of their glories to thy Valentine?  
I know it, and I must confess that long  
In one thing I did do thy nature wrong:  
For till I marked the aim thy Satyrs had,  
I thought them overbold and Thirsis mad,  
But since I did more nearly on thee look  
〈◊〉 soon perceived that I had all mistook;  
〈◊〉 saw that of a Cynic thou mad'st show  
●…here since I find that thou were nothing so,  
And thatof many thou much blame hadst go●…  
When as thy Innocence deserved it not.  
But this too good opinion thou hast seemed  
To have of me (not so to be esteemed)  
Prevails not aught to stay him who doth fear  
He rather should reproofs then praises hear  
'tis true I found thee plain and honest too  
Which made me like then love, as now I do  
And Thirsis though a stranger this I say  
Where I do love I am not coy to stay.  Thirsis. 
thanks gentle Swain that dost so soon unfold  
What I to thee as gladly would have told  
And thus thy wont courtesy expressed  
●…n kindly entertaining this request:  
Sure I should injury my own content  
Or wrong thy love to stand on complement,  
Who hast acquaintance in one word begun  
As well as I could in an age have done:  
Or by an over weaning slowness mar  
What thy more wisdom hath brought on so far;  
Then sit thou down and I'll my mind declare  
As freely, as if we familiars were:  
And if thou wilt but deign to give me ear  
Something thou mayst for thy more profit hear.  Alexis. 
Willingly Thirsis I thy wish obey.  Thirsis. 
Then know Alexis from that very day  
When as I saw thee at that shepherds Core  
Where each I think of other took first note,  
I mean that Pastor who by Tavies springs  
Chaste Shepherds loves in sweetest numbers sings,  
And with his Music (to his greater fame)  
Hath are made proud the fairest Nymphs of Tham  
E'en then me thought I did espy in thee  
Some unperceived and hidden worth to be  
Which in thy more apparent vertnes shined  
And among many I in thought divined,  
By something my conceit had understood  
That thou wert marked one of the Muse's brood  
That made me love thee: And that love I bear  
Begat a Pity, and that Pity Care:  
Pity I had to see good parts concealed,  
Care I had how to have that good revealed,  
Since 'tis a fault admitteth no excuse  
To possess much and yet put nought in use:  
Hereon I vowed (if we two ever met)  
The first request that I would strive to get  
Should be but this that thou wouldst show thy skill,  
How thou couldst tune thy verses to thy quill:  
And teach thy Muse in some well framed song,  
To show the Art thou hast suppressed so long:  
Which if my new acquaintance m●…y obtain  
Thirsis will ever honour this days gain.  Alexis. 
Alas! my small experience scarce can tell  
So much as where those Nymphs the Muses dw●…ly  
Nor (though my slow conceit still travels on)  
Shall I ere reach to drink of Helicon;  
Or if I might so favoured be to taste  
What those sweet streams but overflow in waste,  
And touch Parnassus where it low'st doth lie,  
I fear my skill would hardly flag so high.  Thirsis. 
Despair not Man the Gods have prized nought  
So dear that may not be with labour bought,  
Nor need thy pain be great since Fate and Heaven  
They (as a blessing) at thy birth have given.  Alexis. 
Why say they had.  Th. 
Then use their gifts thou must,  
Or be ungrateful, and so be unjust:  
For if it cannot truly be denied,  
Ingratitude men's benefits do hide,  
Then more ungrateful must he be by odds  
Who doth conceal the bounty of the Gods.  Alexis. 
That's true indeed, but Envy hateth those  
Who seeking fame their hidden skill disclose:  
Where else they might (obscured) from her espying  
Escape the blasts and danger of envying:  
Critics will censure our best strains of Wit,  
And purblind Ignorance misconstrue it.  
All which is bad: yet worse than this doth follow,  
Most hate the Muses, and contemn APOLLO.  Thirsis. 
So let them; why should we their hate esteem▪  
Is't not enough we of ourselves can deem?  
'tis more to their disgrace that we scorn them  
Then unto us that they our Art contemn;  
Can we have better pastime then to see  
Our gross heads may so much deceived be,  
As to allow those doings best, where wholly  
We scoff them to their face, and flout their folly;  
Or to behold black Envy in her prime  
Die selfe-consumed whilst we vie lives with time:  
And in despite of her, more fame attain  
Then all her malice can wipe out again,  Alexis. 
Yea but if I applied me to those strains,  
Who should drive forth my flocks unto the plains,  
Which whilst the Muse's rest, and leisure crave,  
Must watering, folding and attendance have.  
For if I leave with wont care to cherish  
Those tender herds: both I and they should perish.  Thirsis. 
Alexis now I see thou dost mistake,  
There is no meaning thou thy charge forsake,  
Nor would I wish thee so thyself abuse  
As to neglect thy calling for thy Muse:  
But let these two so of each other borrow,  
That they may season mirth, and lessen sorrow,  
Thy flock will help thy charges to defray,  
Thy Muse to pass the long and tedious day.  
Or whilst thou tun'st sweet measures to thy Reed  
Thy sheep to listen will more near thee feed,  
The wolves will shun them, birds above thee sing,  
And Lambkin's dance about thee in a Ring;  
Nay which is more: in this thy low estate  
Thou in contentment shalt with monarch mate:  
For mighty Pan, and Ceres to us grants  
Our fields and ●…lockes shall help our outward wants▪  
The Muses teach us songs to put off cares,  
Graced with as rare and sweet conceits as theirs:  
And we can think our lasses on the greene's  
As fair, or fairer than the fairest Queens;  
●…r what is more than most of them shall do,  
we'll make their juster fames last longer too,  
having our Lines by greatest Princes graced  
When both their name and memory's defaced.  
Therefore Alexis though that some disdain  
The heavenly music of the Rural plain,  
What is't to us, if they (or eseent) contemn  
●…he dainties which were near ordained for them?  
And though that there be other some envy  
The praises due to sacred Poesy,  
Let them disdain and frer till they are weary,  
●…e in ourselves have that shall make us merry:  
Which he that wants, and had the power to know it,  
Would give his life that he might die a Poet.  Alexis. 
Thou hast so well (young Thirsis) played thy part  
I am almost in love with that sweet Art:  
And if some power will but inspire my song,  
Alexis will not be obscured long.  Thirsis. 
Enough kind Pastor: But oh! yonder see  
Two Shepherds, walking on the lay-banke be,  
Cuttie and Willie, that so dearly love,  
Who are repairing unto yonder grove:  
Let's follow them: for never braver Swains  
Made music to their flocks upon these plains.  
They are more worthy, and can better tell  
What rare contents do with a Poet dwell.  
Then whiles our sheep the short sweet grass do shear  
And till the long shade of the hills appear,  
we'll hear them sing: for though the one be young,  
Never was any that more sweetly sung.  
Geo. Whither.   

An Eclogue between young Willy the singer of his native Pastorals, and old WERNOCKE his friend.  Wernocke. 
WILLY, why lig'st thou (man) so w●…-be-gon?  
What? been thy rather Lamkins ill-apaid?  
Or, hath some dreary chance thy Pipe misdone?  
Or, hast thou any sheep-cure mis-assaid?  
Or, is some conteck 'twixt thy love and thee?  
Or, else some love-warke arsie-varsie ta'en?  
Or, fates less frolic than they want to be?  
What gars my WILLY that he so doth wane?  
If it be for thou hast mis-said, or done,  
Take keep of thine own council; and, thou art  
As shoene and clear fro both-twaine as the Sun:  
For, all Swains laud thine haviour, and thine Art.  
Ma hap thine heart (that uneath brook neglect,  
And jealous of thy fresh fame) liggs upon  
Thy rural songs, which rarest Clerks affect,  
Dreading the descant that moat fall thereon.  
Droop not for that (man) but unpleate thy brows,  
And blithely, so, fold envies up in pleats:  
For, fro thy Make milk, and mellie flows  
To feed the Songster-swaines with Arts soot-meats.  Willie. 
Now, sil●…er (Wernocke) thou hast split the mark  
Albe that I ne wot I han mis song:  
But, for I am so young, I dread my work  
wol be misualued b●…th of old and young.  Wern●…cke. 
Is thilk the cause that thou been lig so laid,  
Who whilom no encheason could fore-haile;  
And caitive-courage near made misapaid,  
But with chief youngsters songsters bar'st thy sail?  
As swoot as Swans thy strains make Thames to ring  
Fro Coiswould where her source her course doth take,  
To her wide mouth which vents thy carolling  
Beyond the hither and the further lake.  
Than up (sad swain) pull fro thy veiled cheek  
Hur prop, thy palm: and let thy Virilays,  
Kill envious cunning swains (whom all do seek)  
With envy, at thine earned gaudy praise.  
Up lither lad, thou reck'st much of thy swink,  
When swink ne swat thou shouldst ne reck for fame;  
At Aganip than, lay thee down to drink  
Until thy stomach swell, to raise thy name.  
What though time yet han not bedowld thy Chin?  
Thy Dam's dear womb was Helicon to thee;  
Where (like a Loach) thou drewest thilk liquor in,  
Which on thy heartstrings ran with musics glee.  
Than up betimes, and make the sullen swains  
With thy shrill Reed such iolly-iovisance  
That they (entranced) ma wonder at thy strains;  
So, leave of thee ne'er ending sovenance.  Willie. 
Ah Wernocke, Wernocke, so my spirits been steeped  
In dullness, through these duller times missawes  
Of sik-like music (rhyming rudely clept.)  
That yet I pipe well, must be better cause.  
Ah, who (with lavish draughts of Aganip)  
Can swill their soul to frolic; so, their Muse,  
When Courts and Camps, that erst the muse did clip,  
Do now forlore her; nay, her most abuse?  
Now, with their witless, causeless surquedry  
They been transposed fro what of yore they were,  
That Swains, who but to loser luxury  
Can show the way, are now most cherished there.  
These times been crimeful (ah) and being so,  
Bold Swains (deft Songsters) sing them criminal;  
So, make themselves oft gleefull in their woe:  
For thy the Songsters are misweened of all.  
Mecaen●… wont in blonket liveries  
Yelad sick chanters; but these miser times  
Uncase 'em quite, that all may hem despise,  
As they don all their best embellished Rhymes.  
And Haruest-queenes', of yore, would Chaplets make  
To crown their scalps that couth most swootly sing,  
And give 'em many a gaude at Ale or Wake,  
But now ne reck they of soot carrolling.  
Enaunter they should be as seem they would,  
Or sungen loudly for so dear desert;  
Or else be peregall to Nymphs of old,  
From which their beastl●…hed now freely start.  
Than must they latch the blows of Fates too fell  
With their too feeble clouches as they con:  
For, none regards or guards 'em for their spell,  
though they, on point-device, empt Helicon!  
There nis thilk chivisance they whilom had  
For piping swoote; sith, with an Heydeguys,  
Pipped by Tom-piper, or a Lorrel-lad,  
(So be he claws 'em) they idolatrize. (sale,  
And those that should press proper songs for  
Bene, in their dooms, so dull; in skill, so crude;  
That they had leaver printen jack a vale,  
Or Cl●…m o Clough (alack) they been so rude!  
And sith so few feat Songsters in an age  
Bene founden; fo●… do weigh 'em as they been,  
For, Swains, that con no skill of holy-rage,  
Been foe-men to fair skills enlawreled Queen.  
Enough is me, for thy, that I ma vent  
My wits spells to myself, or unto thee  
(Dear Wernock) which dost feel like miscontent  
Sith thou, and all unheeded, singt with me.  Wernock. 
Vartue it's said (and is an old said-saw)  
Is for hur self, to be for sought alone: (draw,  
Then eftsoons fro their case thy shrill pipes  
And make the welkin ringen with their tone.  
Of world, ne worly men take thou no keep,  
What the one doth, or what the other say;  
For should I so, I so, should Eyes out-weepe:  
Than, with me; Willy, ay sing care-away.  
It's wood to be fore-pinde with wasteful cark  
In many a noyful stout of willing bale  
For vading toys: But trim wits poorest wark  
The upper heaven han hent fro nether Dale.  
Thilks all our share of all the quelling heap  
Of this world's good: enough is us to tell  
How rude the rest been, caduke, & how cheap;  
But, laud for well-done warks, done all excel!  
For thy we shoulden take keep of our Race  
That here we reunen, and what here we done  
That when we wenden till an other place,  
Our sovenance may here, ay-gayly won.  
For, time will underfong us; and our voice  
wool waxed weak; and, our devising lame;  
For, life is brief; and skills been long, and choice:  
Than, spend we Time, that Time may spare our Fame,  
Look how breme Winter chamfers Earth's blecke face;  
So, corbed Eld accoyes youths surquedry;  
And, in the front, deep furrows done enchase,  
Enveloped with falling snow a hy.  
Then nought can be achieved with witty shows,  
Sith grief of ●…lde accloyen wimble wit;  
Than, us behonen, yer Eld sick accrues,  
Time to forelay, with spells retarding it.  
I not what bliss is whelmed with heavens cope  
So b●…e the pleasance of the Muse be none:  
For, when thilk gleesome joys han hallowed scope  
They been as those that heau'ns-folke warble on.  
I con my good; for, n●…w my scalp is frost  
Yielding to snow; the crow-feetes near mine Eyes  
Been marks of much proof I have, that most  
Of all glees else allow, han sudden fine.  
O how it garres old Wernock swynck with glee  
In that emprise that chiven fearest fame,  
It heats my heart above ability  
To leave parduring sovenance of my name.  
And when mine Engine han heaved by my thought,  
An that on point-device eftsooones y fell,  
O! how my heart's ioy-rapt, as I had caught,  
A Princedom to my share, of thilk newel.  
They been of pleasances the alderbest:  
Than, God to forne; ay will no more but though:  
though been the sum of all I loven best:  
And for 'em love I life; else nold I so.  
Drive on thy flock than, to the motley plains  
Where by some prill, that 'mong the Pebbles plods,  
Thou, with thine Oaten reed, and queintest strains,  
Mayst rapt the signior Swains, and minor Gods:  
That as on Ida that mych-famed Mount,  
A Shepherd Swain; that sung less soot than tho●…,  
By light loves Goddess, had the grace to mount  
To owe the sheenest Queen that Earth did owe:  
So, thou mayst, with thy pastoral Minstralsy  
Beating the air, atween resounding Hills,  
Draw to thee Bonibels as smirk, as hy,  
And wrap 'em in thy love begrey their wills:  
For (ah) had Phoebus' Clerks the means of some  
Worse Clerks (paraunter) so to sing at ease;  
They soon would make high long-winged haggards  
And vail unto their Lures: so, on hem seize. (come;  
For, bright Nymphs buxom Breasts do easily open  
To let in thirling notes of noted lays:  
For, deftly song they han a charming scope;  
So, Nymphs themselves adore Brows girt with Bays.  
Than, Willy (ah for pity of thine heart  
That drooping yearnes, at misses of these times)  
Take thou thy Pipe, and of glee take thy part;  
Or cheer thyself with cordials of thy Rhymes.  
Before the world's stern face, the world backbite  
So flyly that her parts ne'it perceive:  
Moral thy matter so, that, though thou smite,  
Thou mayst with tickling her dull sense; deceive.  
Than by thee, Willy, to the neighbour wastes  
Where thou (as in another world alone)  
Mayst (while thy flock do feed) blow bitter blast●…  
On thy loudest Pipe, to make ils pertly known.  
For, sith the rude-crude world done us misplease  
That well deserven, tell we hur hur own;  
And let her ken our cunning can, with ease,  
Ay shend, or lend hur sempitern renown.  Willy. 
Ah Wernocke, so thy saws mine heart down thril  
With love of Muse's skill in special,  
That I ne wot, on mould what feater skill  
Can be yhugged in Lordings pectoral.  
Ne would I it let-bee for all the store  
In th'uncouth scope of both-twain hemispheres;  
Enough is me, pardie, nor strive for more  
But to be rich in hery for my leers.  
Ne would I sharen that soule-gladding glee  
In th'ever gaudy Gardens of the blessed  
Not there to han the Muse's company,  
Which, God to-fore, is of the best, the best.  
Now, Wernock, shalt thou see (so more I thee)  
That I nill use any skill so mytch  
(Fair fall my swinck) as this so nice, and free,  
In case I may my name to Heaven stitch.  
For why; I am by kind so inly pulled  
To these delices; that when I betake  
Myself to other lore I more am dulled;  
And therefrom, keenly set, I fall to make.  
But, well-away, thy nis the way to thriven;  
And, my near kith, for that will sore me shend:  
Who little reck how I by kind am given;  
But hur would force to swinck for thriftier end.  
Hence forward then I must assay, and con  
My leer in leeful lore, to pleasen them  
That, sib to me, would my promotion,  
And cark for that to prank our common Stem:  
For, now (as wends the world) no skill to that  
(Or rather but that) thrives; sith Swains are now  
So full of contecke, that they wot ne what  
They would; so, if they could; they all would owe.  
So fares it in calm seasons with cursed men;  
If frennes forbear, at home, 'em to invade,  
They wry their peace to noy each other then  
By pleas, till they decease, or fall, or fade.  
So times been keener now with common Swains  
Than when as foreign foe-men with hem fought:  
For, now they swink, but for fly Law-mens' gains  
Or seld they should possessen what they ought.  
But, what for this? to me it little longs  
To gab of sikliche notes of misery;  
Enough is me to chaunten swoote my songs,  
And blend 'em with my rural minstrelsy.  
But, o (my Wernock) how am I to thee  
Obligen, for thy keen reencouragements  
To skill so much loved and sought of me  
As this of making with Arts Elements?  
I not how I shall thrive therein; ne how  
I shall be deemed of in these nicer times:  
But how soe'er so thou my works allow,  
I nill be ill-apaidon with my Rhymes.  Wernock. 
Thou nedst not, Willy; wretch were I to laud  
Thee in thy misses: for, I so should be  
To th'adulteries of thy wits-scapes, but a Bawd  
Ne, as a friend, in sentence, should be free.  
Than, wend thou fairly on, with thine emprise;  
Sing clearly, Will, on mine encouragement,  
And other Swains, more able to devise;  
And, fix thee for it, in the firmament.  
Enough is me so I may bear a part  
Ay in the Muse's Choir with those and thee;  
I'll sing (at ease) aloud, with cheerful heart,  
No base ne mean but Tenor of best glee.  Willy. 
And I, with thee, will chant each counter-verse  
So shrilly that we'll make thilk Choir to ring  
As ever do the Angels; who rehearse  
The loudest lauds of heau'ns-Lord when they sing.  
So, farewell, Wernock, much thanks to thee  
For thy freedom, that canst so well devise:  
Phoebus now goes to glade; than now go we,  
Unto our sheds to rest us till he rise.  Wernock. 
Agreed dear, Willy, gent and debonair,  
we'll hence: for, rheumatic now fares the Air.  
Io. Davies.  
FINIS.   

To his better beloved, then known friend, Mr. BROWNE.  

Such is the fate of some (write) now a days  
Thinking to win and wear, they break the Bays,  
As a slow Footman striving near to come  
A swifter that before him far doth run,  
Puffed with the hope of Honour's goal to win  
Runs out of Breath yet furthest of from him.  
So do our most of Poets whose Muse flies  
About for honour: catch poor Butterflies.  
But thou fair friend not ranked shall be amongst those  
That makes a Mountain where a Mole-bill grows;  
Thou whose sweet singing Pen such lays hath writ  
That in an old way: teacheth us new wit:  
Thou that wert borne and bred to be the man  
To turn Apollo's glory into Pan,  
And when thou lists of Shepherds leave to write,  
To great Apollo add again his light  
For never yet, like Shepherds forth have come  
Whose Pipes so sweetly play as thine have done.  
Fair Muse of Browne, whose beauty is as pure  
As women Brown that fair and longest endure  
Still mayst thou as thou dost a lover move,  
And as thou dost each mover may thee love,  
Whilst I myself, in love with thee must fall,  
Brownes Muse the fair Brown woman still will call.   
JOHN ONLET. Int. Temp.   

AN OTHER ECLOGVE: BY Mr. George Wither. Dedicated to his truly loving and worthy friend, Mr W. BROWNE.  
LONDON, Printed for George Norton. 1614   

TO HIS TRULY BELOVED loving friend Mr WILLIAM BROWNE of the Inner Temple.  Roget. and Willie. 
Prithee Willy tell me this,  
What new thing late happened is,  
Thou (that wert the blythest lad)  
Art become so wondrous sad?  
And so careless of thy quill,  
As if thou hadst had no skill.  
Thou wert wont to charm thy Flocks,  
And among these rudest rocks  
Hast so cheered me with thy Song,  
That I have forgot my wrong.  
Something hath thee surely crossed,  
That thy old wont thou hast lost,  
But what is't? Have I ought said  
That hath made thee misapaid?  
Hath some Churl done thee a spite?  
Dost thou miss a Lamb to night?  
Frowns thy fairest Shepherds Lass?  
Or how comes this ill to pass?  
Is there any discontent  
Worse than this my banishment?  Willie. 
Why, doth that so evil seem,  
That thou nothing worse dost deem?  
Shepherd, there full many be,  
That would change Contents with thee.  
Those that choose their walks at will,  
On the valley or the Hill.  
Or those pleasures boast of can  
Groves or fields may yield to man:  
Never come to know the rest  
Wherewithal thy mind is blest.  
Many a one that oft resorts  
To make up the troup at sports,  
And in company some while  
Happens to strain forth a smile:  
Feels more want, more outward smart  
And more inward grief of heart,  
Then this place can bring to thee,  
While thy mind remaineth free.  
Thou condemn'st my want of mirth,  
But what findest thou in this earth,  
Wherein aught may be believed,  
Worth to make me joyed, or grieved?  
And yet feel I (netheless)  
Part of both I must confess.  
Seled, yet for such causes small:  
But I grieve not not now at all.  Roget. 
Why hath WILLY then so long,  
Now forborn his wont song?  
Wherefore do●… he now let fall,  
His well-tuned Pastoral?  
And my ears that Music bar,  
Which I more long after far  
Than the liberty I want.  Willie. 
That were very much to grant,  
But doth this hold always lad,  
Those that sing not must be sad?  
Didst thou ever that bird hear  
Sing well, that sings all the year?  
Tom the Piper doth not play  
Till he wears his Pipe away:  
There's a time to slack the string,  
And a time to leave to sing.  Roget. 
Yea, but no man now is still,  
That can sing, or tune a quill.  
Now to chant it, were but reason,  
Song and Music are in season.  
Now in this sweet jolly tide,  
Is the earth in all her pride.  
The fair Lady of the May  
Trimmed up in her best array  
Hath invited all the Swains,  
With the Lasses of the Plains,  
To attend upon her sport  
At the places of resort.  
Corydon (with his bold Rout)  
Hath already been about  
For the elder shepherds dole:  
And fetched in the Summer-Pole;  
Whilst the rest have built a Bower,  
To defend them from a shower,  
Seil'd so close with boughs all green,  
Titan cannot pry between.  
Now the Dairy Wenches dream  
Of their Strawberries and Cream:  
And each doth herself advance  
To be taken in, to dance.  
Every one that knows to sing,  
Fits him now for Carrolling:  
So do those that hope for meed,  
Either by the Pipe or Reed,  
And though I am kept away,  
I do hear (this very day)  
Many learned Grooms do wend,  
For the Garlands to contend  
Which a Nymph that hight Desert,  
(Long a stranger in this part)  
With her own fair hands hath wrought  
A rare work (they say) past thought,  
As appeareth by the name,  
For she calls them Wreaths of Fame.  
She hath set in their due place  
Every flower that may grace,  
And among a thousand more,  
(Whereof some butse ne for show)  
She hath wove in Daphne's tree,  
That they may not blasted be.  
Which with Time she edged about,  
That it might not shatter out.  
And that they might wither never,  
Intermixed it with Live-ever.  
These are to be shared among  
Those that do excel for song:  
Or their passions can rehearse  
In the smoothest and sweetest verse.  
Then for those amid the rest,  
That can play and pipe the best,  
There's a Kidling with the Dam,  
A fat Weather, and a Lamb.  
And for those that leapen far,  
Wrestle, Run, and throw the Bar,  
there's appointed guerdons too:  
He that best the first can do  
Shall for his reward be paid,  
With a Sheephook, fai●…e in-laid  
With fine bone, of a strange beast,  
That men bring from out the west.  
For the next, a Scrip of red,  
Tasseled with fine coloured thread.  
Then for him that's quickest of foot,  
A Cup of a Maple-roote:  
Whereupon the skilful man  
Hath engraved the Loves of Pan.  
And the last hath for his due,  
A fine Napkin wrought with blue.  
Then my Willy what moves thee,  
Thus forgetful now to be?  
What mak'st thou here with a wight  
That is shut up from delight:  
In a solitary den  
As not fit to live with men.  
Go my Willy, get thee gone,  
Leave me in exile alone.  
high thee to that merry throng,  
And amaze them with thy Song.  
Thou art young, yet such a Lay  
Never graced the month of May,  
As (if they provoke thy skill)  
Thou canst fit unto thy Quill.  
I with wonder heard thee sing,  
At our last years reveling.  
Then I with the rest was free,  
When unknown I noted thee:  
And perceived the ruder Swains,  
Envy thy far sweeter strains.  
Yea I saw the Lasses cling  
Round about thee in a Ring:  
As if each one jealous were,  
Any but herself should hear.  
And I know they yet do long  
For the res'due of thy song.  
Haste thee then to sing it forth,  
Take the benefit of worth.  
And Desert will sure bequeath  
Fame's fair garland for thy wreath.  
high thee Willy, high away.  Willie. 
Roget rather let me stay,  
And be desolare with thee,  
Then at those their Revels be.  
Nought such is my skill I wis,  
As indeed thou deemest it is.  
But what ere it be, I must  
Be content, and shall I trust.  
For a song I do not pass,  
'Mongst my friends, but what (alas)  
Should I have to do with them  
That my Music do contemn?  
Some there are, as well I wot,  
That the same yet favour not:  
Yet I cannot well avow,  
They my Carols disallow.  
But such malice I have spid,  
'tis as bad as if they did.  Roget. 
Willy, what may those men be,  
Are so ill to malice thee,  Willie. 
Some are worthy-well esteemed  
Some without worth are so deemed.  
Others of so base a spirit,  
They have nor esteem, nor merit.  Roget. 
What's the wrong?  Willie. 
A slight offence,  
Wherewithal I can dispense;  
But hereafter for their sake,  
To myself I'll music make.  Roget. 
What, because some Clown offends,  
Wilt thou punish all thy friends?  Willy. 
Honest Roget understand me,  
Those that love me may command me,  
But thou knowst I am but young,  
And the Pastoral I sung,  
Is by some supposed to be  
(By a strain) too high for me:  
So they kindly let me gain,  
Not my labour, for my pain.  
Trust me, I do wonder why  
They should me my own deny.  
Though I'm young, I scorn to flit  
On the wings of borrowed wit.  
I'll make my own feathers rear me,  
Whither others cannot bear me.  
Yet I'll keep my skill in store,  
Till I've seen some Winters more.  Roget. 
But in earnest meanest thou so?  
Then thou art not wise, I trow.  
Better shall advise thee Pan,  
For thou dost not rightly than:  
That's the ready way to blot  
All the credit thou hast got.  
Rather in thy Ages prime,  
Get another start of Time:  
And make those that so fond be,  
(Spite of their own dullness) see  
That the sacred Muses can  
Make a child in years, a man.  
It is known what thou canst do,  
For it is not long ago,  
When that CUDDIE, Thou, and I  
Each the others skill to try,  
At Saint Dunstanes charmed Well,  
(As some present there can tell)  
Sang upon a sudden Th●…ame,  
Sitting by the Crimson stream.  
Where, if thou didst well or no,  
Yet remains the song to show.  
Much experience more I've had,  
Of thy skill (thou happy Lad)  
And would make the world to know it,  
But that time will further show it.  
Envy makes their tongues now run,  
More than doubt of what is done.  
For that needs must be thy own,  
Or to be some others known:  
But how then wilt suit unto  
What thou shalt hereafter do?  
Or I wonder where is he,  
Would with that song part to thee:  
Nay, were there so mad a swain,  
Could such glory sell for gain;  
Phoebus would not have combined  
That gift with so base a mind.  
Never did the Nine impart  
The sweet secrets of their Art  
un to any that did scorn  
To have their fair Badge seen worn.  
Therefore unto those that say,  
Were they pleased to sing a Lay,  
They could do't, and will not tho;  
This I speak, for this I know:  
None ere drunk the Thespian Spring,  
And knew how, but he did sing.  
For that one infused in man,  
Makes him show't, do what he can,  
Nay those that do only sip  
Or but e'en their fingers dip  
In that sacred Fount (poor Elves)  
Of that brood will show themselves;  
Yea, in hope to get them fame,  
They will speak though to their shame  
Let those then at thee repine,  
That by their wits measure thine.  
Needs those Songs must be thy own,  
And that one day will be known,  
The same imputation to,  
I myself do undergo:  
But it will be known ere long,  
I'm abused, and thou hast wrong,  
Who at twice ten haste song more  
Than some will do at fourscore.  
Cheer thee (honest Willy) then,  
And begin thy song again.  Willy. 
feign I would, but I do fear  
When again my Lines they hear,  
If they yield they are my Rhymes,  
They will find some other Crimes.  
And 'tis no safe venturing by,  
Where we see Detraction lie.  
For do what I can, I doubt,  
She will pick some quarrel out,  
And I oft have heard defended,  
Little said, and soon amended.  Roget. 
See'st thou not in clearest days  
Oft thick fogs cloud heavens rays?  
And the vapours that do breath  
From the earth's gross womb beneath,  
Seem they not with their black steatne●…,  
To pollute the suns bright beams,  
And yet vanish into air,  
Leaving them (unblemished) fair?  
So (my Willy) shall it be  
With Detractions breath and thee.  
It shall never rise so high,  
As to stain thy Poesy.  
Like the Sun she oft exhales  
Vapours from the rot'nest vales;  
But so much her power can do,  
That she may dissolve them too.  
If thy verse do bravely tower,  
As she makes wing, she gets power.  
But the higher she doth sore,  
she's affronted still the more:  
Till she to the highest hath past,  
Then she rests with fame at last.  
Let nought therefore thee affright,  
But make forward in thy flight:  
For if I could match thy Rhyme,  
To the very stars I'd climb.  
There begin again and fly  
Till I reached Eternity.  
But (alas) my Muse is slow:  
For thy pace she flags too low.  
Yea, the more'●… her hapless fate,  
Her long wings were clipped of late.  
And poor I, her fortune ruing,  
Am myself put up a muing.  
But if I my Cage can rid,  
I'll fly where I never did.  
And though for her sake l'me crossed,  
Though my best hopes I have lost,  
And knew she would make my trouble,  
Ten times more than ten times double,  
I would love and keep her toe,  
Spite of all the world could do.  
For though banished from my flocks,  
And confined within these rocks,  
Here I waste away the light,  
And consume the sullen Night,  
She doth for my comfort stay,  
And keeps many cares away.  
Though I miss the flowery Fields,  
With those sweets the Springtide yields,  
Though I may not see those Groves,  
Where the shepherds chant their Loves,  
And the Lasses more excel,  
Then the sweet-voyced Philomela.  
Though of all those pleasures past,  
Nothing now remains at last,  
But Remembrance (poor relief)  
That more makes, then mends my grief.  
She's my smind●… companion still,  
Maugre envies evil will.  
Whence she should be driven to,  
Werted in mortals power to do.  
She doth tell me where to borrow  
Comfort in the midst of sorrow;  
Makes the desolatest place  
To her presence be a grace;  
And the blackest discontents  
Be her fairest ornaments.  
In my former days of bliss,  
Her divine thoughts taught me this,  
That from every thing I saw,  
I could some invention draw:  
And raise pleasure to her height,  
Through the meanest objects sight,  
By the murmur of a spring,  
Or the least leaves rustling.  
By a Daisy whose leaves spread  
Shut when Titan goes to bed,  
Or a shady bush or tree,  
She could more infuse in me,  
Then all Nature's beauties can,  
In some other wiser man.  
By her help I also now,  
Make this churlish place allow  
somethings, that may sweeten gladness  
In the very gall of sadness.  
The dull loanesse, the black shade,  
That these hanging vaults have made,  
The strange Music of the waves,  
Beating on these hollow Caves.  
This grim den which Rocks embosse,  
Overgrown with eldest moss.  
The rude portals that give light,  
More to Terror then Delight.  
This my Chamber of Neglect,  
Walled about with Disrespect,  
From all these, and this dull air,  
A fit object for Despair,  
She hath taught me by her might  
To draw comfort and delight.  
Therefore thou best earthly bliss  
I will cherish thee for this.  
Poesy; thou sweetest content  
That ere Heaven to mortals lent.  
Though they as a trifle leave thee  
Whose dull thoughts can not conceive thee  
Though thou be to them a scorn  
That to nought but earth are borne:  
Let my life no longer be,  
Then I am in love with thee.  
Though our wise ones call it madness  
Let me never taste of gladness  
If I love not thy mad'st fits  
Above all their greatest wits.  
And though some too seeming holy  
Do account thy raptures folly:  
Thou dost teach me to contemn  
What makes Knaves and Fools of them.  
O high power that oft doth carry  
Men above  Willy. 
Good Roget tarry  
〈◊〉 do fear thou wilt begun  
Quite above my reachanon,  
The kind flames of Poesy  
Have now borne thy thoughts so high,  
That they up in Heavenbee  
And have quite forgotten me,  
Call thyself to mind again  
Are these Raptures for a Swain,  
That attends on lowly sheep  
And with simple herds doth keep?  Roget. 
Thanks my Willy, I had run  
Till that Time had lodged the Sun,  
If thou hadst not made me stay;  
But thy pardon hear I pray.  
Loved Apollo's sacred fire  
Had raised up my spirits higher  
Through the love of Poesy  
Then indeed they use to fly.  
But as I said, I say still,  
If that I had Willi's skill  
Envy nor Detractions ●…ongue,  
Should ere make me leave my song;  
But I'd●… sing it every day  
Till they pined themselves away.  
Be●… thou then advised in this  
Which both just and ●…itting is,  
Finish what thou hast begun  
Or at least still forward run,  
Hail and Thunder ill he'll bear  
That a blast of wind do●…h fear:  
And if words will thus afray thee?  
Prithee how will deeds dismay thee  
Do not think so rather a song  
Can pass through the vulgar throng  
And escape without a touch,  
Or that they can hurt it much:  
Frosts we see do nip that thing  
Which is forwardst in the Spring:  
Yet at last for all such lets  
Some what of the rest it gets:  
And I'm sure that so mayst thou;  
Therefore my kind Willy now,  
Since thy folding time draws on  
And I see thou must be gone,  
I no more of this will say  
Till we meet next holiday.  
Geor Whither.   

Imitatus est Moschi 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 idyl. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 & Meleagri Epigram. Antholog. lib. 7. I. S. olim inter Otia Rustica.  

To his Melisa.  

LOUD did Cytherea cry,  
If you straggling Cupid spy,  
And but bring the news to me,  
Your reward a Kiss shall be:  
You shall (if you him restore)  
With a Kiss, have something More.   

Marks enough the Boy's known by,  
Ti'ry Colour, Flamy Eye;  
Subtle Heart; and sweetened Mouth,  
Feigning still, but Failing Truth;  
Daring Visage, Arms but small;  
Yet can Strike us Gods and all.   

Body Naked, Crafty Mind;  
Winged as a Bird and blind;  
Little Bow, but wounding hearts;  
Golden both, and Leaden darts.  
Burning Taper; if you find him,  
Without pity, look you Bind him.   

Pity not his Tears or Smiles:  
Both are false, both forged guile●….  
Fly it, if a Kiss He proffer;  
Lips enchanting he will offer,  
And his Quiver, Bow, and Candle,  
But none of them see you handle.   

Poisoned they are, and such,  
As myself I dare not touch:  
Hurt no sight, yet pierce the Eye,  
Thence unto the Heart they fly.  
Warned thus, Pray, take some pain,  
Thelp me to my Boy again.   

Thus while Cytherea cried him,  
Sweet, within Thine Eyes I spied him.  
Thence he s●…ly shot at Mine,  
〈◊〉 My Heart and crept to Thine.  
Pay you, Sweet, the promised Fee,  
Him, I'll swear, I did not see.    
FINIS.