CALTHA Poetarum: Or The Bumble Bee. Composed by T. Cutwode Esquire.  
Non inferiora secutus.  
LONDON Printed by Thomas Creed, for Richard Olive. 1599   

TO THE CONCEITED Poets of our age.  
SCribimus indocti doctic poëmata passim. Pardon me Gentlemen & others that delight to write, if out of my own humour & knowledge of myself, I deliver this conceit before my book, that all we writ is but conceit. And nothing pleaseth conceited men more than to have partners or acquaintances with their conceits. Scire tuum nihil est nisi, quod scis hoc sciat alter. Be it learned or not, yet the contriving pleaseth the humour, so the subject be drawn out of the sweet impression of content. Being contrived, partiality breeds either such pity, that the hours spent to our pleasure, should be blotted with oblivion, or such hopes, that what we writ, may meet with like affected humours, which may receive it with some liking, as we die if we offer not the world our conceits. The end is to our writings that are unlearned, all one, as to the learnedst Poems that are. For Homer, who imitated none, and Archilocus, who is compared with Homer, because they only finished their works in their life. And Virgil, the curious Ape of Homer. Ovid the Amorous, Martial the licentious, Horace, the mixed betwixt modest & Satirique vain. The flower of our age, sweet pleasing Sidney. Tasso the grave. Polished Daniel the Historick. Spencer the Truths Faith. All these have this only usury of their pains, they please others & themselves. In like manner, as we please ourselves, so some are pleased with us. For as these are admired & deified almost by the wisest, the lernedst, & the deepest sighted into great matters, the ignorant not being able to attain unto them. So we are held among the inferior spirits, and are the little Penates, to country, homely and low reaching wits, admired by such, and religiously read, though never taken into the others hands. Are they then known? So are we. Are they not known to all? No more are we. Do they carp and jest at us, if by chance we fall into their fingers? We will cry quittance, for we will not understand them in some things, and touch them with an Ironical Adage; Quae supra nos nihil ad nos. Gentlemen & others, I pray you let us hold together for the preservation of our reputation, and maintain the prescription of our low subjects, lest Apollo's music do quite drown poor Pan, and the country Hornpipe be laid aside. Alas, if the woods, the poor brooks, and the dales of the country, sound not sometime in our ears, as well as the Prince of Rivers, let the lasses give over laaking in the green, and dancing about the Maypole. It were great pity the little Cupid's Altars should be altogether defaced, from whose ever renewing influence, so many pleasing subjects do flow into our brains. For whilst he continues honoured in the world, we must once a year bring him upon the stage, either dancing, kissing, laughing, or angry, or dallying with his darlings, leaping into their eyes, seating himself in their breasts, commanding more than imperiously all the gods; or crying for childish peevishness; or metamorphosed into many changeable shapes; or playing in a garden as I do at this time; weeping, and again stung with a Bee. There is a secret (but, I may not reveal the counsels & secrets of our state of love) which makes this young god, be to all men the plain song to their descant of their In Nomines. It cannot be youth alone, for then old men could not dote, and young men might only claim privilege of love from the the God. What should it then be? Surely, if not a secret influence in the beloved, I cannot divine the reason. For if aged Trees were not succoured with the Sun as well as young plants, their decay would be sudden. All sorts do offer sacrifice to him. Let all sorts than be retained, devoutly in the opinion of devotion. For the aged no sooner laughed the young man to scorn for loving, but straightly he doted. Let me I pray you abruptly thus end, lest I speak too much, when I doubt my speech will only please my own conceit.  
Yours T. Cutwode.   

G. S. in commendation of the Author.  

Light hath by skilful proof revealed to our sight,  
The virtue of each Plant; his hurt full harm or good▪  
Wherein the busy Bee, approves her pure delight,  
Selecting thence essential sweet pleasing food:  
For us, as for herself, as none but Light and she,  
In Nature's sacred school, so learned seem to be.   

So Cutwode Light, like proves, in cunning with the Bee,  
Fron love and beauties force youths blossoms in his prime:  
To search and try the sweet from age, also doth he,  
Taste what is good or bad, a virtue or a crime,  
Without offence or fault, by Flower, Plant, or Tree,  
Persons of good worth are meant, conceal thus doth he.   

Oft aiming at the Nymph the object of his mind,  
Whom Caltha or Marygold, he calls himself a Bee:  
To some her coy conceit, to him how she is kind,  
He shows by wit divine and pure conceit we see:  
How youth doth age disdain & cunningly beguile,  
Which whilst his Nymph beholds, she cannot choose but smile.   

And ye who erst to sing of love her pleasant lays,  
Busied have been, from forth Minerva her breast:  
The sweet to taste by rare devise your fame to raise,  
Admire his skill and choice conceit most purely priest,  
From homebred soil and Nature he it hither brings,  
By birth from noble progeny (lo) thus be sings.    

Caltha Poetarum.  

1  
MY Herbal book in Folio I unfold,  
I pipe of Plants, I sing of summer flowers,  
But chief on the Maiden Marygold,  
and of the Daisy, both brave Belamours:  
Trophies for Kings, Impreze for Emperors,  
Garlands to bear upon the brave Ensigns  
Of Knights, of Peers, of princely Paladins.   

2.  
Then (Flora) come thou flourishing fair Queen, oh child of Maia thou must be my Muse,  
To gird my temples with thy gaudy green,  
and with thy fuming flowers my front infuse  
With Koses, Pansies, Pinks, as Poets use  
With Laurel Bay, and Baucis never old,  
For to attend my Virgin Marigold.   

3  
Lend me thy Purple and the Palls depainted,  
thy fair enameled mantle thou didst wear,  
When first thou cam'st Idolatryzed & sainted,  
installed by the beauty of the year:  
Oh lend to me that garment and that gear,  
So that my verses they may sweetly smell,  
And I above all sivet may excel:   

4.  
And you (fair damsels) you who danced that day  
when heavenly Flora first was holified,  
That mighty mistress, this same child of May,  
come hither sweetings, come sit by my side:  
Tune to my song and see what will bety de,  
Bring timbrils, pipe & harp, & he are me play,  
And lie thee a while, and listen to my lay.   

5.  
There is a City lying near the North.  
By name yclept Nycol heretofore,  
Where ancient Lacies, men of much worth,  
were Rulers many a hundredth years of yore,  
And domineered with dignity and power.  
Thy Earldom (Nycol) then did bear great sway,  
But Earldoms, Earls & Counties now decay.   

6.  
This City it is seated on a hill,  
whereas the faithless Jews did sacrifice,  
And did the corpse of young sir Hugo kill,  
wherefore the Christians him did canonize,  
And built a Temple in most sumptuous wise,  
Where Hugo lies interred in a shrine,  
For to be seen at this same present time.   

7.  
This Temple takes his name of good sir Hugh,  
and with his lofty pinnacles doth look,  
And doth his famous running River view,  
where fair Tarenta Lady of that brook,  
Doth glide into each Angle, and each nook:  
And with a silver snaky twine she runs,  
To father Humber, whilom king of Huns.   

8.  
But soft and fair this fitteth not my vain  
Of Chroniks' craft I have but little skill,  
Unto my Herbage I will go again,  
for that draws best acquaintance to my quill:  
Therefore you fair sweet Virgins sit you still.  
For in this City which I did rehearse,  
Doth dwell the very subject of my verse.   

9  
There planted is a Garden (not by Art)  
nor any cunning of the Craftsmans' skill,  
But even by Nature, who hath played her part,  
to be our chief and special worker still:  
Whose essence takes she from the makers will,  
That frameth all things by his mighty power,  
Both trees and Plants, and every pretty flower.   

10.  
Hear is no talk of the for bidden Tree,  
(as was in Edom's Orchard at the first)  
Nor Serpent hissing with his subtlety:  
when as the simple man became accursed:  
And from that Garden into thraldom thrust,  
Hear is no spirit with a flaming sword,  
As Gardener to some great and mighty Lord.   

11.  
Both Earth and Firmament doth favour it,  
Bedabling with the dew of heavenly drops  
The rays of Sun doth sweetly savour it,  
making it sprout with tall and tender tops:  
Of many kinds of smelling knubs and knobs▪  
When as the shedding of our April showers  
Do break their bunches forth to leaves and flowers.   

12.  
There springs the princely redrose & the white  
as Chairs of State and high imperial place,  
where they two famous houses do unite:  
whence comes our kings & queens of Regal race,  
Under the Gods that do protect their grace  
Whose stirp & stock from beds of Roses breed,  
Borne and begotten of that sweet fair seed.   

13.  
Next to the Roses, grows the Flower-deluce,  
the flower of ancient Lewis Lord of France,  
Whose golden leaves of that same goodly Luce,  
did Lewis long maintain with manlike lance  
Till Albion's Ensign did the same advance.  
When English Edward third of that same name,  
By battle bold brought in this flower of Fame.   

14.  
Next unto it, the pretty Pauncyes springs,  
all in a rank in borders and in beds,  
Who represents a geanalog of kings,  
with purple crowns upon their princely heads,  
With hairy bristles which their chins bespread  
An Index of much magnanimity,  
Of Virtue, Valour, and Virility.   

15.  
By them do grow the kingcups like to gold,  
with sops in wine, that every heart delights:  
Which cups the Kings in compliments do hold,  
carousing to their champions & their knights:  
That in their service, for their honour fights:  
Kissing the cup, and drinking to the health  
Both of their kings, & of their Commonwealth.   

16.  
Next grows the blue cornuted Collumbine,  
like to the crooked horns of Acheloy  
When he in shape and Metamorphosin,  
of mighty Bull, the wrestler did annoy,  
But yet the striver did this beast destroy:  
And when this monstrous battle did surceace,  
His horns became our threasethouse of peace.   

17.  
There Flora takes them by their golden tips, Flora that is our flourishing fair Queen,  
And straws & famneth forth her flowers & slips  
with gaudy garlands girding Albion's green,  
With Olive branches that for peace have been:  
Blessed be our Flora, that so long hath borne,  
This Cornu Copia, this same plenteous horn.   

18.  
The next my pretty marigold displays,  
her golden bloom like to the sunny beams  
Spreading abroad her rich and radiant rays,  
resembling Titan in his hottest streams,  
Even in the glory of his Summer gleams:  
So shines my marigold, so doth she show,  
So as she seems a second Sun below.   

19  
Who in the morning spreads her yellow hair  
like to the blaze of golden Phoebus' bright:  
That makes the heavenly climes to shine so clear,  
illuminating all the world with light,  
So shines my marigold so fair in sight:  
Till in the dark when as the day is dun,  
She closeth up and setteth with the Sun.   

20.  
Thus proudly doth she brave sir Phoebus shining  
and seconds him both in his prime of morn,  
And in the night even at his down declining,  
setting the silly Sunburnt god at scorn,  
As if that she the sovereign sway had born,  
Disdaining things inferior here that lies:  
But looks aloft, as Lady of the Skies.   

21.  
On her attends the Daisy dearly dight,  
that pretty Primula of Lady Ver,  
As handmaid to her mistress day and night,  
so doth she watch, so waiteth she on her,  
With double diligence and dares not stir,  
A fairer flower perfumes not forth in May,  
Then is this Daisy, or this Primula.   

22.  
About her neck she wears a rich wrought ruff,  
with double sets most brave & broad bespread,  
Resembling lovely Lawn or Cambric stuff,  
pinned up and pricked upon her yellow head.  
Wearing her hai●e on both sides of her shed:  
And with her countenance she hath a cast,  
Wagging the wā●on with each wind and blast.   

23.  
Commend me to the young ones of the Corte,  
and mark how as the pretty Mophies sits,  
Wagging their countenance in seemly sort,  
with modest blush that beauty so be fits,  
Wyeling fond lovers sometime from their wits▪  
So wags this wanton with a red complexion,  
When as the Sun darts to her his reflection.   

24.  
Hear could I set you down the Honeysuckle  
the pretty Pink and purple Pianet,  
The Bugles, Boradge, and the blue Bottle,  
the bonny Belamour and Violet,  
And thriving Thrift if men would gather it  
With lovely Lilies and the fair Narcis,  
And Venus sleep at noon with Adonis.   

25.  
It were a work of labour to unfold  
the private secrets of each privy plant,  
Therefore (my Muse) go to the marigold,  
lest wit be wearied and thy senses scant,  
And paper, pen and Ink and all do want,  
And in thy study spend a learned hour,  
To grace and favour that same golden flower.   

26.  
Down once again descend (oh holy dame)  
infuse me (Flora) with thy summer's heat:  
And fan my forehead with thy flowers of fame,  
when as my temples they begin to sweat,  
And that my busy brains & brows do beat.  
Fan on apace (my Muse) till I have told  
What did betide my maiden Marygold.   

27.  
It chanced once, the fair Cytherian Queen  
came to this goodly Garden on a day:  
And brings with her, false Cupid to this green,  
where she and he begun to sport and play,  
Where Venus did the fair sweet flowers survey:  
Who being pretty frolic in her sport,  
She speaketh to her son in this same sort.   

28.  
My child quoth she, & pulls him by the chin,  
and lays her other hand about his neck,  
And with her lips she culls and kisses him,  
as she were charmed, from giving him a check,  
Because the boy was always at her beck.  
The flattering queen knew how to curry favour power,  
Who wooed the wanton boy with bold behaviour.   

29.  
My child said she, me thinks thou shouldst have power,  
to plague in love, each Plant & tender spring,  
And brand forth fiery flames on every flower,  
as thou dost use and threat each other thing,  
With bended bow of steel, & stubborn string,  
With shafts to shoot out, & sharp headed darts  
Where with thou cruelly dost gall men's hearts.   

30.  
Why yes quoth Cupid, do but view this Vine,  
mark but the sweet embracements of his branches  
And see his arms how wanton they twine,  
and how his loins lie on his lovers haunches,  
Where Venus in his Vineyards he advances,  
Distilling Nectar berries from above:  
All which proceedeth from the God of love.   

31.  
Hark how the bay tree she gins to breath,  
and seems to sigh as she had languished long:  
And with the wanton wind to wrig & wreath,  
against the god that did the girl such wrong,  
As I have heard some sing in Ovid's song:  
So that when all is said and all is done,  
This all you see is subject to your son.   

32.  
Then list quoth Venus, till my tale be told,  
Long hath this Woodbine tree a wooer been  
Unto this proud disdainful marigold,  
the Vicar of a vain usurping Queen,  
Checking the son as I have often seen,  
Disdaining both the heavenly powers proud Elf:  
And flouting at all flowers but itself.   

33.  
Thou seest the Woodbine is a tender tree,  
that like a wanton winds about our wood,  
His flowering forth as sweet as sweet may be,  
his youthful sap much like the lusty blood,  
In rules of Physic seen and counted good,  
A Doctor, to delay this sultry heat,  
That sweet hearts take in travel of their sweat.   

34.  
How oft comes he with kingcups full of gold,  
and as a present offereth to this flower,  
And riches in great handfuls he doth hold,  
raining upon her lap an Orient shower,  
Of Pearl, which 'mongst fair women have much power  
But all as nought her nicety neglects them,  
And even as rags most rudely she rejects them.   

35.  
This spoke false Venus to her bastard brat,  
and when her jolly circumstance was done,  
The dame tucked up he clothes & down she sat,  
and all in haste she calls her little son,  
And for to been this bow she first begun,  
Then g●ue him shafts to practise all his power,  
And bring the downfall of this dainty flower.   

36.  
This cunning Archer aimeth at the mark  
(marrow at hittie missy is he tooting)  
The Boy was blind as is the dazzled dark,  
and never sure, nor certain in his shooting:  
For oftentimes he faileth in his footing.  
As you shall hear how this same crafty child,  
Even in the brag of cunning was beguiled.   

37.  
It chanced, a Bee came flying to this flower,  
with hummng melody, & bumming noise:  
And lights upon her stalk even at that stour,  
for in his flowers he is very choice:  
Sitting & singing there with buzzing voice.  
Working in summer for his healthful hive,  
That he in winter might the better thrive.   

38.  
He came but lately from the damask Rose,  
unto my Marigold that shines so sunny:  
And got him there a pair of yellow hose,  
of virgin wax, all wet about with honey.  
The sweetest wax that can be made for money  
With Mildew claimed, and clagged were his knees,  
To carry home, & bring unto his Bees.   

39  
But welladay, he was not there aware,  
of Cupid's shaft, nor of his sudden clap;  
The Honey catcher came unto his care,  
for there the silly fly received a rap:  
(Alas poor Bumble buzz, for thy ill hap)  
For why the blinded boy (ay me for thee)  
Did miss the golden bud, and galled the Bee.   

40.  
But here I leave the honey bird confounded,  
that woefully aloft away did fling:  
All unto death he is most deeply wounded,  
and stung himself, that sometimes used to sting:  
Here must I leave that honey bird of wing,  
And tell how Venus waxed wrathful wild,  
And red with anger at her reckless child.   

41.  
Blind bastard (quoth the dame) what hast thou done,  
reckless unskilful and unlucky elf?  
Thou base begotten boy, and Cuckold's son,  
the sorrow of thy shaft light on thyself,  
And plague the archer with his trash & pelf:  
And break thy bow, & shiver shaft and dart,  
And clean unarm thee, blind boy as thou art.   

42.  
Nay then (quoth Cupid) mother you are blind,  
that would not help to rule my aim & me:  
Unless you had been mad or out of mind,  
you might have seen at first I could not see:  
But I have shot, and that which will, will be.  
The Mary gold must grow and flourish fair,  
And in the honey comb must live all care.   

43.  
Behold the binder shall become a Bond,  
Unto this golden stem that here you see:  
(Think not my prophesy for to be fond)  
For he that once did bind the biggest tree,  
unto this tender twig, a bond must be.  
And to the good abearing must be staid,  
Until loves Manumissum it be made.   

44.  
The sting that breeds upon the honey britch,  
delays the deadly stinging of my dart:  
And heals the wound and takes away the stitch,  
and is a sovereign salve against his smart.  
Who like Prometheus Griphin gripes the heart,  
So sting for sting, poison for poison (mother)  
As in our nails one driveth out an other.   

45.  
Pratest thou quoth Venus of old Augurism?  
comest thou to tell me beldame's Oracles▪  
Tellest me of any sect or southsawe schism?  
Must I believe thy rabbles and thy Riddles?  
And like a dunce dote on thy diddle fiddles?  
In faith sir no, for I have sworn, my power  
Shall work the fatal end of this proud flower.   

46.  
To this her Cupid answered prettily,  
how often (mother) have I seen you shake  
The beauty and the splendour of this tree,  
and of the Marigolds, gay garlands make:  
Yea you yourself to wear them for their sake.  
And on your locks to place the pretty ones,  
Preferring them before the precious stones.   

47.  
How often have I seen your Coatcher troth,  
when you in pomp to Paphos' Island ran?  
How often mother have I garlands got,  
for every Dove, and every milk white Swan  
That drew your Chariot & your gay wagon.  
And make your pretty Pigeons teams & yokes  
Of Marigolds to hang about their throats.   

48.  
How often have the buds been laid abroad  
upon the traces whereas you should tread:  
How oft have they thy stately altars strew,  
and we exalting there thy holy head,  
Whilst Hymns were sung, & sacred Psalms were said:  
Methinks I see how all the rabble runs,  
Unto thy Church, with chains of golden suns.   

49.  
Then (queen) accept the of springs of this flower,  
and offer not the golden Bud disgrace,  
For she is pleasing to thy princely power,  
and therefore curse it not in any case:  
I pray thee mother let my prayers take place,  
And let her shine as doth the glimpsing sun,  
And do as well as she tofore hath done.   

50.  
Thus Cupid said, but see this self-willed wench,  
Venus she brings a Brierhooke in her hand,  
And cuts me down each border & green bench  
and all the shading shelter that did stand,  
To guard the flowers from the filchers hand,  
And letteth in a Northern uncouth air,  
That almost blasted had her Blooms so fair.   

51.  
Note that all mischief cometh from the North  
for in his blast he bloweth Boreas in,  
Who from his freezing harbour cometh forth,  
with chilled cheeks and hoary frozen chin,  
His blood all thawn away & visage thin:  
His slavering beard and lips with spittle spewed  
With drops of frozen Icicles bedewed.   

52.  
He foamed his froth upon her tender rind,  
and made her seem as sunshine in a mist:  
And with a winter blast he blows his wind,  
beslavering her, with sluttishness he kissed,  
And had been withered there ere she had witted  
But that the blaze of sunny beams by chance,  
Dissolved the storm, & blest the tender branch.   

53.  
But now I will return unto the Bee,  
the little Wasp and silly wounded thing:  
Who like a soldier from the victory,  
comes maimed home, his arm upon a string:  
So droops this Bee, so hangs he down his wing,  
Showing the marigold his mortal scar,  
Who unto death was wounded in her war.   

54.  
His honey it was turned into gall,  
his wax that he about him long had borne,  
The honey and the honey comb and all, and  
all his breeches from his buttocks torn,  
Was from his body wasted and quite worn.  
As sure if you had seen you would have said,  
He had been prisoner in the spider web.   

55.  
His loins were lean through fast & evil fare,  
His legs & knees as cammocks were all crooked  
That up & down did carry him with care,  
his horns that were so straight, became both hooked:  
Who like a little sprite or devil he looked:  
His breath not serving him to buzz or bum,  
Nor scarce with any noise to hear him hum.   

56.  
Unto this flower he falls down on his knee,  
just at the root that grew upon the ground:  
And said grant mercy Marygold on me,  
and lend a leaf to lay unto my wound,  
That it might plaster me and make me sound.  
For on thy branch I here did take my bane,  
And here I hope to be recured again.   

57  
Deny me not (oh thou fair golden flower)  
sweet give me leave a while that I might sit  
Upon thy yellow head and work an hour,  
and for my hungry self some honey get,  
For all is wasted, I have not a whit.  
I tell thee my distress, to thee I shrive me,  
I have no help, unless thyself wilt hive me.   

58.  
I will not (as the creeping canker) waste thee,  
nor as the worm in wodsea● time bespew thee,  
I come not like the Butterfly to blast thee:  
norwith foul deadly venom to bedew thee:  
I'll leave thee even as fresh as erst I knew thee:  
I'll make my golden shrub that shines so sunny,  
As sweet as is the honey comb or honey.   

59  
With that but I must tell you here a wonder)  
and almost past my credit for to speak,  
This branch her biggen she did burst in sunder  
her hair upon a sudden on her neck,  
That seemed to wave, and give the Bee a beck:  
And laid her leaves wide open there for him,  
That up aloft the Bee might better climb.   

60.  
Upon her flew the fly and sucked her sweet,  
and played full partly with that pretty one,  
And there full featly laboured with his feet,  
and kissed her, lest he should be deemed a drone:  
Now blest be love, for there was love alone,  
The Bee gins to find and stir his sting,  
Believe me (love) thou art a wanton thing.   

61.  
There he receives the dew of honey drops,  
and baths his limbs that were so lean & lank,  
And in her circle up and down he hops,  
and feeds apace and doth refresh his flank,  
And with her wax he stores his spindle shank,  
And now the honey bird away doth styve,  
With bumming and with humming to his hive.   

62.  
To buzz of Caltha now the Bee was bold,  
of Caltha now were all the Echoes ringing:  
For now no more he calls her marigold,  
but news from Lady Caltha is he bringing,  
Offaire sweet Lady Caltha is he singing:  
And up and down he flieth with her fame,  
Till he unto his hive and harbour came.   

63.  
His Bees with welcome round about him swarms  
and bringeth him into his thatched home,  
And marching all along like men at arms,  
they place him in the highest honey come,  
Where he as king doth keep, and rules alone,  
And all his subjects offering him their service:  
For to disarm him of his honey harms.   

64.  
One doth his boots unbutton from his shins,  
an other helps for to untie his hose:  
An other wipeth honey from his wings,  
that came from Lady Caltha and the rose,  
The which he gets when he his progress goes.  
And thus com'd home with heavy drowsy head,  
Th'unnumbered birds do bring their Bee to bed.   

65.  
And there he sleeps & slumbers till the morn,  
when he awakes and wipes his pinking eyes,  
And up he starts and bloweth like a horn,  
where all his soldiers in a swarm do rise,  
Attending on him wheresoever he flies.  
And he again into his garden goes.  
Whereas his Goddess Lady Caltha grows.   

66.  
There sit they round about & guards this flower  
some making of their honey on the Mallow:  
An other biting on the Bellamour,  
an other like a little dapper fellow  
Worketh on yarrow, making wax so yellow,  
And every Fly unto his flower goes,  
Some to the Red, some to the damask Rose.   

67.  
Where having got their honey and their wax,  
they come to Caltha, where their master sits,  
And throws their honey I erkins down & jacks  
and gives to him the gain their labour gets.  
Thus industry his common wealth befits:  
So when they are dislodged of their store,  
They buzz about, and flies away for more.   

68  
In mean while this same mighty bumble-bee,  
is framing of a Chapel for his Queen,  
With strange and costly Archetectury,  
the rarest sight that ever yet was seen,  
Of waxed work, was never like I ween:  
Pillars of honey combs with Pyramid,  
And strong pilasters of great stateliness.   

69.  
And at one end there stands a proper steeple,  
daubing his height with honey for his lime:  
And bells to ring in these same pretty people,  
when as they take it to be service time,  
To say their prayers, their Matins & their prime  
And when this Chapel ended was and walled,  
La santa Caltha, this same be it called.   

70.  
With Virgin wax he makes a honey alter,  
and on it stands, the torches and the tapers,  
Where he must sing his Rosary and Psalter,  
and pray devoutly on his holy papers,  
With book, with candlelight, with bells & clappers,  
And in the praise of Goddess Caltha sing,  
That all the holy quire & Church may ring.   

71.  
Upon this holy altar there doth stand,  
The Coach of Phoebus carved all of wax,  
And there the mighty God with whip in hand  
it seems the winged Pegasies he thwacks,  
Laying good load of blows upon their backs:  
And through the Regions they do seem to run,  
Carrying fair Caltha, shining like the Sun.   

72.  
When this same holy Idol he had done,  
He calls his pretty people round about:  
And maketh Priests and Presbyters, and some  
of Friars & Monks he makes a rabble rout,  
Of Clarks & Limitors to kneel and lout,  
And there they take at this same present hour  
The name of holy Caltheans, from this flower.   

73.  
The fame of these, and of this new religion,  
was spread abroad with passing great report,  
And rumour of it, rattles through each Region,  
till that it came to Lady Venus' court,  
God speed my pen for here gins the sport:  
For now doth Venus bite and beat her fists,  
To be revenged on these Calthanists.   

74.  
And calling Cupid, this her pretty Squire,  
quoth she, let's to these Heretics in haste,  
And burn the bees, and set their hives on fire,  
And all their waxed superstitions waste,  
And charm their Caltha there that is so chaste:  
And bring her cursed Cannons to their care,  
And plague her prelate's with their profane prayer.   

75.  
She sends for all the Spiders she could get,  
and calleth for that mighty Cranyon:  
Who doth his web and subtle engines set,  
and of the long legs brings he many a one,  
With Venus to this garden are they gone,  
Where they the bees behold with buzzing charm  
As thick as flies that in Appuleia swarm.   

76.  
There pitched they their toils in every gap,  
and made their gloads the Bees for to beguile  
And with their trammels many do entrap,  
and fetters by the feet (alack the while)  
Beware great bumble buzz of this same wile:  
For why the mighty Cranion comes to catch thee  
If that thy warriors do not ward & watch thee.   

78.  
To Caltha is the crafty Spider gone,  
& weaveth there a witching web (god wots)  
With subtle slender thirds and many a one,  
where if thou goest, thy chance is to be got,  
What Fly soever comes escapes it not:  
And let him toil to come out of his gin,  
The more he strives, the surer is he in.   

79.  
The Cranion cast his net upon this flower,  
that seemed like a wrought branch under Lawn  
And there it had not been above an hour,  
but comes the Bee, and to this bud is flown,  
(He had not made such haste if he had known)  
But after wit hath very seldom thanks,  
The Bee is got & shackled by the shanks.   

80.  
Now Venus figgeth, and in hast she runs,  
and Cupid following after her doth fling:  
And to this little captive prisoner comes,  
whereas she takes the bumble by the wing:  
(For why she was afraid the Bee would sting)  
And pinioned him that no where could he pass,  
But there as prisoner unto Venus was.   

81.  
She bids her boy, that wily wanton wag,  
to hold him fast, lest he should fly away:  
Whilst she had tied a third about his leg,  
and gave him Cupid for to find him play:  
As children do with little birds they say.  
And there the string he holdeth in his hand▪  
Whilst that the Bee is buzzing in the band.   

82.  
The boy he gave the bumble too much scope,  
he found such pretty gambols with the fly:  
The Bee that had large compass of his rope,  
●● flew at his face, and stung him by and by:  
Whereat poor Cupid he began to cry.  
And from his fist the joy full bird is fled,  
And from aloft, with string about his leg.   

83.  
He durst notflie where briars and bushes were,  
lest that the third should trap him in the trees,  
But mounts aloft and hovers in the Air,  
till that he came unto his little Bees,  
That helps to pull the shackles from his knees.  
And there I'll leave him sure and safe at home,  
And tell how Venus doth her boy bemoan.   

84.  
She up and down the Garden now doth gad,  
to gather all the coolest herbs that grow:  
To physic and to leech her wounded lad,  
whose face like to a bladder blown doth show:  
As scarce his mother could her Cupid know.  
And trying many precious plants that be,  
At length she cometh to the woodbine tree.   

85.  
And going to his binding branch, that clung  
like to a Serpent twining on a tree:  
She told him, Cupid with a Bee was stung,  
ask the flower what physic there might be  
To take away the stinging of the flee.  
Who answered her like to a learned Clerk,  
Bending with reverence, both his rind & bark.   

86.  
And said in physic I have had some toil,  
and for the Scorpions stinging I have found▪  
Nothing can cure, but even his proper oil,  
which being taken, salves and maketh sound,  
And easeth strait the anguish of the wound.  
So, for this Bee, the best and chiefest thing,  
Is his own honey, for to kill his sting.   

87.  
Of late he came and light upon my head,  
and got much honey & his mildew wrought,  
And when he went away, some of it shed,  
and left behind where I the honey caught.  
And looking towards Cupid thus he thought:  
Woes me, that I must physic that same elf,  
And am not a physician for myself.   

88  
Alas I am that woeful bond you see,  
that unto loves behaviour bideth still:  
No physic nor physician makes me free,  
unless fair Caltha grant me her good will,  
For Lady Caltha, she must cure or kill,  
Who like the Nettle, left her sting in me:  
Worse than the tongue or stinging of a Bee.   

89.  
But Venus pulls his tree down by the top,  
and forth from this, his hollow horned flower  
Much of his liquid Mildew there did drop,  
that shedded out a pretty honey shower,  
Healing her Cupid with it that same hour:  
And now her only care, is how that she  
Might be revenged on Caltha and the Bee.   

90.  
But Proserpina, the sprowtix of our spring,  
and sovereign governess of Herb & Plant  
That silver Cynthia this sweet horned thing,  
must Venus subtle practice now prevent,  
With all her malice and her mad intent.  
And lo from forth her shining Orb she goes,  
Into this garden, whereas Caltha grows.   

91.  
Her vestal Virgins and her minionstrots,  
haling their Lencothea in her waggon,  
And brings with them their goodly garden pots  
with water in the waterbearer flagon:  
The droughty earth bedewing & bedagging,  
And on this garden sheds her heavenly shower,  
Where water pearls in plenty she doth power.   

92.  
She comes to Caltha to her broidered bed,  
and taketh hold upon her tender stalk:  
This done, she lays her hand upon her head,  
and mumbels in her mouth with whisper talk,  
And there in circle wise about did walk.  
As Tragetors for spirits set their spells,  
To conjure up the Fairies or the Elves.   

93.  
She bends her branch, and bows it up & down  
and to the heavens she doth exalt her eyes:  
And with a very fervent prayer doth frown,  
looking aloof unto the lofty skies:  
Somewhile to kneel, and otherwhiles to rise.  
Moving her body with a modest motion,  
As holy dames do use in deep devotion.   

94.  
And from the Centre of her soul she sight,  
& breathed upon the flower a fuming vapour  
Where Caltha feels the quickening of a sprite,  
and riseth up a comely sweet fair creature,  
With countenance and full well favoured feature:  
Her body slender, strait and very even,  
Holding her head erected up to heaven.   

95.  
Her golden yellow locks she still retains,  
that hangs along her lily cheeks and chin:  
Whereas the Crimson Roses comes & stains,  
that makes her seem a perfect sanguinine.  
Her eyes like looking glasses Crystalline:  
Her mouth with full plump form yframed is,  
For why the full mouth, makes a full sweet kiss.   

96.  
Her breast and nipples round as any Ball,  
or like the pleasant Apples of temptation:  
That greedy Adam glutted him withal,  
and fell in love with, at the world's creation:  
That brought to us this woeful desolation.  
Alas that beauty at the first beginning,  
Should be too blame, or shent for any sinning.   

97.  
Her belly like a Globe within his Sphere,  
her veins the rules & points & learned lines,  
That leads unto that blessed country, where  
much milk & Nectar flows, & pleasant wines,  
That cheers men's hearts & maketh merry minds.  
In that same happy land me thinks that I  
With all my heart could dwell, & live and die.   

98.  
But I must hide all that that nature hides,  
my tongue cries truce I may not utter it:  
Although this wanton merriment decides  
matters of silence, blame not you my wit,  
For readers sometimes, crows with blind men hit:  
My modesty must leave that thing in doubt,  
His hap is somewhat though, that finds it out.   

99  
Her thighs like pillars of fair Alabaster,  
that do support the body of this Saint:  
Where men must kneel thee down & Idolater  
unto the Image of this Queen so quaint,  
That Caltha she may pity their complaint,  
And hear their happy Orisons and prayer,  
When as her priest and people do come there.   

100  
Now When Diana this her task had done,  
and framed all the molements of Nature:  
She doth adorn this naked Nymph anon,  
covering the seemly corpse of this sweet creature:  
And first she decks her head, her face & feature  
And with a silken hairlace ties her locks,  
That hangs like jasons golden fleece in flocks.   

101.  
She ties a Necklace underneath her chin,  
of jasper, Diamond, and of Topasie:  
And with an Emrod hangs she on a Ring,  
that keeps just reckoning of our chastity:  
That breaks when Virgins go to venery.  
And therefore (Ladies) it behoves you well,  
To walk full warily, when stones will tell.   

102.  
Her vesture and her vail, was white as snow,  
that mantle wise, this maiden did adorn:  
And in her hand she held a bended Bow,  
a Bawdrik on her back, and Bugle horn:  
With quiver, and with arrows sharp as thorn,  
With buskins buckled up unto her knees,  
That scarcely reached to her naked thighs.   

103.  
Now is she made Diana's hunting dame,  
and to Eurotas banks, and Cynthia's hill,  
And unto Geography must seek her game,  
where she the Roes with Bucks & does must kill:  
With pleasure, sport, and pastime at her will.  
And have her springs and fountains fair & feat  
To wash her skin from swink of sultry sweat.   

104.  
And now she takes her leave of Primula,  
and with a sigh she said, farewell sweet sister:  
The woeful wench she wept to part away,  
and down she fell upon the ground & kissed her,  
And to remain a Virgin's life she wished her:  
And said, I know mad Venus missing me,  
Without all doubt will be revenged on thee.   

105.  
And therefore sister Primula live chaste,  
weigh not the words the flattering Queen can make  
Beware I say, (and then she her embraced)  
and from her stalk a Daisy she did take,  
And on her head she wears it for her sake:  
And now with chaste Diana is she gone,  
Fair Primula the Daisy left alone.   

106.  
Now Venus she determines in her mind,  
to come and punish Caltha and to kill her:  
And flieth down post, with an Eastern wind,  
that brings the Canker & the Caterpillar:  
With poison for to blast her and to spill her:  
And sure the silly dame had cursed that day,  
Had she not gone with chaste Diana away.   

107.  
But now when Venus saw that she was crossed,  
and Caltha gone from Lady Primula:  
And seeing now her labour all was lost,  
she would not have the Caterpillars stay:  
But with the wind she sends them all away.  
And now fair Primula in caltha's stead,  
Must like and love, and lose her maidenhead.   

108.  
Upon the place & ground where Caltha grew,  
a mighty Mandrag there did Venus plant:  
An Object for fair Primula to view,  
resembling man from thighs unto the shank:  
With leaves & veins & members ram and rank,  
With long large loins fro flank unto the foot,  
That in the earth stuck with ragged root.   

109.  
His parts of shame like Socrotheus flesh,  
swollen without mean, my wanton muse must touch,  
Althogh't be foul & full of filthiness:  
then blame me not althoghI write thus much:  
A loathsome jesting shape he seemed, & such  
As modest Primula did stand in doubt,  
Whether that she should loathe or laugh it out,   

110.  
As if a maid should see some wanton sight,  
you know she claps her hands upon her eyes,  
And winketh at it wild, and blusheth strait,  
and tush, and push, & fie for shame she cries:  
Yet must she laugh at it in any wise.  
And through her finger's looks, with countenance coy,  
And tyhie cries, at that same pretty toy.   

111.  
So at bo peep this pretty sprout did play,  
sometimes her head unto the Mandrag heaves,  
And sometimes (half ashamed) would Primula  
look down again, and lap her in her leaves:  
This lusty wanton bud her wits bereaves.  
Thus in the midst of their merry doing,  
Away went Venus, leaving them a wooing.   

112.  
And to the Calthean Bees the Queen is gone,  
with spongy Paddocks and the foul fusball  
For to destroy and smother every one,  
and bring the mighty bumble-bee in thrall,  
And harm his honey and his hive and all:  
And chase them from their Cabinets & choke them,  
And from their holes and honey combs to smoke them.   

113.  
And suddenly or any of them witted,  
comes in a vapour like a ●oakish Rhyme:  
And there the bees amazed with this same mist,  
came swarming forth their hives, for it was time:  
And up aloft into the air they climb.  
Some here, some there, some hither, & some thither,  
And being blind, they flew they knew not whether.   

114.  
The master Bee into his garden goes,  
to cleanse him from the filth of this same Fus,  
And there he thinketh yet that Caltha grows  
but thou art now deceived (poor bumble buzz)  
That flower with fair Diana is gone from us:  
And in her place he spies a Mandrag spring:  
And now poor Bee, thy sorrows do begin.   

115.  
He voweth now for to forsake his hive,  
and like a Pilgrim spend his latter days:  
(Gods be his speed and send him well to thrive)  
for now he means to wander uncouth ways,  
And like an Hermit, he himself arrays:  
That safely he might wander up and down,  
And seek strange conutries far, that be unknown.   

116.  
He made himself a pair of holy beads,  
the fifty Aves were of Gooseberries:  
The Pater Nosters and the holy Creeds,  
were made of red & goodly fair ripe cherries:  
Blessing his marigold with Ave-Maries.  
And on a staff made of a Fennel stalk,  
The beadrowlehangs, whilst he along did walk.   

117.  
And with the flower munkshood makes a cool  
and of a grey Dock got himself a gown:  
And looking like a Fox or holy fool,  
he barbs his little beard, and shaves his crown,  
And in his pilgrimage goes up & down.  
And with a Wabret leaf he made a wallet,  
With scrip to beg his crumbs & pike his salad.   

118.  
For hear me now, since that unhappy hour  
that love was stung (you know) not log agone,  
He never honey got from any flower,  
but did become a drowsy heavy drone,  
Slothful and careless in his honey comb:  
And there the idle drone Be he doth eat,  
The sweetness that is got by others sweat.   

119.  
And by the way, for sweet saint Charity,  
he begs his largies of th'outlandish Hives:  
Where having had their liberality,  
they sand him packing & the Droanbee drives  
To beg and live amongst the idle lives:  
And far and near, further than I can tell,  
He goes whereas the ugly Hornets dwell.   

120.  
He passed through Appuleia, 'mongst the flies,  
and to that country where the scorpions are:  
And to a kingdom of Cantharideses,  
whereas the Gnats and biting gadflies were,  
That feared, the bumblebee from biding there.  
But with his bag and baggage is he gone,  
wandering the world in uncoths far unknown.   

121.  
At length he lights on famous Ephesus,  
where chaste Diana and her vestals be,  
And now full weary flies to Platanus,  
an aged and an ancient hollow tree,  
Where he must rest a while (poor fainting flee)  
Precisely looking lest the spider webs  
Were lurking there to catch him by the legs.   

122.  
Now having got his sleep and quiet rest,  
his morning Matins doth he buzz and sing:  
And being roused from his sluggish nest,  
with lauds and Litanies aloft did fling,  
And flieth now abroad with burgond wing,  
And saith his Psalmists in his sursurare,  
With Pater Noster, and with Auie Marie.   

123.  
And whilst this runagate about did rove,  
it happened that by chance he did repair,  
Unto a gladsome and a goodly Grove,  
whereas Diana and her vestals were,  
And Caltha too (unknown to him) was there  
Where all the train assembled in that place,  
For to attend and guard Diana's grace.   

124.  
Some sits then down & gathereth green bushes  
and others very busy do begin:  
To weave their little baskets of Bulrushes,  
to put their herbs & all their flowers in:  
Lest that they scatter them in gathering,  
An other daintily herself doth deck,  
With garlands for to wear about her neck.   

125.  
Some makes their sprints & pitfalls for the thrush  
and very busy round about they stirred:  
An other lass she comes and beats the bush,  
and by your leave, an other takes the bird:  
And sport alone, for Lady and for Lord.  
And in a Cage that he must learn to sing,  
But soft and fair, not till the next year spring.   

126.  
There Lady Caltha in her lap she holds,  
and had her skirt her Apron full and all,  
Of double Daisies and of marigolds,  
and there she pins and pricks then on her Call:  
(Now fine and feat and fair might she befall)  
For on her locks the flowers stick and stay,  
Even for her selfes sake, and fair Primula.   

127.  
The Bee no sooner spies these marigolds,  
but to the yellow flowers he is fled:  
And lights upon her locks that lay in rolls,  
buzzing & huzing round about her head:  
Till at the length he sits upon her shed.  
But there fair Caltha would not let him stay,  
For with a bush, she beats the Bee away.   

128.  
Yet from the marigolds he would not fly,  
nor from her presence will he so departed:  
Although by them first came his misery,  
and whilom wounded was unto the heart,  
(As you have heard of late) through Cupid's dart.  
Yet would he not away, but busy there,  
The Bee is buzzing round about her ear.   

129.  
Whereat fair Caltha strikes him to the ground,  
and hits the Fly full often with her fist:  
The bumble-bee would up again rebound,  
and be upon her head ere she had witted:  
Then would she strike again, and oft she mist.  
Whereat the Ladies they would laugh to see,  
What sport there was, twixt Caltha & the Bee.   

130.  
But as the Fly that with the candle mocks,  
and plays so long till he hath burnt his wings▪  
So is this Bee entangled in her locks,  
and fettered in these golden yellow strings▪  
And by the feet he in her trammels hangs.  
And now the Lady Caltha she doth cry,  
Whilst that Diana comes to catch the Flie.   

131.  
The bird now taken from her golden locks,  
fair Caltha is desirous of the Fly,  
And takes the Bee, and puts him in a box,  
and calls for honey for him presently,  
And makes his bed of Roses by and by:  
And marigolds with pillows of the Daisy,  
That he might lie full lither and full lazy.   

132.  
Whereat Diana, at Lady Caltha laughed,  
& asked, what she would do with that same drone  
And said the slothful thing was good for nought,  
But for all that, she lets the Bee alone,  
And from her box she will not have him gone:  
But there the pretty Fly he takes his rest,  
Whilst that she told Diana this same jest.   

133.  
Good Madam when I grew a garden flower,  
Venus and Cupid came to shoot at me:  
And then it chanced (sweet Lady) at that stour,  
I was defended by a little Bee:  
Who blest my branch from his artillery.  
And by good luck and fortune thither came,  
To put the cunning Archer from his aim.   

134.  
For whilst the Bee was biting of my bloom,  
by chance my body up and down he stirred:  
So that the Archer did at random room,  
and missed my branch and galled the little bird:  
(The Bee was in the box & heard that word)  
But forwards went they (thinking that the Fly  
Had never heard this tale, nor been so nigh.)   

135.  
Now ever since (good Madam) pardon me,  
of all the pretty little fools that fly,  
I love the best the hyved honey be,  
and he shall be my bird, until I die:  
With all his noise and humming harmony.  
And let the painted Butterflies and Flees  
Live where they list, I'll love the honey Bees.   

136.  
With that she openeth the little Coffer,  
and shakes a marigold unto the Bee:  
The Bumble nods his head, & makes an offer,  
& come bird come (quoth Caltha) come to me  
With so ho ho, and woe ho ho cries she,  
And whistled too, and chirped with her lips,  
With that the Bee out of his box he skips.   

137.  
And as the Hawk reclaimed from his nest,  
and being full well managed and manned,  
He comes and flies to Lady caltha's fist,  
and takes the golden pray at her fair hand:  
And on the top of this same flower doth stand.  
Not offering once to fly from her away,  
But subject to the Ladies lure doth stay.   

138.  
This prints a strange impression in her soul,  
this Sympathy betwixt her and the Bee:  
Did half persuade her, that this was the foul,  
and absolutely said, this is the Flee,  
That saved my flower when Cupid shot at me.  
This said, Diana swore, that she would try,  
And through her sacred art, transform the Fly.   

139.  
Now doth she frame her metamorphosin,  
And with her blessed books of divination,  
She cometh to transform and conjure him,  
And strangely works his transumtation,  
Casting her just count of his constellation:  
And suddenly the bumble-bee as than,  
Did take the shape and very form of man..   

140.  
All saving that betwixt his legs and thighs,  
his secrets were not seen at all, but gone:  
The wanton dames could spy no privities,  
For in that place where should be one was none:  
That thing was lost when he became a Drone:  
For since it stung and stuck in Cupid's cheeks,  
He missed it in his buttocks and his breeks:   

131.  
At this same foul defect (quoth fair Diana)  
throughout the world it never shall be said:  
That I have fraind a monster of a man,  
but always I a perfect creature made:  
And once again she tries her charming trade  
And cast this new shaped man into a slumber,  
Whilst she had wrought this rare & mighty wonder.   

142.  
From forth the Hawthorne hedge she plucks a thorn,  
and works and makes his picture all of wax:  
And as a child that must be newly borne,  
she pricks the hawthorn where his secrets laks,  
And in that place appears his privy knacks:  
And from his sleep through wizard's strange events,  
He riseth up with all his implements.   

143.  
Now Caltha comes to him, and she must know  
if this same new made man were that same be:  
Or this same busy Bumble yea or no,  
that sat upon her yellow golden tree,  
When Cupid shot at her with venery:  
And charged and discharged at him with a smile,  
Till he the truth had told to her the while.   

144.  
I was quoth he the very self-same Fly,  
that sometimes sat upon thy yellow lock:  
I tell thee fair sweet Caltha it was I,  
that gathered honey on thy stem and stock,  
When Cupld at my very heartstrings shot,  
I was the Fly for whom false Venus set,  
Her spiders for to train me in a net.   

145.  
I was that Bumble, who for thy sweet sake,  
like to a thief was tied and bound in band:  
And me a captive prisoner did she make,  
Where I by chance escaped from Cupid's hand.  
And by good luck am comed into this land,  
And lost my Bees, not one of them alive,  
And I myself here driven from my hive.   

146.  
Now Caltha doth inquire for Primula,  
the man made answer, that she flourished fair:  
And in the foresaid Garden she did stay,  
but in the room (good madam) where you were  
A mandrag hath dame Venus planted there:  
A filthy object for fair Primula,  
And there the monster of all flowers doth stay.   

147.  
But here Diana comes and breaks their talk,  
and takes the man aside and goeth her ways:  
And now the whilst that she and he did walk,  
she asked him, & gently to him says,  
What pleasure couldst thou wish to pass thy days?  
Ask what thou wilt, demand & thou shalt see,  
It shall be surely granted unto thee.   

148.  
Then madam (said he) when I was a Bee,  
I spent my days amongst the flowers springing  
And merry made me with my melody,  
with buzzing and with huzing always singing,  
Whilst to my Bees, my honey I was bringing.  
So that I still retain in disposition,  
And much would give, to be a good musician.   

149.  
And now Diana doth present the man,  
with learned Lutes, & finest Virginals:  
With deep bandora's Diapasan,  
and with the clear well sounding Clarigals,  
With subtle Sackbut, and the loud Cymbals,  
And with that best beloved lulling Liar,  
With other wanton Instruments of wire.   

150.  
The Kingly Harp, for and the courtly Citherens,  
the Solace, Viols, and the violins:  
The little fiddling Kit, and ancient Gittern,  
with those same fair and famous Orpherins',  
With Bagpipes, Cornets, and the Cymphanins.  
And now no more clepe him bumble Buz,  
But call him by the name of Musaeus.   

151.  
Now Musaeus is master of that Art,  
and only rare physician in that land:  
Who cunningly can play his pricksong part,  
with ready Aroake, & nimble learned hand,  
With sweet division of profound deskand:  
His discords with true concord's to agree,  
Which oft is seen in Musics subtlety.   

152.  
In Tablatury doth he take much pain,  
and by his learned line his rule and rod:  
He pricks down quavers in his pleasant vain,  
and merrily he drives a minim odd,  
Which maketh music for the mighty God.  
With crotchets, Semibriefs, with large & longs,  
That closeth up sweet ends in all our songs.   

153.  
Long lived he amongst these lovely lasses,  
and was their chief delight & only treasure:  
And taught the dames to dance their cinquepace,  
and for to foot & tread their solemn measure,  
And long he sported with them at his pleasure,  
Till Caltha she desirous on a day,  
Must needs send to her sister Primula.   

154.  
And now the good Musaeus he must go,  
and unto her present his minstrelsy,  
And this musician he must let her know,  
her sister Caltha greets her lovingly:  
With commendation of kind courtesy.  
And sends a Tutty in her hand to hold,  
Of double Daisies and the marigold.   

155.  
And now he takes his leave and Caltha kissed,  
and ties a base bumfiddle at his back:  
That hangs upon a baldric of blue list,  
much like unto a paltry peddlers pack,  
That sages upon his shoulders till they crack:  
That made the little fiddling fellow hutch,  
As he had gone his crookback with a crutch.   

156.  
His bagpipes at his girdle you might see,  
forth of his bag put out his drone or base:  
That bund like him which was the humble Bee,  
and there they lay within a leather case:  
To keep them in their tune, and in their grace.  
And underneath his armholes & his elbows  
He had his blasts, his surflats & his bellows.   

157.  
And all the way whereas Musaeus comes,  
he begs his bread with his sweet melody:  
And pipes and plays and fiddles for his crumbs,  
and is rewarded for his harmony.  
In every country, and in every City,  
Till that he came to famous Nycol Town,  
Wherein full weary sits the fiddler down.   

158.  
And rests him that same night (for it was late)  
till morn when he unto the Garden comes:  
And raps a pace and knocketh at the gate,  
and to the door the little Cupid comes,  
And spies the fiddlers base, and bagpipe bums:  
And unto Venus said her little Ape,  
A fiddler mother, yonder's at the gate.   

159.  
The mother now, as wanton as the boy,  
runs to the garden door and welcomes him:  
And glad with all her heart, she laughs for joy,  
and brings the piper and the fiddler in:  
And now the feast must hold and needs begin.  
Musaeus comes unto the nuptial day,  
Betwixt the Mandrag, and fair Primula.   

160.  
The tables they were strewed with strawberries,  
with bottles and with flagons full of wine:  
With dainty damsens & the chopping cherries,  
with seats and arbours made with Eglantine,  
With wanton ivy and the twining Vine:  
And there do sit a bench of fair Ladies,  
Of Linfs & Nymphs and these same lightfoot fairies.   

161.  
At upper end set Primula the bride,  
Mincing demurely, wagging with her head:  
The mandrag & the bridsgroom by her side,  
that did attend her fairness whilst she fed,  
And gave her wine & cracknels with cakebred:  
And now dame Venus bids Musaeus play,  
And there was sport alone for that same day.   

162.  
Now doth he tune and temper all his strings,  
and pleaseth these same fair and pretty folk:  
And sometimes plays and then Musaeus sings,  
whilst that the flagons full of wine do walk,  
And now the little Lady's tongues do talk,  
And riseth up to dance and figs their breeches,  
Whilst coral wine doth stain their lily cheeks.   

163.  
Thus passed they the day with jolly head,  
till night was come, when as each dainty dame  
Must get the bride & bridsgroom both to bed,  
that they may go about that merry game,  
To cause their choler and their courage tame:  
And in the night to spend the wanton hours,  
To plant and get some other pretty flowers.   

164.  
Of peascods were their bolsters & their pillows  
he downbed it was of a fair green dock:  
The sheets they lay upon, were leaves of willows  
he in his shirt, and she in her fine frock.  
And there was playing with her curled lock.  
And now i'll leave them in their sweet delight,  
And bid the bride & bridsgroom both good night.   

165.  
Now be the bridemaids in their bony bowers,  
and couched full closely in the summer Tent:  
Within the fair green arbours and the flowers,  
to rest them after this mad merriment,  
That all the day in Tomboys play had spent.  
And what they saw by day, the night they dream  
But what it was, that what I cannot mean.   

166.  
Now Venus and the crafty fiddler goes,  
into a close fair arbour for to walk:  
Adorned with darnecks of the Damask Rose,  
whilst Venus enters into this same talk,  
And proudly in her stateliness doth stalk:  
And tongue-ripe in her rhetoric doth run,  
And to Musaeus thus her tale begun.   

167.  
Musaesus' quoth she, I must tell thee here,  
within this garden haunts a bumble-bee:  
But by the way, i'll bind thee for to swear,  
not to reveal, or prate my privity:  
But silence use in this my secrecy.  
And swears the fiddler to his good abearing,  
Whilst her fair sweet lips were the books of  
swearing.   

168.  
fiddler quoth she (so forwards on her tale)  
I have so often plagued this same Bee:  
And many times have made him ill to ail,  
as I am very fearful of the flee,  
That he will come and be revenged on me.  
And therefore fiddler watch me lest I slumber,  
And so the Bumble come and do me cumber.   

169.  
The good Musaeus answered her grace,  
and said (sweet Lady) take no thought for that,  
And forthwith from his crowd or fiddle case,  
he cuts a piece of leather as he sat,  
And makes a butcher's babble or flee-flap.  
That if the bumble-bee come thither humming,  
Musaeus swears, his babble it shall bum him.   

170.  
In mean while is he scraping on his crowd,  
only to keep the wanton Lady waking:  
And in the Ela note he fiddles loud,  
whilst that she laugheth at his merry laking:  
And much commends the mirth that he is making.  
And from her little finger takes a Ring,  
And gives Musaeus it, and bids him sing.   

171.  
The fiddler singeth like a Nightingale,  
and now his ballad and his song must be,  
Entitled, a Grandam or an old wives tale,  
the conjuring or charming of the Flee,  
And here the song i'll set you down to see:  
That pretty courtly Ladies may it keep,  
To bless them from the Bumble ere they sleep.   

The Charming of the Bee.  

172.  
avant from us false bumble-bee,  
in thy busy buzzing:  
And come not here thou crafty Flee,  
harm not in thy huzing.  
Fly far enough prodigious Fowl,  
in thy bitter stinging:  
Worse than the screeching ugly Owl,  
never good luck bringing.  
In thy coming or thy bumming,  
If thou comest hither humming,  
thou false bumble-bee,  
In thy swarming and thy harming,  
If thou chance within my charming,  
Exorciso te.   

173.  
Beware I say thou little bird,  
of my leather flee flap:  
And come not here nor hitherward,  
lest it reach a sound rap:  
For it shall beat thy little bum,  
Here me pretty fellow,  
And clap it thriftly if thou come,  
hearken what I tell you.  
In thy coming or thy bumbing,  
if thou comest hither humming,  
thou false Bumble Bee.  
In thy swarming and thy harming,  
if thou chance within my charming.  
Exorciso te.   

174.  
In nomine O domine,  
defend us from this Drone:  
And charm this hurtful honey Bee,  
to let us here alone.  
Away thou foul and fearful sprite  
and thou little devil:  
I charge thee come not in our sight,  
for to do us evil.  
In thy coming or thy bumbing,  
if thou comest hither humming,  
thou false bumble-bee,  
In the swarming and thy harming,  
if thou chance within my charming,  
Exorciso te.   

175.  
Now when Musaeus ended had his song,  
he turns to Venus, and in looking back:  
He spies the Lady there lard all along,  
and now the fiddler finds her in a nap,  
And lays away his fiddle and flee, flap:  
And down he lies, and leans upon her hips,  
And licorously he kissed the Lady's lips.   

176.  
Now whether that this Lady slept or no,  
or winked wild, as little wantoness use:  
There will I leave you, for I do not know,  
judge of it as you list, for you may choose:  
And me I pray you hearty excuse.  
But there the fiddler found an instrument,  
That makes him mirth & much mad merriment.   

177.  
And now Musaeus plays his Minstrels prize,  
the perfect of the more his mood he made:  
Bearing what should be hidden, and his eyes  
pry where he thinks most descant might be had  
Straining beyond Ela, Venus to glad.  
And this he found, that music pleaseth best,  
Whose mood by prick, in circle is expressed.   

179.  
But there I know not how he played or pricked▪  
but sure it is, and certain too, that she  
Forthwith upon a sudden fling and kicked,  
and cried out, the Bee, the Bee, the Bee:  
Help fiddler, for the Bumble hath stung me.  
Then quoth Musaeus all our quarrels ends,  
And let us kiss good madam, and be friends.   

180.  
I was the Bee that bitten the marigold,  
I was (oh fair Cytherian Queen) that Bee,  
Yea that same bumble thou didst plague of old  
when thou bade shoot, & Cupid shot at me,  
Now have I hit the mark and shot at thee.  
The scantlin won, the winners must cry whup,  
The goal is got, and now the game is up.   

181.  
With that the Queen she falls into a laughter,  
and scarcely would believe this Riddler:  
But in the end as you shall here hereafter,  
She knew that it was he that shot at her:  
And out of all her doubt did remove her.  
Now was the morning, and the Sun it shone,  
And to the Bride and Bridsgroom are they gone.   

182.  
The bridsgroom he lay lolling in his bed,  
and all his leaves he litherly displays:  
The pretty Bride was combing of her head,  
to spread and open with the morning's rays,  
As is her manner and her use always.  
And from the arbours & the fresh green burrows  
Comes Venus & Musaeus, with good morrows.   

183.  
Unto the Bride Musaeus doth present  
himself, and caltha's commendations:  
With that sweet Nosegay which her sister sent,  
and many other gentle salutations,  
The which he greeteth her with gratulations:  
And Primula she takes the Tutty there,  
And sticks it on her yellow golden hair.   

184.  
And makes an other pretty nosegay too,  
and binds her double Daisies altogether:  
And Musaeus must unto Caltha go,  
and in a water pot (lest that they whither)  
To Ephesus must carry those same thither:  
And bring her news from Nycol town I say,  
Of her fair sister, Lady Primula.   

185.  
And Venus takes a jewel from her hat,  
which was a yellow golden Cockle shell:  
And Musaeus must give fair Caltha that,  
and say, the Lady Venus loves her well:  
And more than that this traveler must tell.  
That if his garden she will once more take,  
She shall be welcome for the fiddlers sake.   

116.  
And now she goes unto the Woodbine Tree,  
and breaks his branch, that long hath been be,  
And gives it unto Musaeus, that he  
may give it unto Lady caltha's hand,  
To send her Manumissum to this land.  
And wear his branch about her, & in wearing,  
Wear out the bond from this his good abearing.   

187.  
And thus the fair sweet Lady Primula,  
devotee's herself to Venus now from us:  
And Caltha, with Diana gone away,  
the Bee revenged in shape of Musaeus,  
The Bond he hopes to hear from Ephesus.  
All quarrels ended, and we all cry truce,  
Until the fiddler come to bring more news.    
FINIS.