THE shepherds COMPLAINT. A passionate Eclogue, written in English Hexameters: Whereunto are annexed other conceits, briefly expressing the effects of loves impressions, and the just punishment of aspiring beauty. By J. D. Brevissima, gratissima. Imprinted at London for William Blackewall, and are to be sold at his shop over against Guildhall Gate. TO all courteous Gentlemen Readers, Scholars, and whosoever else affect the study of Poetry, john Dickenson presents this the fruit of an unripe wit, done succisivis horis: desiring them courteously to accept, & favourably to peruse these his ill-pleasing labours, and protect them by their friendly censures, from the malice of unfriendly carpers, not for their own worth, which are worthless: but entreating them rather to allow his good will in performing what he could, then accuse his want of sufficiency in not affording what they would. VIdit Amor, visos legit, lectosque probavit Anglia quos de se libros musaeque Britannae Composuere: Deo placuit mutatus Amintas vest nitens propria & Romana vest decorus: Nec pla●uere minus viridi dignissima lauro Aurifluis foecunda metris Sidnaeia scripta, Et laudes Rosamunda tuae: nec numinis ullae Subter fugerunt oculos visumue camoenae. Singula dum lustrat, Pastoris forte querelam Conspexit risitque parum, de in talia fatus Sunt ait haec aliquid laudes spectantia nostras, Et sint parva licet, non aspernanda videntur, Haec Deus: haec nostrae praebent solatia musae. The shepherds Complaint. PHoebus awaked with the early summons of Aurora, mounted his burning Chariot bathed in the Crystalline clear streams of aged Oceanus, while she moistening the earth with a shower of silver pearled dew, did selemnize with her morning tears, the never-ended obsequies of her dearest Memnon. But though the God conpling his headstrong Stéeds, had begun his daies-taske in the Ecliptic, yet I, whose unquiet thoughts afforded no rest to my overwearied senses in the silent night, resolved not to rise, till I had somewhat refreshed & repaired the decaying vigour of my dulled spirits. As thus I lay musing on sundry matters, gentle sleep recompensed my oft-interrupted slumbers with a long repose, wherein me thought I was transported into the blessed soil of heavenly Arcadia, the beauteous garnishing of whose fertile plains, decked with the pride of Flora, which had there opened the royal Storehouse of her pompous magnificence, did far surpass the trivial pleasures of Thessalian Tempe. I clean ravished with delight, solaced myself in the view of that Celestial plot, earth's second paradise, whose pleasures thus briefly, though badly, I will express. 1 FIelds were overspread with flowers, Fairest choice of Flora's treasure: Shepherds there had shady bowers, Where they oft reposed with pleasure: Meadows flourished fresh and gay, Where the wanton herds did play. 2 Springs more clear than crystal streams, Seated were the Groves among. Thus nor Titans scorching beams, Nor earths drought could shepherds wrong, Fair Pomona's fruitful pride, Did the budding branches hide. 3 Flocks of sheep fed on the plains, Harmless sheep that rom'd at large: Here and there sat pensive Swains, Waiting on their wandering charge: Pensive while their Lasses smiled, Lasses which had them beguiled. 4 Hills with Trees were richly dight, Valleys stored with Vesta's wealth: Both did harbour sweet delight, Nought was there to hinder health. Thus did heaven grace the soil, Not deformed with workman's toil. 5 Purest plot of earthly mould, Might that land be justly named. Art by Nature was controlled, Art which no such pleasures framed: Fairer place was never seen, Fittest place for beauty's Queen. But to our purpose. As I wandered along, the sweet chantresse of the field, into whose gentle kind fair Philomele was erst transformed, did seem to gratulate my arrival with divine melody, raising her harmonious lays in highest tunes. And not respecting the safety of her tender charge scaled with her wings the top of a lofty tree, where while she sat, a careless contemner of world's ever-changing chances, and pleased herself with the sweetness of her own song, a Snake slily creeping into the foolish birds late forsaken nest devoured the silly younglings not guarded as before with the wary Mother's watchful eye: They straining their tender breasts, implored their wretched dams untimely aid, who hearing the sad exclaims of her betrayed brood, and being the sorrowful eyewitness of their misery, turned her joyful tunes into passionate laments, moaning so sweetly, that Nature urged by fatal necessity, seemed to excel Art: but complaints were bootless: for the cruel devourer had already engulfed the innocent younglings in his venomous maw, whose deaths she celebrated with her mournful cries, & framed their funeral song in heavenly notes. But while she bereft of her pretty little ones the hope of her future content, began fresh sorrows, a Fowler having espied the hapless bird, and intending her like misfortune, took his station and prepared the engines of his cruelty, thoroughly resolving to embowel a small bullet in her guts, and so finish her heart's sorrow. But while he aimed at her, desirous to effect his cruel resolution, the Snake whose entrails were yet warm with the guiltless blood of those unhappy young ones, did sting the greedy birders foot, who grieved with the sudden pain, left his former enterprise, and falling into a choleric humour, divided the mangled body of that cursed Serpent's brood into many pieces, employing his death-bodening engine, the fatal receptacle of consuming sulphur otherwise than he had determined. Thus he which made his belly the children's grave, did with remors-full recompense procure the mother's safety, satisfying her revenge with his blood, and saving her life through his kind attempt. I thought the strangeness of this chance worthy of recital. But going forward, I descried a little thicket, a name well fitting the property of that place: for it was so thick & close, that it seemed rather despairs mansion, then delights harbour. Nature moderating her lavish bounty seated there this only blemish of Arcadia's bliss, whose other groves haunted by the wanton satires, traced by the light foo●e Hamadryads, and hallowed with the sacred presence of the rural Dimigods, having clear springs to comfort the thirsty hunters, and sweet Arbours to refresh the weary Nymphs, wanted no perfections of pleasure which Natures plentiful providence could afford, or heavens kind influence maintain. But though this amazing object contrary to the rest, did somewhat daunt me, yet armed with a firm resolution, I bololy entered to search the secret corners of that affrighting place: Where what I saw, and how I saw, is plainly discovered in this following discourse, the sad record of a mournful shepherds laments, which being the chiefest part of my dream I noted so soon as I awaked, descanting on his estate in common verse, both before and after the passionate Eclogue. But being loath it should come abroad so naked, I have thus meanly clothed it with the addition of other accidents to make it a perfect dream, though an imperfect matter. But be it as it wil I will rather presume on the courtesy of your friendly censures, then lose time, & bestow labour in refining a toy, which I have been occasioned to publish. But they which have by their own mishaps experimented the force of Love, and torturing troubles of enthralled affection, will I hope gently censure of his Complaints, if not for the worth of his desert, yet for his passions sake. WIthin a Grove encompassed round with trees, Whose close set tops clear sight of piercing eye, Can scarce find passage through, by just degrees Proportioned in distance equally As done by skilful Artists memory, A pensive Shepherd stretched him on the ground, Whose wont joys sad passions did confound. As when a black thick Meteore dothore-goe heavens light, whose vautie roof bright orbs embosse, The vapours late exhaled from below Dim that fair place with dregs of earthbred dross, Which striving winds doth rough the welkin toss: So this thick shade, dark mansion of despair, Did scarce afford an entrance to thin air. Under an Arboret embranched wide, This forlorn swain oppressed with care did lie: Upon whose bark approaching I espied, And red engraved this doleful Elegy, As every way I glanced my rolling eye, Sad Elegy which in few lines comprised: Much care: and thus it was by him devised. If I could carve on this thy tender rind, Such deep characters with my feeble arm, Arm feeble through distress of woeful mind, As in my heart deep cut, thicke-set do swarm, While earths kind moisture fed thy blosomes pride, These sorrow-seasond lines should firm abide. UUhatere thou be that passing by this way, Readst this memorial, search not curiously My name, most hapless name, but hast away, Lest heavens afflict thee with like misery: And gentle passenger let this remain, Long monument of unknown shepherds pain. Hei mihi quam tardo mors pede lenta venit? Scarce had I read this sad record enrolled, On winding bark, when lifting up his eyes To heaven, though he no heaven could behold, (For overspreading trees did that disguise) He filled the air with oft repeated cries, And 'gan prepare in style Heroical, To wail his loves loss and his fancy's thrall. Goddess and mother of the learned nine, Mnemosyne rich treasury of Art, Nurse of conceit, and mysteries divine, Infuse a powerful influence to my heart, That outward moans bewraying inward smart, My mindful pen making rehearsal true, May register as thus they do ensue. IF plaints could penetrate the sun-bright top of Olympus, Whose lights sweet comfort these eyes, eyes moist with abundance Of down-streaming tears since wronged by Fancy, beheld not: Or th'earth yield passage to my voice, voice hoarse with a thousand More than a thousand moans, sending them down to the deep vawts, Where Pluto Lord of Acheron enjoyeth his Empire, Or some blustering blasts convey by force of a whirlwind, These my sad laments to the wide world there to be talked of: Gods that dwell on high, and Fiends that lurk in Avernus: Men that live on earth, or sail through watery Tethys. Gods, whose divine shapes loves force hath oft metamorphosed, Fiends, whose hellish hearts no remorse, no regard ever entered, Men whom loves deep wounds have prostrate laid at his altars, All these would pity me, but vain wish can little help me: Yet though wish be vain, my sad complaints I will utter: Though to myself I repeat as oft ere now I repeated, Moans mixed with salt tears for th'ease of hearts heavy burden, Heart priest with sorrow, heart with care heavily loaden. When Fortunes doom was equal, and loves fury forceless, Arcadian pastures tending my flock I frequented Chief 'mongst the shepherds for wit, for beauty, for all things. Oft did I win both prize and palm, when our jolly meetings And yearly feastings solemnisd were to the great God Pan, the God of shepherds sovereign defender of all flocks, And Laurel garland hath crowned me conqueror often. Dametas' penned sweet ditties, with comely Palaemon: And with him Lycidas, and 'mongst Neat-heards many gallants: But none of these durst, though each of these had a mistress, Strive in praise of them with me, fearing to be vanquished: Yet Lycidas had a choice, a fair choice, lovely Felisa. Nymphs would sit in a round coming fro the chase to refresh them Listening unto my songs, & unto the tunes that I gave them. With the satires lightly skipping, where Flora revested, And with summers pride, earths fair green mantle adorned, And th'hornfeet halfgods, with all the progeny rural: The wind-winged Naiads spring-haunting Naiads, all these Did me requite, whose pen with praise they gently rewarded. Each fair shepherdess was with my company gladded: Me Galathea favoured, yet was Galathea rejected: Me fair Phillis liked, but Phillis could not I fancy. Thestylis and Daphne, both fair, both wooed me with offers: Thestylis and Daphne, both fair, were fond repulsed: Kind girls, fit epithet for girls so kind, but unhappy. The snow-white Hyalus world's wonder, fair as Adonis, Scorned Nymphs allurements, and Heardmens gifts he refused: But me the boy did love, and in cool shade I remember, With me reposing oft, Philomeles clear notes he resembling, With voice Angelical, my ditties sweetly recorded. But nor he, nor they could my fond affection alter, Whose care-crased heart, and love-pierc'd thoughts fair Amaryllis, Held in pleasing thrall: for than it seemed so: but aye me, Now I repent too late, too late I repent that I thought so. Her did I greet, and fairly salute each morn with a present: But proud girl, coy girl, though presents some she received, Yet she refused the most, and better not be received, Then be received so: with feigned smiles she rewarded, My not fiend goodwill: and when by chance I beheld her, Walking on the plains, if I did draw near to salute her: Then winged with disdain, more swift in pace she returned, Then lightfoot Daphne shunning the sight of Apollo, Flying his pursuit and bootless chase, with a stubborn And perverse conceit: like her was coy Amaryllis. For me she loathed, although her I loved, and in many ditties, (Few such ditties were) her beauty's praise I recounted. Fame's shrill eternal trumpet through Arcady, sounded Her matchless virtues, and gentle fame the revenger Of my causeless wrongs, her coins hath so recorded. (Fame which from my pen large matterfully received) That sea-bred Dolphins, and misformed watery Monsters, Shall in the welkin sport them with lofty Laualt●s, And saile-bearing pine glide through thin air with a Siren, Swimming near the stern, and Ioues bird lodged in Olympus, The royal Eagle chief Lord and lordly regarder Of the feathered brood with his winged army repairing. Down to the late-left bower of Nereus and Thetis and all, That lodge in watery cabinets, shall sooner abide there, And for ever dwell there then fames sound which memorised, Her desdainefull pride be clean forgot by the shepherds, Or 'mongst th'Arcadians my sorrows not be remembered. Yet vain was my labour small comfort thence I received, For she loved an other though far unfit to be rival With me which did surpass him that nor very witty, Nor very comely was: all Arcady knows that I feign not, Nor fond boasting use, yet was he received, I rejected, Pardon fair, fairer than any fairest Amaryllis, Pardon sweet, more sweet than any most sweet Amaryllis, Though thou absent be, yet crave I pardon O pardon, Those my wrathful looks o'ercast with frowns never used, Till thy misdeeming censure did wrong so the shepherd, Whose match for loyal service wide world never harboured▪ Except loves martyr, loves wonder gentle Amintas. O pardon those impatient thoughts which I did utter In blasphemous words, blaspheming thee Amaryllis, Cursing those graces where with nature did adorn thee, And on thy pride exclaiming fond passion urged me, Then when I saw my rival speed, myself so rejected, Then did it urge me so, that moved with more than a wont Grief of mind, I vowed to renounce the state of a shepherd, State too good for me which vow too well I remembered. For leaving all the pleasures which Arcady yielded, Clear springs, fair fountains, green meadows, & shady valleys Where, while flock did graze, sometimes I sweetly reposing, Did meditate on love, when love was friend to my fancy, Leaving these, loathing myself, looking for a speedy End of care, I remained alone, all company shunning, To grace thassemblies of Shepherds oft I refused, Sheep were left a prey to the wolf, sheep which me beholding, Drooped in deep sorrow, with bleating seemed to bemoan me, Gentle sheep, kind beasts, more kind than coy Amaryllis, Thus I resolved to seek a place, fit place for an abject, Found this dark some grove, since when still here I remained, Here to the woods I wailed: woods seemed to groan when I wailed, Here to the trees I moaned, trees seemed to bend when I moaned me, Here to the winds I mourned, winds sent calm blasts to relieve me Thus to the woods, to the winds, to the trees, to the floods, to the fountains & to the thinnest air, to the valleys & to the mountains, Framing sad laments, more comfort have I received, From these, then from the coy looks of proud Amaryllis, Kind Echo was moved, her like mishap she remembering, Joined her moans to mine, my last words gently repeating: And the chirping birds attentive unto my sorrows, Changed their pleasant notes for mournful tunes to bewail me. But why talk I thus? all these could smally relieve me, Slow death when comest thou? slow death can wholly release me. THis said, he sighed, as though his heart would rive, Had she that wronged the sweet-tongud shepherd so, Whose high thoughts fortunes malice did deprive Of sweet delight, matter more fit than woe, O would his fates had preordaind it so: Had she been there to hear him thus lament, Her eyes some tears, her heart some sighs had lent. O how divinely would the swain have sung In Laureate lines of beauteous Lady's praise? Her fame emblasoned, far abroad had rung, Where worlds bright eye his farthest beams displays, If Love had deigned his drooping quill to raise, Whose heavenly Muse midst sorrow tuned so high, Her Swanlike notes, as loath that all should die. When I beheld the shepherd grieved so, I did compassionate his heaviness, And with sad sighs accorded to his woe, Which in those former plaints he did express. Yet loath to trouble him in his distress, As unespied I thither did repair, So unespied I left him in despair. Most sweet Amintas, if the heavenly Pen That wrote the loyal issue of thy love, Whose golden lines are 'mongst conceitful men, Esteemed as doth his labours best behove Whose style th'applauding Muses did approve, If that had written silly swains unrest, Poor shepherds grief had sweetly been expressed. But death that seized on matchless Astrophel, Bereaving still the world of world's delight, Hath stopped his hopeful course that did excel, Sweet Poet that divinely did indite. Arcadians do him his deserved right, And on his Tomb green Laurel-branches spread, Which while he breathed on earth, ador'nd his head. Dead though thou be, fair flower of Poetry, Yet grateful Love hath memorized thy name, A monument of lasting memory, Enrolled in endless registers of Fame, Thou for thyself didst in sweet Poems frame. But what mean I in harsh ill-sounding verse, Thy rare perfections rudely to rehearse? Soli quidsit amorsciunt amantes. Leaving this comfortless harbour of the despairing shepherd, I wandered half dismayed through the spacious plains, covered with mulitudes of grazing flocks: at last I descried a little hill, whose shady top was thick set with Myrtle Trees: approaching, I perceived a little valley underneath, and therein a pleasant spring: and at the foot of the hill I beheld a fair Shepherdess, sitting and making a pretty Garland of odoriferous Flowers, to crown her Swain which sat somewhat below, and ever as he durst, did cast up his eyes the admirers of her beauty, yet fearfully, as not assured of her favour. Thus while the one was busy with her hands, the other with his eyes: a young Heifer, whose neck was not yet tamed with the heavy yoke, did in the valley sport herself now frisking, then leaping wanton, sometimes tumbling her body in the grass, and wallowing on the ground, suddenly leaping up, as if glutted with the fruition of Flora's benefits: thus still she played, yet never weary with play. The fair Shepherdess smiled at this sight, as partaker of like freedom: the Swain seemed to sigh, as deprived of like liberty: she renewed her smiles, as triumphing in his thrall, yet crowned him with the Garland which she made, as loath he should despair, having received so fair a token of her favour. The Shepherd comforted with this unexpected courtesy, did resume his lost courage, and began thus to descant on his fortune. Fair mistress, when the Heifar played with pleasure, You smiled, I sobbed, for smiles could not relieve me: His fearless life, your freedoms worth did measure: Which caused you smile, and with your smiles to grieve me. But though you smiling seemed to deny me, Yet this kind favour proves 'twas but to try me. More faithful Swain was never tried of any, More true, more trusty, to his dearest love: A rare example, and unknown of many, Which do their servants lightness oft reprove. Henceforth bold thoughts: despair shall not confound me▪ Eyes galled, smiles killed, but gentle hands have crowned me. The Shepherdess glad to hear her swain in this pleasant mood, could not dissemble her discovered affection, nor conceal that which she had already opened: thus therefore she did reply, consorting with him in one key, and consenting in one thought. WHen wanton Heifar sported here and there, I smiled as sovereign of mine own desires: When thou didst sob, my smiles renewed were, To see thee scorched with loves inflaming fires: Yet loath to wrong the truth of thy intent I gave thee hope, and staid thy sad lament. I smiled though not as moved with coy desdeigne; But with a garland crowned thy head to please thee: Smiles were renewed, not to deride thy pain, But to rejoice that I alone could ease thee. Sob then no more, but if thou love at all, Esteem no freedom like this pleasing thrall. Shepherd. SWeet thrall first step to loves felicity, Shepherdess. Sweet thrall no stop to perfect liberty. Shep. O life. She. What life? Herald Sweet life. She. No life more sweet. Herald O love. She. What love. Herald Sweet love. She. No love more meet. Thus with her kind conclusion, knitting lives sweetness with loves solace, she relieved the fainting Swain, which before half dismayed, was doubtful of her favour, and drooped discontent. How happy had the siluer-tongud Shepherd been, if coy Amaryllis had pitied his extremes, and with like kindness converted his moan into mirth, his care into comfort, his despair into hope: whose heavenly muse, sweet secretary of his divine conceit, would have expressed the sum of loves happiness in matchless lines, and increased the number of conceitful Arcadians, whose wits sharpened with loves pleasures, employing their pens in doing homage to loves Altar, and publishing their Nymphs praises with never-dying blazons of their beauty's worth. Both true and oft tried is that saying: Amor melle & fell foecundissimus. Which I will thus English, following rather the sense then the sentence: Loves sweet is oft mixed with sour. The truth of which assertion is by his misfortunes largely proved: who though wanting no deserts which love might challenge, yet could not compass that whereto he aimed his desires: how justly then might he set this Lenuoye at the end of his sorrowful complaint? WHat life, what love, doth rest in women's looks? What hap, what hope, have they whom beauty snares? Coy dame no bold conceit in servant brooks, But for her captive still new thrall prepares, And loads his heart with new enforced cares. Thus hopes he still for that he near shall find, Such are the trophaes of proud womankind. But this other Shepherd, whose fortune made him owner of his eyes choice, would have contradicted his saying if he had heardit, accusing him of impatience, because he penned his injurious censure in too choleric a vein: and doubtless would thus have turned these disparaging lines, and annered them to the end of all his devices, as the sum of his whole opinion. WHat life, what love, if not in women's looks? What hap, what hope, like theirs whom beauty snares? Fair dame no fond despair in servant brooks, But for her captive still new joy prepares, Easing his heart of unbeseeming cares. Thus what he hopes, he shallbe sure to find, Such is the sex of glorious womankind. But ceasing to destant on their thoughts, whose fortunes I have not tried, I will proceed to recount what else I saw. Na●e, loves wondrous stratagems deserve a deeper medetitation, and cannot be thus slightly conceited. I wandered therefore, musing more than erst I did, on the effects of love, not knowing how to term so strange a passion, whose diverse success did cause several motions in their hearts, which were enthralled by fancy, and captivated by affection, yet all ending in extremes. I thought then that Poets had reason to invest him with the title of Deity, whose powerful shafts had not only pierced the yielding hearts of mortal men, but made a forcible entrance into the relenting thoughts of immortal gods: jupiter himself Hominum sator atque deorum, felt the force of his aspiring Nephews fatal weapons, else would he not have courted Leda in the shape of a Swan, wafted Europa in form of a Bull, descended into Danae's lap like a golden shower, besides his other pretty sleights, which the amorous God did oft practise to beguile his jealous Queen. Nor was Apollo ignorant of loves power, who being overmatched by Cupid, to whom he durst equal himself, was forced to ease his overburdened heart, and utter his passion, exclaiming thus in an impatient humour. Hei mihi quod nullis amor est sanabilis herbis. Physics God knew no salve to cure such a sore, whose incurable vehemency is proved by his most passionate complaints, recorded by loves Herald in his volume of transformed shapes. But whether am I carried? it be seems not me to descant on loves powerful sovereignty, but to employ my pen, in relating that which I saw or seemed to see in my morning vision. Passing along, and viewing many trees, whose gorgeous branches garnished with rural pomp, and the pride of Sylvanus, did somewhat darken the ground with a spacious shade: not far from the rest, I espied a Myrtle tree, and approaching did read written near unto the top, thus: Under this tree fair Phyllis did relent, And Tityrus received his first content. And a little underneath that, thus: Fair Queen of love to whom this tree belongs, Next Phyllis, thou shalt grace the shepherds songs. And underneath that again, thus: Apollo's laurel to this tree shall yield, For Phillis deems the Myrtle chief in Field. And on the other side of the tree thus: The silly Swain whose love breeds discontent, Thinks death a trifle, life a loathsome thing: Sad he looks, sad he lies: But when his fortune's malice doth relent, Then of loves sweetness, he will sweetly sing: Thus he lives, thus he dies: Then Tityrus whom Love hath happy made, Will rest thrice happy in this myrtle shade, For though love at first did grieve him, Yet did love at last relieve him. The seat underneath the tree was worn with their oft sitting on it: for it seemed to be much frequented by Phyllis and her beloved Swain. Here by I gathered, that all Arcadians were not unhappy, but the most, fortunate in love: what though Ovid censured thus: Fastus inest pulchris? Tush, that is an imperfection incident to some few, not a fault common to all. Amaryllis was coy, Helen had a gadding humour: yea but Penelope was chaste, Laodamia loyal, Artemisia loving, Lucretia chaste: thus have we many proofs to answer any instance of feminine imperfection: yet nothing which is mortal, can be absolutely perfect: Virgil's saying is most true. Varium et mutabile semper Femina. Eurydice, which living could not be accused of inconstancy, was after death blemished with unkindness, because forgetting the covenant of her return from hell. she fond looked back. The siluer-tongued Thracian, whom Apollo had endued with a double gift of music and poetry, being moved with this, hated and with hateful disgrace disparadged the worth of that scxe which before he had honoured by his matchless Art: but if I proceed in this vain, I shall fall into a Labyrinth more intricate than the first. Scarce had I left that place, when I heard a loud noise of Pipes: & looking forward, I saw a great troop of mourners, towards whom I paced: and drawing near, beheld God Pan foremost of this assembly, who sounded a doleful note on his Oat en pipe: Next him came Sylvanus, Pomona, Faunus and all the rural powers, whom the lightfoot satires followed piping all, though harshly, yet heavily. Next after these, the swift-pacing Wood-Nymphes came, whose golden locks staining the beauty of Titan's beams, hung lose about their shoulders: these did strew flowers on the ground as they went, having their laps full, and with their voices agreeing in one sound, made a sorrowful, yet sweet consort. Next these, a coarse covered with a fair hearse curiously embrothered, and over-spredde with choice plenty of sweetest flowers was carried by four shepherds: on it this short Epitaph in red letters. Hear beauties wonder lately slain doth lie, Whom angry cinthia's wrath did doom to die. A great troop of shepherds followed this breathless coarse, which made me muse the more, thinking that it was some rare creature, at whose perfections that angry Goddess did repine, as fearing that the report of her worth would bring her deity into contempt: yet desirous to be thoroughly resolved, I demanded of him which was the last of the company, what this solemn pomp did signify: he courteously shaped me this answer. Stranger, (for so thou seemest) know, that these are the obite rites of fair Amaryllis, whom few could match in beauty, none in pride. She refusing the love and service of the best deserving Shepherd that ever was bred in Arcadia, bestowed her favour on a clownish Swain, his inferior in all perfections: he it was whom thou sawest following the hearse clad in mournful attire: but suddenly repenting her choice, she did coldly entertain him, thinking him to be honoured enough, and herself too much abased by such sleight favours which she afforded him yet such, as they might have prolonged the other shepherds life, which could not obtain the least courtesy, though worthy of the most. But proud Amaryllis, deeming herself better than any mortal creature, durst attempt comparisons with the immortal powers, matching herself in the height of her own conceit with matchless Diana, the sovereign of these Groves: who though sprung of heavenly race, yet deigns to bless Arcadia with her sacred presence. The Gods jealous of her honour aimed at her one of those shafts, where with she wounds the flying beasts: and deprived the coy girl of life, which would have bereaved her of renown. Thus being slain by divine justice, she is honoured in her death, and her body accompanied to the earth with the rustical music of the rural Dimigods, and the celestial notes of the lovely Nrmphes, which tune their voice in a funeral song, they purpose to convey her body to the darksome Orove, where it is said, the forlorn Shepherd by her desdeigned leads a solitary life: who if he yet live, may see his wrongs revenged, and the cause of his complaints, on whom before he durst not look, lying by his side a breathless object, on whom he may now look his fill. If he be dead, her body shall be interred where he spent his days in sorrow: But the loss of Niobe, the metamorphosis of wretched Arachne, or the death of Marsias might have warned her to avoid like presumption. Thus hast thou heard the cause of this solemnity briefly unfolded: but now stranger thou must pardon me, I can spend no longer time in these discourses, but must hast after my company. This said, he left me in a deep meditation, musing at the inevitable lot of destiny, whose successive chances knit together with the chain of necessity, follow each the other in fatal course: the last finishing what the former left uneffected, and all discharging the most certain ordinances of divine prescience. But sleep could not furnish my fancy with such high thoughts, as my troubled conceit did affect: therefore amidst my dumps, I suddenly awaked, & thus ended my dream, which if you vouchsafe to peruse with favourable censure, I shall rest fully satisfied: and though I can perform nothing else, yet of this I will be sure, not to trouble you with tedious toys: nor manifest mine own insufficiency in long discourses, for then misliking the subject, you would cast it away before ye read half, or if you bestowed a few idle hours in perusing it all, you would curse me that held you so long in reading a trifle, sith you might have employed that vacant time in viewing matters of more moment, and greater pleasure. But where Apollo's Lute is silent, Pan's harsh Pipe may supply a room, which else would blush at the sound of his own music. You know the saying of Horace. Scribimus in docti doctic poemata passim. They which are not sufficiently furnished with matchless perfections, wrought in them by virtue of a divine Entheos', may yet talk of Parnassus, thirst for the silver streams of Helicon, and honour the Muses in words, whose high conceited servants they cannot match in worth. A Scholars Aliquid, is better than whole Uolumes of clownish lines. drawn from the muddy fountains of Mechanical brains. But seeking freely to excuse, I do fondly accuse myself. I will therefore rest on the hope of your courteous acceptance. Imprinted at London for William Blackewall, and are to be sold at his shop over against Guildhall Gate.