ENDYMION and Phoebe. IDEAS LATMUS. Phoebus' erit nostri princeps, et carminis Author.  
AT LONDON, Printed by james Roberts, for john Bushie.   

TO THE EXCELLENT and most accomplished Lady: Lucy Countess of Bedford.  
Great Lady, essence of my chiefest good,  
Of the most pure and finest tempered spirit  
Adorned with gifts, ennobled by thy blood,  
Which by descent true virtue dost inherit;  
That virtue which no fortune can deprive,  
Which thou by birth tak'st from thy gracious mother,  
Whose royal minds with equal motion strive  
Which most in honour shall excel the other;  
Unto thy fame my Muse herself shall task  
Which train'st upon me thy sweet golden showers,  
And but thyself, no subject will I ask,  
Upon whose praise my soul shall spend her powers.  
Sweet Lady then, grace this poor Muse of mine,  
Whose faith, whose zeal, whose life, whose all is thine.  Your Honours humbly divoted Michael Drayton.  

Roland when first I read thy stately rhymes  
In shepherds weeds, when yet thou livedst unknown,  
Not seen in public in those former times,  
But unto Anchor tund'st thy Pipe alone.  
I than beheld thy chaste Ideas fame.  
Put on the wings of thine immortal style,  
Whose rarest virtues, and deserved name  
Thy Muse renowns throughout this glorious I'll,  
Thy lines, like to the Laurels pleasant shade,  
In after ages shall adorn her Hearse,  
Nor can her beauty's glory fade  
Decked in the colours of thy happy verse  
Thy fiery spirit mounts up to the sky,  
And what thou writ'st lives to Eternity.  E. P.  

To Idea.  
A Midst those shades wherein the Muses sit,  
Thus to Idea, my Idea sings,  
Support of wisdom, better force of Wit:  
Which by desert, desert to honour brings,  
Borne to create good thoughts by thy rare worth,  
Whom Nature with her bounteous store doth bless,  
More excellent than Art can set thee forth;  
Happy in more, than praises can express:  
Which by thyself shalt make thyself continue,  
When all world's glory shall be clean forgot,  
Thus I the least of skilful Arts retinue:  
Writ in thy praise which time shall never blot;  
Heaven made thee what thou art, till worlds be done,  
Thy fame shall flourish like the rising Sun.  S. G.  

Endymion & Phoebe. Ideas Latmus.  

IN Jonia whence sprang old Poet's fame,  
From whom that Sea did first derive her name,  
The blessed bed whereon the Muses lay,  
Beauty of Greece, the pride of Asia,  
Whence Archelaus whom times historify,  
First unto Athens brought Philosophy.  
In this fair Region on a goodly Plain,  
Stretching her bounds unto the bordering Main,  
The Mountain Latmus over-lookes the Sea,  
Smiling to see the Ocean billows play:  
Latmus, where young Endymion used to keep  
His fairest flock of siluer-fleeced sheep.  
To whom Silvanus often would resort,  
At barleybreak to see the satires sport;  
And when rude Pan his Tabret list to sound,  
To see the fair Nymphs foot it in a round,  
Under the trees which on this Mountain grew,  
As yet the like Arabia never knew:  
For all the pleasures Nature could devise,  
Within this plot she did imparadise;  
And great Diana of her special grace,  
With Vestal rites had hallowed all the place:  
Upon this Mount there stood a stately Grove,  
Whose reaching arms, to clip the Welkin strove,  
Of tufted Cedars, and the branching Pine,  
Whose bushy tops themselves do so intwine,  
As seemed when Nature first this work begun,  
She then conspired against the piercing Sun;  
Under whose covert (thus divinely made)  
Pboebus green Laurel flonsht in the shade:  
Fair Venus Mirtile, Mars his warlike fir,  
Minerva's Olive, and the weeping Myrrh,  
The patiented Palm, which thrives in spite of hate,  
The Poplar, to Alcides consecrate;  
Which Nature in such order had disposed,  
And therewithal these goodly walks enclosed,  
As served for hangings and rich Tapestry,  
To beautify this stately Gallery:  
Imbraudring these in curious trails along,  
The clustered Grapes, the golden Citrons hung,  
More glorious the the precious fruit were these,  
Kept by the Dragon in Hesperides;  
Or gorgeous Arras in rich colours wrought,  
With silk from Africa, or from Indie brought:  
Out of this soil sweet bubbling Fountains crept,  
As though for joy the senseless stones had wept;  
With straying channels dancing sundry ways,  
With often turns, like to a curious Maze:  
Which breaking forth, the tender grass bedewed  
Whose silver sand with orient Pearl was strewed,  
Shadowed with Roses and sweet Eglantine,  
Dipping their sprays into this crystalline:  
From which the birds the purple berries pruned,  
And to their loves their small recorders tuned.  
The Nightingale, woods Herald of the Spring,  
The whistling Woosell, Mavis carroling,  
Tuning their trebles to the waters fall,  
Which made the music more angelical:  
Whilst gentle Zephyre murmuring among,  
Kept time, and bore the burden to the song.  
About whose brims, renfresht with dainty showers,  
Grew Amaranthus, and sweet gilly-flowers,  
The Marigold, Phoebus' beloved friend,  
The Moly, which from sorcery doth defend:  
Violet, Carnation, Balm and Cassia,  
Ideas Primrose, coronet of May.  
Above this Grove a gentle fair ascent,  
Which by degrees of Milk-white Marble went:  
Upon the top, a Paradise was found,  
With which, Nature this miracle had crowned;  
Empaled with Rocks of rarest precious stone,  
Which like the flames of Aetna brightly shone;  
And served as Lanterns furnished with light,  
To guide the wandering passengers by night:  
For which fair Phoebe sliding from her Sphere,  
Used oft times to come and sport her there.  
And from the Azure starry-painted Sky,  
Embalmed the banks with precious lunary:  
That now her Menalus she quite forsook,  
And unto Latmus wholly her betook,  
And in this place her pleasure used to take,  
And all was for her sweet Endymion's sake:  
Endymion, the lovely shepherds boy,  
Endymion, great Phoebe's only joy,  
Endymion, in whose pure-shining eyes,  
The naked Faries danced the hay degies.  
The shag-haird Satyrs Mountain-climing race,  
Have been made tame by gazing in his face.  
For this boy's love, the water-Nymphs have wept  
Stealing oft times to kiss him whilst he slept:  
And tasting once the Nectar of his breath,  
Surfeit with sweet, and languish unto death;  
And jove oft-times bend to lascivious sport,  
And coming where Endymion did resort,  
Hath courted him, inflamed with desire,  
Thinking some Nymph was clothed in boy's attire.  
And oftentimes the simple rural Swains,  
Beholding him in crossing o'er the Plains,  
Imagined, Apollo from above  
Put on this shape, to win some Maiden's love.  
This Shepherd, Phoebe ever did behold,  
Whose love already had her thoughts controlled;  
From Latmus' top (her stately throne) she rose,  
And to Endymion down beneath she goes.  
Her Brother's beams now had she laid aside,  
Her horned crescent, and her full-faced pride:  
For had she come adorned with her light,  
No mortal eye could have endured the sight;  
But like a Nymph, crowned with a flowery twine,  
And not like Phoebe, as herself divine.  
An Azur'd Mantle purfled with a vail,  
Which in the Air puffed like a swelling sail,  
Embosted Rayne-bowes did appear in silk,  
With wavie streams as white as morning's Milk:  
Which ever as the gentle Air did blow,  
Still with the motion seemed to ebb and flow:  
About her neck a chain twice twenty fold,  
Of Rubies, set in lozenges of gold;  
Trust up in trammels, and in curious pleats,  
With spheary circles falling on her teats.  
A dainty smock of Cypress, fine and thin,  
O'er cast with curls next to her Lily skin:  
Through which the pureness of the same did show  
Like Damaske-roses strewed with flakes of snow.  
Discovering all her stomach to the waste,  
With branches of sweet circling veins enchaste.  
A Coronet she ware of Myrtle bows,  
Which gave a shadow to her ivory brows.  
No smoother beauty mask did beauty smother  
" Great lights dim less yet burn not one another,  
Nature abhors to borrow from the Mart,  
" Simples fit beauty, fie on drugs and Art.  
Thus came she where her love Endymion lay,  
Who with sweet Carols sang the night away;  
And as it is the shepherds usual trade,  
Oft on his pipe a Roundelay he played.  
As meek he was as any Lamb might be,  
Nor never lived a fairer youth than he:  
His dainty hand, the snow itself did stain,  
Or her to whom jove showered in golden rain:  
From whose sweet palm the liquid Pearl did swell,  
Pure as the drops of aganippa's Well:  
Clear as the liquor which fair Hebe spilt;  
His sheephook silver, damasked all with gilt.  
The staff itself, of snowy ivory,  
Studded with Coral, tipped with Ebony;  
His tresses, of the ravens shining black,  
Straggling in curls along his manly back.  
The balls which nature in his eyes had set,  
Like Diamonds enclosing Globes of jet:  
Which sparkled from their milky lids outright,  
Like fair Orion's heaven-adorning light.  
The stars on which her heavenly eyes were bend,  
And fixed still with lovely blandishment,  
For whom so oft disguised she was seen,  
As she Celestial Phoebe had not been:  
Her dainty Buskins laced unto the knee,  
Her pleated Frock, trucked up accordingly:  
A Nymph-like huntress, armed with bow & dart  
About the woods she scours the long-hued Hart.  
She climbs the mountains with the lightfoot Fauns  
And with the Satyrs scuds it o'er the Lawns.  
In musics sweet delight she shows her skill,  
Quavering the Cittern nimbly with her quill,  
Upon each tree she carves Endymion's name  
In Gordian knots, with Phoebe to the same:  
To kill him venison now she pitched her toils,  
And to this lovely Ranger brings the spoils;  
And thus whilst she by chaste desire is led  
Unto the Downs where he his fair Flocks fed,  
near to a Grove she had Endymion spied,  
Where he was fishing by a River side  
Under a Poplar, shadowed from the Sun,  
Where merrily to court him she begun:  
Sweet boy (qd. she) take what thy heart can wish,  
When thou dost angle would I were a fish,  
When thou art sporting by the silver Brooks,  
Put in thy hand thou needest no other hooks;  
Hard hearted boy Endymion look on me,  
Nothing on earth I hold too dear for thee:  
I am a Nymph and not of humane blood,  
Begot by Pan on Isis' sacred flood:  
When I was borne upon that very day,  
Phoebus was seen the Reveller to play:  
In Ioues high house the Gods assembled all,  
And juno held her sumptuous Festival,  
Oceanus that hour was dancing spied,  
And Tithon seen to frolic with his Bride,  
The Halcions that season sweetly sang,  
And all the shores, with shouting Sea-nymphs rang,  
And on that day, my birth to memorise,  
The Shepherds hold a solemn sacrifice:  
The chaste Diana nursed me in her lap,  
And I sucked Nectar from her Down-soft pap.  
The Well wherein this body bathed first,  
Who drinks thereof, shall never after thirst;  
The water hath the Lunacy appeased,  
And by the virtue, cureth all diseased;  
The place wherein my bare feet touch the mould,  
Made up in balls, for Pomander is sold.  
See, see, these hands have robbed the Snow of white,  
These dainty singers, organs of delight:  
Behold these lips, the Loadstones of desire,  
Whose words enchant, like Amphion's well-tuned lyre,  
This foot, Arts just proportion doth reveal,  
Signing the earth with heavens own manuel seal.  
Go, play the wanton, I will tend thy flock,  
And wait the hours as duly as a clock;  
I'll deck thy Ram with bells, an I wreaths of Bay,  
And gild his horns upon the shearing day;  
And with a garland crown thee shepherds king,  
And thou shalt lead the gay Girls in a ring;  
Birds with their wings shall fan thee in the Sun,  
And all the fountains with pure Wine shall run,  
I have a Quire of dainty Turtle-doves,  
And they shall fit and sweetly sing our loves:  
I'll lay thee on the Swans soft downy plume,  
And all the Wind shall gently breathe perfume,  
I'll plate thy locks with many a curious pleat,  
And chafe thy temples with a sacred heat;  
The Muses still shall keep thee company,  
And lull thee with enchanting harmony;  
If not all these, yet let my virtues move thee,  
A chaster Nymph Endymion cannot love thee.  
But he imagined she some Nymph had been,  
Because she was appareled in green;  
Or happily, some of fair Flora's train,  
Which oft did use to sport upon the Plain:  
He tells her, he was Phoebe's servant sworn,  
And oft in hunting had her Quiver borne,  
And that to her virginity he vowed,  
Which in no hand by Venus was allowed;  
Then unto her a Catalogue recites  
Of Phoebe's Statutes, and her hallowed Rites,  
And of the grievous penalty inflicted,  
On such as her chaste laws had interdicted:  
Now, he requests, that she would stand aside,  
Because the fish her shadow had espied;  
Then he entreats her that she would be gone,  
And at this time to let him be alone;  
Then turns him from her in an angry sort,  
And frowns and chafes that she had spoiled his sport.  
And then he threatens her, if she did stay,  
And told her, great Diana came this way.  
But for all this, this Nymph would not forbear,  
But now she smooths his crispy-curled hair,  
And when he (rudely) willed her to refrain,  
Yet scarcely ended, she gins again:  
Thy Ewes (qd. she) with Milk shall daily spring,  
And to thy profit yearly Twins shall bring,  
And thy fair flock, (a wonder to behold)  
Shall have their fleeces turned to burnished gold;  
Thy bateful pasture to thy wanton Thews,  
Shall be refreshed with Nectar-dropping dews,  
The Oaks smooth leaves, sirropt with honey fall,  
Trickle down drops to quench thy thirst withal:  
The cruel Tiger will I tame for thee,  
And gently lay his head upon thy knee;  
And by my spells, the Wolves jaws will I lock,  
And (as good Shepherds) make them guard thy flock,  
I'll mount thee bravely on a lions back,  
To drive the fomy-tusked Bore to wrack:  
The brazen-hoofed yelling Bulls I'll yoke,  
And with my herbs, the scaly Dragon choke.  
Thou in great Phoebe's ivory Coche shalt ride,  
Which drawn by Eagles, in the air shall glide:  
I'll stay the time, it shall not steal away,  
And twenty Moons as seeming but one day.  
Behold (fond boy) this Rozen-weeping Pine,  
This mournful Larix, dropping Turpentine,  
This mounting Teda, thus with tempests torn,  
With incky tears continually to mourn;  
Look on this tree, which blubbereth Amber gum  
which seems to speak to thee, though it be dumb,  
Which being senseless blocks, as thou dost see,  
Weep at my woes, that thou mightst pity me:  
O thou art young, and fit for loves profession,  
Like wax which warmed quickly takes impression,  
Sorrow in time, with floods those eyes shall wear,  
Whence pity now cannot extort a tear.  
Fond boy, with words thou mightst be overcome,  
" But love surprised the heart, the tongue is dumb,  
But as I can, I'll strive to conquer thee;  
Yet tears, & sighs, my weapons needs must be.  
My sighs move trees, rocks melting with my tears,  
But thou art blind; and cruel stoppest thine ears:  
Look in this Well, (if beauty men allow)  
Though thou be fair, yet I as fair as thou;  
I am a Vestal, and a spotless Maid,  
Although by love to thee I am betrayed:  
But sith (unkind) thou dost my love disdain,  
To rocks and hills myself I will complain.  
Thus with a sigh, her speeches of she broke,  
The ilst her eyes to him in silence spoke;  
And from the place this wanton Nymph arose,  
And up to Latmus all in hast she goes;  
Like to a Nymph on shady Citberon,  
The swift Ismoenos, or Thirmodoon,  
Gliding like Thetis, on the fleet waves borne,  
Or she which trips upon the ears of Corn;  
Like Swallows when in open air they strive,  
Or like the Fowl which towering Falcons drive.  
But whilst the wanton thus pursued his sport,  
Deceitful Love had undermined the Fort,  
And by a breach (in spite of all deniance,)  
Entered the Fort which lately made defiance:  
And with strong siege had now begirt about  
The maiden Sconce which held the soldier out.  
" Love wants his eyes, yet shoots he passing right,  
His shafts our thoughts, his bow he makes our sight.  
His deadly piles are tempered by such Art,  
As still directs the Arrow to the heart:  
He cannot love, and yet forsooth he will,  
He sees her not, and yet he sees her still,  
He goes unto the place she stood upon,  
And asks the poor soil whether she was gone;  
Fain would he follow her, yet makes delay,  
Fain would he go, and yet fain would he stay,  
He kissed the flowers depressed with her feet,  
And swears from her they borrowed all their sweet.  
Feign would he cast aside this troublous thought,  
But still like poison, more and more it wrought,  
And to himself thus often would he say,  
Hear my Love sat, in this place did she play,  
Hear in this Fountain hath my Goddess been,  
And with her presence hath she graced this green.  
Now black-browed Night placed in her chair of jet,  
Sat wrapped in clouds within her Cabinet,  
And with her dusky mantle overspread,  
The path the Sunny palfreys used to tread;  
And Cynthia sitting in her Crystal chair,  
In all her pomp now rid along her Sphere,  
The honnied dew descended in soft showers,  
Drizled in Pearl upon the tender flowers;  
And Zephyre hushed, and with a whispering gale,  
Seemed to hearken to the Nightingale,  
Which in the thorny brakes with her sweet song,  
Unto the silent Night bewrayed her wrong.  
Now fast by Latmus near unto a Grove,  
Which by the mount was shadowed from above,  
Upon a bank Endymion sat by night,  
To whom fair Phoebe lent her friendly light:  
And sith his flocks were laid them down to rest,  
Thus gives his sorrows passage from his breast;  
Sweet leaves (qd. he) which with the air do tremble,  
Oh how your motions do my thoughts resemble,  
With that mild breath, by which only move,  
Whisper my words in silence to my Love:  
Convey my sighs sweet Civet-breathing air,  
In doleful accents to my heavenly fair;  
You murmuring Springs, like doleful Instruments  
Upon your gravel sound my sad laments,  
And in your silent bubbling as you go,  
Consort yourselves like Music to my woe.  
And lifting now his sad and heavy eyes  
Up, towards the beauty of the burnished skies,  
Bright Lamps (qd. he) the glorious Welkin bears,  
Which clip about the Planets wandering Spheres,  
And in your circled Maze do ever role,  
Dancing about the never-mooving Pole:  
Sweet Nymph, which in fair Elice dost shine,  
Whom thy surpassing beauty made divine,  
Now in the artic constellation,  
Smile sweet Calisto on Endymion:  
And thou brave Perseus in the Northern air, 
The constellations near the Pole artic   
Holding Medusa by the snaky hair,  
Ioues showre-begotten Son, whose valour tried,  
In seventeen glorious lights art stellified;  
Which won'st thy love, left as a Monsters pray;  
And thou the lovely fair Andromida,  
Borne of the famous Etheopianlyne,  
Darting these rays from thy transpiercing eyen,  
To thee the bright Cassiopeia, with these,  
Whose beauty strove with the Neriedes,  
With all the troop of the celestial band,  
Which on Olympus in your glory stand;  
And you great wandering lights, if from your Spheres  
You have regard unto a Shepherds tears,  
Or as men say, if over earthly things  
You only rule as Potentates and Kings,  
Unto my loves event sweet Stars direct,  
Your kindest revolution and aspect,  
And bend your clear eyes from your Thrones above  
Upon Endymion pining thus in love.  
Now, ere the purple dauning yet did spring,  
The joyful Lark began to stretch her wing,  
And now the Cock the morning's Trumpeter,  
Played hunts-up for the day star to appear,  
Down slideth Phoebe from her Crystal chair,  
Sdayning to lend her light unto the air,  
But unto Latmus all in haste is gone,  
Longing to see her sweet Endymion;  
At whose departure all the Planets gazed,  
As at some seld-seen accident amazed,  
Till reasoning of the same, they fell at odds,  
So that a question grew amongst the Gods,  
Whether without a general consent  
She might departed their sacred Parliament?  
But what they could do was but all in vain,  
Of liberty they could her not restrain:  
For of the seven sith she the lowest was,  
Unto the earth she might the easiest pass;  
Sith only by her moisty influence,  
Of earthly things she hath preliminence,  
And under her, man's mutable estate,  
As with her changes doth participate;  
And from the working of her waning source,  
Th' uncertain waters held a certain course,  
Throughout her kingdom she might walk at large  
Whereof as Empress she had care and charge,  
And as the Sun unto the Day gives light, guide,  
So is she only Mistress of the Night;  
Which whilst she in her obliqne course doth  
The glittering stars appear in all their pride,  
Which to her light their friendly Lamps do lend;  
And on her train as Handmaids do attend,  
And thirteen times she through her Sphere doth run,  
Ere Phoebus' full his yearly course have done:  
And unto her of women is assigned,  
Predominance of body and of mind,  
That as of Planets she most variable,  
So of all creatures they most mutable,  
But her sweet Latmus which she loved so much,  
No sooner once her dainty foot doth touch,  
But that the Mountain with her brightness shone  
And gave a light to all the Horizone:  
Even as the Sun which darkness long did shroud,  
Breaks suddenly from underneath a cloud,  
So that the Nymphs which on her still attended,  
Knew certainly great Phoebe was descended;  
And all approached to this sacred hill,  
There to await their sovereign Goddess will,  
And now the little Birds whom Nature taught,  
To honour great Diana as they ought,  
Because she is the Goddess of the woods,  
And sole preserver of their hallowed floods,  
Set to their consort in their lower springs,  
That with the Music all the mountain rings;  
So that it seemed the Birds of every Grove  
Which should excel and pass each other strove,  
That in the higher woods and hollow grounds,  
The murmuring Echo every where resounds,  
The trembling brooks their sliding courses stayed,  
The whilst the waves one with another played,  
And all the flocks in this rejoicing mood,  
As though in chanted do forbear their food:  
The herds of Dear down from the mountains flew,  
As loath to come within Diana's view,  
Whose piercing arrows from her ivory bow,  
Had often taught her powerful hand to know;  
And now from latmus' looking towards the plains  
Casting her eyes upon the shepherds swains,  
Perceived her dear Endymion's flock were strayed  
And he himself upon the ground was laid;  
Who late recalled from melancholy deep,  
The chanting Birds had lulled now asleep:  
For why the Music in this humble kind,  
As it first found, so doth it leave the mind;  
And melancholy from the Spleen begun,  
By passion moved, into the veins doth run;  
Which when this humour as a swelling Flood  
By vigor is infused in the blood;  
The vital spirits doth mightily appall;  
And weakeneth so the parts organical, 
The effect of Melansholic   
And when the senses are disturbed and tired,  
With what the heart incessantly desired,  
Like travelers with labour long oppressed,  
Finding release, eftsoones they fall to rest.  
And coming now to her Endymion,  
Whom heavy sleep had lately ceased upon,  
Kneeling her down, him in her arms she eclipse, showers  
And with sweet kisses sealeth up his lips,  
Whilst from her eyes, tears streaming down in  
Fell on his cheeks like dew upon the flowers,  
In globy circles like pure drops of Milk,  
Sprinkled on Roses, or fine crimson silk:  
Touching his brow, this is the seat (quoth she)  
Where Beauty sits in all her Majesty,  
She calls his eyelids those pure Crystal covers  
Which do include the looking Glass of Lovers,  
She calls his lips the sweet delicious folds  
Which rare perfume and precious incense holds,  
She calls his soft smooth Alabaster skin,  
The Lawn which Angels are attired in,  
Sweet face (qd. she) but wanting words I spare thee  
Except to heaven alone I should compare thee:  
And whilst her words she wasteth thus in vain,  
Sporting herself the time to entertain,  
The frolic Nymphs with musics sacred sound,  
Entered the Meadows daunding in a round:  
And unto Phoebe strait their course direct,  
Which now their joyful coming did expect,  
Before whose feet their flowery spoils they lay,  
And with sweet Balm his body do imbay.  
And on the Laurels growing there along,  
Their wreathed garlands all about they hung:  
And all the ground within the compass load,  
With sweet est flowers, whereon they lightly troad.  
With Nectar then his temples they be dew,  
And kneeling softly kiss him all a-row;  
Then in brave galliards they themselves advance,  
And in the Tryas Baccbus stately dance;  
Then following on fair Flora's gilded train,  
Into the Groves they thus departed again,  
And now to show her powerful deity,  
Her sweet Endymion more to beautify,  
Into his soul the Goddess, doth infuse,  
The fiery nature of a heavenly Muse,  
Which in the spirit labouring by the mind  
partaketh of celestial things by kind: 
The excellency of the soul   
For why the soul being divine alone,  
Exempt from vile and gross corruption,  
Of heavenly secrets comprehensible,  
Of which the dull flesh is not sensible,  
And by one only powerful faculty,  
Yet governeth a multiplicity,  
Being essential, uniform in all;  
Not to be severed nor dividuall,  
But in her function holdeth her estate,  
By powers divine in her ingenerate,  
And so by inspiration condeaveth  
What heaven to her by divination breatheth;  
But they no sooner to the shades were gone,  
Leaving their Goddess by Endymion,  
But by the hand the lovely boy she takes,  
And from his sweet sleep softly him awakes,  
Who being struck into a sodaynefeare,  
Beholding thus his glorious Goddess there,  
His heart transpiersed with this sudden glance,  
Became as one late cast into a trance:  
Wiping his eyes not yet of perfect sight,  
Scarcely awaked amazed at the light,  
His cheeks now pale then lovely blushing red,  
Which oft increased, and quickly vanished,  
And as on him her fixed eyes were bend,  
So to and fro his colour came and went;  
Like to a Crystal near the fire set,  
Against the brightness rightly opposet, 
The causes of the external signs of passioa.   
Now doth retain the colour of the flame,  
And lightly moved again, reflects the same;  
For our affection quickened by her heat,  
Allayed and strengthened by a strong conceit,  
The mind disturbed, forth with doth convert,  
To an internal passion of the heart  
By motion of that sudden joy or fear,  
Which we receive either by the eye or ear,  
For by retraction of the spirit and blood,  
From those exterior parts where first they stood,  
Into the centre of the body sent,  
Returns again more strong and vehement:  
And in the like extremity made cold,  
About the same, themselves do closely hold,  
And though the cause be like in this respect,  
Works by this means a contrary effect.  
Thus whilst this passion hotly held his course,  
Ebbing and flowing from his springing source,  
With the strong fit of this sweet Fever moved,  
At sight of her which he entirely loved,  
Not knowing yet great Phoebe this should be,  
His sovereign Goddess, Queen of Chastity,  
Now like a man whom Love had learned Art,  
Resolved at once his secrets to impart:  
But first repeats the torments he had passed,  
The woes endured since time he saw her last,  
Now he reports he noted whilst she spoke,  
The bustling winds their murmur often broke,  
And being silent, seemed to pause and stay,  
To listen to her what she meant to say:  
Be kind (quoth he) sweet Nymph unto thy lover,  
My souls sole essence, and my senses mover,  
Life of my life, pure Image of my heart,  
Impressure of Conceit, Invention, Art,  
My vital spirit, receives his spirit from thee,  
Thou art that all which ruleth all in me,  
Thou art the sap, and life whereby I live,  
Which powerful vigour dost receive and give;  
Thou nourishest the flame wherein I burn,  
The North whereto my hearts true touch doth turn.  
Pity my poor flock, see their woeful plight,  
Their Master perished living from thy sight,  
Their fleeces rend, my tresses all forlorn,  
I pine, whilst they their pasture have forborn;  
Behold (quoth he) this little flower below,  
Which here within this Fountain brim doth grow;  
With that, a solemn tale gins to tell  
Of this fair flower, and of this holy Well,  
A goodly legend, many Winter's old,  
Learned by the shepherds fitting by their fold,  
How once this Fountain was a youthful swain,  
A frolic boy and kept upon the plain,  
Unfortunate it happed to him (quoth he)  
To love a fair Nymph as I now love thee,  
To her his love and sorrow he imparts,  
Which might dissolve a rock of flinty hearts;  
To her he sues, to her he makes his moan,  
But she more deaf and hard than steel or stone;  
And thus one day with grief of mind oppressed,  
As in this place he laid him down to rest,  
The Gods at length upon his sorrows look,  
Transforming him into this pirrling Brook,  
Whose murmuring bubbles softly as they creep,  
Falling in drops, the Channel seems to weep,  
But she thus careless of his misery.  
Still spends her days in mirth and jollity;  
And coming one day to the River side,  
Laughing for joy when she the same espied,  
This wanton Nymph in that unhappy hour,  
Was here transformed into this purple flower,  
Which towards the water turns itself again,  
To pity him by her unkindness slain.  
She, as it seemed, who all this time attended,  
Longing to hear that once his tale were ended,  
Now like a jealous woman she repeats,  
Mens subtleties, and natural deceits;  
And by example strives to verify,  
Their fickleness and vain inconstancy:  
Their hard obdurate hearts, and wilful blindness,  
Telling a story wholly of unkindness;  
But he, who well perceived her intent,  
And to remove her from this argument,  
Now by the sacred Fount he vows and swears,  
By lovers sighs, and by her hallowed tears,  
By holy Latmus now he takes his oath,  
That all he spoke was in good faith and troth;  
And for no frail uncertain doubt should move her,  
Vows secrecy, the crown of a true Lover.  
She hearing this, thought time that she revealed,  
That kind affection which she long concealed,  
Determineth to make her true Love known,  
Which she had borne unto Endymion;  
I am no Huntress, nor no Nymph (quoth she)  
As thou perhaps imagin'st me to be,  
I am great Phoebe, Latmus' sacred Queen,  
Who from the skies have hither past unseen,  
And by thy chaste love hither was I led,  
Where full three years thy fair flock have I fed,  
Upon these Mountains and these fertile plains,  
And crowned thee King of all the Shepherds, swains:  
Nor wanton, nor lascivious is my love,  
nor never lust my chaste thoughts once could move  
But sith thou thus hast offered at my Shrine,  
And of the Gods hast held me most divine,  
Mine Altars thou with sacrifice hast stored,  
And in my Temples hast my name adored,  
And of all other, most hast honoured me,  
Great Phoebe's glory thou alone shalt see.  
This spoke, she putteth on her brave attire,  
As being burnished in her Brother's fire,  
Purer than that Celestial shining flame  
Wherein great jove unto his Lemon came,  
Which quickly had his pale cheeks overspread,  
And tincted with a lovely blushing red.  
Which whilst her Brother Titan for a space,  
Withdrew himself, to give his sister place,  
She now is darkened to all creatures eyes,  
Whilst in the shadow of the earth she lies,  
For that the earth of nature cold and dry,  
A very Chaos of obscurity,  
Whose Globe exceeds her compass by degrees,  
Fixed upon her Superficies;  
When in his shadow she doth hap to fall,  
Doth cause her darkness to be general.  
Thus whilst he laid his head upon her lap,  
She in a fiery Mantle doth him wrap,  
And carries him up form this lumpish mould,  
Into the skies, whereas he might behold,  
The earth in perfect roundness of a ball  
Exceeding globes most artificial:  
Which in a fixed point Nature disposed,  
And with the sundry Elements enclosed,  
Which as the Centre permanent doth stay,  
When as the skiesin their diurnal sway,  
Strongly maintain the ever-turning course,  
Forced alone by their first mover source,  
Where he beholds the eyrie Regions,  
Whereas the clouds and strange impressions,  
maintained by coldness often do appear,  
And by the highest Region of the air,  
Unto the clearest Element of fire,  
Which to her silver footstool doth aspire,  
Then doth she mount him up into her Sphere,  
Imparting heavenly secrets to him there,  
Where lightened by her shining beams he sees,  
The powerful Planets, all in their degrees,  
Their sundry revolutions in the skies,  
And by their working how they sympathize;  
All in their circles severally prefixed,  
And in due distance each with other mixed:  
The mantions which they hold in their estate,  
Of which by nature they participate;  
And how those signs their several places take,  
Within the compass of the Zodiac:  
And in their several triplicities consent, 
The signs in their triplicities, participate with the Elements.   
Unto the nature of an Element,  
To which the Planets do themselves disperse,  
Having the guidance of this universe,  
And do from thence extend their several powers,  
Unto this little fleshly world of ours:  
Wherein her Maker's workmanship is found,  
As in contriving of this mighty round,  
In such strange manner and such fashion wrought,  
As doth exceed man's dull and feeble thought,  
Guiding us still by their directions;  
And that our fleshly frail complexions,  
Of Elemental natures grounded be,  
With which our dispositions most agree,  
Some of the fire and air participate,  
And some of watery and of earthy state,  
As hot and moist, with chilly cold and dry,  
And unto these the other contrary;  
And by their influence powerful on the earth,  
Predominant in man's frail mortal birth,  
And that our lives effects and fortunes are,  
As is that happy or unlucky Star,  
Which reigning in our frail nativity,  
Seals up the secrets of our destiny,  
With friendly Planets in conjunction set,  
Or else with other merely opposet:  
And now to him her greatest power she lent,  
To lift him to the starry Firmament,  
Where he beheld that milky stained place,  
By which the Twin & heavenly Archers trace,  
The dog which doth the furious Lion beat,  
Whose flaming breath increaseth Titan's heat,  
The teare-distilling mournful Pliades,  
Which on the earth the storms & tempests raise,  
And all the course the constellations run,  
When in conjunction with the Moon or Sun,  
When towards the fixed Arctic they arise,  
When towards the Antaricke, falling from our eyes;  
And having imped the wings of his desire,  
And kindled him, with this celestial fire,  
She sets him down, and vanishing his sight,  
Leaves him enwrapped in this true delight:  
Now wheresoever he his fair flock fed,  
The Muses still Endymion followed;  
His sheep as white as Swans or driven snow,  
Which beautified the soil with such a show,  
As where he folded in the darkest Night,  
There never needed any other light;  
If that he hungered and desired meat,  
The Bees would bring him Honey for to eat,  
Yet from his lips would not departed away,  
Till they were laden with Ambrosia;  
And if he thirsted, often there was seen  
A bubbling Fountain spring out of the green,  
With Crystal liquor filled unto the brim,  
Which did present her liquid store to him.  
If he would hunt, the fair Nymphs at his will,  
With Bows & Quivers, would attend him still:  
And whatsoever he desired to have,  
That he obtained if he the same would crave.  
And now at length, the joyful time drew on,  
She meant to honour her Endymion,  
And glorify him on that stately Mount  
Whereof the Goddess made so great account.  
She sends Ioues winged Herald to the woods,  
The neighbour Fountains, & the bordering floods,  
Charging the Nymphs which did inhabit there,  
upon a day appointed to appear,  
And to attend her sacred Majesty  
In all their pomp and great solemnity.  
Having obtained great Phoebus' free consent,  
To further her divine and chaste intent,  
Which thus imposed as a thing of weight,  
In stately troops appear before her strait,  
The Fans and satires from the tufted Brakes,  
Their brisly arms wreathed all about with snakes;  
Their sturdy loins with ropes of ivy bound,  
Their horned heads with Woodbine Chaplets crowned,  
With Cypress javelens. and about their thighs,  
The flaggy hair disordered loosely flies:  
Th' Oriades like to the Spartan Maid,  
In Murrie-scyndall gorgeously arrayed:  
With gallant green Scarves girded in the waist,  
Their flaxen hair with silken fillets laced,  
Woven with flowers in sweet lascivious wreaths,  
Moving like feathers as the light air breathes,  
With crowns of Myrtle, glorious to behold,  
whose leaves are painted with pure drops of gold:  
With trains of fine Bisse chequered all with frets  
Of dainty Pinks and precious Violets,  
In branched Buskins of fine Cordiwin,  
With spangled garters down unto the shin,  
Fringed with fine silk, of many a sundry kind,  
Which like to pennons waved with the wind.  
The Hamadriads from their shady Bowers,  
Decked up in Garlands of the rarest flowers,  
Upon the backs of milk-white Bulls were set,  
With horn and hoof as black as any let,  
Whose collars were great massy golden rings,  
Led by their swains in twisted silken strings;  
Then did the lovely Dryads appear,  
On dapled stags, which bravely mounted were,  
Whose velvet palms with nosegays rarely dight,  
To all the rest bred wonderful delight;  
And in this sort accompanied with these,  
In triumph rid the watery Niades,  
Upon Sea-horses, trapped with shining fins,  
Armed with their male impenetrable skins,  
Whose scaly crests like Rainbows bended high;  
Seem to control proud Iris in the sky;  
Upon a Chariot was Endymion laid,  
In snowy Tissue gorgeously arrayed,  
Of precious ivory covered o'er with Lawn,  
Which by four stately Unicorns was drawn.  
Of ropes of Orient pearl their traces were,  
Pure as the path which doth in heaven appear,  
With rarest flowers in chaste and overspread,  
Which served as Curtains to this glorious bed,  
Whose seat of Crystal in the Sunbeams shone,  
Like thunder-breathing Ioues celestial Throne,  
Upon his head a Coronet installed,  
Of one entire and mighty Emerald,  
With richest Bracelets on his lily wrists,  
Of Hellitropium, linked with golden twists;  
A bevy of fair Swans, which flying over,  
With their large wings him from the Sun do cover,  
And easily wafting as he went along,  
Do lull him still with their enchanting song,  
Whilst all the Nymphs on solemn Instruments,  
Sound dainty Music to their sweet laments.  
And now great Phoebe in her triumph came,  
With all the titles of her glorious name,  
Diana, Delia, Luna, Cynthia,  
Virago, Hecate, and Elythia,  
Prothiria, Dictinna, Proserpina,  
Latona, and Lucina, most divine;  
And in her pomp began now to approach,  
Mounted aloft upon her Crystal Coach,  
Drawn o'er the plains by four pure milk-white Hinds,  
Whose nimble feet seemed winged with the winds,  
Her rarest beauty being now begun,  
But newly borrowed from the golden Sun,  
Her lovely crescent with a decent space,  
By due proportion beautified her face,  
Till having fully filled her circled side,  
Her glorious fullness now appeared in pride;  
which long her changing brow could not retain,  
But fully waxed, began again to wane;  
Upon her brow (like meteors in the air)  
Twenty & eight great gorgeous lamps she bore;  
Some, as the Welkin, shining passing bright,  
Some not so sumptuous, others lesser light,  
Some burn, some other, let their fair lights fall,  
Compofd in order Geometrical;  
And to adorn her with a greater grace,  
And add more beauty to her lovely face,  
Her richest Globe she gloriously displays,  
Now that the Sun had hid his golden rays:  
Lest that his radiencie should her suppress,  
And so might make her beauty seem the less;  
Her stately train laid out in azur'd bars,  
Powdered all thick with troops of silver stars:  
Her airy vesture yet so rare and strange,  
As every hour the colour seemed to change,  
Yet still the former beauty doth retain,  
And ever came unto the same again.  
Then fair Astrea, of the Titans line,  
Whom equity and justice made divine,  
Was seated here upon the silver beam,  
And with the rains guides on this goodly team,  
To whom the Charites led on the way,  
Aglaia, Thalia, and Euphrozine,  
with princely crowns they in the triumph came,  
Embellished with Phoebe's glorious name:  
These forth before the mighty Goddess went,  
As Prince's Heralds in a Parliament.  
And in their true consorted symphony,  
Record sweet songs of Phoebe's chastity;  
Then followed on the Muses, sacred nine,  
With the first number equally divine,  
In Virgin's white, whose lovely maiden brows,  
Were crowned with triumphant Laurel bows;  
And on their garments painted out in glory,  
Their offices and functions in a story,  
Imblazoning the fury and conceit  
Which on their sacred company await;  
For none but these were suffered to approach,  
Or once come near to this celestial Coach,  
But these two of the numbers, nine and three,  
Which being odd include an unity,  
Into which number all things fitly fall,  
And therefore named theological:  
And first composing of this number nine,  
Which of all numbers is the most divine,  
From orders of the Angels doth arise,  
Which be contained in three Hirarchies,  
And each of these three Hirarchies in three,  
The perfect form of true triplicity;  
And of the Hirarchies I spoke of erst,  
The glorious Epiphania is the first,  
In which the high celestial orders been,  
Of Thrones, Chirrup, and the Ciraphin;  
The second holds the mighty Principates,  
The Dominations and the Potestates,  
The Ephionia, the third hierarchy,  
Which Virtues Angels and Archangels be;  
And thus by three we aptly do define,  
And do compose this sacred number nine,  
Yet each of these nine orders grounded be,  
Upon some one particularity,  
Then as a Poet I might so infer,  
another order when I spoke of her.  
From these the Muses only are derived,  
Which of the Angels were in nine contrived;  
These heaven-inspired Babes of memory,  
Which by a like attracting Sympathy,  
Apollo's Prophets in their furies wrought,  
And in their spirit enchanting numbers taught,  
To teach such as at Poesy repine,  
That it is only heavenly and divine,  
And manifest her intellectual parts,  
Sucking the purest of the purest Arts;  
And unto these as by a sweet consent,  
The Sphery circles are equivalent,  
From the first Mover, and the starry heaven,  
To glorious Phoebe lowest of the seven,  
Which jove in tuneful Diapazons framed,  
Of heavenly Music of the Muses named,  
To which the soul in her divinity,  
By her Creator made of harmony,  
Whilst she in frail and mortal flesh doth live,  
To her nine sundry offices do give,  
Which offices united are in three,  
Which like the orders of the Angels be,  
Prefiguring thus by the number nine,  
The soul, like to the Angels is divine:  
And from these nine those Conquerors renowned,  
Which with the wreaths of triumph oft were crowned.  
Which by their virtues gained the worthies name  
First had this number added to their fame,  
Not that the worthiest men were only nine,  
But that the number of itself divine,  
And as a perfect pattern of the rest,  
Which by this holy number are expressed;  
Nor Chivalry this title only gained;  
But might as well by wisdom be obtained,  
Nor in this number men alone included,  
But unto women well might be aluded,  
Can wit, could worlds, could times, could ages find,  
This number of Eliza's heavenly kind;  
And those rare men which learning highly prized  
By whom the Constellations were devised,  
And by their favours learning highly graced,  
For Orpheus' harp nine stars in heaven placed:  
This sacred number to declare thereby,  
Her sweet consent and solid harmony,  
And man's heroic voice, which doth impart,  
The thought conceived in the inward heart,  
Her sweetness on nine Instruments doth ground,  
Else doth she fail in true and perfect sound.  
Now of this three in order to dispose,  
Whose trynarie doth justly nine compose.  
First in the form of this triplicity  
Is shadowed that mighty Trinity,  
Which still in steadfast unity remain,  
And yet of three one Godhead do contain;  
From this eternal living deity,  
As by a heaven-inspired prophecy,  
Divinest Poets first derived these,  
The fairest Graces jove-borne Charites;  
And in this number Music first began,  
The Lydian, Dorian, and the Phrygian,  
Which ravishing in their soule-pleasing vain,  
They made up seven in a higher strain;  
And all those signs which Phoebus doth ascend,  
Before he bring his yearly course to end,  
Their several natures mutually agree,  
And do concur in this triplicity;  
And those interior senses with the rest,  
Which properly pertain to man and Beast,  
Nature herself in working so devised,  
That in this number they should be comprised.  
But to my tale I must return again,  
Phoebe to Latmus thus conveyed her swain,  
Under a bushy Laurels pleasing shade,  
Amongst whose boughs the Birds sweet Music made,  
Whose fragrant branch-imbosted canopy,  
Was never pierced with Phoebus' burning eye;  
Yet never could this Paradise want light,  
Elumined still with Phoebe's glorious sight:  
She laid Endymion on a grassy bed,  
With summers Arras richly overspread,  
Where from her sacred Mansion next above,  
She might descend and sport her with her love,  
Which thirty years the Shepherds safely kept,  
Who in her bosom soft and sound slept;  
Yet as a dream he thought the time not long,  
Remaining ever beautiful and young,  
And what in vision there to him be fell,  
My weary Muse some other time shall tell.   

DEeare Collen, let my Muse excused be,  
Which reudely thus presumes to sing by thee,  
Although her strains be harsh untuned & ill,  
Nor can attain to thy divinest skill  
And thou the sweet Museus of these times,  
Pardon my rugged and unfiled rhymes,  
Whose scarce invention is too mean and base,  
When Delia's glorious Muse doth come in place.  
And thou my Goldey which in Summer days,  
Hast feasted us with merry roundelays,  
And when my Muse scarce able was to fly,  
Didst imp her wings with thy sweet Poesy.  
And you the heirs of everliving fame,  
The worthy titles of a Poet's name,  
Whose skill and rarest excellence is such,  
As spiteful Envy never yet durst touch,  
To your protection I this Poem send,  
Which from proud Momus may my lines defend,  
And if sweet maid thou deign'st to read this story,  
Wherein thine eyes may view thy virtues glory,  
Thou purest spark of Vesta's kindled fire,  
Sweet Nymph of Anchor, crown of my desire,  
The plot which for their pleasure heaven devised,  
Where all the Muses be imparadised,  
Where thou dost live, there let all graces be,  
Which want their grace if only wanting thee,  
Let stormy winter never touch the Clime,  
But let it flourish as in April's prime,  
Let sullen night, that soil near over-cloud,  
But in thy presence let the earth be proud,  
If ever Nature of her work might boast,  
Of thy perfection she may glory most,  
To whom fair Phoebe hath her how resigned,  
Whose excellence doth live in thee refined,  
And that thy praise Time never should impair,  
Hath made my heart thy never moving Sphere.  
Then if my Muse give life unto thy fame,  
Thy virtues be the causers of the same.  
And from thy Tomb some Oracle shall rise,  
To whom all pens shall yearly sacrifice.   
FINIS.