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My boat lies broke, my oares are crackt and gone:
Nought has he left me, but my pipe alone, (moan. From thence he furrow'd may a churlish sea :
Which with bis sadder notes may help his master's The viny Rhene, and Volgha's self did pass ',

Who sleds doth suffer on his wat'ry lea,

And horses trampling on his icy face:

Where Phæbus, prison'd in the frozen glasse, Ungrateful Chame! how oft hath Thirsil crown'd

All winter cannot move his quenched light, With songs and garlands thy obscurer head!

Nor, in the heat, will drench bis chariot bright : That now thy name thro’ Albion loud doth sound. Thereby the tedious yeare is all one day and night. Ah, foolish Chame! who now in Thirsil's stead Shall chant thy praise, since Thelgon's lately dead?

Yet little thanke, and lesse reward, he got; He whom thou lov'st can neither sing nor play,

He never learn'd to soothe the itching care: His dusty pipe, scorn'd, broke, is cast away:

One day (as chanc't) ne spied that painted boat Ah, foolish Chame! who now shall grace thy

Which once was his : though his of right it were, holiday ?

He bought it now again, and bought it deare.
But Chame to Gripus gave it once again,
Gripus, the basest and most dung-bill swain,

That ever drew a net, or fisht in fruitful main.
Too fond my former hopes! I still expected
With my desert his love should grow the more:
III can he love, who Thelgon's love rejected;

Go now, ye fisher-boys, go learn to play, Thelgon, who more hath grac'd his gracelesse

To play and sing along your Chamus' shore: Than any swain that ever sang before.

Go watch and toil, go spend the night and day,

Tshore, Yet Gripus he preferr'd, when Thelgon strove:

While windes and waves, while stormes and I wish no other curse he ever prove;

tempest roar; Who Thelgon cauzelesse hates, still may be

And for your trade consume your life and store :
Gripus love?.

Lo your reward ; thus will your Chamus use you :
Why should you plain that lozel swains refuse you?
Chamus good fishers hates, the Muses' selves abuse

you“. Thirsil, but that so long I know thee well,

XVI. I now should think thou speak'st of hate or spite:

THOMALIN. Can such a wrong with Chame, or Muses dwell,

Ah, Thelgon! poorest, but the worthiest swain That Thelgon's worth and love with hate they

That ever grac'd unworthy poverty! quite ?

Howerer here thou liv'dst in joylesse pain, TUIRSIL.

Prest down with grief and patient misery; Thomalin, judge thou; and thou that judgest

Yet shalt thou live when thy proud enemie right,

Shall rot, with scorn and base contempt opprest, Great king of seas, that grasp'st the ocean, heare,

Sure now in joy thou safe and glad dost rest, If ever thou thy Thelgon loved'st deare: (bear. Smil'st at those eager foes, which here thee so Tho' thou forbear a while, yet long thou canst not

molest. XI. When Thelgon here had spent his 'prentice

THIRSIL. yeares,

Thomalin, mourn not for him; he's sweetly Soon had be learnt to sing as sweet a note

sleeping As ever strook the churlish Chamus' eares :

In Neptune's court, whom here he sought to To him the river gives a costly boat,

please; That on his waters he might safely float;

While humming rivers, by his cabin creeping, The song's reward, which oft unto his shore

Rock soft bis slumb'ring thoughts in quiet ease: He sweetly tuned: then arm'd with sail and oare,

Mourn for thyself, here windes do never cease; Dearly the gift he loved, but lov'd the giver more. XII.

occur in these eclogues, I find the following anecScarce of the boat he yet was full possest, dote in a small duodecimo, entitled, A Historical When, with a mind more changing than his wave, Dicionary of England and Wales, printed 1692:

Again bequeath'd it to a wand'ring guest, After enumerating some particulars of the life of Whom then he onely saw ; to him he gave Doctor Giles Fletcher, it is there adiled, “He was The sails and oares; in vain poor Thelgon strave, a man equally beloved of the Muses and Graces: The boat is uncler sail, no boot to plain:

In the end of his life having cominenced doctor of Then banisht him, the more to eke bis pain, divinity, and being slighted by his clow ish As if himself were wrong'd, and did not wrong parishioners, he fell into deep melancholy, and in the swain.

a short time died."

See Eclogue i. stanzas 11, 12. and the note ? It is probable the author here alludes to some thereon. office or employment which his father expected, as * The ingratitude of a sovereign to a faithful serthe reward of his services, and which was un vant, is touched with great delicacy in this oblique deservedly bestowed on another, stigmatised under complaint against Chamus and the Muses, the name of Gripus, who had obtained it by Aattery, 5 There is something remarkable in this picture. and the low arts, to which Fletcher was a stranger. | The image of the poor fisherman, now at rest Vide infra stanza 14. and Eclog. i. stanza 12.- from all his troubles, and sweetly sleeping in the As a key to some allusions of this kind wbich I court of Neptune, carries with it something beauti








Our dying life will better fit thy crying:
He softly sleeps, and blest is quiet lying:

Thou God of seas, thy voice I gladly beare; Who ever living dies, he better lives by dying.

Thy voice (thy voice I know) I glad obey:

Only, do thou my wand'ring wherry stcer;

And when it eris, (as it wil eas'ly stray),

Upon the rock with hopeful anchor stay :
Can Thirsil than our Chame abandon ever Then will I swimm where's either sea or shore,
And never will our fishers see again?

Where never swain or boat was se 'n afore: (oare.

My trunk shall be my boat, mine arm shall be my TUIRSIL. Who'gainst a raging stream doth sain endeavour To drive his boat, geis labour for his pain:

'Thomalin, methinks I heare thy speaking eye When fates command to go, to lagge is vain.

Woo me my posting journey to delay: As late upon the shore I chanc'd to play,

But let thy love yield to necessitie: I heard a voice, like thunder, loudly say,

With thee, my friend, too gladly would I stay, “ Thirsil, why idle liv'st? Thirsil, away, away!


And live, and die: were Thonjalin away,

(Though now I half unuilling leave his stream), ful and affecting. The belief of the ancients, that

However Chame doth Thirsil lightly deemn, the happiness of the deceased in Elysium consisted

Yet would thy Thirsil lesse proud Chamus' scorns

esteem. in the perfect enjoyment of those pleasures which had most delighted them in life, justifies the propriety of the painting. It may be well imagined, that the sweetest enjoyment of a poor and weary Who now with Thomalin shall sit and sing' fisherman consisted in those few hours of sleep, who left to play in lovely Myrtil's shade? when his batter'd cottage shelter'd him from the Or tune sweet diities to so sweet a string? storms of the night; and that the height of his Who now tho:e wounds shall suage in covert glade, wishes was to enjoy undisturbed that repose, which | Sweet-bitter wounds which cruel love hath made? was often rudely interrupted, but yet doubly You fisher-boyes, and sea-maids' dainty crew, sweetened by the severity of his occupation. “The Farewel! for Thomalin will seek a new humming rivers creeping by his cabin,” is a | And more respectful stream: ungrateful Chame, beautiful and most natural idea, and, considering

adieu! the character, is here introduced with peculiar propriety.

TIRSIL. “ Blessed are the righteous dead; from hence. Thomalin, forsake not thou the fisher-swains, forth: for they shall rest from their labours Which hold thy stay and lore at dearest rate : Revel. c. xiv. v. 13.

Here may'st thou live among their sportful This representation is still farther justified from Till better times afford thee better state: (trains, the opinions of the poets concerning the parts of Then may'st thou follow well thy guiding fate, man's composition. From these it may be so live thou here with peace and quiet blest ; gathered, that they believed three essential parts,

So let thy love afford tliee case and rest ; the body, the pure etherial spirit, and a subtile

So let thy sweetest foe re-cure thy wounded breast. yet material vehicle, as it were a shade or picture of the body while in life. The body they saw But thou, proud Chame, which thus bast reduced to aslies on the funeral pile; the spirit wiought me spite, they believed, by its own nature, as soon as Some greater river drown thy hated name! relieved from the body, returned directly to Heaven, Let never myrtle on thy banks delight; the place of its original; and the shade descended But willows pale, the badge of spite and blame, to the internal regions. -This doctrine is evident Crown thy ungrateful shores with scorn and shaine ! from many of the poets: Lucretius, in particular, Let dirt and inud thy lažy watcrs seize; is express on this point.

Thy weeds still grow, thy waters still decrease: -Esse Acherusia templa,

Nor let thy wretched love to Gripus ever cease! Quo neque permancant animæ, ncque corpora nostia

man, the thin shapes or cases flying off to Flysium Sed quædain simulacra, modis pallentia miris.

are sometimes seen on their way, and being Lucret. I. 1. material exhibit a lively image of the person while

in life. It was therefore a natural effect of the belief of this doctrine, to imagine the shade, or representation of

Heu tua nobis the soul an! body, as being something of a material Pæne simul tecum solatia rapta Menalca! (herbis nature, to be einployed in those actions or enjoy- Quis caneret Nymphas? quis numum florentibus ments helow, which had been most common and Spargeret? aut viridi fontis induceret imbra best relished while the soul and body were united :

VIRG. Buc. Ecl. 9. and the supposition of sleep being a chief enjoy- | In these last stanzas of this beautiful eclogue, the ment in Elysium, is beautiful and consonant, con. teuder concern of Thomalin for his friend's misforsidering that the spirit, or tire active and intelligent tunes, which prompts him likewise to forsake his part, had left the composition, and fled to Heaven. native river, the generosity of Thirsil in requesting By the bye, Lucretius accounts for the appearance him to stay behind, the apostrophe to the river, of ghosts and spectres in a pretty singular manner and the parting of the two friends, are described froin this doctrine: He supposes, that at the time in a masterly vein of poetry, and pathetic in the of the dissolution of the three constituent parts of highest degree.



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Farewel, ye streams, which once I loved deare; A risuER-LAD. (no higher dares he look), Farewel, ye boys, which on your Chame do fuat; Myrtil, sat down by silver Medway's shore:' Muss, farewel; if there be Muses here;

His dangling nets, hung on the trembling oare, Farewel, my nets, farewel my little boat:

Hand leave to play, so had his idle hook, Come, sadder pipe; farewel, my mery note:

While madding windes the madder occan shook. My Thomalin, with thee all sweetnesse dwell;

Of Chamus had he learnt to pipe and sing, Think of thy Thirsil, Thirsil loves thee well.

And frame low ditties to his humble string.
Thomalin, my dearest deare, ny 'Thomalin,

There, as his boat late in the river stray'd,
A friepily fisher brought the boy to view

Celia the fair, whose lovely beauties drew
Ah, haplesse boy, the fisher's joy and pride!

His heart from him into that heav'nly maid : Ah, wo is us, we cannot help thy wo!

There all his wanci’ring thoughts, there now they Our pity vain: ill may that swain batide

All other faire, all other love defies, [staid. Whose undeserved spite hath wrong'i thee so.

In Celia he lives, for Celia dies.
Thirsil, with thee our joy and wishes go.

Nor durst the coward woo his high desiring,

(For low he was, lower himself accounts; Dorus, some greater power prevents thy curse:

And she the highest height in worth surinounts;) So vile, so basely lives that hateful swain ; But sits alone in hell, his heaven admiring?;

So base, so vile, that none can wish him worse. And thinks with sighs to fanne, but blows his firing. But Thirsil much a better state doth gain;

Nor does he strive to cure his painful wound; For never will be find so thavklesse main.

För till this sicknesse never was he sound,



' It will be no injustice to our poet, if, while we

His blubber il face was temper'd to the day; read of Thomalin's taking leare of all ine objects All sad he lookt, that sure all was not well; which were dearest to him, we have in our eye Deep in his heart was bid an heavenly hell? the sectiments of Theocritus's Daphnis, in his last Thick clouds upon his wat'ry eye-brows lay, adieu, and the thoughts of Virgil's Melibæus, in which melting shower, and show'ring never stay: similar circunstances to Thomalin.

So, sitting down upon the sandy plain,

Thus 'yan he vent his grief and hidden pain. "Ω λύκοι, ώ έωες, ώ άν' ωρια φωλάδες άρκτοι, Χαίρεθ'· ο βωκόλας ύμμιν εγώ Δάφνις ουκέτ' αν λαν,

“ You sea-born maids, that in the ocean reigne, Ουκέτ' ανά δρυμως, ουκ άλσια· χαίρ' Αρεβάισα, (If in your courts is known lore's matchlesse powre, Και ποταμοί, τοι χείστε καλόν κατα Θύμβριδος ύδωρ. Kindling his fire in your cold wat’ry boure;) Δαφνης έγων ο δε τηνος και σας βωας ωδε νομένων,

Learn, by your own, to pity others' pain. Δάφους και τως ταύρως και πόρτας ώδε ποτίς δον.

Tryphon, thou know'st a thousand herbs in vain, Theoc. Idyll. 1.

But know'st not one to cure a love-sick heart'; En unquam patrios longo post tempore fines,

See liere a wound, that farre outgoes thy art.
Pauperis ac tuguri congostum cespite culinen
Post al quot, m'a regna videns, mirabor aristas?

The river Medway rises in what is called the Ite mer, felix quondam pecus, ite capeliæ:

Weald or woody part of Kent, and afterwards Non ego vos posthac viritti projectus in aniro,

divides itself into many streams, five of which Dumosa pendere procul de rupe ridebo.

surround Tunbridge. It is a very beautiful and Carmina nulla canam, non, nie pascente, capellæ, navigable river, and at Rochester is so large as to Florentem cytisam, et salices carpetis amaras.

be the bed of the royal navy. Virg. Luc. Ecl. i.

? The greatest fault, perhaps, that can be found in Fletcher's poetry, is that studied quaintness of expression which is too frequently to be met with.

The formality of an antithesis, which was so much ECLOGUE III.

the fashion of the age in which he wrote, is entirely Verget opposite to the language of passion.

It is surprisins to think how universally so di praved a tasts should have then pres ailed, and how powerful it must have beer, when Shakespeare himself

wils often carried away with the torrent. And Myrtilns, a young fisher, captivated with the love yet, with all this, we find that in old composi

of Celia, is painted sitting on the banks of the tions, even these quaintnesses of expressions, river Medway, heedless of his occupation, which wonki disgust in compositions of the present while his thoughts are solely employed on his time, have an effect which is sometimes not unmistress. He complains to the sea-nymphs and pleasing, as they suggest to the mind the idea of seas; and, comparing them to the state of his a distant and less refined state of society, and of Ovn mind, endeavours by various means to the progressive advancement of taste; reflectiors yoften the cruel object of his affections. This that always afford pleasure. Eclogue is expressive of all that vicissitude

Herbarum subjecta potentia nobis: of passions which the ardency of love can Hei mihi, quod nullis amor est medicabilis herbis. inspire

Ovid. Met. Apoll. & Daph.











To look more sweet, waskt in thy looks' disguise, “ Your stately seas (perhaps with love's fire) Than Mercy's self can look with Pity's eyes?

glow, And over-seeth their banks with springing-tide; Must'ring their wbite plum'd waves with lordly Tomelt the ravish'díare with music's strains (slight

“ Who taught thy bonied tongue the cunning pride,

And charın the sense with thousand pleasing pains? They soon retire, and lay their curl'd heads low; Sotsinking in theinselves they backward go:

And yet, like thunder roll'd in flames and night,

To break the rived heart with fear and fright? But in my breast full seas of grief remain,

How rules therein thy breast so quiet state, Which ever flow, and never ebbe again.

Spite leagu'd with inercy, love with lovelesse hate.“

XV. How well, fair Thetis, in thy glasse I see, “Ah no, fair Celia! in thy sun-like eye [fire, As in a crystal, all my raging pains !

Heaven sweetly smiles; those starres, soft losing late thy green fields slept in their cven plains,

And living heat, not burning flames, inspire : While smiling heav'ns spread round a canopie: Love's self enthron'd in thy brow's ivory, Now lost with blasts and civil enmitie, While whistling windes blow trumpets to their

And every grace in Heaven's livery.

My wants, not thine, me in despairing drown: fight,

(spite. When Hell perfumes, no mar'l if Heavens frown. And roaring waves, as drummes, whet on their

“Those gracesul tunes, issuing from glorious Such cruel stormcs my restlesse heart com

spheres, Inte thousand joyes securely lodged there, [mand: Ravish the ear and soul with strange delight, Ne feard I then to care, ne card to fear:

And with sweet nectar fill the thirsty spite; But pull'd the prison'd fishes to the land ;

Thy honied tongue, charming the melted eares, Or (spite of windes) pip'd on the golden sand : Stills stormy hearts, and quiets frights and fears: But since love sway'd my breast, these seas' alarms My daring heart provokes thee; and no wonder Are but dead pictures of my raging harms. When Earth so bigh aspires, if Heaven thunder.

“ Love stirs desire; desire, like stormy winde, See, see, fair Celia, seas are calmly laid
Blows up high-swelling waves of hope and fear: And end their bojst'rous threats in quiet peace;
Hope on his top my trembling heart doth bear The waves their drummes, the windes their
Up to my heaven, but straight my lofty minde,

trumpets cease :
By fear sunk in despair, deep drown'd I finde. But my sick love, (ab love but ill appay'd),
But ah! your tempests cannot last for ever; Never can hope his storms may be allay'd;
But ah ! my storins (I fear) will scave me never.

* The following stanzas, which contain some of “ Haplesse and fond ! too fond, more haplesse

the like passionate sentiments, I am assured, were swain,

[th'art lov'd :

never before published. Who lovest where th’art scorn'd, scorn'st where Fly forth, my sighs, which choke my rending Or learn to hate where thou hast hatred pror'd;

hcart; Or learn to love where thou art lor'd again :

Leave this poor body-waft you to my fair: Ah cease to love, or cease to woo thy pain ! Your glowing warmth to her cold breast impart, Thy love thus scorn'd is hell; do not so earn it; And print therein a lover's tender care. At least, learn by forgetting to unlearn it.

And, if you dare such matchless charms to brave,

Fly round her lips, and hover o'er her breast : “ Ah, fond and haplesse swain! but much more

Kiss those red lips; and on the rolling wave fond,

Of her smooth milky bosom trembling rest. How can’st unlearn, by learning to forget it; Fly, and entwine amid those locks of gold; When thought of what thou shouldst unlearn does There loose the cords that keep my heart whet it;

confin'd: And surer ties thy mind jo captive bond ? Those goiden nets the captive sense infold, Canst thou unlearn a ditty thou hast conn'd? And with resistless magic's power can bind. Canst thou forget a song by oft repeating? Thus much more wilt thou learn by thy forgetting. And, whilst ye futter round that sacred head,

Breathe in her ear in softest notes of woe,

That with her favour all my joys are fled; “ Haplesse and fond ! most fon), more haplesse Her frowns have bid unceasing tears to flow. swain !

Bid her that heart-confounding reason tell, Seeing thy roo eave thec never, [ever:

Why looks so srcet such cruel wiles disguise (She hates thy love), love thou her late for

Why in a cherub's lips deceit should dwell, In vain thou hop'st; hope yet, though still in vain:

Or murd'ring lightning flash from angel's eyes. Joy in thy grief, and triumph in thy pain: And though reward exceedeth thy aspiring,

-On, dearer far than aught on Farth beside! Live in her love, and die in her adıniring.

I feel, I feel my vital strength decay :

Haste, haste to save ; -bc but thy mrcy try'd; “ Fair, cruel maid! most cruel, fairer erer,

Nor let me ling'ring waste my life e away. How hath foul rigour stoln into thy heart?

5 Ηνιδε σιγά μην σόντες, σιγωνσι δ' αητει: And, on a comic stage, hath learnt thce art

Αδ' εμά ού σιγά σέρνων εντοσθεν ανία, To play a tyrant-tragical deceiver?

Αλλ' επί την πάσα καταιέομαι-To promise mercy, but perform it never ?

THEOC. Idyll. 4. 2.





But giving to bis rage no end or leisure,
Still restlesse rests: love knows no mean nor



What is it then that causeth thy unrest?
“ Fond boy, she justly scorns thy proud desire, Or wicked charms; or love's new-kindled fire?
While thou with singing wouldst forget thy pain : Ah! much I fear, love eats thy tender breast;
Go strive to empty the still-flowing main :

Too well I know his never-quenched ire, Go fuel seek to quench thy growing fire:

Since I Amyntas lov'd, who me disdains '; Ah, foolish boy! scorn is thy musie's hire. And loves in me naught but my grief and pains.. Drown then these flames in seas: but ab! I fear To fire the main, and to want water there.






“ There first thy heaven I saw, there felt my hell; No lack of love did ever breed my smart; The smooth calm seas rais'd storms of fierce desires; I onely learn'd to pity others' pain, 'There cooling waters kindled burning fires,

And ward my breast from his deceiving art: Nor can the ocean quench them; in thy cell,

But one I love, and he loves me again: Full stor'd of pleasures, all my pleasures fell.

In love this onely is my greatest sore, Die then, fond lad: ah! well my death may He loves so much, and I can love no more. please thee :

[me.” But love, thy love, not life, not death, must ease

But when the fisher's trade, once highly priz’d, So down he swooning sinks, nor can remove,

And justly honour'd in those better times, Till fisher-boyes (fond fisher-boyes) revive him,

By every lozel-groom I see despis'd; And back again his life and loviny give him ;

No marvel if I hate my jocund rhimes, But he such woful gift doth much reprove:

And hang my pipe upon a willow bough: 4
Hopelesse his life; for hopelesse is his love.

Might I grieve ever, if I grieve not now.
Go, then, most loving, but most doleful swain;
Well may I pitie ; she must cure thy pain.

Ah, foolish boy! why should'st thou so lament

To be like him whom thou dost like so well ?

The prince of fishers thousand torments rent. CHROMIS,

To Heaven, lad, thou art bound: the way by Hell. Would'st thou ador'd, and great, and merry be, When he was mock'd, Jebas'd, and dead for thee?


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Thelgon and Chromis lament the degeneracy of Men's scorns should rather joy than sorrow move;

the times, when the name and employment of For then thou bigbest art when thou art down. a fisher is become despicable and opprobrious. Their storms of hate should more blow up my love; Vader this allegory is couched a complaint of Their laughters my applause, their mocks my the corruption and shameful life of the clergy: Their neglect of their charges; their oppression Sorrow for him, and shame let me betide, of their inferiors; and their haughtiness and Who for me, wretch, in shame and sorrow died. uncontrouled ambition, are severely touch'd upon. Thelgon draws a parallel between these and the primitive beads of the church; and concludes, exhorting his friend, from the great- Thelgon, 'tis not myself for whom I plain; est of all examples, to persevere with constancy My private losse full easie could I bear, in his employment.

If private losse might help the public gaio : Spenner But who can blame my grief, or chide my fear,

Since now the lisher's trade and honour'd name THELCOX, CHROMIS.

Is made the common badge of scorn and shame?





Little know they the fisher's toilsome pain,

Whose labour with his age, still growing, spends
His care and watchings (oft mispent in vain) (not;

The early morn begins, dark evening ends not.
Too foolisb men, that think all labour stands
In travel of the feet or tired hands!


CAROXIS, my joy, why drop thy rainie eyes?

And sullen clouds hang on thy heavie brow?
Seems that thy net is rent, and idle lies;

Thy merry pipe hangs broken on a bough:
But late thy time in hundred joves thou spent'st ;
Now time spends thee, while thou in vain lament'st.


Thelgon, my pipe is whole, and nets are new;

Bet nets and pipe contemn'd and idle lie :
My little reed, that late so merry blew,

Tanes sad notes to his master's misery. Time is my foe, and hates my rugged rhimes, And I as much hate both that hate and times,

Ah, wretched fishers! born to hate and strife;

To others' good, but to your rape and spoil.
This is the briefest summe of tisher's life,

To sweat, to freeze, to watch, to fast, to toil;
Hated to love, to live despis'd, forlorn;
A sorrow to himself, all others' scorn.

! See Eclogue L

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