Up in the aire, are seene to be,
As challenging a seignore
Within the Heavens, and to be one
That should have like dominion.
They be a seeling and a floore

Of clouds, caus'd by the vapours store
Arising from them, vitall spirit
By which all things their life inherit
From them is stopped, kept asunder.
And what's the reason else of thunder,
Of lightning's flashes all about,
That with such violence break out,
Causing such troubles and such jarres,
As with itselfe the world had warres?
And can there any thing appeare
More wonderfull, than in the aire
Congealed waters oft to spie
Continuing pendant in the skie?
Till falling downe in haile or snow,
They make those mortall wights below
To runne, and ever helpe desire,
From his foe element the fire,
Which fearing then to come abroad
Within doores maketh his aboade.
Or falling downe oft time in raine,
Doth give greene liveries to the plaine,
Make shepheard's lambs fit for the dish,
And giveth nutriment to fish.

Which nourisheth all things of worth
The earth produceth and brings forth:
And therefore well considering
The nature of it in each thing:

As when the teeming earth doth grow
So hard, that none can plow nor sow,
Her brest it doth so mollifie,
That it not onely comes to be
More easie for the share and oxe,
But that in harvest times the shocks
Of Cores' hanging eared corne
Doth fill the hovell and the barne.
To trees and plants I comfort give
By me they fructifie and live:
For first ascending from beneath
Into the skie, with lively breath,
I thence am furnish'd, and bestow
The same on hearbes, that are below.
So that by this each one may see
I cause them spring and multiply.
Who sceth this, can doe no lesse,
Than of his owne accord confesse,
That notwithstanding all the strength
The earth enjoyes in breadth and length,
She is beholding to each streame,
And hath received all from them.
Her love to him she then must give
By whom herselfe doth chiefly live."

This being spoken by this water's god,
He straight-way in his hand did take his rod,
And stroke it on his banke, wherewith the flood
Did such a roaring inake within the wood, [shore,
That straight the nymph who then sate ou her
Knew there was somewhat to be done in store:
And therefore hasting to her brother's spring
She spied what caus'd the water's echoing.
Saw where faire Marine fast asleepe did lie,
Whilst that the god still viewing her sate by:
Who when he saw his sister nymphe draw neare,
He thus gan tune his voyce unto her care.

> The watry nymph that spoke to. Remond

"Fairest sister (for we come
Both from the swelling Thetis' wombe).
The reason why of late I strooke
My ruling wand upon my brooke
Was for this purpose: Late this maide
Which on my bank asleepe is laide,
Was by herselfe, or other wight,
Cast in my spring, and did affright,
With her late fall, the fish that take
Their chiefest pleasure in my lake:
Of all the fry within my deepe,
None durst out of their dwellings peepe
The trout within the weeds did scud,
The eele him hid within the mud.
Yea, from this feare I was not free;
For as I musing sate to see
How that the pretty pibbles round
Came with my spring from under ground,
And how the waters issuing

Did make them dance about my spring;
The noyse thereof did me appall;
That starting upward therewithall,

I in my arms her body caught,
And both to light and life her brought :
Then cast her in a sleepe you see."
"But brother, to the cause," quoth she,.
"Why by your raging waters wilde
Am I here called "Thetis' childe,"
Replide the god, "for thee I sent,
That when her time of sleepe is spent,
I may commit her to thy gage,
Since women best know women's rage.
Mean while, faire nymph, accompany
My spring with thy sweet harmony;
And we will make her soule to take
Some pleasure, which is sad to wake,
Although the body hath his rest."
She gave consent: and each of them addrest
Unto their part. The watry nymph did sing
In manner of a pretty questioning:
The god made answer to what she propounded,
While from the spring a pleasant musicke sounded,
(Making each shrub in silence to adore them)
Taking their subject from what lay before them.

If beautie be a thing to be admired;
And if admiring draw to it affection;
And what we do affect, is most desired:
What wight is he to love denyes subjection?
And can his thoughts within himselfe confine?

Marine that waking lay, said; "Celandine.
He is the man that hates, which some admire;
He is the wight that loathes whom most desire:
'Tis onely be to love denies subjecting,
And but himselfe, thinkes none is worth affecting.
Unhappy me the while: accurst my fate,
That Nature gives no love where she gave hate."
The watry rulers then perceived plaine,
Nipt with the winter of love's frost, disdaine;
This non-pareil of beautie had been led
To doe an act which envy pittyed:
Therefore in pitty did conferre together,
What physicke best might cure this burning fever.
At last found out that in a grove below,
Where shadowing sicamours past number grow,
A fountaine takes his journey to the maine,
Whose liquor's nature was so soveraigne,
(Like to the wond'rous well and famous spring,
Which in Boetia' hath his issuing)
That who so of it doth but onely taste,
All former memory from him doth waste.
Not changing any other worke of nature,
But doth endowe the drinker with a feature
More lovely. Fair Medca tooke from hence
Some of this water; by whose quintessence,

2 The first woman is fayned to be named Pandora, i. e. a creature framed of the concurrence of the gifts and ornaments of all the gods. As Hesiod. Ότι πάντες ολυμπια δώματ' ἔχοντε; Δῶρον ἐδόρησαν. 3 Plinie writes of two springs rising in Boetia, the first helping memory, called Mr. The latter sausing oblivion, called And.

66

[knowne,

Nymph be thine owne,
And after mine. This goddesse here
(For she's no lesse) will bring thee where
Thou shalt acknowledge springs have done
As much for thee as any one.

Which ended, and thou gotten free,
If thou wilt come and live with me,
No shepheard's daughter, nor his wife,
Shall boast them of a better life,
Meane while I leave thy thoughts at large,
Thy body to my sister's charge;
Whilst I into my spring do dive,

Te see that they do not deprive

The meadows neare, which much do thirst,
Thus heated by the Sunne." "May first"
(Quoth Marine) "swaines give lambs to thee;
And may thy floud have seignorie

Of all flouds else; and to thy fame
Meete greater springs, yet keep thy name.
May never euet, nor the toade,
Within thy banks make their abode !
Taking thy journey from the sea,
Maist thou ne'er happen in thy way
On nitre or on brimstone myne,

To spoyle thy taste! this spring of thine
Let it of nothing taste but earth,
And salt conceived, in their birth

Be ever fresh! Let no man dare

To spoil thy fish, make locke or ware,
But on thy margent still let dwell

Those flowers which have the sweetest smell,
And let the dust upon thy strand
Become like Tagus' golden sand.
Let as much good betide to thee,

[gold,

As thou hast favour shew'd to me." Thus said; in gentle paces they remove, And hast'ned onward to the shady grove: Where both arriv'd! and having found the rocke, Saw how this precious water it did locke. As he whom avarice possesseth most, Drawne by necessitie unto his cost, Doth drop by piece-meale downe his prison'd And seemes unwilling to let goe his hold. So the strong rocke the water long time stops And by degrees lets it fall downe in drops. Like hoording huswives that doe mold their food, And keep from others, what doth them no good. The drops within a cesterne fell of stone Which fram'd by Nature, art had never one Halfe part so curious. Many spels then using, The water's nymph twixt Marine's lips infusing Part of this water, she might straight perceive How soone her troubled thoughts began to leave Her love-swolne breast; and that her inward Was cleane asswaged, and the very name [flame Of Celandine forgotten; did scarce know If there were such a thing as love or no. And sighing, therewithall threw in the ayre All former love, all sorrow, all despaire; And all the former causes of her mone Did therewith bury in oblivion. Then must'ring up her thoughts, growne vagabonds Prest to relieve her inward bleeding wounds, She had as quickly all things past forgotten, As men doe monarchs that in earth lie rotten.

'Ovid. Metam. B. 6.

The flowers pull'd in their heads as being sham'd
Their beauties by the others were defam'd. {meade,
Neare to this wood there lay a pleasant
Where fairies often did their measures treade,
Which in the meadow made such circles greene,
As if with garlands it had crowned beene,
Or like the circle where the signes we tracke,
And learned shepheards call't the zodiacke :
Within one of these rounds was to be seene
A hillock rise, where oft the fairie queene
At twy-light sate, and did command her elves,
To pinch those maids that had not swept their
And further if by maidens' over-sight, [shelves;
Within doores water were not brought at night:
Or if they spread no table, set no bread,
They should have nips from toe unto the head:
And for the maid that had perform'd each thing,
She in the water-pale bad leave a ring.

Upon this hill there sate a lovely swaige,
As if that Nature thought it great disdaine
That he should (so through her his genius told him)
Take equall place with swaines, since she did hold
him

6

Her chiefest worke, and therefore thought it fit, That with inferiours he should never sit. Narcissus' change sure Ovid cleane mistooke, He dy'd not looking in a christall brooke, But (as those which in emulation gaze) He pinde to death by looking on this face. When he stood fishing by some river's brim, The fish wou'd leape, more for a sight of him Than for the flie. The eagle highest bred, Was taking him once up for Ganimed. The shag hair'd satyres, and the tripping fawnes ; With all the troope that frolicke on the lawnes, Would come and gaze on him, as who should say They had not seen his like this many a day. Yea Venus knew no difference 'twixt these twaine, Save Adon was a hunter, this a swaine. The wood's sweet quiristers from spray to spray Would bop them nearest him, and then there stay: Each joying greatly from his little hart, That they with his sweet reed might beare a part. This was the boy, (the poets did mistake) To whom bright Cynthia so much love did make ; And promis'd for his love no scornfull eyes Should ever see her more in horned gaize: But she at his command would as of dutie Become as full of light as he of beautie. Lucina at his birth for midwife stucke: And Citherea nurc'd and gave him sucke. Who to that end, once dove-drawn from the sea, Her full paps dropt, whence came the milkie-way. And as when Plato did i'th' cradle thrive, Bees to his lips brought honey from their hive: So to this boy they came, I know not whether They brought, or from his lips did honey gather. The wood-nymphs oftentimes would busied be, And pluck for him the blushing strawberie : Making of them a bracelet on a bent, Which for a favour to this swaine they sent. Sitting in shades, the Sunne would oft by skips Steale through the boughes, and seize upon his lips. The chiefest cause the Sunne did condiscend. To Phaeton's request', was to this end,

That whilst the other did his horses reyne,

He might slide from his spheare, and court this ́ swaine;

Whose sparkling eyes vi'd lustre with the starres,
The truest center of all circulars.

In briefe, if any man in skill were able
To finish up Apelles' halfe-done table,
This boy (the man left out) were fittest sure
To be the patterne of that portraiture,

Piping he sate, as merry as his looke,
And by him lay his bottle and his hooke,
His buskins (edg'd with silver) were of silke.
Which held a legge more white than morning's

milke.

Those buskins he had got and brought away
For dancing best upon the revell day.

His oaten reede did yeeld forth such sweet notes,
Joyned in consort with the birds shrill throtes,
That equaliz'd the harmony sphears,

A musicke that would ravish choisest eares.

"Though not your way, yet may you lye by me:
Nymph, with a shepheard thou as merrily
Maist love and live, as with the greatest lord,
'Greatnesse doth never most content afford.'
I love thee onely, not affect world's pelfe,.
She is not lov'd, that's lov'd not for herselfe.'
How many shepheard's daughters who in dutie,
To griping fathers, have inthral'd their beautie,
To waite upon the gout, to walke when pleases
Olde January hault. O that diseases
Should linke with youth! She hath such a mate
Is like two twinnes borne both incorporate:
Th' one living, the other dead: the living twinne
Must needs be slaine through noysomnesse of him
He carrieth with him: such are their estates,
Who merely marry wealth and not their mates."
As ebbing waters freely slide away,

To pay their tribute to the raging sea;
When meeting with the floud they justle stout,
Whether the one shall in, or th' other out:

That such an object had to looke upon?)
Tili at the last the nymph did Marine send,
To aske the neerest way, whereby to wend
To those faire walkes where sprung Marina's ill
Whilst she would stay: Marine obey'd her will,
And hast'ned towards him (who would not doe so,
That such a pretty journey had to goe?)
Sweetly she came and with a modest blush,
Gave him the day, and then accosted thus:
"Fairest of men, that (whilst thy flocke doth
Sit'st sweetly piping on thine oaten reed
Upon this little berry (some ycleep

[feed)

A hillocke) voide of care, as are thy sheepe Devoid of spots, and sure on all this greene A fairer flocke as yet were never seene:* Doe me this favour (men should favour maides) That whatsoever path directly leades, And voide of danger, thou to me doe show, That by it to the Marish I might goe." "Marriage !" (quoth he) mistaking what she said, "Nature's perfection, thou most fairest maid, (If any fairer than the fairest may be) Come sit thee downe by me; know, lovely ladie, Love is the readiest way: if tane aright You may attaine thereto full long ere night." The maiden thinking he of Marish spoke, And not of marriage, straight-way did invoke, And praid the shepheard's god might alwayes keepe Him from all danger, and from wolves his sheepe. Wishing with all that in the prime of spring Each sheep he had, two lambes might yearely bring. “But yet" (quoth she) "arede good gentle swaine, If in the dale below, or on yond plaine; Or is the village scituate in a grove, Through which my way lyes, and ycleeped Love." "Nor on yond plaine, nor in this neighbouring wood; Nor in the dale where glides the silver flood. But like a beacon on a hill so hie, That every one may see't which passeth by Is Love yplac'd: there's nothing can it hide, Although of you as yet 'tis unespide." [true?" "But on which hill" (quoth she) "pray tell me "Why here" (quoth he) "it sits and talkes to you." [adue. "And are you Love" (quoth she)" fond swaine You guide me wrong, my way lies not by you."

* An unfinished Venus. Plin. 1. 35. c. 10. Cicero, 1. 3. de Officiis, lib. 1. epist. 9. Epist. ad Famil.

And drives the river back into his spring :
So Marine's words off'ring to take their course,
By love then ent'ring, were kept backe, and force
To it, his sweet face, eyes, and tongue assigned
And threw them backe againe into her miude.
"How hard it is to leave and not to do
That which by nature we are prone unto ?
We hardly can (alas! why not?) discusse,
When nature hath decreed it must be thus.
It is a maxime held of all, knowne plaine,
Thrust nature off with forkes, she'll turn againe."
Blithe Doridon (so men this shepheard hight)
Seeing his goddesse in a silent plight,
("Love often makes the speeche's organs mute,")
Begane againe thus to renue his sute:

"If by my words your silence hath been such,
Faith I am sorry I have spoke so much.
Barre I those lips? fit to be th' utt'rers, when
The Heavens would parly with the chiefe of men.
Fit to direct (a tongue all hears convinces)
When best of scribes writes to the best of princes,
Were mine like yours of choicest words compleatest,
'Ide show how grief's a thing weighes downe the

greatest,

[taint it. The best of forms (who knows not?) griefe doth The skilfull'st pencill never yet could paint it.'. And reason good, since no man yet could finde What figure represents a grieved minde.

sway:

Me thinkes a troubled thought is thus exprest,
To be a chaos rude and indigest:
Where all doe rule, and yet none beares chiefe
Checkt onely by a power that's more than they.
This do I speake, since to this every lover
That thus doth love, is thus still given over.
If that you say you will not, cannot love: [move?
Oh Heavens! for what cause then do you here
Are you not fram'd of that expertest molde,
For whom all in this round concordance holde ?
Or are you framed of some other fashion,
And have a forme and heart, but not a passion.?

It cannot be for then unto what end
Did the best worke-mau this great worke intend?
Not that by minde's commerce, and joynt estate,
The world's continuers still should propagate?
Yea, if that reason (regent of the senses)
Have but a part amongst your excellences,
She'll tell you what you call virginitie,
Is fitly lik'ned to a barren tree;

Which when the gardner on it paines bestowes,
To graff and impe thereon, in time it growes
To such perfection, that it yeerely brings
As goodly fruit, as any tree that springs.
Beleeve, me maiden, vow no chastitie
For maidens but imperfect creatures be"
"Alas, poor boy!" quoth Marine, "have the
Exempted no degrees? Are no estates [Fates
Free from love's rage? Be rul'd: unhappy swaine,
Call backe thy spirits, and recollect againe
Thy vagrant wits. I tell thee for a truth,
'Love is a syren that doth shipwracke youth.'
Be well advis'd, thou entertain'st a guest
That is the harbinger of all unrest:

Which like the viper's young, that licke the earth,
Eate out the breeder's wombe to get a birth."
"Faith,"
quoth the boy, "I know there cannot
Danger in loving or in enjoying thee.
[be
For what cause were things made and called good,
But to be loved? If you understood

The birds that prattle here, you would know then,
As birds wooe birds, maides should be woo'd of men.
But I want power to wooe, since what was mine
Is fled, and lye as vassals at your shrine:
And since what's mine is yours, let that same move,
Although in me you see nought worthy love."

Marine about to speake, forth of a sling
(Fortune to all misfortune's plyes her wing
More quicke and speedy) came a sharp'ned flint,
Which in the faire boye's necke made such a dint,
That crimson bloud came streaming from the wound,
And he fell downe into a deadly swound.
The bloud ranne all along where it did fall,
And could not finde a place of buriall:
But where it came, it there congealed stood,
As if the earth loath'd to drinke guiltlesse blood.
Gold-hair'd Apollo, Muses' sacred king,
Whose praise in Delphos' ile doth ever ring:
Physicke's first founder, whose art's excellence
Extracted nature's chiefest quintessence,
Unwilling that a thing of such a worth
Should so be lost; straight sent a dragon forth
To fetch his bloud, and he perform'd the same:
And now apothecaries give it name,

From him that fetch'd it: (doctors know it good
In physicke's use) and call it dragon's blood.
Some of the blood by chance did down-ward fall,
And by a veine got to a minerall,
Whence came a red, decayed dames infuse it
With Venice ceruse, and for painting use it.
Marine, astonisht, (most unhappy maide)
O'er-come with feare, and at the view afraid,
Fell downe into a trance, eyes lost their sight,
Which being open made all darknesse light.
Her bloud ranne to her heart, or life to feed,
Or Toathing to behold so vilde a deed.

And as when winter doth the earth array
In silver sute, and when the night and day
Are in dissension, night lockes up the ground,
Which by the helpe of day is oft unbound;
A shepheard's boy, with bow and shafts addrest,
Ranging the fields, having once pierc'd the brest
Of some poore fowle, doth with the blow straight
To catch the bird lies panting in the bush: [rush
So rusht the striker in, up Marine tooke,
And hast'ned with her to a neare-hand brooke,

The tears of a tree bearing a fruit something Jike a cherry; the skin of which pulled off, they say, ressembles a dragon.

Olde shepheards saine (olde shepheards sooth
have saine)

Two rivers 10 took their issue from the maine,
Both neare together, and each bent his race,
Which of them both should first behold the face
Of radiant Phoebus: one of them in gliding
Chane'd on a veine where niter had abiding:
The other, loathing that her purer wave
Should be defil'd with that the niter gave,
Fled fast away; the other follow'd fast,
Till both beene in a rocke ymet at last.
As seemed best, to rocke did first deliver
Out of his hollow sides the purer river:
(As if it taught those men in honour clad,
To helpe the vertuous and suppresse the bad)
Which gotten loose, did softly glide away.
As men from earth, to earth; from sea, to sea
So rivers runne: and that from whence both came
Takes what she gave: waves, earth: but leaves a