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BOTH.

BOTI1.

Whose sadder tones inforc'd the rockes to weepe, F. Yet may you please to grace our this daye's sport,
And laid the greatest griefes in quiet sleepe: Though not an actor, yet a looker on.
Who, when he sung (as I would do to mine) R. A looker on indeed, so swaines of sort,
His truest loves to his faire Rosaline,

Cast low, take joy to looke whence they are Entic'd each shepheard's eare to heare him play, F. Seeke joy and finde it.

[tbrowne. And, rapt with wonder, thus admiring say :

R. Griefe doth not minde it. ' Thrice happy plaines, (if plaines thrice happy

may be) Where such a shepheard pipes to such a ladie!

«« Then both agree in one, Who made the lasses long to sit downe neere him,

Sorrow doth hate And woo'd the rivers from their springs to heare

To have a mate;
him.

True griefe is still alone.”
Heaven rest thy soule, (if so a swaine may pray)
And as thy workes live here, live there for aye.

F. Sad swaine, areade, (if that a maide may aske?) Meane while (unhappy) I shall still complaine

What cause so great effects of griefe hath Love's cruell wounding of a seely swaine."

wrought? Two nights thus past : the lilly-handed morne

R. Alas! love is not bid, it weares no maske; Saw Phæbus stealing dewe from Ceres' corne.

To view 'lis by the face conceir'd and brought. The mounting larke (daie's berauld) got on wing,

1. The cause I grant : the causer is not learned : Bidding each bird choose out his bow and sing.

Your speech I doe entreat about this taske. The lofty treble sung the little wren;

R. If that my heart were seene, 'twould be disRobin the meane, that best of all loves men;

cerned; The nightingale the tenor: and the thrush

And Fida's pame found graven on the caske. The counter-tenor sweetly in a bush :

F. Hath love young Remond moved ?
And that the musicke might be full in parts,

R. 'Tis Fida that is loved.
Birds from the groves flew with right willing harts:
But (as it seem'd) they thought (as do the swaines,
Which tune their pipes on sack d Hibernia's plaines)

“ Although 'tis said that no men

Will with their hearts,
There should some droaning part be, therefore will'd
Some bird to flie joto a neighb'ring field,

Or good's chiefe parts,
In embassie unto the king of bees,

Trust either seas or women.” To aide his partners on the flowres and trees : 1. How may.a maiden be assur'd of love, Who condiscending gladly few along

Since faishood late in every swaine excelleth) To beare the base to his well tuned song.

R. When protestations faile, time may approve The crow was willing they should be beholding Where true affection lives, where falshood For his deep voyce, but being hoarse with skolding,

dwelleth. He thus lends aide; upon an oake doth climhe, F. The truest cause elects a julge as true : And nodding with his head, so keepeth time.

Fie, how my sighing my much loving telleth! O true delight! en harboring the brests

R. Your lore is fixt in one, whose heart to you Of those sweet creatures with the plumy crests. Shall be as constancy, which ne'er rebelleth. Had Nature unto man such simpl’esse given,

F. None other sball bave grace. Hejwould, like birds, be farre more neere to Heaven. R. None else in my heart place, But Doridon well knew (who knowes no lesse ?) “ Man's compounds have o'erthrowne his simplenesse.

[yeeld,

Go, shepheard owaine, and wive all, None-tide the morne had woo'd, and she gan

For love and kings When Doridon (made ready for the field)

Are two like things,
Goes sadly forth, (a wofull shepheard's lad)

Admitting no corrivall."
Drowned in leares, bis minde with griefe yclad,
To ope his fold, and let his lamkins out,

As when some malefactor judgid to die (Full jolly flocke they seem'd, a well fleec'd rout)

For his offence, his execution nye, Which gently walk'd before, he sadly pacing,

Casteth his sight on states unlike to his, Both guides and followes them towards their grazing. And weighs his ill by other's happinesse : When from a gruve the wood-nymphs held full

So Doridon thought every state to be Two hearenly voyces did intreat his care, [dearc Further from him, more peere felicitie. And did compell his longing eyes to see

" O blessed sight! where such concordance What happy wight enjoy'd such harmonie.'

meetes,

(grettes. Which joyned with five more, and so made seaven,

Where truth with truth, and love with liking Would paralell in mirth the spheares of Heaven.

Had," quoth the swaine, "the Fates given ine some To have a sight at first he would not presse,

Of true delight's inestiinable treasure, (ucasure For feare to interrupt such happinesse :

I had bene fortunate : but now so weake," But kept aloofe the thicke growne shrubs among,

My bankrupt heart will be inforc'd to breake. Yet so as he might heare this wooing song.

Sweet love, that drawes on Earth a'yoake so even

Sweet life, that imitates the blisse of Heaven; 1. Fre, shepheard's swaine, why sit'st thou all alone, Sweet death they needs must have, who so unite Whilst other lads are sporting on the leyes?

That two distinct make one Hermaphrodite : 1. Joy may have company, but griefe hath none. Where pleasure never came, sports cannot please. • See the Hermaphrodite in F. Beaumont's

poems, Our author has a short copy of verses in • A description of a musicall consort of birds. commendation of it.

BOTH.

be gone;

Sweet love, sweet life, sweet death, that so do meet “ Leave further talke," quoth Remond, " Jet's On Earth! in death, in Heaven, be ever sweet!

[on. Let all good wishes ever waite upon you,

Ile helpe you with your sheepe, the times drawes And happinesse as hand-maid tenuing on you. Fida will call the hinde, and come with us." Your lores within one centre meeting hare ! Thus went they on, and Remond did discusse One hoore your deaths, your corps possesse one Their cause of meeting, till they wonne with grave!

[plore) pacing Your name's still greene, (thus doth a swaine im- The circuit chosen for the maidens' tracing. Till time and memory shall be no more !”

It was a roundell seated on a plaine, Herewith the couple hand in hand arose,

That stood as sentinell unto the maine, And tooke the way which to the sheep-walke goes. Environ'd round with trees and many an arbour, And whilst that Doridon their gate look'd on, Wherein melodious birds did nightly harbour : His dogge disclos'd him, rushing forth upon And on a bough, within the qaick’ning spring, A well fed deere, that trips it o'er the meade, Would be a teaching of their young to sing; As nimbly as the wench did wbilome tread Whose pleasing noates the tyred swaine bave On Ceres' dangling eares, or shaft let goe

made
By some faire nymph that beares Diana's bowe. To steale a nappe at noone-tide in the shade.
When turning head, be not a foote would sturre, Nature herselfe did there in triumph ride,
Scorning the barking of a shepheard's curre: And made that place the ground of all her pride,
So should all swaines as little weigh their spite, Whose various flowres deceiv'd tbe rasher eye
Who at their songs do bawle, but dare not bite. In taking them for curious tapistrie.

Remond, that by the dogge the master knew, A silver spring forth of a rocke did fall,
Came backe, and angry bad him to pursue : That in a drought did serve to water all,
“ Dory(quoth he) “ if your ill-tuter'd dogge Upon the edges of a grassie bancke,
Have naught of awe, then let him bave a clogge. A tuft of trees grew circling in a rancke,
Do you not know this seely timerous deere, As if they seem'd their sports to gaze upon,
As usuall to his kinde) hunted whileare,

Or stood as guard against the winde and Sunne :
The Sunne not ten degrees got in the signes, So faire, so fresh, so greene, so sweet a ground,
Since to our maides, here gathering columbines, The piercing eyes of Heaven yet never found.
She weeping came, and with her head low laid Here Doridon all ready met doth see
In Fida's lap, did humbly begge for aide.

(O who would not at such a meeting be?). Whereat unto the hounds they gave a checke, Where he might doubt, who gave to other grace, And saving her, might spie about her necke Whether the place the maides, or inaides the A collar hanging, and (as yet is seene)

place. These words in gold wrought on a ground of greene: Here gan the reede and merry bag-pipe play, • Maidens: since 'tis decreed a maid shall have Shrill as a thrush upon a morne of May, me,

(A rurall musicke for an heavenly traine) Keepe me till he shall kill me that must save me.' And every shepheardesse danc'd with her swajne. But whence she came, or who the words concerne, As when some gale of winde doth nimbly take We neither know, nor can of any learne.

A faire wbite locke of wooll, and with it inake l'pon a pallat she doth lie at night,

Some prettie driving; here it sweepes the plaine : Neere Fida's bed, nor will she from her sight: There staies, here hops, there mounts, and turnes Upon her walkes she all the day attends,

again : And by her side she trips where ere she wends." Yet all so quicke, that none so soone can say

" Remond," (replide the swaine) “ if I have That now it stops, or leapes, or turnes away : Fida in ought which unto her belong'd, [wrong'd So was their dancing, none look'd thereupon, I sorrow fort, and truely doe protest,

But thought their severall motions to be one. As yet I never heard speech of this beast :

A crooked measure was their first election, Nor was it with my will; or if it were,

Because all crooked tends to best perfection. Is it not lawfull we shonld chase the deere,

And as I weene this often bowing measure, Tbat, breaking our inclosures every morne, Was chiefly framed for the women's pleasure. Are found at feede upon our crop of corne? Tho', like the ribbe, they croocked are and Yet bad I knowne this deere, I had not wrong'd

bending, Fida in ought which unto her belong'd.”

Yet to the best of formes they aime their ending: “ I thinke no lesse," quoth Remond; “ but, I Next in an (1) their measure made a rest, Whither walkes Doridon this holy-day? [pray, Shewing when love is plainest, it is best. Come, drive your sheepe to their appointed feeding, Then in a (V), which thus doth love commend, And make you one at this our merry meeting. Making of two at first, one in the end. Full many a shepheard, with his lovely lasse, And lastly closing in a round do enter, Sit telling tales upon the clover grasse :

Placing the lusty shepheards in the center : There is the merry shepheard of the hole;

About the swaines they dauncing seem'd to roule, Thenot, Piers, Nilkin, Duddy, Hobbinoll,

As other planets round the heavenly pole. Alexis, Silvan, Teddy of the glen,

Who by their sweet aspect or chiding frowne, Rowly, and Perigot here by the fen,

Could raise a shepheard up, or cast bim downe. With many more, I cannot reckon all,

Thus were they circled till a swaine came neere, That meet to solemnize this festivall."

And sent this song unto each shepheard's eare: “I grieve not at their mirth,” said Doridon : The note and voyce so sweet, that for such mirth, Yet had there beene of feasts not any one

The gods would leave the Heavens, and dwell on Appointed or commanded; you will say,

Earth. ! Where there's content 'tis ever holy-day.''

254

The sixt, a Nosecay of Roses, with a NETTLE in it.

Such is the posie, Love composes ;
A stinging nettle mixt with roses.

The seventh, a Girdle.
This during light I give to clip your wast :
Faire, grant mine armes that place when day is past.

The eight, a Heart.
You have the substance, and I live
But by the shadow which you give:
Substance and shadow, both are due
And given of me to none but you.
Tben whence is life but from that part
Which is possessor of the heart?

“ Happy are you so inclosed,
May the maides be still disposed,

in their gestures and their dances,
So to grace you with intwining,
That Envy wish in such combining,

Fortune's sinile with happy chances.
! Here it seems as if the Graces
Measur'd out the plaine in traces,

In a shepheardesse disguising.
Are the sphtares so nimbly turning,
Wand'ring lampes in Heaven burning,

To the eye so much intising ?
“ Yes, Heaven meanes to take these thither,
And adde one joy to see both dance together.

“ Gentle nymphes, be not refusing,
Love's neglect is time's abusing,

They and beauty are but lent you ;
Take the one and keepe the other :
Love keepes fresh what age doth smother,

Beauty gone, you will repent you.
“ 'Twill be said when ye have proved,
Never swaines more truely loved :

O then fy all nice bebaviour!
Pitty fajne would (as her dutie)
Be attending still on Beautie,

Let her not be out of favour.
** Disdaine is now so much rewarded,
That Pitty weepes since she is unregarded.”
The measure and the song here being ended,
Lach swaine his thoughts thus to his love com-

mended.

The ninth, a Shepherd's Hooks. The book of right belongs to you; for whea I take but seely sheep, you still take men.

The first presents his Dogge, with these : When I my flocke neere you doe keepe, And bid my dogge goe take a sheepe, lle cleane mistakes what I bid doe, And bends his pace still towards you.

Poore wretch ! he knowes inore care I keepe To get you, than a seely sheepe.

The tenth, a Combe. L orcly maiden, best of any, O f our plaines though thrice as many : V aile to love, and leave denying, E ndless knots let Fates be tying. Such a face, so fine a feature, (K indest, fairest, sweetest creature) N ever get was found, but loving: O then let my plaints be moving! Trust a shepherd, though the meanest, Truth is best when she is plainest. I love not with vowes contesting: Paith is faith without protesting. Time, that all things doth inherit, R enders each desert his merit. If that faile in me, as no man, Doubtless time nere won a woman. Maidens still should be relenting, And once Binty, still repenting. Y outh with youth is best combined, E ach one with his like is twined. Beauty should have beauteous meaning, E ver that hope easeth playning. U nto you, whom Nature dresses, N eeds no combe to smouth your tresscs. T his way it may doe his dutie, I n your locks to shade your beautie. Doe so, and to love be turning, E lse each heart it will be burning.

The second, his Pipe, with these : Bid ine to sing, (faire maide) my song shall prove There ne'er was truer pipe sung truer love.

The third, a paire of Gloves, thus : These will keepe your hands from burning, Whilst the Sunne is swiftly turning; Bat who can any veile devise To shield my heart from your faire eyes?

The fourth, an ANAGRAM.

MAIDEN AND MEN,

Maiders should be ayding men,
And for love give love agen:
Learne this lesson from your mother,
“ One good wish requires another."
They deserve their names best, when
Maides most willingly ayd men.

The eleventh, a Kvot. [In the old editions the following lines are inclosed

in the figure of a knot. ]
This is love and worth commending,
Still beginning, never ending ;
Like a wilie net ensnaring,
In a round shuts up all squaring,
In and out whose every angle
More and more doth still entangle ;
Keeps a measure still in moving,
And is never light but loving.
Twining arms, exchanging kisses,
Each partaking other's blisses :
Laughing, weeping, still together,
Bliss in one is mirth in either.
Never breaking, ever bending :
This is love, and worth commending.

The fift, a Ring, with a picture in a Jewell on it. Nature bath fram'd a jemme beyond compare, The world's the ring, but you the jewell are.

THE FOURTH SONG,

THE ARGUMENT.

The twelfth, Cupid.

Nor had th' infections of infected mindes

So alter'd nature, and disorder'd kindes,
Loe, Cupid Icares his bowe: his reason is, Fida had beene lesse wretched, I more glad,
Because your eyes wound when bis shaftes do misse. That so true love so trae a progresse had.

When Remond left her, (Remond then unkinde)
Whilst erery one was off'ring at the shrine Fida went downe the dale to seeke the hinde;
Of such rare beauties, might be stil'd divine, And found her taking soyle within a floud :
This lamentable voyce towards thein fyes : Whom when she call'd, straight follow'd to the
“O Heaven, send aid, or else a maiden dyes !"

wood. Herewith soine ranne the way the voyce them led; Fida, then wearied, sought the cooling shade, Some with the maidens staid which shooke for And found an arbour, by the shepheards made dread:

To frolicke in, (when Sol did hotest shine)
What was the cause time serves not now to tell. With cates which were farre cleanlier than fine.
Hearke ! for my jolly weather rings his bedl, For in those dayes men never us'd to feede
And almost all our flockes have left to graze ; So much for pleasure as they did for neede.
Shepheards, 'tis almost night, bie home apace; Enriching then the arbour, downe she sate her;
When next we meet, (as we shall meet ere long) Where many a busie bee came flying at her:
Ile tell the rest in some ensuing song.

Thinking, when she for ayre her breasts discloses,
That there bad growne some tuft of damaske-roses,
And that her azure veynes, which then did swell,

Were conduit-pipes brought from a living well,
BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.

Whose liquor might the world enjoy for money,
Bees would be bankerupt, none would care for

honey.
The hinde lay still without, (poor silly creature,
How like a woman art thou fram'd by Nature !

Timerons, apt to teares, wilie in running, Fida's distrest, the binde is slaine,

Caught best when force is entermixt with cunning)

Lying thus distant, different chances meete them, Yet from her ruines lives againe.

And with a fearefull object Fate doth greete them. Piot's description next I rime,

Something' appear'd, which seem'd, farre off, a Then Aletheia, and old Time:

In stature, habit, gate, proportion: And lastly, from this song I goe,

[man,

But when the eyes their object's masters were, Having describ'd the Vale of Woe.

And it for stricter censure came more neere,
By all his properties one well might ghesse,

Than of a man he sure had nothing lesse. . !!APPY, ye dayes of olde, when every waste

For verily since olde Deucalion's ? Rood Was like a sanctuarie to the chaste: When incests, rapes, adulteries, were not knowne; 1 Earth's slime did ne'er produce a viler brood.

Upon the various earth's embrodered gowne All pure as blossomes, which are newly blowne.

There is a weed, upon whose head growes doune; Maides were as free from spots, and soiles within,

Sow-thistle 'tis ycleep'd, whose downy wreath, As most unblemisht in the outward skinne.

If any one can blow off at a breath, Men every plaine and cottage did afford,

We deene her for a maide: such was his haire, As smooth in deedes, as they were faire of word.

Ready to shed at any stirring aire. Maidens with men, as sisters with their brothers;

His eares were strucken deafe when he came nie, And men and maides convers'd as with their

To hear the widowe's or the orphan's crie. mothers;

His eyes encircled with a bloody chaine, free from suspition, or the rage of bloud,

With poaring in the blood of bodies slaine. Strife only raigo'd, for all striv'd to be good.

His mouth exceeding wide, from whence did fie
But then, as little wrens, but newly fledge,
First, by their nests hop up and downe the hedge; Banning the Heavens, and he that rideth on them,

Vollies of execrable blasphemie;
Then one from bough to bough gets up a tree :
His fellow, noting his agilitie,

Dar'd vengeance to the teeth to fall upon him:

Like Scythian wolves, or men' of wit bereaven, Thinkes he as well may venter as the other,

Which howle and sboote against the lights of So flushing from one spray unto another,

Heaven.

(corse, Gets to the top, and then enbold'ned flyes,

His hands, (if hands they were) like some dead Unto an height past ken of homane eyes :

With digging up his buried ancestors; So time brought worse, men first desir'd to talke;

Making his father's tombe and sacred shrine Then came suspect; and then a private walke;

The trought wherein the hog-heard fed his swine. Then by consent appointed limes of meeting, Where most securely each might kisse his sweeting; And as that beast hath legs (whịch shepheards feare,

Ycleep'd a badger, which our lambs doth teare) Lastly, with lusts their panting brests so swell, They came to but to what I blush to tell.

One long, the other short, that when he runnes

Upon the plaines, he halts; but when he wonnes And ent'red thus, rapes used were of all,

On craggy rocks, or steepy hills, we see Incest, adultery, held as veniall:

None runnes more swift, nor easier, than he : The certaintie in doubtfull ballance rests, If beasts did learne of men, or men of beasts. Had they not learn'd of man, who was their king, · Description of Riot. So to insult upon an underling,

* Ovid's Metamorphoses, book 1. They civilly had spent their lives' gradation, As neeke and milde as in their first creation ;

! Men of Scirum shoote against the starrer,

Such legs the monster had, one sinew shrunk, So from the ruines of this mangled creatures
That in the plaines be reeld, as being drunk; Arose so faire and so divine a feature,
And halted in the paths to virtue tending ; That Envy for her heart would doat upon her ;
And therefore never durst be that way bending: Heaven could not chuse but be enamour'd on her :
But when he came on carved monuments,

Were I a starre, and she a second spbeare,
Spiring colosses, and high raised rents,

Ide leave the other, and be fixed there. He pass'd them o'er, quick, as the easterne winde Had faire Arachne wrought this maiden's haire, Sweepes through a meadow; or a nimble hinde; When she with Pallaso did for skill compare, Or satyre on a lawne; or skipping roe;

Minerva's worke had never been esteemid, Or well-wing'd shaft forth of a Parthian bowe. But this had been more rare and highly deem'd. His body made (still in consumptions rife) Yet gladly now she would reverse her doome, A miserable prison for a life.

Weaving this baire within a spider's loome. Riot he hight; whom some curs'd fiend did raise, Upon her fore-head, as in glory sate When like a chaos were the nights and dayes; Mercy and majesty, for wond'ring at, Got and brought up in the Cinunerian clime, As pure and simple as Albania's snow, [of Po: Where sunne nor moone, nor daies nor nights do Or milke white swannes which stem the streames time:

[faces like to some goodly fore-land bearing out, As.who should say, they scorn'd to show their

Her haire, the tufts which fring'd the shoare about. To such a fiend, should seeke to spoil the graces. And least the man which sought those coasts At sight whereof, Fida nigh drown'd in feare,

might slip, Was cleane disunaide when he approached neare ; Her eyes like starres, did serve to guide the ship. Nor durst she call the deere, nor whistling winde Upon her front (Heaven's fairest promontory) her,

(her; / Delineated was th' authentique story Fearing her noise might make the monster finde Of those elect, whose sheepe at first began Who slilie came, for he had cunning learnd him, To nibble by the springs of Canaan: And sciz'd upon the hinde, ere she discern'd him. Out of whose sacred loynes, (brought by the stem Oh how she strivd and strugled; every nerve Of that sweet singer of Jerusalem) Is prest at all assaies a life to serve :

Came the best shepheard ever flockes did keepe, Yet soon we lose, what we might longer keepe Who yielded up his life to save his sheepe. Were not prevention commonly a sleepe.

O thou Eterne! by whom all beings move, Maides, of this mouster's brood be fearfull all, Giving the springs beneath, and springs above : What to the hinde may hap to you befall. Whose finger doth this universe sustaine, 'Who with her feete held up instead of hands, Bringing the former and the latter raine : And tears which pittie from the rocke commands, Who dost with plenty meades and pastures fill, She sighes, and shrikes, and weepes, and looks By drops distil'd like dew on Hermon bill :

[him; Pardon a silly swaine, who (farre unable Alas! she sobs, and many a groan throwes on In that which is so rare, so adınirable) With-plaints which might abate a tyrant's knife, Dares on an oaten-pipe, thus meanely sing She begges for pardon, and entreates for life;

Her praise immense, worthy a silver string. The hollow caves resound her moanings neere it; And thou which through the desart and the That beart was flint which did not grieve to heare deepe, it;

[keepe, Didst lead thy chosen like a focke of sherpe:
The high topt firres which on that mountain As sometimes by a starre thou guidedst them,
Have ever since that time been seene to weepe. Which fed upon the plaines of Bethelem ;
The owle till then, 'tis thought, full well could sing, So by thy sacred spirit direct my quill,
And tunc her voice to every bubling spring: When I shall sing ought of thy holy hill,
But when she heard those plaints, then forth she That times to come, when they my rimes rehearse,
Out of the covert of an ivy rod,

(yode May wonder at me, and admire my verse :
And hollowing for aide, so strain'd her throate, For who but one rapt in cælestiall fire,
That since she cleane forgot ber furiner poate. Can by his Muse to such a pitch aspire ?
A little robin sitting on a tree,

That from aloft he might behold and tell
In doleful noates bewail'd ber tragedie.' (semble, Her worth, whereon an iron pen night dwell,
An aspe, who thought him stout, could not dis When she was borne, Nature in sport began,
But show'd his feare, and yet is scene to tremble. To learne the cudoing of an artizan,
Yet cruelty was deafe, and had no sights And did vermilion with a white compose, ,
In ought which might gaine-saye the appetite: To mocke berselfe, and paint a damaske rose.
But with his teeth rending her throat asunder, But scorning Nature unto art should seeke,
Besprinckeld with her blood the green grasse under, she spilt her colours on this maiden's chceke.
And gurmundizing on her flesh and bloud,

Her month the gate from whence all goodnesse He vomiting returned to the wood.

Of power to give the dead a living name. (caine, Riot but newly gone, as strange a vision Her words embalm d in so sweet a breath, Though far more heavenly, came in apparition. That inade ihoin triumph both on Time and Deaths,

As that Arabjan bird“ (whom all admire) Whose fragrant swects, since the camelion knew, Her exequies prepard and funerall tie,

And tasted of, le to this humour grew: Burnt in a faine conceived from the Sunno, Left other elements, held this so rare, And nourisbed with slips of cynamon,

That since he aeyer feeds on ought but ayre. Out of her ashes hath a second birth, And fies abroad, a wonderment on Earth :

5 Description of truth,

• Ovid's Metamorphoses, book 6. * See Claudian's Phonix.

upon him :

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