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O bad 1 Virgil's verse, or Tullie's tongue ! 'To follow yon, which sweetly trilling wanders Or raping numbers like the Thracian's' song, In many mazes, intricate meanders; I have a theame would make the rockes to dance, | Till at the last, to mocke th' enamour'd rill, And surly beasts, that through the desart prance, Ye bend your traces up some shady hill; Hie from their caves, and every gloomy den, And laugh to see the wave no further treade; To wonder at the excellence of men.

But in a chafe runns foaming on his head, Nay, they would think their states for ever raised, Being enforc'd a chaonell new to frame, But once to look on one so highly praised.

Learing the order destitute of name. Out of whose maiden brests (that sweetly rise)

If thou be one of th se, or all, or more, The seers suckt their hidden prophecies :

Succour a seely maid, that doth implure And told that, for her love in times to come, Aide, on a bended heart, unfain'd and meeke, Many should seeke the crown of martyrdome, As true as blushes of a maiden cheeke." By fire, by sword, by tortures, dungeons, chaines, “ Maiden arise,” replide the new borue maide: By stripes, by famine, and a world of paines; Pure innocence the stones will aide.' Yet constant still remaine (to her they loved) Vir of the fuirie troupe, nor Muses nine; Like Syon mount, that cannot be removed. Nor am I Venus, nor of Proserpine : Proportion on her armes and hands recorded, But daughter to a lusty aged swaine, The world for her no fitter place afforded.

That cuts the greene turtis of th' enamel'd plaine; Prajse her who list, he still shall be her debtor : And with his sythe hath many a summer shorne For art ne'er fain'd, nor Nature framn’d a better. The plow'd-lands lab'ring with a crop of corne; As when a holy father hath began

Who from the could-clipt mountaine by his stroake To offer sacrifice to mightie Pan,

Fels downe the lofty pine, the cedar, oake: Doth the request of every swaine assume,

He opes the flood gates as occasion is To scale the welkin in a sacred fume,

Sometimes on that inap's land, sometimes on this. Made by a widow'd turtle's loving mate,

When Verolame, a stately nymph of yore, Or lamkins, or some kid immaculate,

Did use to decke herselfe on Isis' shore, Th' off'ring heaves aloft, with both his hands: One morne (among the rest) as there she stood, Which all adore, that neere the altar stands : Saw the pure channel all besmeard with bloud; So was her heavenly body comely rais'd

Inquiring for the cause, one did impart, On two faire columnes ; those that Ovid prais'd Those drops came from her holy Alban's 'heart; In Julia's & borrowed name, compard with these,

Herewith in griefe she gan entreate my syre, Were crabs to apples of th' Hesperides ;

That Isis' streame, which ycerely did attire Or stumpe-foote Vulcan in comparison

Those gallant fields in changeable array, With all the height of true perfection.

Might turn her course and rud some other way. Nature was here so lavish of her store,

Least that her waves might wash away the guilt That she bestow'd until she had no more.

From off their hands which Alban's bloud had spilt: Whose treasure being weak’ned (by this dame) He condescended, and the nimble wave She thrusts into the world so many lame.

Her fish no more within that channell drave : The highest synode of the glorious skye,

But as a witness left the crimson gore (I heard a wood-nymph sing) sent Mercurie To staine the earth, as they their hands before. To take a survay of the fairest faces,

He had a being ere there was a birth, And to describe to them all women's graces :

And shall not cease until the sea and earth, Who long time wand'ring in a serious quest,

And what they both containe, shall cease to be, Noting what parts by beauty were possest :

Nothing confines him but eternitie. At last he saw this maide, then thinking fit

By him the names of good men ever live, To end bis journey, here, Nil ultra, writ.

Which short-liv'd men unto oblivion give : Fida in adoration kiss'd her knee,

And in forgetfulnesse he lets hin fall, And thus bespake: “ Hayle glorious Deitie ! That is no other man than naturall: (If such thou art, and who can deeme you

'Tis he alone that rightly can discover, lesse?)

Who is the true, and who the fained lover. Whether thou raign'st queene of the wildernesse,

In summer's heate when any swaine to sleepe Or art that goddesse ('tis unknowne to me)

Doth more addict himselfe than to his sheepe; Which from the ocean drawes her pettigree:

And whilst the leaden god sits on his eyes,
Or one of those, who by the mossie banckes If any of his folde, or strayes, or dyes,
Of crisling Helicon, in airie ranckes

And to tbe waking swaine it be unknown,
Tread rounde-la yes upon the silver sands,

Whether his sheepe be dead, or straid, or stolue; While shaggy satyres tripping o'er the strands, To meete my syre he bends his course in paine, Stand still at gaze, and yeeld their sences thrals

Either where soine high bill surraies the plaine ; To the sweet cadence of your madrigals :

Or takes his step toward the flow'ry vallyes, Or of the faiery troope which nimbly plav,

Where Zephyre with the cowslip hourely dallyes ; And by the springs daunce out the summer's day; Or to the groves, where birds from heate or Teaching the little birds to build their nests,

weather, And in their singing how to keepen rests :

Sit sweetly tuning of their noates together;
Or one of those, who watching where a spring
Out of our grandame Earth bath issuing,

9 He was slain and suffered martyrdom in the With your attractive musicke wooe the streame

days of Diocletian and Maximinian. The place of (As men by faieries led, falne in a dreamde)

his execution was an hill in a wood called Holm

hurst, where at one stroke his head was smitten Orpheus.

off. See the Golden Legend ; Robert of Glocester; . Corinna, Ovid, Amor. Lib. 1. L. 5. Harding, c. 57. &c. VOL VI,

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Or to a meade a wanton river dresses

There saw I Drunkenesse with dropsies svoine ; With richest collers of her turning esses;

And pamper'd Lust that many a night had stolne Or where the shepheardo sit old stories telling, Over the abby-wall when gates were lock'd, Chronos, iny syre, hath 110 set place of dwelling; To be in Venus' wanton bosom rock'd : But if the shepheard meete the aged swaine, And Gluttony that surfetting had bin, He tells bim of his sheepe, or shewes them slaine. Knocke at the gate and straight-way taken in : So great a gift the sacred powers of Heaven Sadly I sate, and sighing grier'd to see (Above all others) to my syre have given, Their happinesse, my infelicitie. That the abhorred stratagems of night,

At last came Enry by, who having spide Lurking in cavernes from the glorious light, Where I was sadly seated, inward hide, By him (perforce) are from their dungeons hurld, And to the convent egerly she cryes, And show'd as monsters to the wond'ring world. Why sit you here, when with these eares and cies “ What mariner is he sailing upon

I beard and saw a strumpet dares to say, The watry desart clipping Albion,

She is the true faire Aletheia, Heares not the billowes in their daunces roare Which you have boasted long to live among you ! Answer'd by eccoes from the neighbour shoare? Yet suffer not a peevish girl to wrong you.' To whose accord the maids trip from the downes, With this provok'd, all rose, and in a rout And rivers dancing come, ycrown'd with townes, Run to the gate, strove who should first get out, All singing forth the victories of Time,

Bad ine begone, and then (in terins uncivil) Upon the monsters of the western clime,

Did call me counterfait, witch, hay, whore, direll; Whose horrid, damned, bloody, plots would bring Then like a strumpet drove me from their cets, Confusion on the laureate poet's king.

With tinckling pans, and with the noise of bels. Whose hell-fed hearts devised how never more And he that lov'd me, or but inoan'd my case, A swan might singing sit on Isis' shore :

Had heapes of fire-brands banded at his face. But croaking ravens, and the scrich-owle's crie, “Thus beaten thence (distrest, forsaken sight) The fit musicians for a tragedie,

Inforc'd in fields to sleepe, or wake all night; Should evermore be heard about her strand, A scely sheepe seeing me straying by, To fright all passengers from that sad land. Forsooke the slirub where once she meant to lie;

“Long summer's dayes I on his worth might spend | As if she in her kinde (unhurting elfe) And yet begione againe when I would end. Did bid me take such lolging as herselfe : All ages since the first age first begun,

Gladly I took the place the sheepe had given, Ere they could know his worth their age was done: Uncanopy'd of any thing but Hearen. (quenter, Whose absence all the treasury of Earth

Where nigh benumb'd with cold, with griefe freCannot huy out. From farre-fam'd Tagns' birth, Unto the silent night I thus lamented : Not all the golden grarell he treades orer,

“ Faire Cynthia, if from thy silver throne, One minute past, that minute can recover. Thou ever lent'st an eare to virgin's mone! I am bis onely childe (he hath no other)

Or in thy monthly course one minute staid Cleep'd Aletheia, borne without a mother. Thy palfrayes' trot, to heare a wretched maid ! Poore Aletheia long despis'd of all,

Pull in their reynes, and lend thine eare to me, Scarce Charitie would lend an hospitall

Forlorne, forsaken, cloath'd in miserie : To give my month's cold watching one night's But if a woe hath never woo'd thine eare, rest,

To stop those coursers in their full carriere; But in my roome tooke in the miser's chest. But as stone-hearted men, uncharitable,

“ In winter's time when hardly fed the flockes, Passe carelesse by the poore, when men lesse alle, And isicles hung dangling on the rockes ;

Hold not the needie's helpe in long suspence, When Hyems bound the floods in silver chaines, But in their hands poure their benevolence. And hoary frosts had candy'd all the plaines; 0! if thon be so hard to stop thine earts; When every barne rong with the threshing flailes, When stars in pity drop down from their spheares, And shepheards' boyes for cold gan blow their Yet for a while in gloomy vaile of night, nailes:

Enshroud the pale beames of thy borrowed light: (Wearied with toyle in seeking out some one 0! never once discourage goodnesse (lending. That had a sparke of truc devotion ;)

One glimpse of light) to sce misfortune spending It was my chance, (chance onely helpeth neede) Her utınost rage on Truth, dispisde, distressed, To find an house ybuilt for holy deede,

Unhappy, unrelieved, yet undressed. With goodly architect, and cloisters wide, Where is the heart at virtue's sufl'ring grieveth ? With groves and walkes along a river's side ; Where is the eye that pittying relieveth ? The place itself afforded admiration,

Where is the hand that still the hungry feedeth ?
And every spray a theme of contemplation. Where is the eare that the decrepit stredeth ?
Bat (woe is me) when knocking at the gate, That heart, that hand, that ear, or else that eye,
* gan intreat an entrance thereat :

(iivcth, relieveth, feedes, steedes, misery?
The porter askt my name : I told; he swellid, O Earth, produce me one (of all thy store)
And bad me thence: wherewith in griefe repelld, Enjoyes ; and be vain-glorious no more.
I sought for shelter to a ruin'd house,

“ By this had Chanticlere, the village-cocke,
Harb'ring the weasell, and the dust-bred mouse; Biddep the good-wife for her maides to knocke :
And others none, except the two-kinde bat, And the swart plow-man for his breakfast staid,
Which all the day there melancholy sate: That he might till those lands were fallow laid;
Here sate I downe with winde and raine ybeáte ; The bills and vallics here and there resound
Grief fed my minde, and did my body cate. With the re-echoes of the deepe-mouth'd hound,
Yet Idlenesse I saw (laın'd with the gout) Each shepheard's daughter with her cleanly peale,
Had entrance when poor Truth was kept without. Was come a field to milke the morning's meale,

And ere the Sunne had clym'd the easterne hils, But get you gone, for sure you may despaire To guild the mutt'ring bournes, and pritty rils, Of comfort here, secke it some other-where.' Before the lab'ring bee had left the hive,

• Maide;' quoth the tayler, ‘we no succour owe And nimble fishes which in rivers dive,

you, Began to leape, and catch the drowned nie, For as I guesse here's none of us doth know you : I rose from rest, not infelicitie.

Nor my remembrance any thought can seize Seeking the place of Charitie's resort,

That I have ever seene you in my dayes. Unware I hap'ned on a prince's court;

Seene you ? nay, therein confident I am ; Where meeting Greatnesse, I requir'd reliefe, Nay tiil this time I never heard your name, (O bappy undelayed) she said in briefe,

Excepting once, and by this token chiefe, To small effect thine oratorie tends,

My neighbour at that instant cal'd me theefe. How can I keepe thee and so many friends? By this you see you are uuknowne among us, If of my houshold I should make thee one, We cannot help you, though your stay may Farewell my servant Adulation :

wrong us I know she will not stay when thou art there : “ Thus went I on, and further went in woe : But seeke some great man's service other-where. For as shrill sounding Fame, that's never slow, Darkenesse and light, summer and winter's weather Growes in her going, and encreaseth more, May be at once, ere you two live together.' Where she is now, than where she was before : Thus with a nod she left me cloath'd in woe. So Griefe, (that never healthy, ever sicke,

" Thence to the citie once l thought to goe, That froward scholler to arithmeticke, But somewhat in my mind this thought had Who doth devision and substraction flie, throwne,

And chietly learnes to addle and multiply) ' It was a place wherein I was not knowne.' In dongest journeys hath the strongest strength, And therefore went unto these homely townes, And is at hand; supprest, unquailu at length. Sweetly environ'd with the dazied do wnes.

“ Betweene two hills, the highest Phobais sees “ Upon a streame wasbing a village end Gallantly crown'd with large skie-kissing trees, A mill is plac'd, that never difference kend Under whose shade the humble vallyes lay: 'Twixt day.es for worke, and holy tides for rest, And wilde-bores from their dens their gamboles But always wrought and ground the neighbour's

play: Before the dore I saw the iniller walking, (grest. There lay a gravel'd walke ore-growne with greene, And other two (his neighbours) with him talking; Where neither tract of man nor beast was seene. One of them was a weaver, and the other

And as the plow-man when the land be tils, The village tayler, and his trusty brother; Throwes up the fruitfull earth in riged hils, To them I came, and thus my sute began : Betweene whose chevron forme he leaves a balke; Content the riches of a country-man

So 'twixt those hils had Nature fram'd this walke, Attend your actions, be more happy still,

Not over darke, vor light, 'in angles bending, Than I am haplesse ! and as yonder mill,

And like the gliding of a snake descending : Though in his turning it obey the streame, All husht and silent as the mid of night : Yet by the head-strong torrent from his beame No chatt'ring pie, nor crow appear'd in sight; Is unremor'd, and till the wheele be tore,

But further in I heard the turtle-dove, It dayly toyles; then rests, and works no more: Singing sad dirges on her lifelesse lore, So in life's motion may you never be miserie.' Birds that compassion from the rocks could bring, (Thongh sway'd with griefes) o'er-borne with Had onely license in that place to sing : “ With that the milter laughing, brush'd his Whose dolefull noates the melancholly cat cloathes,

Close in a hollow tree sate wond'ring at. Then swore by cocke and other ckinghill oathes, And trees that on the hill-side comely grew, Igreatly was to blame, that durst so wade When any little blast of Æol blew, Into the knowledge of a wheel-wright's trade. Did nod their curled heads, as they would be * I, neighbour,' quoth the tayler (then he bent The judges to approve their melody. His pace to me, spruce like a Jacke of Lent)

Just halfe the way this solitary grove, • Your judgement is not seame-rent when you spend A christiall spring from either hill-side strove, Nor is it botching, for I cannot mend it. [it, Which of them first should wooe the meeker ground, and maiden, let me tell you in displeasure, And make the pibbles dance unto their sound. You must vot presse thecloath you cannot measure: But as when children having leave to play, But let your steps be stitcht to wisedome's chalk. And neare the master's cye sport out the day, ing,

(ing.' (Beyond condition) in their childish toyes And cast presumptuous shreds out of your walk Oft vext thcir tutor with too great a noyce, The weaver said, Fie wench, yourselfe you wrong, And make him send some servant out of dore, Thus to let slip the shuttle of your tong:

To ceasse their clamour, lest they play no more ; For marke me well, yea, marke me well, I say, So when the prettie rill a place espies, I see you worke your speeche's web astray.' Where with the pibbles she would wantonize ;

“ Sad to the soule, o'er laid with idle words, And that her upper streame so much doth wrong • O Heaven,' quoth 1, where is the place affords her, A friend to helpe, or any heart that rnth

To drive her thence, and let her play no longer; The most dejected hopes of wronged Truth!' If she with too loud mutt'ring ranne away, • Truth !! quoth the miller, ‘plainley for our As being much incens'd to leave her play ; parts,

A westerne, milde, and pretty whispering gate, I and the weaver hate thee with our hearts : Came dallying with the leaves along the dale, The strifes you raise I will not now discusse, And seem'd as with the water it did chide, Between our honest customcrs and us:

Because it raune so long unpacifide :

Yea, ani me thought it bad her leave that coyle, Yet on the downes he oftentimes was seene Or be wonld choake her up with leaves and soyle: To draw the merry maidens of the greene Whereat the rivelet in my minde did weepe, With his sweet voyce: once, as he sate alone And hurl'd her liead into a silent deepe.

He sung the outrage of the lazy drone #2 “ Now he that guides the chariot of the Sunne, Upon the lab'ring bee, in straines so rare, Upon th' eclipticke circle had so runne,

That all the fitting pionionists of ayre That his brasse-hoof'd fire-breathing horses wanne Attentive sate, and in their kinds did long The stately height of the meridian :

To learne some poate from his well-timed song. And the day lab'ring man (who all the morné “ Exiled Naso (from whose golden pen Had from the quarry with his pick axe torne The Muses did distill delights for men) A large well squared stone, which he would cut Thus sang of Cephalus 13 (whose name was worne Tu serve his stile, or for some water shut)

Within the bosome of the blushing morne :) Seeing the Sunne preparing to decline,

He had a dart was never set on winy, Tooke out his bagge, and sate him downe to dine. But death few with it : he could never fing, When by a sliding, yet not steepe descent, But life fled from the place where stucke the head: I gaind a place, ne'er poet did invent

A hunter's frolicke life in woods he lead The like for sorrow: not in all this round

In separation from his yoked mate, A fitter seate for passion can be found.

Whose beauty, once, he valued at a rate “ As when a dainty fount, and christall spring, Beyond Aurora's cheeke, when she (in pride) Got newly from the earth's imprisoning,

Promist their offspring should be deifide : And ready prest some channell cleere to win, Procris she hight; who (seeking to restore Is round bis rise by rockes immured in,

Herselfe that happinesse she had before) And from the thirsty earth would be with-held, Unto the greene wood wends, omits no paine Till to the cesterne toppe the waves have swellid: | Might bring her to ber lord's embrace againe : But that a carefull hinde the well hath found, But Fate thus crost her, comming where he lay As he walkes sadly through his parched ground; Wearied with hunting all the summer's day, Whose patience suff'ring not his land to stay He somewhat heard within the thicket ruski, Until the water o'er the cesterne play,

And deeming it some beast hid in a bush, He gets a picke-aze and with blowes so stout, Raised himselfe, then set on wing a dart, Digs on the rocke, that all the groves about Which took a sad rest in the restlesse hart Resound his stroke, and still the rocke doth charge, of his chast wife ; who with a bleeding brest Till he hath made a hole both long and large, Left love and life, and slept in endlesse rest. Whereby the waters from their prison run, With Procris? heavie fate this shepheard's wrong To close earth's gaping wounds made by the Sun; Might be compar'd, and aske as sad a song. So through these high rais'd bils, embracing round • In th'automne of his youth, and manhood's This shady, sad, and solitary ground,

Desert (growne now a most dejected thing) (spring Some power (respecting one whose heavy mone Wonne him the favour of a royall maide, Requir'd a place to sit and weepe alone)

Who with Diana's nymphes in forrests straide, Had cut a path, whereby the grieved wight And liv'd a huntresse life exempt from feare. Might freely take the comfort of this scyte. She once encount'red with a surly beare 14, About the edges of whose roundly forme,

Neare tu a cbristall fountaine's flow'ry brinke, In order grew such trees as doe adorne

Heate brought them thither both and both would The sable hearse, and sad forsaken mate;

dritke, And trees whose teares their losse commisserate; When from her golden quiver she tooke forth Such are the sypresse, and the weeping myrrhe, A dart above the rest esteemde for worth, The dropping amber, and the refin'd fyrrhe, And sent it to his side : the gaping wound The bleeding vine, the watry sicamour,

Gave purple streames to coole the parched ground, And willough for the forlorne paramour,

Whereat he gnasht his teeth, storm'd his hurt lym, In comely distance: underneath whose shade

Yeelded the earth what it denied him : Most neate in rudenesse Nature arbours made :

Yet sunke not there, but (wrapt in horrour) hy'd Some had a light ; some to obscure a seate, Unto his hellish cave, despair’d, and dy'd. (Sunne Would entertaine a sufferance ne'er so great : “ After the beare's just death, the quick’ning Where grieved wights sate (as I after found, Had twice sixe times about the zodiacke run, Whose heavy harts the height of sorrow crown'd) And (as respectlesse) never cast an eye, Wailing in saddest tunes the doomes of fate

l'pon the night-invail'd Cimmerii, On men by virtue cleeped fortunate. ** The first note that I heard, I soon was wonne

12 'The Buzzing Bee's Complaint; by the Earl To thinke the sighes of faire Endymion *0

of Essex. The subject of whose mournefull heavy lay Was his declining with faire Cynthia.

13 Art of Love, book 3. “ Next him a great man sate, in woe no lesse; 14 Earl of Leicester. Osborn calls him that Teares were but barren shaduwes to expresse terrestrial Lucifer : Men. of Q. Elizabeth, Sect. The substance of his griefe, and therefore stood 5. p. 25. Among others whom he murdereu, Distilling from his heart red streames of bloud: Leicester was the author of the death of tbe earl He was a swaine whom all the Graces kist,

of Essex's father in Ireland. Oshorn, ditto, p. 26. A brave, heroicke, worthy martialist :

lo an old collection of poems, by Lodge, Watson,

Breton, Peel, earl of Oxford and others, called 10 Sir Walter Raleigh was for some time ia dis- the Phænix Nest, in 4to, 1593, there is a defence grace at court. See Mr. Oldys.

of Leicester, called the Dead Man's Right, ia # Earl of Essex.

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THE FIFTH SONG.

When this brave swaine (approved valrous,

But some thicke cloud his happy prospect blends, la opposition of a tyrannous

And he, in sorrow rais'd, in teares descends : And bloudy savage) being long time gone

So this sad nymph (whom all commisserate) Quelling bis rage with faithlesse Gerion",

Once pac'd the hill of greatnesse and of state, Returned from the stratagems of warres,

And got the toppe; but when she gan adresse (Inriched with his quail'd foes bootlesse scarres) Her sight, from thence to see true happinesse, To see the cleare eyes of his dearest love,

Fate interpos'd an envious cloud of feares, and that her skill in hearbs might helpe remove

And she withdrew into this vale of teares, The freshing of a wound which he had got

Where Sorrow so enthral'd best Vertue's jewell, lo her defence, by Envie's poyson’d shot,

Stoues check'd grief's hardinesse, callid her too And coming through a grove wherein his faire

too cruell, Lay with her brests displaid to take the aire,

A streame of teares upon her faire cheekes flowes, His rushing through the boughs made her arise, As morning dewe upon the damaske-rose, And dreading some wild beast's rude enterprise, Or christall-glasse vailing vermilion; Directs towards the noyse a sharp'ned dart,

Or drops of milke on the carnation : That reach'd the life of his undaunted heart; She sang and wept (O ye sea-binding cleeves, Which when she knew, twice twentie moones

Yeeld tributary drops, for Vertue grieves!)

And to the period of her sad sweet key In teares for him, and dy'd in languishment.

Intwin'd her case with chaste Penelope.” “ Within an arbour shadow'd with a vine, But see the drisling south, my mournfull straipe Mixed with rosemary and eglantine,

Answers, in weeping drops of quick’ning raine, A shepheardesse was set, as faire as yoong,

And since this day we can no further goe, Whose praise full many a shcpheard whilome sung,

Restlesse I rest within this Vale of Woe, Who on an altar faire had to her name,

Until the modest morne on Earth's vast zone, la consecration many an anagram :

The ever gladsome day shall re-inthrone.
And when with sugred straines they strove to raise
Worth, to a garland of inmortall bayes;
She as the learned'st maide was chose by them,

BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.
(Her flaxed hair crown'd with an anadem)
To judge who best deserv’d, for she could fit
The height of praise unto the height of wit.
But well-a-day those happy times were gone,
(Millions admit a full substraction).

THE ARGUMENT. “ And as the yeere hath first bis jocund spring, Wherein the Icaves, to birds' sweet carrolling,

In noates that rockes to pittie move, Dance with the winde: then sees the summer's day

Idya sings her buried love : Perfect the enıbrion blossome of each spray:

And from her horne of plentie gives Next commeth autumne, when the threshed sheafe

Comfort to Truth, whom none relieves. Looseth his graine, avd every tree his leafe:

Repentance house next calls me on, Lastly cold winter's rage, with many a storme,

With Riot's true conversion : Threats the proud pines which Ida's toppe adorne,

Leaving Aminta's love to Truth,

To be the theame the Muse ensu'th.
And makes the sappe leave succourlesse the shoote,
Shrinking to comfort his decaying roote.
Or as a quaint musitian being won,

Here full of Aprill, vail'd with sorrowe's wing, To run a point of sweet division,

For lovely layes, I dreary dirges sing. Gets by degrees unto the highest kry;

Whoso hath seen young lads (to sport themselves) Then, with like order falleth in his play

Run in a lowe ebbe to the sandy shelves : Into a deeper tone; and lastly, throwes

Where seriously they worke in digging welles, His period in a diapazon close :

Or building childisha forts of cockle-shels : So every humane thing terrestriall,

Or liquid water each to other bandy; His utmost height attain'd, hen'Is to his fall.

Or with the pibbles play at handy-dandy, And as a comely youth, in fairest age,

Till unawares the tyde hath clos'u them round, Enamour'd on a maide (whose parentage

And they must wade it through or else be drown'a, Had Fate adorn'd, as Nature deckt her eye, May (if unto my pipe he listen well) Might at a becke command a monarchie)

My Muse distresse with theirs soone paralell. But poore and faire conld never yet bewitch For where I whilome sung the loves of swaines A mniser's minde, preferring foule and rich ; And woo'd the christall currents of the plaines, And therefore (as a king's heart left behind, Teaching the birds to love, whilst every tree When as his corps are borne to be ensbrin'd) Gave his attention to my melodie: (His parent's will, a law) like that dead corse, Fate now (as envying my too happy tbeame) leaving his heart, is brought unto his horse, Hath round begirt my song witn sorrowe's streame, Carried unto a place that can impart

Which, till my Muse wade through and get on No secret enibassie unto his heart,

shore, Climbes some proud hill, whose stately eminence My griefe-swolne soule can sing of love no more. Vassals the fruitfull vale's circumference:

But turne we now (yet not without remorse) Prom whence, no sooner can his lights descry To heavenly Aletheia's sad discourse, The place enriched by his mistresse' eye:

That did from Fida's eyes salt teares exhale,

When thus she show'd the solitary vale. " Earle of Essex's expedition to Cales.

“ Just in the midst this joy-forsaken ground 16 Queen Elizabeth.

A hilloeke stood, with springs einbraced round:

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