Sivut kuvina

Walkes to another poole: at length is wioner And bookes of vows, and many a heavenly deede,
Of such a dish as serves him for bis dinner : Lay ready open for each one to reade.
So when the climber halfe the way had got, Some were immured up in little sheads,
Musing be stood, and busily gan plot,

There to contemplate Heaven, and bid their beads.
How (since the mount did always steeper tend) Others with garments thinne of caminel's haire,
He might with steps secure bis journey end. With head, and arms, and legs, and feete all bare,
At last (as wand'ring boyes to gather nuts) Were singing hymnes to the eternall Sage,
A hooked pole he from a basell cuts ; (hold, For safe returning from their pilgrimage :
Vow throwes it here, then there, to take some Some with

a whip their pamper'd bodyes beate, But bootlesse and in vaine, the rocky molde Others in fasting live, and seldome eate: Admits no cramy, where his hasell hooke But, as those trees which doe in India grow, Might promise him a step, till in a nooke

And call’d of elder swaines, full long agoe, Somewhat above his reach he hath espide

The Sunne and Moone's faire trees, (full goodly A little oake, and having often tride


[height) To catch a bough with standing on his toe, And tenne times tenne fecte challenging their Or leaping np, yet not prevailing so ;

Having no belpe (to over-looke brave lowers) He rols a stone towards the little tree,

From coole refreshing dew, or drisling showers ; Then gets upon it, fastens warily

When as the Earth (as often times is seene) His pole unto a bough, and at his drawing Is interpos'd 'twixt Sol and night's pale queene; T'he early rising crow with clamn'rous kawing, Or when the Moone ecclipseth Titan's light, Leaving the greene bough flyes about the rocke, The trees, (all comfortlesse) rob’d of their sight, Whilst twentie twentie couples to him flocke: Weepe liqued drops, which plentifully shoote And now within his reach the thinne leaves wave, Along the outward barke downe to the roote, With one hand onely then he holds his stave, And by their owne shed teares they ever Alonrish; And with the other grasping first the leaves, So their owne sorrowes their owne joyes do nourish: A pretty bough he in his list receives ;

And so within this place full many a wight Then to his girdle making fast the hooke,

Did make his teares his food, both day and night. His other hand another bough hath tooke;

And had it granted, (from th' Almighty great) His first, a third, and that, another gives,

Swimme thorough them unto his mercy-scale. To bring him to the place where his roote lives. Faire Metanoia in a chayre of earth,

Then, as a niinble squirrill from the wood, With count'nance sad, yet sadnesse promis'd mirth, Ranging the hedges for his filberd-food,

Sate vail'd m coursest weedes of cammel's hayre, Sits partly on a bough his browne nuts cracking, Inriching poverty; yet never fayre and from the shell the sweet white kernell taking, was like to her, nor since the world begun Till (with their crookes and bags) a sort of boyes A lovelyer lady kist the glorious Sun. (To share with him) come with so great a noyse,

For her the god of thunder, mighty, great, That he is furc'd to leave a nut nigh broke, Whose foote-stoole is the Earth, and Heaven his And for bis life leape to a neighbour oake; Unto a man, wio from his crying birth (seate, Thence to a beech, thence to a row of ashes; Went on still shunning what he carryed, earth: Whilst thro' the quagmires and red water plashes, when he could walke no further for his grave, The boyes runne dabling thro' thicke and thin, Nor could step over, but be there must have One teares his hose, another breakes his shin; A seate to rest, when he would faine go on; This, torne and tatter'd, bath with much adoe But age in every nerve, in every bone, Got by the bryers; and that hath lost his shooe : Forbad his passage: for her sake hath Heaven This drops his band ; that head-long fals for haste; Fill'd up the grave, and made his path so eaven, Another cryes behinde for being last: (hollow, That fifteene courses had the bright steedes run, With stickes and stones, and many a sounding (And he was weary) ere his course was done, The little foole, with no small sport, they follow, For scorning her, the courts of kings, which ihrow Whilst he, froin tree to tree, froin spray to spray,

A proud rais'd pinnacle to rest the crow; Gets to the wood, and hides him in his dray: And on a plaine out-brave a neighbour rocke Such shift made Riot, ere he could get up, In stout resistance of a tempter's shocke. And so from bough to bough he wonne the toppe, For her contempt Heaven (reyning his disasters) Though hind’rances, from ever comming there, Hath made those towers but piles to burne their Were often thrust upon him by Despaire.

Now at his feete the stately mountaine lay, To her the lowly nymph (Tłumblessa hight) And with a gladsome eye he gan survay

Brought (as ber office) this deformed wight; What perits he had trode on since the time To whom the lady courteous semblance shewes ; His weary fecte and armcs assayde to climbe. And pittying his estate, in sacred thewes, When with a humble voyce (withouten feare, And letters (worthily ycleep'd divine) Tho' he look'd wilde and over-growne with haire) Resolv'd l instruct him: but her discipline A gentle nymph, in russet course array,

She knew of true effect would surely misse, Comes and directs him onward in his way.

Except she first his metamorphosis First, brings she him into a goodly hall,

Should cleane exile: 'and knowing that his birth Faire, yet not beautified with minerall ;

Was to enherit reason, though on Farth, But in a carelesse art, and artlesse care,

Some witch had thus transform'd him by her skill, Made loose Neglect, more lovely farre than rare. Expert in changing, even the very will, Upon the floore (ypav'd with marble slate, In few dayes' labours with continuall prayer, With sack-cloath cloth’d) many in ashes sate : (A sacrifice transcends the buxome ayre) And round about the wals, for many yeares, His griesly shape, his foule deformed feature, Plung christall vyals of repentance' teares;

His horrid lookes, worse than a savage creature,


By Metanoia's hand from Heaven, began

Then to a garden set with rarest flowres, Receive their sentence of divorce from man. With pleasant fountaines stor'd, and shady bowres,

And as a lovely maiden, pure and chaste, She leads him by the hand; and in the groves, With naked iv'rie necke, and gowne unlac'd, Where thousand pretty birds sung to their loves, Within her chamber, when the day is fied,

And thousand thousand blossomes (froin their Makes poore her garments to enrich her bed :

stalkes) First, puts she off her lilly-silken gowne,

Milde Zephyrus threw downe to paint the walkes, That shrikes for sorrow as she layes it downe ; Where yet the wilde boare never durst appeare : And with her armes graceth a wast-coate fine, Here Fida (ever to kinde Raymond deare) linbracing her as it would ne'er untwine.

Met them, and shew'd where Aletheia lay, Her flexen haire, insuaring all beholders,

(The faircst maide that ever blest the day.) She next permits to wave about her shoulders;

Sweetly she lay, and cool'd her lilly hands And though she cast it backe, the silken slips Within a spring that threw up golden sands : Still forward steale, and bang npon her lips : As if it would intice her to persever Whereat she, sweetly angry, with her laces In living there, and grace the banckes forever. Binds up the wanton lockes in curious traces, To her Amintas (Riot now no more) Whilst (twisting with her joynts) each haire long Came, and saluted : never man before lingers,

More blest, nor like this kisse hath beene another, As loath to be inchain'd, but with her fingers.

But when two dangling cherries kist each other : Then on her head a dressing like a crowne ; Nor ever beauties, like, met at such closes, Her breasts all bare, her kirtle slipping downe, But in the kisses of two damaske-roses. And all things off, (wbich rightly ever be

O, how the flowres (prest with their treadings on Calld the foule-faire markes of our miserie)

them) Except her last, which enviously doth seize her, Strove to cast up their heads to looke upon them! Least any eye partake with it in pleasure,

How jealously the buds, that so had seene them, Prepares for sweetest rest, while silvans greete her, Sent forth the swectest smels to step betweene And (longingly) the downe-bed swels to meet her:

them, So by degrees his shape, all brutish wilde,

As fearing the perfume lodg'd in their powers, Fell from him, (as loose skin from some young Once knowne of them, they might neglect the childe)

flowres. In lieu whereof a man-like shape appeares, How often wisht Amintas, with his heart, And gallant youth scarce skill'd in twenty yeares, His ruddy lips from hers might never parti (ing, So faire, so fresh, so young, so admirable And that the Heavens this gift were them bequeathIn every part, that since I am not able

To feed on nothing but each other's breathiug! In words to shew his picture, gentle swaines,

A truer love the Muses vever sung, Recall the prayses in my former straines;

Nor happyer names ere grac'd a golden tongue: And know if they have graced any limane,

0! they are better fitting his sweet stripe, I onely lent it those, but stole 't from him.

Who's on the bankes of Ancor tun'd his pype: Had that chaste Romane damel beheld his face, Or rather for that learned swaine 16, whose layes Ere the proud king possest her husband's place, Divinest Homer crown'd with deathlesse bages : Her thoughts had beene adulterate, and this staine

Or any one sent from the sacred well Had wonne her greater faine, had she beene slaine. Inheriting the soule of Astrophel">: The larke that many mornes herselfe inakes merry These, these in golden lines might write this story, With the shrill chanting of her teery-larry, And make these loves their owne eternall glory: (Before he was transform’d) would leave the skyes, whilst I, a swaine, as weake in yeares as skill, And hover o'er bim to behold his eyes.

Should in the valley heare them on the hill. Upon an oaten pipe well could he play,

Yet (when iny sheepe have at the cesternes beene, For when he fed his flocke upon the leye,

And I bave brought them backe to sneare the Majdens to heare him from the plaines came trip.

greene) ping,

[ping ; To misse an idle houre, and not for meede, And birds from bough to bough full nimbly skip Whose choisest relish shall mine oaten reede His flocke (then happy focke) would leave to feede, Record their worths: and though in accents rare And stand amaz'd to listen to his reede :

I misse the glory of a charming ayre, Lyons and tyrers, with each beast of game,

My Muse may one day make the courtly swaines With hearing liim were many times made tame :

Enamour'd on the musicke of the plaines, Brave trees and flow'res would towards him be

And as upon a hill she bravely sings, bending,

Teach humble dales to weepe in christall springs. and none that heard him wisht his song an ending: Maids, lyons, birds, flockes, trees, each flowre, each spring,

1 Mich. Drayton.

16 Geo. Chapaan. Were rapt with wonder, when he us'd to sing.

"Sir Philip Sydoey.
So faire a person to describe to men
Requires a curious pencill, not a pen.

Him Metanoia clad in seemly wise,
(Not after our corrupted age's guise,
Where gaudy weedes lend splendour to the lim,
Wbile that his cloaths receiv'd their grace from


La Lucretia. See Shakespeare's Rape of Lucrece.

BOOK 11.


In quest of memory: and had possesť
A pleasant garden, for a welcome rest ;

No sooner than a hundred theames come on,

And hale my bark a-new for Helicon.

Thrice sacred powers ! (if sacred powers there be
Whose milde aspect engyrland poesie)
Ye happy sisters of the learned spring,

Whose heavenly notes the woods are ravishing !

Brave Thespian maidens, at whose charming laves
Each mosse-thrumb'd mountaine bends, each.cur-

rent playes !

Pierian singers! O ye blessed Muses!
Who as a jem too deare the world refuses !

Whose truest lovers never clip with age,

O be propitious in my pilgrimage! LORD CHAMBERLAYNE TO HIS MAIESTIE, &c.

Dwell on my lines ! and till the last sand fall,

Run hand in hand with my weak pastorall ! Not that the gift (great lord) deserves your hand, Cause every coupling cadence flow in blisses,

And fill the world with envy of such kisses. (Held ever worth the rarest workes of men) Make all the rarest beauties of our clyme, Offer I this ; but since in all our land

That deigne a sweet looke on my younger ryme, None can more riglıtly clayme a poet's pen :

To linger on each line's inticing graces

As on their lovers' lips and chaste imbraces ! That noble bloud and vertue truely knowne, Thro'rouling trenches of self-drowning waves, Which circular in you united run,

Where stormy gusts throw up untimely graves, Makes you each good, and every good your owne,

By billows, whose white fome show'd angry

mindes, If it can hold in what my Muse hath done.

For not out-roaring all the high-rais'd wyndes, Bat weake and lowly are these tuned layes, Into the ever-drinking thirsty sea Yet though but weake to win faire memorie, By rocks that under water hidden lay, You may improve them, and your gracing raise ;

To shipwracke passengers, (so in some den

Theeves bent to robb'ry watch way-faring men.) For things are priz'd as their possessers be. Fairest Marina, whom I whilome sung,

If for such favour they have worthlesse striven, In all this tempest (violent though long)
Since love the cause was, be that love forgiven !

Without all sence of danger lay asleepe:
Your honour's,

Till tossed where the still inconstant deepe,

With wide spred armes, stood ready for the tender W. BROWNE Of daily tribute, that the swolne Boods render

Into her chequer : (whence as worthy kings

She helps the wants of thousand lesser springs:) THE ARGUMENT.

Here waxt the windes dumbe, (shut up in their Dlarina's freedome now 1 sing,


As still as midnight were the sullen waves,
And of her endangering :

And Neptune's silver ever shaking brest
Of Pamine's cave, and then th' abuse

As smooth as when the halcyon builds her nest. Tow'rds buryed Colyn and his Muse.

None other wrinckles on his face were seene

Than on a fertile meade, or sportive greene, as when a mariner (accounted lost)

Where never plow-share ripi his mother's wombe, Upon the wat'ry desert long time tost,

To give an aged seed a living tombe, In summer's parching beate, in winter's cold, Nor blinded mole the batning earth e'er stir'd, In tempests great, in dangers manifold,

Nor boyes made pit-fals for the hungry bird. Is by a fav’ring winde drawne up the mast, The whistling reeds upon the water's side Whence he descryes his native soyle at last;

Shot up their sharp heads in a stately pride, For whose glad sight he gets the hatches under, And not a bynding ozyer bow'd his head, And to the ocean tels his joys in thunder,

But ou his roote him bravely carryed. (Shaking those barnacles into the sea,

No dandling leafe plaid with the subtilt ayre, At once, that in the wombe and cradle lay)

So smooth the sea was, and the skye so fayre. When sotainly the still inconstant winde

Now with his hands, instead of broad-palm’d Masters before, that did attend behinde;

oares, And growes so violent, that he is faine

The swaine attempts to get the shell-strewed stores Command the pilot stand to sea againe ;

And with continuall lading making away, Least want of sea-roome in a channel streight,

Thrusts the small boate into as fayre a bay Or casting anchor might cast o'er his freight : As ever merchant wisht might be the rode Thus, gentle Muse, it happens in my song,

Wherein to ease his sea-torne vessel's lode: A journey, tedious, for a strength so yong,

It was an iland, (hugg'd in Neptune's armes, I undertook : by silver-seeming floods,

As tending it against all forraigne barmes) Past gloomy bottomes, and high-waving woods, And Mona hight: so'amiably fayre, Climbid mountaines, where the wanton kidling

So rich in soyle, so healthfull in her ayre, dallyes,

So quicke in her encrease, (each dewy night Then with soft steps enseal'd the meekned valleys, Yeelding that ground as greene, as fresh of plight'

As't was the day before, whereon then fed What wretch inhumané, or what wilder bload,
Of gallant steeres full many a thousand head.) (Suckt in a desert from a tiger's brood)
So deckt with floods, so pleasant in her groves, Could leave her so disconsolate? but one
So full of well-fleec'd flockes and fatned droves; Bred in the wastes of frost-Wit Calydon;
That the brave issue of the Trojan line, [sbine) For had his veynes beene heat with milder ayre,
(Wbose worths, like diamonds, yet in darknesse He had not wrong'd so foule, a maide so faire.
Whose deeds were sung by learned bards as hye, Sing on, sweet Muse, and whilst I feed mine eyes
In raptures of immortall poesie,

Upon a jewell of unvalued prize,
As any nation's, since the Grecian lads

As bright as starre, a dame as faire, as chaste Were famous made by Homer's Iliads.

As eye behold, or shall, till Nature's last.
Those brave heroicke spirits, 'twixt one another Charme her quicke senses! and with raptures sweet
Proverbially call Mona Cambria's mother'. Make her affection with your cadence meet!
Yet Cambria is a land from whence have come And if her gracefull tongue admire one straine,
Wurthies well worth the race of Hium ;

It is the best reward my pipe would gaine.
Whose true desert of praise could my Muse touch, In lieu whereof, in laurell-worthy rymes
I should be proud that I had done so much. Her love shall live until the end of times,
And though of mighty Brute I cannot boast, And spite of age, the last of days shall see
Yet doth our warlike strong Deuonian coast Her name embalm'd in sacred poesie.
Resound his worth, since on her ware-worne strand Sadly alone upon the aged rocks,
He and his Trojans first set foot on land,

Whom Thetis grac'd in washing oft their locks Strooke sajle, and anchor east on Totnes' shore, Of branching sampire, sate the maid o'ertaken Though now no ship can ride there any more. With sighes and teares, unfortunate, forsaken ;

In th' iland's rode the swaine now moares his And with a voyce that floods from rocks would Unto a willow, (least it outwards floate) [hoate borrow, And with a rude embracement taking up

She thus both wept and sung her noates of sorrow. The maid (more faire than she : that fill'd the cup “ If Heaven be deafe, and will not heare my cryes, of the great thunderer, wounding with her eyes But adds new dayes to add new miseries; More harts than all the troopes of deities.) Heare, then, ye troubled waves and fitting gales, He wades to shore, and sets her on the sand, That coole the bosomes of the fruitfull vales ! That gently yeelded when her foot should land. Lend, one, a flood of teares, the other winde, Where bubling waters tlirough the pibbles Neet, To weepe and sigh that Heaven is so unkinde! As if they strove to kisse her slender fect.

But if ye will not spare, of all your store, Whilst like a wretch, whose cursed band bath One teare, or sigh, unto a wretch so poore; The sacred reliques from a holy phane, (tane Yet, ye travell on this spatious round, Feeling the hand of Heaven (inforeing wonder) Thro’ forrests, mountaines, or the lawny ground, In his returne, in dreadful cracks of thunder, If 't happ' you see a maide weepe forth ber woe, Within a bush his sacriledge hath left,

As I have done ; oh! bid her, as ye goe, And thinkes his punishment freed with the theft : Not lavish teares! for when her own are gone, So fled the swajne, from one, had Neptune spido The world is flinty, and will lend her none. At balfe an ebbe, he would have forc'd the tyde If this be eke denyde, O hearken then, To swell anew; whereon his carre should sweepe, Each hollow vaulted rocke, and crooked den ! Deckt with the riches of th’ unsounded deepe, And if within your sides one eccho be, And be from thence would with all state on shore, Let her begin to rue my destinie ! To wooe this beautic, and to wooe no more. And in your clefts her plainings doe not smother, Divine Electra, (of the sisters seven

But let that eccho teach it to another! That beantifie the glorious orbe of Heaven) Til round the world in sounding coombe and plaine, When llium's stately tow ros serv'd as one light The last of thein tell it the first againe : To gnide the ravisher in ugly night

Of my sad faté so shall they never lin, Unto her virgin bed, with-drew her face,

But where one ends another still begin. And never would looke down on humane race Wretch that I am! my words I vainely waste, Til this maid's birth; since when some power hath Eccho, of all woes, onely speakes the last ; non her

And that's enough : for should she utter all, By often fits to shine, as gazing on her.

As at Medusa's head, each beart would fall Grim Saturne's sonne, the dread Olimpicke Jove, Into a fioty substance, and repine That dark't three days to frolicke with his love, At no one griefe, except as great as mine. Had he in Alcmen's stead chipt this faire wight, No carefull nurse would wet her watchfull eye, The world had slept in everlasting night.

When any pang should gripe her infantry; For whose sake onely (had she lived then) Nor though to Nature it obedience gave, Deucalion's floud had never rag'd on men:

And kneel'd, to do her homage, in the grave Nar Phaëton perform'd his father's duty,

Would she lament her suckling from her torne : For fear to rob the world of such a beauty : Scaping by death those torments I have borne.” In whose due praise, a learned quill might spend This sigh’d, she wept, (low leaning on her hand) Houres, dayes, months, yeeres, and never make Her briny terres downe rayning on the sand, an end.

Which seene by (thern, that sport it in the seas

On dolphins' backes) the fair Nereides, 1 Mom Mam Kumbry.

They came on shore, and slily as they fell * Petunt classem omnibus bonis onustam, pros Convaid each teare into an oyster-shell ; peris ventis mare sulcantes, in Totenesio littore feliciter applicarunt. Galf. Monum. • Hehe.

* Which turned the beholders into stone

And by some power that did affect the girles, For who by death is in a true friend crost,
Transform'd those liquid Jrops to oryent pearles, Till he be earth he halfe himselfe hath lost.
And strew'd them on the shore: for whose rich prize More happy deeme I thee, lamented swaine,
in winged pines the Roman colonies

Whose body. Iyes among the scaly traine,
Fluag thro' the deep abysse to our white rockes, Since I shall never thinke that thou canst dye,
For jems to decke their ladyes' golden lockes : Whilst Willy lives, or any poetry.
Who valev'd them as highly in their kindes For well it seemes in versing he hath skill,
As those the sun-burnt Æthiopian findes.

And though he (ayded from the sacred bill) Long on the shore distrest Marina lay:

To thee with him nd equall life can give, For he that opes the pleasant sweets of May, Yet by his pen thou maist for ever live." Beyond the noonstead so farre drove his teame, With this, a beame of sudden brightnes ilyes That harvest-folkes (with curds and clouted creame, Upon her face, so dazeling her cleare eyes, With cheese and butter, cakes, and cates ynow, That neyther Bower nor grasse, which by her grew, That are the yeoman's from the yoake or cowe) She could discerne cloath'd in their perfect lue. On sheafes of come were at their noonshun's close, For as a wag (to sport with such as passe) Whilst by them merrily the bag pipe goes : Taking the sun-beames in a looking-glasse, Fre from her hand she lifted up her head,

Convays the ray into the eyes of one Where all the Graces then inhabited.

Who (blinded) eyther stuinbles at a stone, When casting round her over-drowned eyes, Or, as he dazeled walkes the peopled streets, (So have I seene a jemme of mickle price

Is ready justling every man he meets: Roule in a scallop shell with water fil'd)

So then Apollo did in glory cast Sbe, on a marble rocke at hand, behild,

His bright beames on a rocke with gold enchast, la characters deepe cut with iron stroke,

And thence the swift reflection of their light A shepheard's moane, which read by her, thus Blinded those eyes, the chiefest starres of night. 'spoke :

When streight'a thicke-swolne cloud (as if it souglit " Glide soft, ye silver floods,

In beautie's minde to have a thankfull thought) And every spring :

Invayl'd the lustre of great Titan's carre, Within the shady woods,

And she be held, from whence she sate not farre, Let no bird sing!

Cut on a high-brow'd rocke, (inlaid with gold) Nor from the grove a turtle dove

This epitaph, and read it, thus enrold: Be seene to couple with her love,

In depth of waves long hath Alexis slept, But silence on each dale and mountainc dwell, So choicest jewels are the closest kept; Wailst Willy bids his friend and joy farewell.

Whose death the land had seene, but it appeares “ But (of great Thetis' trayne)

To countervaile his losse, men wanted teares. Ye mermaides faire,

So here helyes, whose dirge each mermaid sings, That on the shores do plaine

For whoin the clouds weepe raine, the Earth her Your sea-greene haire,

springs.” As ye in tramels knit your locks,

Her eyes these lines acquainted with her minde Weepe ye; and so inforce the rocks

Had scarcely made; when, o'er the hill behinde, In heavy murmurs through the broad shores tell, She heard a woinan cry: “Ah, well a-day! How Willy bad his friend and joy farewell. What shall I do? Goe home, or flye, or stay?"

Admir'd Marina rose, and with a pace “ Cease, cease, ye murmuring winds,

As gracefull as the goldesses did trace
To inove a wave;

O'er stately Ida, (when fond Paris' doome'
But if with troubled minds

Kindled the fire should mighty Troy entoombe)
You secke bis grave,

She went to aido the woman in distresse,
Know, 'uis as various as yourselves,
Now in the deepe, then on the shelves,

(True beauty never was found mercilesse)

Yet durst she not goe nye, least (being spide) His coffin toss'd by fish and surges fell,

Somc villaine's outrage, that miglit then betyde Whilst Willy wcepes, and bids all joy farewell.

(For aught she knew) unto the crying maide, “ Had be, Arion like,

Might graspe with her: by thickets, which array'd Beene judg'd to drowne,

The high sea-bouuding hill, so neare she went, He on his lute could strike

She saw. what wight inade such lowd dreriment. So rare a swon',

Lowd? yes: sung right for since the azure skye A thousand dolphins would have come,

Imprison'd first the world, a mortal's cry And joynily strive to bring lviin home.

With greater clangor never piered the ayre. But he on ship-board dyde, by sicknesse fell, A wight she was so farre from being faire, Siace when bis Willy bad all joy farewell.

None could be foule esteem’d, compar'd with her.

Describing foulnes, pardon if I erre, “Great Neptune, heare a swairie !

Ye shepheards daughters, and ye gentle swaines ! His coffin take,

My Muse would gladly chaunt more lorely straines: And with a golden chaine

Yet since on miry gromds she trode, for doubt (for pittie) make

Of sinking, all in haste, thus wades she out: It fast unto a rock neere land !

As when great Neptune, in his beight of pride, Where ev'ry calmy morne J'le stand,

The inland creeks Gis with a high spring-tyde, And ere one sheepe out of my fold I tell,

Great sholes of fish, among the oysters hye, Sad Willy's pipe shall bid his friend farewell.”

Which, by a quicke ebbe, on the shores, left dry, " Ah, beavy shepheard ! who so ere thou be,” Quoth faire Marina, "I do pitty thee:

-The judgmeat of Paris

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