Sivut kuvina

And could have wish'd the nymphs backe, but for | Streames swiftly çliding, and them brings along feare

[there. To further just revenge for so great wrong, His love might come and chance to finde them His current till that day was never knowne ; To passe the time at last he thus began

But as a meade in July, which unmowne (Unto a pipe join`d by the art of Pan)

Beares in an equall height each bent and stem, To prayse his lore: bis hasty waves among Unlcsse some gentle gale doe play with them. The frothed rockes, bearing the under-song.

Now runs it with such fury and such rage

That mighty rockes' opposing rassalage “ ' As carefull merchants doe expecting stand Are from the firtn earth rent and overborne (After long tyme and merry gales of wynde) In fords were pibbles lay secure beforne. Upon the place where their brave ship must Loud cataracts, and fearefull roarings now So walte I for the vessel of my minde. [land Affright the passenger ; upon his brow

Continuall bubbles like compelled drops; " • Upon a great adventure is it bound,

And where (as now and then) he makes short stope Whose safe return will vallu'd be at more

In little pooles, drowning his voice too hie, Than all the wealthy prizes which have crown'd

"Tis where he thinks he heares his Walla cry. The gulden wishes of an age before.

Yet vain was all his haste, bending a way “Out of the east jewels of worth she brings,

Too much declining to the southern sea, Th' unvalu'd diamond of her sparkling eye

Since she had turned thence, and now begun Wants in the treasures of all Europe's kings,

To crosse the brave path of the glorious Sun. And were it mine they nor their crownes should

“There lyes a vale extended to the north buy.

Of Tavy's streame, which (prodigall) sends forth

In autumne more rare fruits than have beene spent «"The saphires ringed on her panting brest,

In any greater plot of fruitfull Kent. Run as rich veynes of ore about the mold, Two high brow'd rockes on eyther side begin, And are in sicknesse with a pale possest, As with an arch to close the vally in, So true; for them I should disvalue gold. Upon their rugged fronts short writhen oakes "" The melting rubyes on her cherry lip

Untouch'd of any feller's banefull stroakes,

The ivy, twisting round their barkes, hath fed Are of such powre to hold ; that as one day

Past time wylde goates which no man followed, Cupid few thirstie by, he stoop'd to sip And fast'ned there could never get away:

Low ju the valley some small herds of deere,

For head and fuotmanship withouten peere «« « The sweets of Candy are no sweets to ine Fed undisturb’d. The swaines that thereby thriv'd, When hers 1 taste; nor the perfumes of price By the tradition from their sires deriv'd, Rob'd from the happy shrubs of Araby,

Call'd it sweet Ina's coombe: but whether she As her sweet breath, so powerfull to intice. Were of the earth or greater progeny ** • hasten then! and if thou be not gone

Judge by her deedes ; once this is truely knowne, Loto that wicked trafficke through the mayne,

She many a time hath on a bugle blowne,

And through the dale pursu'd the jolly chase, My powerfull sighes shall quickly drive thee on,

As she had bid the winged windes a base. And then begin to draw thee back againe.

“ Pale and distracted hither Walla runs, If in the meave rude waves have it opprest, As closely follow'd as she hardly shuns; It shall sufhce I venter'd at the best

Her mantle off, her bayre now too unkinde

Almost betray'd her with the wanton winde. “ Scarce bad he given a period to his lay

Breathlesse and faint she now some drops discloses, When from a wood (wherein the eye of day As in a linbec the kinde sweate of roses, Jlad long a stranger becne, and Phube's light

Such hang upon her brest and on her cheekes; Vainely contented with the shades of nigh!,) Or like the pearles which the tand Æthiop' seekes. One of those wanton nymphes that woo'd him late

The satyre (spur'd with lust) still gettetle grond, Came crying tow'rds him; 'Othon most ingrate, And longs to see his damn'd intention crosu'd. Respectlesss flood!' canst thou here idly sit?

“ As when a greyhound (of the rig test straine) And loose desires to looser numbers fit?

Let slip to some poore bare upon the plaine ; Teaching the agre to court thy carelesse brooke,

He for his prey strives; t'other for her life, Whilst thy poor Walla's cryės the bils have

And one of these or none must end the strife: shooke

Now seemes the dog by speed and goot at bearing With an amazed terrour: heare! O beare!

To have her sure; the other ever fearing, A hundred cochos shriking (very where!

Maketh a sodaine turne, and doth def rre See how the frightfull heards run froin the woud; The bound a while from so near reaching her : Walla, alas, as she to crown her flood

Yet being fetcht againe and almost tane {bane : Attended the composure of sweet flowres,

Doubting (since touch'd of bim) she scapes her Was by a lust-fir'd satyre 'mong our bowres So of these two the minded races were, Well-neere surpriz'd, but that she hiin discryde

For hope the one made swift, the other feare. Before his rude embracerent could betyde.

" . if there be a powre' (quoth Walla then Now but her fuete no helpe, unlesse her cryes Keeping her earnest course) 'oreswaying mea A necdfull ayd draw from the deities.'

and their desires! O let it now be showne " It needlesse was to bid the flood pursue, Upon this satyre halfe-part earthly knowne. Anger gare wings; wayes that he never knew What I have hitberto with so much care Till now, he treads; through dels and hidden

Kept undefiled, spotlesse, white and faire, brakes

(takes What in all speech of love I still reserv'd, Flyes through the meadowes, each where over And from its hazard ever gladly swervids

be it now untouch'd! and may no force

Hare famous beene through all the westerne plaines, That happy jewell from my selfe devorce ! In being guiltlessę of the lasting staines I that have ever held all women be

Pourd on by lust and murther: keepe them free! Void of all worth if wanting chastitie ;

Turn me to stone, or to a barked tree, And who so any lets that best Aowre pull,

Unto a bird, or flowre, or aught forlerne; She might be faire, bat never beautifull:

So I may die as pure as I was borne.' O let me not forgoe it! strike me dead !

• Swift are the prayers and of speedy haste, Let on these rockes iny limbes be scattered ! That take their wings from hearts so pure and Burne me to ashes with some powerfull name,

chaste. And in mine owne dust bury mine owne name,

And what we aske of Heaven it still appeares Rather then let me live and be defil'de.

More plaine to it in mirrours of our teares.' "Chastest Diana! in the desarts wilde Approv'd in Walla. When the satyre rude Have I so long thy truest handmaid beene? Had broke the dore in two, and gan intrude Upon the rougli rocke gronnd thine arrowes keene, with steps prophane into that sacred cell, Hare I (to make thee crownes) beene gath'ring still Where oft (as I have heard our shepheards tell) Faire-cheekt Etesia's yealow cammomnill ?

Fayre (na usde to rest from Phæbus' ray:
And sitting by thee on our flow'ry beds

She, or some other, having heard her pray,
Knit thy torne buck-stals with well-twisted threds, loto a fountain turn'd ber; and now rise
To be forsaken? O now present be

Such streames out of the cave, that they surprise If not to save, yet helpe to ruin me!

The satyre with such force and so great din, “• If pure virginity have heretofore

That quenching his life's flame as well as sinne, By the Olyinpicke powres beene honour'd more They rould him through the dale with inighty Than other states; and gods have beene dispos'd And made him Aye that did pursue before. (rore, To inake them knowne to us, and still disclos'd “ Not farre beneath i'th' valley as she trends To the chaste hearing of such nymphes as we Her silver streaine, some wood-nymphes and ber Many a secret and deepe misterie;

That follow'd to her ayde, beholding how (friends If none can lead, without celestiall ayde,

d brooke came gliding where they saw but now Th’immaculate and pure life of a raide,

Some heards were feeding, wondred whence it Olet not then the powres all good divine

Untill a nymph, that did attend the game (came, Permit vile lust to soile this brest of mine!' In that sweet valley, all the processe told,

“ Thus cryde she as she ran : and looking backe, Which from a thick-leav'd tree she did behold: Whether ber hot pursuer did aught slacke

See,' quoth the nymph, where the rude satyre His former speede; she spies him not at all, Cast on the grasse; as if she did despise [lyes And somewhat thereby checr'd gan to recall To have her pare waves soyl'd (with such as he) Her nye fed hapes : yet fearing he might lye Retayning still the love of puritie.' Neere some crosse path to worke his villanie,

“ To Tavy's christall streame her waters goe And being weary, knowing it was vaine,

As if some secret power ordayned so ; To hope for safety by her feet againe,

And as a maide she lov'd him, so a brooke She sought about where she herself might lide. To his imbracements onely her betooke.

"A hollow vaulted rocke at last she spide, Where growing on with him, attajn'd the state About whose sides so many bushes were,

Which none but Hymen's bonds can imitate. She thought securely she inight rest her there. “ On Walla's brooke her sisters now bewayle, Farre under it a cave, whose entrance streight l'or whom the rockes spend teares when others favle, Clos’d with a stone-wrought doore of no meane

And all the woods ring with their piteous mones : Yet from itselfe the gemels beaten so [weight : Which Tavy hearing, as he chid the stones, That little strength could thrust it to and fro. That stopt his speedy course, raising his head

" Thither she came, and being gotten in Inquir'd the cause, and thus was answered ; Barr'd fast the darke cave with an iron pin.

• Walla is now no more. Nor from the hill “ The satyre follow'd, for his cause of stay Will she more plucke for thee the daffadill, Was not a minde to leave her, but the way Nor make sweet anadems to gird thy brow : Sharpe stond and thorny, where he pass'd of late, Yet in the grove she runs ; a river pow. (swaines Had cut his cloven foot, and now his gate

“ Looke as the feeling plant " which (learned Was not so speedy, yet by chance he sees, Relate to grow on the East Indian plaines) Through some small glade that ran between the Shrinkes up his dainty leaves, if any sand trees,

You throw thereon, or touch it with your band : Where Walla went. And with a slower pace,

So with the chance the heavy wood-nymphs told, Fir'd with hot blood, at last attain'd the place. The river (inly touch'd) began to fold

“When like a fearefull hare within her forme, His armes acrosse, and (while the torrent raves) Hearing the hounds come like a tbreatning storine, Shrunke his grave head beneath his silver waves. In full cry on the walke where last she trode,

“ Since when he never on his bankes appeares Doubts to tread there, yet dreads to goe abroad :

But as one franticke : when the clouds spend teares, So Walla far'd. But since he was come nye

He thinkes they of his woes compassion take, And by an able strength and industry

1 And not a spring but weepes for Walla's sake)
Sought to breake in; with teares anew she fell And then he often (to bemone her lacke)
To urge the powres that on Olympus dwell. Like to a mourper goes, his waters blacke,
And then to Ina call'd: O if the roomes,

And every brooke attending in his way,
The walkes and arbours in these fruitfull coombes. For that time meets him in the like array,"

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Here Willie that time ceas'd; and I a while. Yet when I shall returne, I'le strive to draw For yonler's Roget comming o're the stile, The nymphs by 'Thamar, Tavy, Ex and Tan, 'Tis two dares since I saw him (and you wonder, By Turridge, Otter, Ock, by Dert and Plym, You'le say, that we late beene so long asunder) With all the Nayades that fish and swim I thinke the lovely learesse of the dell

In their cleare streames, to these our rising That to an oaten quill can sing so well, [them,


(crownes, Is she that's with him: I must needes goe meet Where while they make us chaplets, wreaths, and And if some other of you rist' to greet them, lle tine my reede mito a higher key, "Twere not annsse; the day is now so long (And have already cond some of the lay.) That I cre night may end another song.

Wherein (as Mantua by her Virgil's birth,
And Thames by him that sung her nuptiall


You may be knowne (though not in equall pride) BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.

As faire as Tiber throwes his swelling tide.

And by a shephcard (feeling on your plaines)

In humble, lowly, plaine, and ruder straines,
Heare your worthis challenge other floods among,
To have a period equall with their song.

Where Plym and Thamar with imbraces meet, The Cornish swaines and British bard,

Thetis weighes ancor now, and all her feet; Thetis hath with atte:;tiou heard.

Leaving that spacious sound', within whose armes And after meetcs an aged man

I have those vessels seene, whose hote alarmes That te's the haplesse love of Pan:

Hare made Iberia tremble, and her towres

Prostrate theinselves before our iron showres.
And why the fiorkes (loe live so free
From wolves within rich Britainy.

While their proud builders' hearts have beene


To shake (as our brave ensignes) with the wynde. Looke as a lover with a lingring kisse

For as an eyerie from their seeges wood, About to part with the best balfe that's his, Led o're the playnes and taught to get their food, Faine wonld he say but that he feares to doe it, By seeing how their breeder takes his

prey, And curseth time for so fast hastning to it;

Now from an orchard doe they scare the jey, Now takes his leave, and yet begins anew

Then ore the corne-fields as they swiftly Bye, To make lesse sows than are esteemed trie, Where many thousand hurtfull sparrowes lye Then sayes he must be gone, and then doth finde Beating the ripe graine from the bearded eare, Something he should have spoke that's out of At their approach, all (overgone with feare) minde,

Seeke for their safety; some into the dyke, And whilst he stands to looke for't in her eyes, Some in the hedgcs drop, and others like Their sad.sweet glance so tye his faculties,

The thicke-growne corne; as for their biding best, To thinke from wbat he parts, that he is now And under turfes or grasse most of the rest; As farre from leaving her, or knowing how,

That of a flight which cover'd all the graine, As when he came; begins his former straine, Not one appeares, but all or bid or slaine: To kisse, to vow, and take his leave againe, So by heroes were we led of yore, Then turnes, comes backe, sighes, parts, and yet And by our drummes that thundred on each shore,

Stroke with amazement, countries farre and neere; Apt to retyre and loath to leave her so; Whilst their inhabitants, like heards of deere Brave streame, so part I from thy flowry bancke, By kingly lyons chas'd, fled from our armes. Where first I breath'd, and (thongh unworthy) If any did oppose, instructed starmes dianke

Of men immayl’d: Fate drew thein on to be Those sacr«d waters which the Muses bring A greater fame to our got victory, To woo Britannia to their ceaslesse spring.

But now our leaders want, those vessels lye Now would I on, but that the christall'wels, Rotting, like houses through ill husbandry, The fertill meadowes, and their pleasing smels, And on their masts, where oft the ship-boy stood, The woods delightfull and the scatt’red groves, Or silver trumpets charm'd the brackish flood, (Where many nymphes walke with their chaster Some wearyed crow it set; and daily seene Joves)

[sonne? | Their sides, instead of pitch, calk'd ore with Soone make me stay: and think that Ordgar's

greene: (Admonishi'd by a heavenly vision)

Ill hap (alas) have you that once were knowne Not without cause did that apt fabricke reare, By reaping what was by Iberia sowne, (Wherein we nothing now but cechoes heare, By bringing yealow sheares from out their plaine, That wont with heavenly anthemes daily ring, Making our barnes the store-house for their And duest praises to the greatest king)

When now as if we wanted land to till, [graine; In this choise plot. Since he could light upon

Wherewith we might our uselesse souldiers fill: No place so fit for contemplation.

Upon the hatches where halfe-pikes were borne Though I awhile must leave this happy soyle,

In every chincke rise stems of bearded corne: And follow Thetis in a pleasing toyle;

Mocking our idle times that so have wrought ns,

Or putting us in minde what once they brought us. I Vide de amanitate loci Malmesb. 2 lib. de gest. Pontif. fol. 140.

Spenser. 2 Ordulphus. He founded, at Tarystocke in * Fairie queene, b. iy. ch. 11, Devon, St. Mary, and St. Burion, A. D. 961. Plymouth,

doth goe,

Beare with me, slepheards, if I doe digresse, Nor lend her choiser balme to worthlesse men, And speake of what ourselves doe not professo: Whose names would die but for some hired pen; Cau I bebold a man that in the field,

No: if I praise, vertue shall draw me to it,
Or at a breach hath taken on his shield

And not a base ; rocurement make me doc it.
More darts than ever Romanes; that hath spent What now I sing is but to passe away
Many a cold Decenber, in no lent (beene A tedious houre, as some musitians play;
But such as earth and heaven make; that hath Or make another my owne griefes bemone;
Except in iron plates not long time setule;

Or to be least alone when most alone.
Upon whose body inay be plainely told

In this can I, as oft as I will choose, More wounds than his lan ke purse doch almesdeeds Hug sweet content by my retyred Muse, hold;

And in a study finde as much to please O! can I see this man (adventring all)

As utbers in the greatest pallaces. Be onely grae'd with sorne poore hospitall, Each man that lives (according to his powre) Or may be worse, intreating at his doore

On what he loves bestowes an idle howre; For some reliefe whom he secur'd before,

Instead of hounds that make the wooded hils. And yet not show my griefe? First may I learne Talke in a buodred voyces to the rils, To see and yet forget how to discerne;

Like the pleasing cadence of a line My hands neg.ccifull be at any need

Strucke by the concert of the sacred Nine. Or to defend my body or to feed,

In lieu of hawkes, the raptures of my soule Ere Lrespect those tiines that rather give him Transcend their pitch and baser earth's controule, Hundreds to punish, than one to relieve hiin. For running horses, contemplation filyes As in an evening when the gentle ayre

With quickest speed to winne the greatest prize. Breathes to the sullen night a soft repayre, For courtly dancing I can take more pleasure I oft have set on Thames' sweet bancke to heare To heare a verse keepe time and equall measure. My friend with his sweet touch to charme mine For winning riches, seeke the best directions eare,

How I may well subdue mine owne affections. When he hath plaid (as well he can) some strajne For raysing stately pyles for heyres to come, That likes me, streight I aske the same againe, Here in this poem ( erect my tombe. And he as gladly granting, strikes it o're

And time may be so kinde, in these weake lives With some sweet relish was forgot before: To keepe my name enroll'd, past bis, that shines I would have beene content if he would play, In guilded marble, or in brazen leaves : (ceives. In that one straine to passe the night away; Since verse preserves when stone and brasse deBut fearing much to do his patience wrong, Orif (as worthlesse) time not lets it live l'nwillingly have ask'd some other song:

To those full dayes which others' Muses give, So in this diffring key though I could well

Yet I am sure I shall be heard and sung A many houres but as few ininutes tell,

Of most severest eld, and kinder young Yet least mine owne delight might injure you Beyond my dayes, and maugre Envye's strife (Though loath so soone) I take my song anew. Adde to my name sone houres beyond my life.

Yet as when I with other swaines have beene Such of the Muses are the able powres, Invited by the maidens of our greene

And, since with them I spent my vacant houres, To wend to yonder wood, in time of yeare

I find nor bawke, nor hound, por other thing, . When cherry-trees inticing burdens beare, Turnyes nor revels, pleasures for a king, He that with wreathed legs doth upwards goe, Yeeld more delight; for I have oft possest Pluckes not alone for those which stand below; As much in this as all in all the rest, But now and then is seene to picke a few

And that without expence, when others oft To please bimselfe as well as all his crew:

With their undoings have their pleasures bought, Or if from where he is he doe espie

On now, my loved Muse, and let us bring
Some apricock upon a bough thereby,

Thetis to heare the Cornish' Michael sing;
Which overhangs the tree on wbich he stands, And after him to see a swaine 8 unfold
Climbes up and strives to take it with his bands: The tragedie of Drake in leaves of gold.
So if to please myself I somewhat sing,

Then heare another Greenvil's Dame relate,
Let it not be to you less pleasuring;

Which times succeeding shall perpetuate. No thirst of glory tempts me: for my straines

And make those two the pillers great of fame, Befit poore shepheards on the lowly plaines; Beyond whose worths shall never sound a name. The hope of riches cannot draw from me

Nor honour in ber everlasting story One line that tends to servile Natterie,

More deeper grare for all ensuing glory. Nor shall the most in titles on the earth

Now Thetis stayes to heare the shepheards tell Blemisb my Muse with an adulterate birth Where Arthur met his death, and Mordred fell. Nor make me lay pure colours on a ground Of holy Ursula (that fam'd ber age) Where nought substantiall can be ever found. With other virgins in her pilgrimage. No; such as sooth a base and dunghill spirit, And as she forwards steeres is showne the rocke With attributes fit for the most of merit

Maine-Amber, to be shooke with weakest shocke, Cloud their free Muse; as when the Sup doth shine So equall is it poyz'd; but to remove On straw and dirt mixt by the sweating hyne, All strength would faile, and but an infant's It nothing gets from heaps so much impure,

prove. But noysotne steames that doe his light obscure. Thus while to please her some new songs devise, --My free-borne Muse will not like Danae, be And others diamonds (shaped angle-wise, Wonne with base drosse to clip with slavery;

? See Camden's Remains, p. 7, and 335. M. Scera.

• Charles Fitz-Geoffry.

And smooth'd by Nature, as she did impart Then with her thankes and praises for their skill Some willing time to trim herselfe by Art)

Io tuning numbers of the sacred hill, Sought to present her and her happy crew:

She them dismist in their contented coates : She of the Gulfe and Syllies tooke a view:

And every swaine a severall passage flaates And doubling then the point, made on away Upon his dolphin. Since whose safe repayre, Tow'rds goodly Severne and the Irish Sea, Those fishes like a well compose:1 a yre, There meets a shepheard that began sing o're And (as in love to men) are ever seene, The lay which aged Robert 'sung of yore,

Before a tempest's rough regardlesse teene, lo praise of England, and the deeds of swaines To swim high on the wares: as none should dare, That whilome fed and rul'd npon our plaines. Excepting fishes, to adventure there. The British bards were not then long time mute, When these had left her, she drave on, in pride, But to their sweet harps sung their famous Brute: | Her prouder courses through the swelling tyde, Striving in spight of all the inists of eld

To view the Cambrian cliffes, and had not gone To have his story more aytenticque held.

An houre's full speede, but necre a rocke (whereon Why should we envy them those wreaths of Congcaled frost and snow in summer lay, Being as proper to the Troyan name [fame? Seldome dissolved by Hyperion's ray) As are the dainty flowres which Flora spreads She saw a troope of people take their seate, Unto the Spring in the discoloured meads. Whereof some wrung their hands, and some did Rather afford them all the worth we may,

beate For what we give to them adds to our ray.

Their troubled brests, in signe of mickle woe, And, Brittons, thinke not that your glories fall, For those are actions griefe inforceth to. Derived from a meane originall;

(darke | Willing to know the cause, somewhat neere hand Since lights that may have powre to checke the "She spyes an aged man sit by the strand, Can have their lustre from the smallest sparke. Upon a green hill side, (not meapely crown'd “ Not from nobilitie doth vertue spring,

With golden flowres, as chiefe of all the ground) But vertue makes fit nobles for a king.

Ey bio, a little lad, his cunning's heyre, From highest nests are croaking ravens borne, Tracing greene roshes for a winter chayre. When sweetest nightingales sit in the thorne." The old man, while his sonne full neatly knits From what low fount soe're your beings are,

them, (In softer peace and mighty brunts of warre) Unto his worke begun, as trimly fits them. Your owne worths challenge as triumphant bayes Both so intending what they first propounded, As ever Trojan hand had powre to raise.

As all their thoughts by what they wrought were And when I leave my musicke's plainer ground

bounded, The world shall know it from Bellona's sound, To them she came, and kindly thus bespake: Nor shall I erre from truth; for what I write Ye happy creatures, that your pleasures take She doth peruse, and helpes me to indite.

In what your needes inforce, and never ayme The small converse which I have had with some A limitlesse desire to what may maime Branches, which from those gallant trees have The setled quiet of a peacefull state, çome,

Patience attend your labours. And when fate Doth, what I sing, in all their acts approve, Brings on the restfull night to your long dayes, And with more days increase a further love. Wend to the fields of blisse! Thus Thetis prayes. » As I have seene the lady of the May

Fayre queene, to whom all dutious prayse Set in an arbour (on a boly-day) Built by the May-pole, where the jocund swaives Since from thy spacious cesterne daily flow," Dance with the maidens to the bagpipe's straines, (Reply'd the swajne) “refreshing streames that fill When envious night commands them to be gone, Earth's dugs (the hillockes) so preserving still Call for the merry yongsters one by one,

The infant grasse, when else our lambes might And for their well performance soone disposes,


(eate, To this a garland interwove with roses;

In vaine for sucke, whose dams have nought to To that a carved hooke, or well-wrought scrip, For these thy prayers we are doubly bound, Gracing another with her cherry lip;

And that these cleves shonld know; but, 0, to To one her garter, to another then

My often mended pipe presumption vere, (sound A bandkerchiefe cast o're and o’re agen;

Since Pan would play if thou would please to heare. And none returneth empty that hath spent The louder bla:ts which I was wont to blow His paynes to fill their rurall merriment;

Are now but faint, nor doe my fingers know So Nereus' daughter, when the swaines had done, To touch halfe parte those merry tunes I had. With an unsparing liberall hand begun

Yet if thou please to grace my little lad To give to every one that sung before,

With thy attention, he may somewhat strike Rich prient pearles brought from her bidden store, which thou from one so young maist chance to Red branching corrall, and as precious jems

like." As ever beautifide the diadems:

[betide, With that the little shepheard left his taske, That they might live, what chance their sheepe And with a blush (the roses only maske) On her reward, yet leave their beyres beside, Denyde to sing. “Ah father," (quoth the boy) Since when I thinke the world doth nothing give “ How can I tune a seeming note of joy? them,

The worke which you command me, I intend As weening Thetis ever should relieve them, Scarce with a halfe-bent minde, and therefore And poets freely spend a golden showre,

In doing little, now, an houre or two, [spend As they expected her againe each houre,

Which I in lesser time could neater doe.

As oft as I with my inore nimble joynts
Robert of Gloucester:

Trace the sharpe rushes' ends, I minde the points

we owe,

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