Sivut kuvina

Which Philocel did give; and when I brush To plucke the speckled fox-gloves from their stem,
The pritty tuft that growes beside the rush, And on those fingers neatly placed them,
I never can forget (in yonder layre)

The honey-suckles would he often strip,
How Philocel was wont to stroake my bayre. And lay their sweetnesse on her sweeter lip:
No more shall I be tane unto the wake,

And then, as in reward of such his paine,
Nor wend a fishing to the winding lake;

sip from those cherryes some of it againe. No more shall I be taught, on silver strings, Some say that Nature, while this lovely maide To learne the measures of our banquettings. Liv'd on our plaines, the teeming earth araide The twisted collers, and the ringing bels,

With damaske roses in each pleasant place, The morrice scarfes and cleanest drinking shels That men might liken somewhat to her face. Will never be renew'd by any one;

Others report: Venus, afraid her sonne Nor shall I care for more when he is gone.

Might love a mortall, as he once had done, See, yonder hill where he was wont to sit,

Prefer'd an earnest sute to highest Jove, A clond doth keepe the golden Sun from it, That he which bore the winged shafts of love And for his seate (as teaching us) hath made Might be debar'd his sight, which sure was sign'd, A mourning covering with a scowling shade. And ever since the god of love is blynde. The dew on every flowre, this mornc, hath laine Hence is't he shootes his shafts so cleane awry, Jonger than it was wont, this side the plaine, Men learne to love when they should learne ta Belike they meane, since my best friend must dye, And women, which before to love began [dye. To shed their silver drops as he goes by.

Man without wealth, love wealth without a man. Not all this day here, nor in coming hither,

“Great Pan of his kinde nymph had the im. Heard I the sweet birds tune their songs together,

bracing Except one nightingale in yonder dell,

Long, yet too short a time. For as in tracing Sigh'd a sad elegie for Philocel.

These pithfull rushes, such as are aloft, Neere whoin a wood-dove kept no small adoe, By those that rais'd them presently are brought To lid me in her language, ‘Doe so too;'

Beneath unseene: so in the love of Pan The weather's bell, that leads our flocke around, (For gods in love doe undergoe as man) Yeelds, as me thinkes, this day a deader sound. She, whose affection made him rayse his song, The little sparrowes, which in hedges creepe, And (for her sport) the satyres rude among Ere I was up, did seeme to bid me weepe.

Tread wilder measures, then the frolike guests, If these doe so, can I have feeling lesse,

That lift their light hecles at Lycus' feasts; That am more apt to take and to expresse? She, by the light of whose quicke-turning eye No: let my own tunes be the mandrake's grone, He never read but of felicitie. If now they tend to mirth when all have none." She whose assurance made him more than Pan,

“My pretty lad,” (quoth Thetis) “ thou dost Now makes him farre more wretched than a man, To feare the losse of thy deere Philocel, {well for mortals in their losse have death a friend, But tell me, sire, what may that shepheard be, When gods have losses, but their losse no end. Or if it lye in us to set him free,

“ It chanc'd one morne (clad in a robe of gray, Or if with you yond people touch'd with woe, And blushing oft as rising to betray) Under the selfe-same loade of sorrow goe." Intic'd this lovely maiden from her bed “ Faire queene,” (replyde the swaine) "" one is the (So when the roses have discovered cause

[drawes Their taintlesse beauties, Ayes the early bee
That inoves our griefe, and those kind shepheards About the winding allyes merrily)
To yonder rocke. 'Thy more than mortall spirit foto the wood : and 'twas her usuall sport,
May give a good beyond our powre to merit. Sitting where trost harmonious birds resort,
And therefore please to heare, while I shall tell, To imitate their warbling in a quill
The haplesse fate of hopelesse Philocel.

Wrought by the hand of Pan, which she did Gill
“Whilome great Pan, the father of our flockes, Halfe fall with water: and with it hath made
Lov'd a faire lasse so famous for her lockes, The nightingale (beneath a sullen shade)
That in ber time all women first begun

To chant her utmost'lay, nay, to invent To lay their looser tresses to the Sun,

New notes to passe the other's instrument, And theirs whose hew to hers was not agreeing, And (harmlesse soule) ere she would leave that Were still roll'd up as hardly worth the seeing. Sung her last song and ended with her life. (strife, Fondly have some beene led to thinke, that man So gladly choosing (as doe other some) Musicke's invention first of all began [know, Rather to dye than live and be o'ercome. From the dull hammer's stroke; since well we “ But as in autumne (when birds cease their From sure tradition that hath taught us so,

noates, l'an sitting once to sport him with his fayre, And stately forrests d'on their yealow coatex, Mark'd the intention of the gentle ayre, (along, When Ceres golden lockes are nearely shorne, In the yweet sound her chaste words brought And mellow fruit from trees are roughly torne) Fram'd by the repercussion of her tongue: A lịttle lad set on a bancke to sbale And from that harmony begun the art,

The ripened nuts pluck'd in a woody vale, Which others (though unjustly) doe impart Is frighted thence (of his deare life afeard) To bright Apollo, from a meaner ground,

By some wilde bull lowde bellowing for the heard: Å sledge or parched neryes; meane things to So wbile the nymph did earnestly contest found

Whether the birds or she recorded best, 80 rare an art on; when there might be given A ravenous wolfe, bent eager to his prey, All Earth for matter with the gyre of Heaven. Rush'd from a theevish brake, and making way, To keepe ber slender fingers from the Sunne, The twyned thornes did crackle one by one, Pan through the pastures oftentimes hath runne As if they gave her warning to be gone.

A rougher gale bent downe the lashing boughes, For brasse and marble, were they seated here,
To beate the beast from what his hunger vowes. Would fret or melt in teares to lye so neere.'
When she (amaz’d) rose from her haplesse seate
(Small is resistance where the feare is great) “ Now Pan may sit and tune lis pipe alone
And striving to be gone, with gaping jawes, Among the wisted shades, since she is gone
The wolfe pursues, and as his rending pawes Whose willing eare allur'd him more to play,
Were like to seise, a holly bent betweene,

Than if to heare him should Apollo stay. For wbich good deede his leaves are ever greene. Yet happy Pan! air) in thy love more blest, “Saw you a lusty mastive, at the stake,

Whom vone but ouely death hath disspoesest; Throwne from a cunning bull, more fiercely make While others love as well, yet live to be A quicke returne; yet to prevent the goare, Lesse wrong'd by fate than by inconstancy. Or deadly bruize, which he escap'd belore,

“ 'The sable mantle of the silent night Wynde here and there, nay creepe if rightly bred, Shut from the world the ever-joysome light. And proffring otherwhere, fight still at head. Care fieri avay, and softest siumbers please So though the stubborn boughes did thrust him To leave the court for lowly cottages. backe

Wilde beasts forsovke their dens on woody bils, (For Nature, loath, so rare a jewel's wracke, And sleightful otters left the purling rils; Seein'd as she liere and there hard plasb'd a tree, Roukes to their vests in high woods aow were If possible to binder destiny.)


(young The savage beast, foaming with anger, Ayes And with their spread wings shield their paked More fiercely than before, and now he tries When theeves from thickets to the crosse-wayes By sleights to take the maide; as I have seene And terrour frights the loanely passenger. (stir, A nimble tumbler on a burrow'd greeae,

Whep bought was heard but now and then the Bend cleane awry his course, yet give a checke,

bowle And throw himselfe upon a rabbet's neckc. Of some vile curre, or whooping of the owle; For as he hotly chas'd the love of Pan,

Pan, that the day before was farre away A heard of deere out of a thicket ran,

At shepheards sports, return'd; and as he lay To whom he quickly turn’d, as if he meant Within the bowre wherein be most delighted, To leave the maide, but when she swiftly bent Was by a gastly vision ibus affrighted: Her race downe to the plaine, the swister deere Heart-thrilling grones, first heard he round bis He soone forsooke. Avi now was got so neere


(powre That (all in vaine) she turucu) to a d fro,

And then the sclirich-owle with her utmost (As well she could) but not prevailing so,

Labour'd her loathed note, the forrests bending Breathlesse and weary calling on her love,

With windes, as Hecate liad beene ascending. With fearefull shrikes that all the Eccboes move, Hereat his curled havres on end doe rise, (To call him to) she fell down deadly wan, And chilly drops trill o're his staring eyes: And ends her sweet life with the name of Pan. Faine would be call but knew pot who nor why,

A youthfull shepheard, of the neighbour wold, Yet getting heart at last would up and try, Missing that inorn a shcepe ont of his fold, If any develish hag were come abroad Carefully seeking round to finde his stray,

With some kinde mother's late deliver'd load, Cave on the instant where this damsel lav. A ruthelesse bloody sacrili'e to make Anger and pitty, in his u anly brest, [possest To those infernall posses, that by the lake Urge, yet restraine his teares. Sweet maide Of mighty Styx and blacke Cocytus dwell, (Quotb he) with lasting sleepe, acerpt from me Ayding each witche's charme and misticke spell. His end, who ended thy hard destinie!'

Dut as he rais'd himself within nis bed, With that his strong dog, of no dastard kinde i sodaine light about his lodging spread, (Swift as the foales conceived by the winde) And therewithall his love, all ashy pale He sets upon the wolfe, that now with speede As erening mist from up a watry vale, I'lyes to the neighbour-wood, and least a deed Appear'd, and weakly neere his bed she prest, So full of ruthe should unrevengeul be,

A ravell'd wound distain'd ber purcr brest, The shepheard followes too, so earnestly

(Brests softer farre than tufts of unwrought silke) Chearing his dog that he neere turu'd againe Whence had she liv'd to give an infant milke, Till the curst wolfe lay strangled on the plaine. The vertue of that liquor (without ods) " The ruin'd temple of her purer soule

Had made her babe imınortall as the gods. The shepbeard buryes. All the nymphs condole Pan would have spoke, but him she thus prevents: So great a losse, while on a cypresse graffe, 'Wonder not that the troubled elements Neere to her grave, they hung this epitaph: Speake my approach; I draw po longer breath,

But am inforced to the shades of death. « « LEAST loathed age might spoyle the worke in My exequies are done, and yet before, whom

I take my turne to be transported o're All Earth delighted, Nature tooke it home, The neather foods among the shades of Dis, Or angry all hers else were carelesse deein'd, To end my journey in the fields of blisse: Here hid her best to have the rest esteemid. I come to tell thee, that no humane hand For feare men might not thinke the fates so Made me seeke waftage on the Stygian strand;

It was an hungry wolfe that did imbrie But by their rigour in as great a losse.

Himselfe in my last blood. And now I sue, If to the grave there ever was assigk'd

In bate to all that kinde, and shepheards good, One like this nymph in body and in minde, To be revenged on that cursed brood.' We wish her here in balme not vainely spent, Pan vow'd, and would have clipt her, but she fled, To fit this maiden with a monument.

And, as she came, so quickly vanished.


" Looke as a well-growne stately headed bucke, Here in a nooke made by another mount, But lately by the woodman's arrow strucke, (Whose stately oakes are in no lesse account Runs gadding o're the lawnes, or nimbly strayes For height or spreading, than the proudlest be Among the combrous brakes a thousand wayes, That from Octa looke on Thessaly) Now through the high-wood scours, then by the Rudely o're hung there is a vaulted care, brooks,

That in the day as sullen shadowes give, On every hill side, and each vale he lookes, As evening to the woods. An uacouth place, If ’mongst their store of sin.ples may be found (Where hays and goblins might retire a space) Ao hearbe to draw and heale his smarting wound, And hated now of shepheards, since there lyes But when he long bath sought, and all in vaine, The corps of one, (lesse loving deities Steales to the covert closely backe agaire, Than we affected him) that never lent Where round ingirt with ferne more highly sprung, His hand to aught but to our detriment. Strives to appease the raging with bis tongue, A man that onely liv'd to live no more, And from the speckled heard absents him till And dy'de still to be dying. Whose chiefe store He be recover'd somewhat of his ill:

Of vertue was, his hate did not pursue her, So wounded Pan turnes in his restiesse bed; Because he onely heard of ber, not knew her. But finding thence all ease abandoned,

That knew no good, but onely that his sight He rose, and through the wood distracted runs : Saw every thing had still his opposite. Yet carryes with him what in vaine he shuns. And ever this his apprehension caught, Now he cxclaim'd on fate: and wish'd be ne're That what he did was best, the other naught. Had mortall lov'd, or that he mortall were. That alwayes lov'd the man that never lov'd, And sitting lastly on an oake's bare trunke, And hated hinn whose hate no death had mov'd. (Where raine in winter stood long time uusuncke) That (politique) at fitting time and season, His plaints be gan renew, but then the light, Could hate the traitor, and yet lore the treason. That through the boughes flew from the queen of That many a wofuli heart (ere his decease) (As siving him occasion to repine) (night, In pieces tore to purchase his owne peace. Bewrayde an elme imbraced by a vine.

Who never gave his almes but in this fashion, Clipping so strictly that they seem'd to be

To salve his ircilit, more than for salvation. One in their growth, one shade, one fruit, one tree. Who on the naines of good men ever fed, Her boughes his armes, his leaves so mixt with And (most accursed) sold the poore for bread. hers,

Right like the pitch-tree, from whose any limbe That with no winde he mov'd but streight she stirs, Comes never twix, shall be the seede of him. As showing all should be, whom love coinbynde, The Bluses, scorn'd by him, laugh at his fame, In motion one, and onely two in konde.

nd never will vonchsafe to speake bis name. This more afflicts him, wbile he thiuketh most, Let no man for his losse one teare let fall, Not on bis losse, but on the substance lost. But perish with him his memoriall! O haplesse Pan! has there but been one by, “ Into this cave the god of shepheards went, To tell thec, (though as poore a swaine as I) The trees in groves, the rockes in teares, lament Tho' (whether casuall meanes or death doe move) His fatall chance ; the brookes, that whilome lept We part not without griefe thing sheld with love : To hcare him play while his faire mistresse slepi, Yet in their losse some comfort may be got, Now left their eddyes and such wanton moods, If we doe minde the time we had them not. And with lond clamours fild the neighbring wouds. This might have lessen'd somewhat of thy paine, There spent he most of night; but when the day Or maile thee love as thou mightst loose againe. Drew from the Earth her pitchy vaile away, If thou the best of women didst forego,

When all the flowry plaines with carols rung, Weigh if tbou foundst her, or didst make her so; That by the mounting larke were shrilly sung, If she were found so, know there's more than one; When dusky mists rose from the christall floods, If nade, the workeman lives, though she be gone. And darknesse no where raign'd but in the woods; Should froin mine eyes the light be tane away, Pan left the cave, and now intends to finde Yet night her picasures hath as well as day. The sacred place where lay his love enshrinde ; And my desires to Heaven veeld lesse offence, A plot of earth, in whose chill armes was laide Since blindnesse is a part of innocence.

As inuch perfection as had ever maide: So though thy love sleepe in eternall night, If curious Nature had but taken care Yet there's in loannesse somewhat may delight. To make more lasting, what she made so faire. Instead of dalliance, partnership in woes,

“ Now wanders Pan the arched grores and bils, It wants the care to keepe, and feare to loose. Where fayries often danc'd, and shepheards' quills Por jcalousie's and fortune's baser pelfe,

In sweet contentions pass'd the tedious day: He rest injoyes that well injoyes himselfe.

Yet (being earely) in his unknowne way
"Had some one told thee thus; or thou bethought Met not a shepheard, nor on all the plaine

A Mocke then feeding saw, nor of his traine
Of inward help, thy sorrow had not broaght thee One jolly satyre stirring yet abroad,
To weigh misfortune by another's good :

Of whom he might inquire; tbis to the loade
Nor leave thy seate to range about the wood. Of his affiction addes; now he invokes (oakes
Stay where thou art, turne where thou wert before, Those nymphes ! in mighty forrests, that with
Light yeelds small comfort, nor hath darknesse Have equall fates, each with her severall tree

Receiving birth, and ending, destinie. “ A voody hill there stood, at whose low feet Cals on all powres, intreats that he might have Two goodly streames in one broad channell meet, But for his love, the knowledge of her grave; Whose fretfull waves, beating against the hill, Did all the bottome with soft mutt'rings fill.

° Hamadriades.



That since the Fates had tane the jem away, By relicke, vision, buriall, or birth,
He might but see the carknet where it lay; Of anchoresse, or hermit, yet on Earth)
To doe fit right to such a part of molde,

Out of the maiden's bed of endlesse rest, Covering so rare a piece, that all the gold Showes them a tree new growne, so fairely drest Or dyamond earth can yeeld, for value, ne're With spreading armes and curled top, that Jove Shall match the treasure which was hidden there! Ne're braver saw in bis Dodonian grove.

A hunting nymph, awakened with his mone, The hart-like leaves oft each with other pyle, (That in a bowre neere-hand lay all alone, As doe the hard scales of the crocodyle ; Twyning her small arines round her slender waste, And none on all the tree was seene but bore, That by no others us'd to be imbracd)

Written thereon in rich and purest ore, Got up, and knowing what the day before The name of Pan; whose lustre farre beyond Was guiltie of, she addes not to his store,

Sparkl'd, as by a torch the dyamond. As many simply doe, whose friends, so crost, Or those bright spangles which, fayre goddesse, doe They more afflict by showing what is lost :

Shine in the hayre of these which follow you. But bid him follow her. He, as she leades, The shepheards, by direction of great Pan, Urgeth her hast. So a kinde mother treads, Search'd for the roote, and finding it began Earnest, distracted, where, with blood defil'de, In her true heart, bids them againe inclose She heares lyes dead her deere and onely childe. What now his eyes for ever, ever lose. (more Mistrust now wing'd his feet, then raging ire, Now in the self-same spheare his thoughts must * For speede comes ever lamely to desire.'

With him "? that did the shady plane tree love. “ Delayes, the stones that waiting suiters grinde, Yet though no issue from her loynes shall be By whom at court the poor man's cause is sign'd, To draw froin Pan a noble peddigree, Who, to dispatch a snite, will not deferre

And Pan shall not, as other gods have done, To take Death for a joynt commissioner.

Glory in deedes of an heroicke sonne, Delay, the wooer's bane, revenge's hate,

Nor have his name in countryes ncere and farre The plague to creditor's decaid estate ;

Proclaim'd, as by his childe the Thunderer; The test of patience, of our hopes the racke, If Phæbus on this tree spread warming rayes, That drawes them forth so long until they cracke ; And northerne blasts kill not her tender sprayes, Vertue's best benefactor in our limes,

His love shall make him famous in repute, Ole that is set to punish great men's crimes, And still increase his name, yet beare no fruite. Sh: that hath hindred mighty Pan awhile,

“ To make this sure, (the god of shepbeards last, No v steps aside : and as o’re-flowing Nyle, When other ceremonies were o're-past) Hid from Clymene's sonne " his reeking head, And to performe what he before had vow'd So from his rage all opposition fed ;

To dire revenge, thus spake unto the crowd: Giving him way, to reach the timelesse toombe “ • What I have lost, kinde shepheards, all you Of Nature's glory, for whose ruthlesse dvome And to recount it were to dwell in woe; [know, (When all the Graces did for mercy pleade, To show my passion in a funerall song, And Youth and Goodnesse both did intercede) And with my sorrow draw your sighes along, The sonnes of l'arth (if living) had beene driven Words, then, well plac'd, might challenge some, To heape-on bils, and warre anew with Heaven.

what due,
The shepheards, which he mist upon the downes, And not the cause alone, winne teares from you.
Here mectes he with: for from the neighb'ring This to prevent, I set orations by,
Maidens and men resorted to the grave (townes • For passion seldome lores formalitie,'
To see a wonder more than time e're gave.

What profits it a prisoner at the barre,
“The holy priests had told them, long agone, To have his judgement spoken regular?
Amongst the learned shepheards there was one Or in the prison heare it often read,
So given to pietie, and did adore

When he at first knew what was forfeited ?
So much the name of Pan, that, when no more Our griefes in others' teares, like plate in water,
He breath'd, those that to ope his heart began, Seeme more in quantitie. To be relator
Found written there with gold the name of Pan. of my mishaps, speakes witnesse, and that I
Which unbeleeving man, that is not mov'd Have in myselfe no powre of remedy.
To credit aught, if not by reason pror'd,

“Once (yet that once too often) heretofore And tyes the over-working powre to doe

The silver Lndon on his sandy shore Nought otherwise than Nature reacheth to, Heard my complaints, and those coole groves that Held as most fabulous : not july seeing

Shading the brest of lovely Arcady,

[be The hand by whom we live, and all have being, Witnesse, the teares which I for Syrinx spent. No worke for admirable doth intend,

Syrinx the faire! from whom the instrument Which reason hath the powre to comprehend ; That fils your feasts with joy, (which, when I blow, And faith no merit hath from Heaven lent,

Drawes to the sagging dug milke white as snow) Where humane reason yeelds experiment.

Had his beginning. This encugh had beene Till now they durst not trust the legend old, To show the Fates' (my deemed sisters")) teene. | Esteeming all not true their elders tolde;

Here had they staid, this adage had beene none, And had not this last accident made good

" That our disasters never come alone.' The former, most in unbeliefe had stood. (wonder, What boot is it, though I am said to be

“But Fame, that spread the bruite of such a The worthy sonne of Mercury ? Bringing the swaines of places far asander That I, with gentle nymphes in forrests high, To this selected plot, (now famous more

Kist out the sweet time of my infancie ? Than any grove, mount, plaine, had beene before,

1Xerxes. !' Phaeton.

1 Pronapis, in suo Protocosmo,

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And when more yeares had made me able growne, Needlesse of help! and may this isle alone Was tbro' the mountaines for their leader knowne? | Furnish all other lands, and this land norte !' That high-brow'd Mänalus, where I was bred, “ Excuse me, Tbetis," quoth the aged man, And stony hils, not few, have honoured

“ If passion drew me from the words of Pan! Me as protector, by the hands of swaines, Which thus I follow : You whose flockes,' quoth Whose steepe retyre there from the open plaines ? By my protection, quit your industry, (he, That I in shepheards' cups (refecting gold')

For all the good I have and yet may give Of milke and hony, measures eight times told; To such as on the plaines hereafter live, Have offred to me; and the ruddy wine,

I doe intreat what is not hard to grant, Fresh and new pressed from the bleeding vine? That not a hand rend from this holy plant That gleesonne hunters, pleased with their sport, The smallest branch ; and who so cutteth this, With sacrifices due hate thank'd me for't ? Dye for th' offence; to me so liaynous 'tis. That patient anglers, standing all the day

And by the foods infernall here I sweare, Neere to some shallow stickle or deepe bay ;

(An oath whose breach the greatest gods forbeare) And fishermen, whose nets have drawne to land Ere Phæbe thrice twelve times shall fill her bornes, A shoale so great, it well-nye hides the sand, No furzy tuft, thicke wood, nor brake of thornes, For such successe, some promontorie's head, Shall harbour wolfe, nor in this isle shall breed, Thrust at by waves, hath knowne me worshipped? Nor lite one of that kinde: if what's decreed But to increase my griefe, what profits this?

You keepe inviolate.' 'To this they swore ; "Since still the losse is as the looser is.'

And since those beasts have frighted us no more. “The inany-kernell-bearing pyne of late, “But, swaine,” (quoth Thetis) “what is this you From all trees else, to me was consecrate; To what you feare shall fall on Philocel ?(tell, But now behold a roote more worth my love,

“Faire queene, attend ; but oh! I feare," quoth Equall to that which, in an obscure grove,

Ere I have ended my sad history, [he, Infernall Juno proper takes to her:

Unstaying Time may bring on his last houre, Whose's golden slip the Trojao wanderer

And so defraud us of thy wished powre. (By sage Cumæan Sybil taught) did bring Yond goes a shepheard, give me leate to run, (By Fates decreed) to be the warranting

And know the time of execution ; of his free passage, and a safe repayre

Mine aged limbes I can a little straiñe, Through darke Averuus to the upper ayra

And quickly come (to end the rest) againe.
This must I succour, this must I defend,
And from the wild boare's rooting ever shend ;
Here shall the wood-pecker no entrance finde,
Nor Tivy's bevers gnaw the clothing rinde ;

Lambeder's heards, nor Radnor's goodly deere,
Shall never once be seene a browsing here.

And now, ye British swaines, (whose harmlesse

Than all the world's beside I joy to keepe)
Which spread on every plaine, and billy wold,
Fleeces no lesse esteem'd than that of gold,

Within this song my Muse doth tell
For whose exchange 'one Indy gems of price,

The worthy fact of Philocel, The other gives you of her choicest spice.

And how his love and he, in thrall, ' And well she nay; but we, unwise, the while,

To death depriv'd of funerall, Lessen the glory of our fruitfull isle :

The qucene of waves doth gladly save;
Making those uations thinke we foolish are,

And frees Marina from the cave.
For baser drags to vent our richer ware,
Which (save the bringer) never profit man,
Except the sexten and physitian.

So soone as can a martin from our towne
And sbeiher change of clymes, or what it be,
That proves our mariners' mortalitie,

Fly to the river underneath the downe,
Such expert men are spent for such bad fares

And backe returne with morter in her bill, As might have made us lords of what is thei. s.

Some little cranny in her nest to fill, Stay, stay at home, ye nobler spirits, and prise

The shepheard came; and thus began anew: Your lives more high than such base trumperies! From time to him, 'tis sentenc'd so of those

Two houres, alas! onely two houres are due Forbcare to fetch; and they'le goe neere to sue, And at your owne dores offer them to you;

That here on Earth as destinies dispose Or hare their woods and plaines so overgrowne

The lives and deaths of men ; and, that time past, With pogsnous weeds, roots, gums, and seeds un

He yeelds bis judgement leave, and breathes his

last. knowne; That they would hire such weeders as you be

“ But to the cause. Great goddesse, understand, To free their land froin such fertilitie.

In Mona jsle, thrust from the British land, Their spices hot their natute best indures,

As (since it needed nought of others' store) But 'twill impa yre and much distemper yours.

It would intyre be, and a part no more, What our ownle soyle atfords befits us best;

'There liv'd a maid so faire, that for her sake, And long, and long, for ever may we rest

Since she was borne, the isle had never snake,
Nor were it fit a deadly sting should be

To hazard such admired symmetrie,
** Apollonius Smyrnæus.

So many beauties so commixt in one, 15 Virgil's Æneis, b. vi.

That all delight were dcad if she were gone,


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