Sivut kuvina

Ran all afront, and gaz'd with earnest eye Who backe return'd, and thus with teares began : (Not without teares) while thus she passed by. “ The substitutes on Earth of mighty Pan, Springs that long time before had held no drop, Have thus decreed ; (although the one be free) Now swelled forth, and over-went the top,

To cleare themselves from all impuritie, Birds left to pay the Spring their wonted vowcs, If, who the offender is, no meanes procure, And all forlorne sate droopiog on the boughes. Th' offence is certaine, be their death as sure. Sheepe, springs, and birds, nay, trees' unwonted This is their doome, (which may all plagues pree gro

To have the guilty kill the innocent." (vent) Bewail'd her chance, and forc'd it from the stones. Looke as two little lads, (their parents' treasure)

Thus came she to the place (where aged men, Under a tutor strictly kept from pleasure, Maidens, and wives, and youth and children While they their new-given lesson closely scan, That had but newly learnt their mother's name, Heare of a message by their father's man, Had almost spent their teares before she came) That one of them, but which he hath forgot, And those her earnest and related words

Must come along and walke to some faire plot; Threw from her brest; and unto them affords Both have a hope: their carefull tutor, loth These as the meanes to further her pretence : To hinder eyther, or to license both; " Receive not on your soules, by innocence Sends backe the messenger, that he may know Wrong'd, lasting staines ; which from a sluce His master's pleasure which of them must goe : the sea

While both his schollers stand alike in feare May still wash o're, but never wash away. Both of their freedome and abiding there, Turpe all your wraths on me; for here behold The servant comes and says, that that day The hand that tore your sacred tree of gold ; Their father wils to have them both away: These are the feete that led to that intent,

Such was the feare these loving soules were in, Mine was th' offence, be mine the punishment. That time the messenger had absent bin. Long hath he liv'd among you, and he knew But farre more was their joy 'twixt one another The danger imminent that would ensue;

In hearing neyther should out-live the other. His vertuous life speakes for him, heare it then! Now both intwinde, because no conquest wonne, And cast not hence the miracle of men !

Yet eyther ruinde: Philocel begun What now he doth is through some discontent, To arme his love for death: a roabe unfit, Mine was the fact, be mine the punishment !" Till Hymen's saffron'd weede had usher'd it:

What certaine death could never make him doe, “My fayrest Cælia! come; let thou and 1,
(With Coelia's losse) her presence forc'd him to. That long have learn'd to love, now learne to dye;
She that could cleere his greatest clouds of woes, It is a lesson hard, if we discerne it,
Some part of woman made him now disclose, Yet none is borne so soone as bound to learne it,
And show'd him all in teares: and for a while Unpartiall Fate layes ope the booke to us,
Out of his heart unable to exile

And let us con it, still imbracing thus ;
His troubling thoughts in words to be conceiv'd; We may it perfect have, and goe before
But weighing what the world should be bereav'd, Those that have longer time to read it o're ;
He of his sighes and throbs some license wanne, And we had need begin, and not delay,
And to the sad spectators thus beganne:

For 'tis our turne to read it first to-day. “ Hasten ! O haste! the houre's already gone, Helpe when I misse, and when thou art in doubt Doe not deferre the execution !

lle be thy prompter, and will helpe thee out. Nor make my patience suffer aught of wrong! But see how much I erre: vaine metaphor 'Tis nought to dye, but to be dying long !

And elocution destinies abhorre.

(teares, Some fit of frenzy hath possest the maid,

Could death be staid with words, or wonne with She could not doe it, though she had assaid. Or mov'd with beauty, or with unripe yeeres ; No bough growes in her reach; nor hath the tree Sure thou couldst doe't : this rose, this sun-like eye, A spray so weake to yeeld to such as she.

Should not so soone be quell'd, so quickly dye. To winne her love I broke it, but unknowne But we must dye, my love; not thou alone, And undesir'd of her; then let her owne

Nor onrly 1, but both; and yet but one. No touch of prejudice without consent,

Nor let us grieve; for we are marryed thus, Mine was the fact, be mine the punishment!” And have by death what life denged us. 0! who did ever such contention see,

It is a comfort from him more than due; Where death stood for the prize of victory? ' Death sever; many, but he couples few.' Where love and strife were firme and truely knowne, Life is a flood that keepes us from our blisse, And where the victor must be overthrowne ?

The ferriinan to waft us thither, is Where both pursude, and both held equall strife, Death, and none else; the sooner we get o’re, That life should further death, death further life. Should we not thanke the ferriman the more

Ainazement strucke the multitude. And now Others intreat him for a passage hence,
They knew not which way to performe their vow. And groane beneath their griefes and impotence,
If onely one should be depriv'd of breath,

Yet (mercilesse) he lets those longer stay,
They were not certaine of th' offender's death; And sooner takes the bappy man away.
If both of them should die for that offence, Some little happinesse have thou and I,
They certainely should murder innocence ; Since we shall dye before we wish to dye.
If none did saffer for it, then there ran

Should we here longer live, and have our dayes
Upon their heads the wrath and curse of Pan. As full in number as the most of these,
This much perplex'd and made them to deferre And in them meet all pleasures may betide,
The deadly hand of th' exécutioner,

We gladly might have liv'd, and patient dyde : Till they had sent an officer to know

When now our fewer yeeres, made long by cares, The judges' wils : (and those with fates doe goe) (That without age can snow downe silver haires)

Make all affirme (which doe our griefes discry) Recalling life that had not cleerely tane.
We patiently did live, and gladly dye.

Full leave of his or her more curious phane,
The difference (my love) that doth appeare And with her praise, sung by these thankfull payre,
Betwixt our fates and theirs that see us here, Steer'd on her coursers (swift as feeting ayre)
Is onely this: the high all-knowing Powre Towards her pallace, built beneath the seas :
Conceals from them, but tels us our last howre. Proud of ber journey, but more proud of these.
For which to fleaven wefarre farre more are bound, By that time Night had newly spred her robe
Since in the howre of death we may be found Over our halfe-part of this massie globe,
(By its prescience) ready for the band

She wonne that famous isle which Jove did please That shall conduct us to the Iloly-land. (may To honour with the holy Druydes. When those, from whom that houre conceal'd is, And as the westerne side she stript along, Even in their height of sinne be tane away.

Heard (and so staid to heare) this beavy song: Besides, to us Justice a friend is knowne, Which neyther Jets us dye nor live alone.

“O Heaven! what may I hope for in this cave? That we are forc'd to it cannot be held ;

A grave. • Who feares not Death, denyes to be compellid.' But who to me this last of helpes shall retcb? “O that thou wert no actor in this play,

A wretch. My sweetest Cælia! or divorc'd away

Shall none be by pittying so sad a wight? From me in this ! 0 Nature! I confesse

Yes: Night. I cannot looke upon her heavinesse

Small comfort can befall in heavy plight Without betraying that infirmitie

To me, poore maide, in whose distresses be Which at my birth thy band bestow'd on me. Nor hope, nor helpe, nor one to pittie me, Would I had dyde when I receiv'd my birth! But a cold grave, a wretch, and darksome night, Or knowne the grave before I knew the Earth! Heavens! I but one life did receive from you,

To Jigge that grave what fatall thing appeares ? And must so short a loane be paid with two ?

Thy teares. Cannot I dye but like that brutish stem

What bell shall ring me to that bed of ease? Which have their best-belor'd to dye with them?

Rough seas. O let her live! some blest powre heare my cry!

And who for mourners hath my fate assign'd? Let Cælia live, and I contented dye.” [throes!

Each winde. “My Philocel,” (quoth she) " neglect these Can any be debarr'd from such I finde? Ask not for me, nor adde not to my woes!

When to my last rites gods no other send Can there be any life when thou art gone? To make my grave, for knell, or mourning friend, Nay, can there be but desolation ?

Than mine owne teares, rough seas, and gusts of Art thou so cruell as to wish my stay,

winde. To waite a passage at an unknowne day? Or have me dwell within this vale of woe,

“ Teares must my grave dig: but who bringeth

those ? Excluded from those joyes which thou shalt know?

Thy woes. Envy not me that blisse! I will assay it,

What monument will Heaven my body spare? My love deserves it, and thou canst not stay it. Justice! then take thy doome; for we entend,

And what the epitaph when I am gone? Except both live, no life; one life, one end.”

Oblivion. Thus with imbraces, and exhorting other,

Most miserable I, and like me none
With teare-dew'd kisses that had po wre to sinother, Both dying, and in death, to whom is lent
Their soft and ruddy lips close joyn’d with eyther, Nor spade, nor epitaph, nor monument,
That in their deaths their soules inight meet to-

Excepting woes, ayre, and oblivion."

The end of this gave life upto a grone,
With prayers as hopefull as sincerely good,

As if her life and it had beene but one ;
Expecting death, they on the cliffe's edge stood;
And lastly were (by one oft forcing breath)

Yet she, as carelesse of reserving cyther,
Throwne from the rocke into the armes of Death.

If possible would leave them both together. Paire Thetis, wbose command the waves obey,

It was the faire Marina, almost spent Loathing the losse of so much worth as they,

With griefe and feare of future famislimént. Was gone before their fall; and by her powre

For (haplesse chance) but the last rosie morne The billows (mercilesse, us'd to devoure.

The willing redbrest, Aying throngh a thorne, And not to save) she inade to swell up high,

Against a prickle gor'i bis tender side, Even at the instant when the tragedy

And in an instant, so, poore creature dyde. Of those kinde soules should end: 60 to receive

Thetis, much mov'd with those sad notes she them,

heard, And keepe what crueltie would faine bereave them.

Her freeing thence to Triton soone referr'd; Her hest was soone perform’d: and now they lay

Who found the cave as soone as set on shore, Imbracing on the surface of the sea,

And by bis strength removing from the dore Voyd of all sence; a spectacle so sad,

A weighty stone, brought forth the fearefull mayde, That Thetis, nor no nymph which there she had,

Which kindly led where his faire mistresse staid; Touch'd with their woes, could for a while refraine, | And with the rest steerd on to Thetis' court.

Wag entertain'd as well became her sort,
But from their heavenly eyes did sadly raine
Such showres of teares, (so powrefull, since divine) My Muse a while will bere keepe holy-day.

For whose release from imminent decay,
That ever since the sea doth taste of bryne.
With teares, thus, to make good her first intent,
She both the lovers to her chariot hont :

The ayre.

And from this phænix's uire thought she could THE SHEPNEARD'S PIPE.

Whereof all following poets well to make, (lake,

For of some former she had now made knowno

They were her errours whilst sh' intended DEDICATION


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PRIVIE COUNCELL. Be pleased, (great lord) wben underneath the

shades Of your delightful Bramshill, (where the Spring Her flowers for gentle blasts with Zephire trades) Once more to heare a silly shephearde sing. Yours be the pleasure, mine the sonneting; Er’n that hath his delight: nor shall I need To seeke applause amongst the common store, It is enough if this mine oaten reed Please but the eare it should; I aske no more. Nor shall those rurall notes which heretofore Your true attention grac'd and wing'd for fame Imperfectlye: oblivion shall not gaine Aught on your worth, but sung shall be your name So long as England yeelds or song, or swaine.

Free are my lines, though drest in lowly state, And scorne to flatter, but the men I hate.

Your honour's,



MASTER BROWNE. Such is the fate of some (write) now a daies : Thinking to win and weare, they break the baies: As a slow footeman striving neere to come, A swifter that before him farre doth runne, Puft with the hope of honour's gole to winne, Runnes out of breath, yet furthest off from him. So doe our most of poets, whose Muse flies About for honour, catch poor butterflies. But thou, faire friend, not ranckt shall be 'mongst

those That make a mountaine where a mole hill grows : Thou, whose sweet singing pen such layes hath writ, That in an old way teacheth us new wit. Thou tbat were born and bred to be the man, To turne Apollo's glory into Pan : And when thou lists of shepheards leave to write, To great Apollo adde againe his light: For never yet like shepheards forth have come, Whose pipes so sweetly play as thine hath done. Faire Muse of Browne, whose beauty is as pure As women browne, that faire and long'st endure; Still mayst thou, as thou dost, a lover move, And as thou dost each mover may thee love, Wbilst I myselfe in love with thee must fall, Browne's Muse the faire browne woman still will

call. Int. Temp.





OF 918 FRIEND, MASTER WILLIAM BROWNE. A POET's borne, not made: no wonder, then, Though Spencer, Sidney, (miracles of men, Sole English makers : whose ev'n names so hie Expresse by implication poesy) Were long unparalell’d: for Nature, bold In their creation, spent that precious mold, That nobly better earth, that purer spirit, Which poets, as their birth-rights, claime t'inherit; And in their great production, prodigall, Carelesse of futures well-bie spent her all, Viewing her worke, conscious sh' had suffered

wracke, Hath caus'd our countrymen ere since to lacke That better earth and forme : long thrifty growne Who truly might beare poets, brought forth none: Till now of late, seeing her flockes new full (By time and thrift) of inatter beautifull, And quintessence of formes; what severall Our elder poets graces bad, those all She now determin'd to unite in one, So to surpasse herselfe, and call’d him Browne : That beggar'd by his birth, she's now so poore, That of true makers she can make no more. Hereof accus'd, answer'd, she meant that he A species should, no individunm be: That (pbænix like) he in himselfe should find Of poesy contain'd each several kind.

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Onely be that is indeede
Spotted with the leprous seede
Of corrupted thoughts, and hath
An ulcerous soule in the path
Of reproofe, he straight will brali,
If you rub him on the gall.

All the trees are quaintly tyred
With greene buds, of all desired;
And the hauthorne, every day,
Spreads some little show of May:
See the primrose sweetly set
By the much-lov'd violet,
All the bankes doe sweetly cover,
As they would invite a lover,
With his lasse, to see their dressing,
And to grace them by their pressing,
Yet in all this merry tide,
When all cares are laid aside,
Roget sits as if his bloud
Had not felt the quickning good
of the Sun, nor cares to play,
Or with songs to passe the day,
As he wont. Fye, Roget, fye!
Raise thy head, and merrily
Tune us somewhat to thy reede ;
See, our flockes do freely feede:
Here we may together

And for musicke very fit
Is this place; from yonder wood
Comes an eccho shrill and good ;
Twice full perfectly it will
Answere to thine oaten quill.
Roget, droope not then, but sing
Some kind welcome to the spring,

Ah, Willie, Willie! why should I
Sound my notes of jollitie?
Since no sooner can I play
Any pleasing roundelay,
But some one or other still
'Gins to descant on my quill;
And will say, “ By this, he me
Meaneth in his minstralsie."
If I chance to name an asse
In my song, it comes to passe,
One or other sure will take it
As his proper name, and make it
Fit to tell bis nature too.
Thus whate're I chance to do
Happens to my losse, and brings
To my name the vengin'd stings
Of ill report: how should I
Sound then notes of jollitie?

ROGET. But in vainc then shall I kepe These my harmlesse flocke of sheepe : And though all the day I tend them, And from wolves and foxes shend them, Wicked swaines, that beare me spiglit, In the gloomy vaile of night, Of my fold will draw the pegges, Or else breake my lambkius' legges : Or unhang my weather's bell, Or bring bryers from the dell, And them in my fold by pieces Cast, to tangle all their feeces. Well-a-day! such churlish swaines Now and then lurke on our plaines; That I feare, a time, ere long, Shall not heare a shepheard's song: Nor a swayne shall take in taske Any wrong, nor once unmaske Such as do with vices rife Soyle the shepheard's happy life : Except he meanes his sheepe shall be A prey to all their injurie. This causeth me I do no more Chant so as I wont of yore : Since in vaine then should I keep These my harmlesse flocke of sheepe


Yet if such thou wilt not sing,
Make the woods and rallies ring
With some other kind of lore,
Roget bath enough in store:
Sing of love, or tell some tale,
Praise the flowers, the hils, the vale ;
Let us not here idle be,
Next day I will sing to thee.
Hearke, on knap of yonder hill
Some sweet shepheard tunes his quill,
And the maidens in a round
Sit (to heare him) on the ground.
And if thou begin, shall we
Grac'd be with like company.
And to gird thy temples bring
Garlands for such fingering.
Tben raise thee, Roget.



'Tis true, indeed, we say all,
Rubą galld horse on the gall,
Kicke he will, storme, and bite:
But the horse of sounder plight
Gently feeles his master's hand.
In the water thrust a brand
Kindled in the fier, 'twille hisse;
When a sticke that taken is
From the hedge, in water thrust,
Never rokes as would the first,
But endures the water's touch.
Roget, so it fares with such
Whose owne guilt hath them enfamd,
Rage whene're there vice is blam'd,
But who in himselfe is free
From all spots, as lillies be,
Never stirres, do what thou can.
If thou slander such a man,
Yet he's quiet, for he knowes
With him no such rices close.

Gentle swaine, Whom I honour for thy straine, Thougn it would beseeine me more To attend thee and thy lore : Yet, lest thou might'st find in me A neglect of courtesie, I will sing what I did leere Long ago in Janireere Of a skilfull aged sire, As we tosted by the fire.

WILLIE, Sing it out, it needs must be Very good what comes from whees


512x*26*45 Thy father's will, my sonne, as I said ere, Whilome, an empemur, prudent and wise,

Will I performe; have here the ring, and goe Raigned in Rome, and had sonnes three,

To studie anon, and when that thou art there, Which he had in great chiertee and great prise,

As thy father thee bade, doe even so, And when it shop so, that th'infirmitee

And as thou wilt, my blessing have also." Of death, which no wight may eschew or flee,

She unto him, as swythe, took the ring, Him threw downe in his bed, he let to call

And bad him keepe it well for any thing His sonnes, and before him they came all.

He went into the studie generall, And to the first he said in this maneere:

Where he gat love enough, and acquaintance All th' eritage which at the dying

Righi good and friendly; the ring causing all. Of my fadir, he me left, all in feere

Apd on a day to him befell this chance, Leave I thee: and all that of my buying

With a woman, a morsell of pleasance, Was with my peny, ali my purchasing,

By the streets of the universitie, My second sonne, bequeath I to thee.”

As he was in his walking, met he. And to the third sonne thus said hce:

And right as blive he had with her a tale, “ Unmoveable good, right none withouten oath And there withall sore in her love he brent; Thee give I may; but I to thee devise

Gay, fresh, and piked, was she to the sale, Jewels three, a ring, brooch, and a cloth :

For to that end, and to that intent, With which, and thoa be guided as the wise, She thither came, and both forth they went : Thou maist get all that ought thee suffice;

And he a pistle rowned in her eare, Who so that the ring useth still to weare,

Nat wot I wiat, for I ne came not there. Of all folkes the love he shall conquere.

She was his paramour shortly to sey, " And who so the brooch beareth on his breast, This man to folkes all was so leefe, It is eke of such vertue and such kind,

That they bim gave abundance of money, That thinke upon what thing him liketh best, He feasted folke, and stood at high boucheefe : And he as blive shall it have and finde.

Of the lack of good, he felt no griefe, My words, sonne, imprint well in mind :

All whil'st the ring he with him had, The cloth eke hath a marvellous nature,

But fayling it, his friendship gan sad. Which that shall be committed to thy cure.

His paramour which that ycalled was “ Who so sit on it, if he wish where

Fellicula, marvailed right greatly In all the world to beene, he suddenly

Of the dispences of this Jonathas, Without more labour shall be there.

Sin she no peny at all with him sy, Sonne, those three jewels bequeath I

And on a night, as there she lay him by To thee, unto this effect certainely,

In the bed, thus she to bim spake, and said, That to study of the universitee

And this petition assoile him praid :
Thou go, and that I bid and charge thee."
When he had thus said, the vexation

“O reverent sir, unto whom,” quoth she, Of death so hasted him, that his spirit

“ Obey I would ay with heart's humblenesse,

Since that ye han had my virginitie,
Anon forsooke his habitation
In his body, Death would no respite

You, I beseech of your high gentlenesse,

Tellith me whence comth the good and richesse Him yere at all, he was of his life quitte.

That yee with feasten folke, and han no-store, And buried was with such solemnity, As fell to his imperial dignity.

By ought I see can, ne gold, ne tresore." Of the yongest sonne I tell shall,

“ If I tell it,” quoth he,"

par aventure And speake no more of his brethren two,

Thou wilt discover it, and out it publish, For with them have I not to do at all.

Such is woman's inconstant nature, Thus spake the mother Jonathas unto :

They cannot keepe councell worth a rish: " Sin God bath his will of thy father doe;

Better is my tongue keepe, than to wish To thy father's will, would I me conforme,

That I had kept close that is gone at large, And truly all his testament performe.

And repentance is a thing that I mote charge." “ He three jewels, as thou knowest well,

Nay, good sir," quoth she, “ holdeth me not A ring, a brooch, and a cloth, thee bequeath,

Doubteth nothing, I can be right secree, (suspect, Whose vertues he thee told every deal,

Well worthy were it me to been abject
Or that he past hence and yalde up the breath: From all good company, if I," quoth she,
O good God! his departing, his death,

“ Unto you should so mistake me. Full grievously sticketh unto mine heart,

Be not adread your councell me to shew." But suffered mot been all how sore it smart.” “ Well," said he,“ thus it is at words few. In that case women have such heavinesse,

“ My father the ring which that thou maist see That it not lyeth in my cunning aright;

On my finger, me at his dying day You tell of so great sorrow the excesse :

Bequeath d, which this vertue and propertee But wise women can take it light,

Hath, that the love of men he shall have aye And in short while put unto the flight

That weareth it, and there shall be no nay All sorrow and woe, and catch againe comfort,

Of what thing that him liketh, aske, and crare, Now to my tale make I my resort.

But with good will, he shall as blive it have,

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