Be pleased, (great lord) when 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;
Ev'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,

WILLIAM BROWNE.

OF HIS 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-nie 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 matter beautifull,
And quintessence of formes; what severall
Our elder poets graces had, 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 individuum be:

That (phoenix like) he in himselfe should find
Of poesy contain'd each several kind.

TO HIS BETTER BELOVED, THAN KNOWN FRIEND,
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 that 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,
Whilst I myselfe in love with thee must fall,
Browne's Muse the faire browne woman still will
call.

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,

Onely he 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.

ROGET.

But in vaine then shall I keepe
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 spight,
In the gloomy vaile of night,
Of my fold will draw the pegges,
Or else breake my lambkins' legges:
Or unbang my weather's bell,
Or bring bryers from the dell,
And them in my fold by pieces
Cast, to tangle all their fleeces.
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

WILLIE.

Yet if such thou wilt not sing,

Make the woods and vallies ring
With some other kind of lore,
Roget hath 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.
Then raise thee, Roget.

Whilome, an emperour, prudent and wise,
Raigned in Rome, and had sonnes three,
Which he had in great chiertee and great prise,
And when it shop so, that th' infirmitee
Of death, which no wight may eschew or flee,
Him threw downe in his bed, he let to call
His sonnes, and before him they came all.
And to the first he said in this maneere:
"All th' eritage which at the dying
Of my fadir, he me left, all in feere
Leave I thee: and all that of my buying
Was with my peny, all my purchasing,

My second sonne, bequeath I to thee."
And to the third sonne thus said hce:
“Unmoveable good, right none withouten oath
Thee give I may; but 1 to thee devise
Jewels three, a ring, brooch, and a cloth:
With which, and thou be guided as the wise,
Thou maist get all that ought thee suffice;

Who so that the ring useth still to weare, Of all folkes the love he shall conquere. "And who so the brooch beareth on his breast, It is eke of such vertue and such kind, That thinke upon what thing him liketh best, And he as blive shall it have and finde. My words, sonne, imprint well in mind :

The cloth eke hath a marvellous nature,
Which that shall be committed to thy cure.
"Who so sit on it, if he wish where
In all the world to beene, he suddenly
Without more labour shall be there.
Sonne, those three jewels bequeath I
To thee, unto this effect certainely,

That to study of the universitee
Thou go, and that I bid and charge thee."
When he had thus said, the vexation
Of death so hasted him, that his spirit
Anon forsooke his habitation

In his body, Death would no respite
Him yere at all, he was of his life quitte.
And buried was with such solemnity,
As fell to his imperial dignity.
Of the yongest sonne I tell shall,
And speake no more of his brethren two,
For with them have I not to do at all.
Thus spake the mother Jonathas unto :
"Sin God hath his will of thy father doe;
To thy father's will, would I me conforme,
And truly all his testament performe.

"He three jewels, as thou knowest well,
A ring, a brooch, and a cloth, thee bequeath,
Whose vertues he thee told every deal,
Or that he past hence and yalde up the breath:
O good God! his departing, his death,

Full grievously sticketh unto mine heart,
But suffered mot been all how sore it smart."

In that case women have such heavinesse,
That it not lyeth in my cunning aright;
You tell of so great sorrow the excesse:
But wise women can take it light,
And in short while put unto the flight

All sorrow and woe, and catch againe comfort,
Now to my tale make I my resort.

"Thy father's will, my sonne, as I said ere,
Will I performe; have here the ring, and goe
To studie anon, and when that thou art there,
As thy father thee bade, doe even so,
And as thou wilt, my blessing have also."
She unto him, as swythe, took the ring,
And bad him keepe it well for any thing

He went unto the studie generall,
Where he gat love enough, and acquaintance
Right good and friendly; the ring causing all.
And on a day to him befell this chance,
With a woman, a morsell of pleasance,
By the streets of the universitie,

As he was in his walking, met he.

And right as blive he had with her a tale,
And there withall sore in her love he brent;
Gay, fresh, and piked, was she to the sale,
For to that end, and to that intent,
She thither came,
and both forth they went:
And be a pistle rowned in her eare,
Nat wot I what, for I ne came not there.
She was his paramour shortly to sey,
This man to folkes all was so leefe,
That they him gave abundance of money,
He feasted folke, and stood at high boucheefe :
Of the lack of good, he felt no griefe,

All whil'st the ring he with him had,
But fayling it, his friendship gan sad.
His paramour which that ycalled was
Fellicula, marvailed right greatly
Of the dispences of this Jonathas,
Sin she no peny at all with him sy,
And on a night, as there she lay him by

In the bed, thus she to him spake, and said,
And this petition assoile him praid:

"O reverent sir, unto whom," quoth she,
"Obey I would ay with heart's humblenesse,
Since that ye han had my virginitie,
You, I beseech of your high gentlenesse,
Tellith me whence comth the good and richesse
That yee with feasten folke, and han no store,
By ought I see can, ne gold, ne tresore."
"If I tell it," quoth he, "par aventure
Thou wilt discover it, and out it publish,
Such is woman's inconstant nature,
They cannot keepe councell worth a rish:
Better is my tongue keepe, than to wish

That I had kept close that is gone at large, And repentance is a thing that I mote charge." "Nay, good sir," quoth she, "holdeth me not Doubteth nothing, I can be right secree, [suspect, Well worthy were it me to been abject From all good company, if I," quoth she, "Unto you should so mistake me.

Be not adread your councell me to shew."
"Well," said he," thus it is at words few.

"My father the ring which that thou maist see On my finger, me at his dying day

Bequeath'd, which this vertue and propertee
Hath, that the love of men he shall have aye
That weareth it, and there shall be no nay

Of what thing that him liketh, aske, and crave,
But with good will, he shall as blive it have,

Through the ring's vertuous excellence Thus am I rich, and have ever ynow." "Now, sir, yet a word by your licence Suffreth me to say, and to speake now : Is it wisedome, as that it seemeth you,

[by?

Weare it on your finger continually?"
"What wold'st thou meane," quoth he, "there-

"What perill thereof might there befall?"
"Right great," quoth she, " as ye in company
Walke often, fro' your finger might it fall,
Or plucked off been in a ragery,
And so be lost, and that were folly:

Take it me, let me been of it wardeine,
For as my life keepe it would I certeine."

This Jonathas, this innocent young man,
Giving unto her words full credence,
As youth not avised best be can:
The ring her tooke of his insipience.
When this was done, the heat and the fervence
Of love, which he beforne had purchased,
Was quench'd, and love's knot was unlaced.

Men of their gifts to stint began.

"Ah!" thought he, "for the ring I not ne beare,
Faileth my love. Fetch me, woman,"
(Said he)" my ring, anon I will it weare."
She rose, and into chamber dresseth her;
And when she therein had been a-while,
"Alasse!" (quoth she)" out on falshood and
gile!

"The chest is broken, and the ring took out!"
And when he heard her complaint and cry,
He was astonied sore, and made a shout,
And said, "Cursed be the day that I
Thee met first, or with mine eyne sy !"

She wept, and showed outward cheere of wo,
But in her heart was it nothing so.

The ring was safe enough, and in her chest
It was, all that she said was leasing,
As some woman other while at best
Can lye and weepe when is her liking.
This man saw her woe, and said, "Dearling,
Weepe no more, God's helpe is nye."
To him unwiste how false she was and sly.

He twyned thence, and home to his countree
Unto his mother the streight way he went,
And when she saw thither comen was he:

My sonne," quoth she, "what was thine intent, Thee fro' the schoole now to absent?

What caused thee fro' schoole hither to bye?" Mother, right this," said he, "nat would I lye.

66

"Forsooth, mother, my ring is a goe,
My paramour to keepe I betooke it,
And it is lost, for which I am full woe,
Sorrow fully unto mine heart it sit."
"Sonne, often have I warned thee, and yet

For thy profit I warne thee, my sonne,
Unhonest women thou hereafter shunne,
"Thy brooch anen right woll I to thee fet."
She brought it him, and charged him full deepe,
When he it tooke, and on his breast it set,
Bet than his ring he should it keepe,
Lest he the losse bewaile should and weepe.
To the universitie shortly to seyne
In what he could, he hasted him ageine,

And when he comen was, his paramour
Him met anon, and unto her him tooke
As that he did erst, this young revelour,
Her companye he nat a deale forsooke,
Though he cause had, but as with the hooke

Of her sleight, he beforne was caught and hent,
Right so he was deceived oft and blent.

And as through vertue of the ring before
Of good he had abundance and plentee
While it was with him, or he had it lore:
Right so through vertue of the brooch had he [be,
What good him list: she thought, "How may this
Some privy thing now causeth this richesse,
As did the ring herebefore I gesse ?"
Wondering hereon, she praid him, and besought
Besily night and day, that tell he would
The canse of this; but he another thought,
He meant it close for him it kept be should,
And a long time it was or he it told.

She wept aye too and too, and said, "Alas
The time and houre that ever I borne was!

"Trust ye not on me, sir?" she said;
"Lever me were be slaine in this place,
By that good Lord that for us all deid,
Than purpose againe you any fallace;
Unto you would I be my live's space
As true, as any woman on Earth is
Unto a man, doubteth nothing of this."
Small may she doe, that cannot well by heet,
Though not performed be such a promesse.
This Jonathas thought her words so sweet,
That he was drunke of the pleasant sweetnesse
Of them, and of his foolish tendernesse.

Thus unto her he spake, and said tho',
"Be of good comfort, why weepest thou so?"

And she thereto answered thus, sobbing:
"Sir," quoth she, "my heavinesse and dreed
Is this: 1 am a dread of the leesing
Of your brooch, as Almighty God forbeed
It happen so." "Now what, so God thee speed,'
Said he, "wouldest thou in this case counsaile?"
Quoth she, "That I keepe it might sans faile,"
He said, "I have a feare and dread algate,
If I so did thou wouldst it lecse,

As thou lostest my ring, now gone but late."
"First God I pray," quoth she, "that I not cheese,
But that my heart as the cold frost may freeze,
Or else be it brent with wild fire:
Nay, surely it to keepe is my desire."

To her wordes credence he gave pleneere,
And the brooch tooke her, and after anone,
Whereas he was beforne full leefe and cheere
To folke, and had good, all was gone;

Good and friendship him lacked, there was none. 'Woman, me fetch the brooch," quoth he,

This noise he heard, and blive he to her ran,
Weening she would han done as she spake,
And the knife in all haste that he can
From her tooke, and threw it behind his backe,
And said, "Ne for the losse, ne for the lacke
Of the brooch, sorrow not, I forgive all ;
I trust in God, that yet us helpe he shall."

To th' emperesse his mother this yong man
Againe him dresseth, he went her unto;
And when she saw him, she to wonder gan,
She thought now somewhat there is misdo,
And said, "I dread thy jewels two

Been lost now, percase the brooch with the ring."
Mother," he said, "yea, by Heaven King."

Sonne, thou wotst well no jewell is left
Unto thee now, but the cloth pretious
Which I thee take shall, thee charging eft
The company of women riotous
Thou fiee, lest it be to thee so grievous

That thou it nat sustaine shalt ne beare,
Such company on my blessing forbeare."

The cloth she felt, and it hath him take,
And of his lady, his mother, his leave
He took, but first this forward gan he make:
“Mother,” said he, " trusteth this weel and leeve
That I shall seyn, forsooth ye shall it preeve,

If I leese this cloth, never I your face
Henceforth see wole, ne you pray of grace.

"With God's helpe I shall do well ynow."
Her blessing he tooke, and to study is go,
And as beforne told have I unto you,
His paramour, his privy mortall foe,
Was wont to meet him, right even so

She did then, and made him pleasant cheere:
They clip and kisse, and walk homeward in feere.

When they were entred in the house, he'sprad
His cloth upon the ground, and thereon sit,
And bad his paramour, this woman bad,
To sit also by him adowne on it.
She doth as he commandeth and bit,

Had she this thought and vertue of the cloth
Wist, to han set on it, had she been loth.

She for a while was full sore affesed.
This Jonathas wish in his heart gan :
"Would God that I might thus been eased,
That as on this cloth I and this woman
Sit here, as farre were, as that never man

Or this came ;" and unneth had he so thought,
But they with the cloth thither weren brought.
Right to the world's end, as that it were,
When apparceived had she this, she cry'd
A thogh she through girt had be with a spere.
"Harro! alas! that ever shope this tide!
How came we hither?" "Nay," he said, " abide,
Worse is comming; here sole wole I thee leave,
Wild beasts shallen thee devoure or eave.

"For thou my ring and brooch hast fro' me
"O reverent sir! have upon me pittee," [holden."
Quoth she, "if ye this grace do me wolden,
As bring me home againe to the cittee
Where as I this day was, but if that ye

Them have againe, of foul death do me dye;
Your bountie on me kythe, I mercy cry."

This Jonathas could nothing beware,

Ne take ensample of the deceites tweine
That she did him beforne, but feith him bare,
And her he commanded on death's peine
Fro' such offences thenceforth her restreine:
She swore, and made thereto foreward,

But herkneth how she bore her afterward.

Whan she saw and knew that the wrath and ire
That he to her had borne, was gone and past,
And all was well; she thought him eft to fire,
In her malice aye stood she stedfast,
And to enquire of him was not agast,

In so short time how that it might be
That they came thither out of her contrie.
"Such vertue hath this cloth on which we sit,"
Said he," that where in this world us be list,
Suddenly with the thought shallen thither flit,
And how thither come unto us unwist:
As thing fro' farre, unknowne in the mist."
And therewith, to this woman fraudulent,
"To sleepe," he said, "have I good talent.
"Let see," quoth he, "stretch out anon thy lap,
In which wole I my head lay down and rest."
So was it done, and he anon gan nap;
Nap? nay, he slept right well, at best:
What doth this woman, one the ficklest
Of women all, but that cloth that lay
Under him, she drew lyte and lyte away.

Whan she it had all: "Would God," quoth she,
"I were as I was this day morning!"
And therewith this root of iniquitie
Had her wish, and sole left him there sleeping.
O Jonathas! like to thy perishing

Art thou, thy paramour made hath thy berd,
Whan thou wakest, cause hast thou to be ferd.
But thou shalt doe full well, thou shalt obteene
Victory on her, thou has done some deed
Pleasant to thy mother, well can I weene,
For which our Lord quite shall thy meed,
And thee deliver out of thy wofull dreed.

The childe whom that the mother u:eth blesse,
Full often sythe is eased in distresse.

Whan he awoke, and neither he ne fond
Woman, ne cloth, he wept bitterly,
And said, "Alas! now is there in no lond
Man worse I know begon than am I !"
On every side his looke he cast, and sy
Nothing but birds in the aire flying,
And wild beasts about him renning.
Of whose sight he full sore was agrysed,
He thought," All this well deserved I have,
What ayled me to be so evil avised,
That my counsell could I nat keep and save?
Who can foole play? who can mad and rave?
But he that to a woman his secree
Discovereth, the smart cleaveth now on me."
He thus departeth as God would harmlesse,
And forth of a venture his way he is went,
But witherward he draw, he conceitlesse
Was, he nat knew to what place he was bent.
He past a water which was so fervent,

That flesh upon his feet left it him none,
All cleane was departed from the bone,