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But see, the radiant Sunne is gotten hye,
And though I say't, hath better tricks in store
Than both of yours, or twenty couple more.
THE SHEPHEARD'S PIPE.
THE SIXTH EGLOGUE.
I boast not of his kin, nor of my reed,
(Though of my reed, and him I well may boast) TEE ARGUMENT.
Yet if you will adventure that some meed
Shall be to him that is in action most,
As for a coller of sbrill sounding bels
My dog shall strive with yours, or any's els.
(For so you call him) bath of trickes good store, WILLI". JOCKIE.
To steale the vitteiles from his master's bagge
More cunningly, I nere saw dog before,
See Willy, see! I prithee Pbilos pote [throte.
Now Philos see how mannerly your curre,
Your well-taught dog, that hath so many trickes,
Devoures your dinner.
I wish 'twere a burre
To choke the mungrell!
See how he lickes
Your butter-boxe; by Pan, I doe not meanely
Love Philos' dog, that loves to be so cleanely WILLIE. But who shall keepe our flocks when we are gone?
Well Routed Jockie.
Philos, run amaine,
For in your scrip he now hath thrust his head Leaving my sheepe to graze on yonder plaine, So farre, he cannot get it forth againe ; I went to fill my bottle at the well,
See how he blindfold strags along the mead ; And ere I could returne, two lambs were slaine. And at your scrip your bottle hangs, I thinke:
He loves your meat, but cares not for your
drinke. Then was thy dog ill taught, or else asleepe;
Unto the wood, or borne for other cheere.
'Twere better he had never serv'd me so, Than catch a wandring sheepe upon the plaines.
Sweet meat, sowre sauce, he shall abye it deere.
What must he be aforehand with his master? JOCKIE. 'Tis true indeed; and, Philos, wot ye what? I thinke he plaies the fox, he growes so fat.
Onely in kindnesse he would be your taster:
PHILOS. Yet hath not Jockie nor yet Willie seene
Well, Willie, you may laugh, and urge my spleene; A dogge more nimble than is this of mine,
But by my hooke I sweare he shall it rue, Nor any of the fux more heedinll becne
And had far'd better had he fasting been. When in the shade 1 slept, or list to dine,
But I must home for my allowance nee.
So farewel, lads. Looke to my feeced traine 'Tis not the vapour of a hemblocke stem
Can Spoyle the perfume of sweet cynnamon;
Nor vile aspersions, or by thee or them
Cast on her name, can stay my going on.
On maist thou goe, but not with such a one,
Like to a new strook doe from out the bushes,
Lacing herselfe, and red with gamesome blushes, THE SEVENTH ECLOGUE.
Made towards the greene,
Loth to be seene:
And after in the grove the goatherd met:
What saidst thou then? If this prevaile not, yet
l'le tell thee inoe.
Not long agoe
Too long I lov'd her, and as thou dost now
Would sweare Diana was lesse chaste than she,
And that her thoughts were pure as new falne snow,
Or silver swans that trace the bankes of Po,
And free within
From spot of sin :
Yet like the fiint ber lust-swolne breast conceal'd What be thy lambkins broken fro' the fold
A hidden fire; and thus it was reveal'd: And on the plaines all night have ruu astray?
Cladon, the lad Or are thy sheepe and sheepe-walkes both ysold?
Who wbilome had What mister-chance hath brought thee to the The garland given for throwing best the barre,
field Without thy sheepe? thou wert not wont to yeeld I know not by what chance or luckie starre,
Was cho:en late
To be the mate
Unto our lady of our gleesome May,
And was the first that danc'd each holy-day; As any shepheard that his flock hath fed
None would be take but Phillis forth to dance;
Nor any could with Phillis dance but bee,
On Paligode sne thenceforth not a glance
Bestowes, but hates him and his poverty,
Then ere she saw in simple Palinode:
He was the man
Mest clip ber than;
To strawberries invito pin in the shade, Phillis the faire, and fairer is there none,
In stearing time, To morrow must be linkt in marriage bands,
And in the prime, 'Tis I that must undoe her virgin zone.
Would helpe tu clip his shcope, and gard bis lambs : Behold the man, behold the happy hands.
And at a need lend bin der choicest rams,
Anri on each stocke
Work such a clocke Prehold the man? Nay, then the woman too,
With twisted colored threr? : as rot a swajne Though both of them are very small beholding
On all these downes coulil sho's the like a gaine. To any powre that set them on to wooe; Ah Hobbinol! it is not worth unfolding
But, as it seemes, the well grow dry at last,
tter fire unqueich’d, and she nath Cladon lost : What shepheards say of her; thou canst not choose
Nor was I sorry; nor doe wish to tasto
The Aesh whereto so many flies liars cleft.
Oh, Hobbinol ! canst thou imagine she
That hath so oft heup tride, so oft misdone, More than to sate her lust; unhappy elfe!
Can from all otler men be true to thee? That wilt be bound to her to loose thy selfe.
Thou know'st with me, with Cladow she hath gone
Beyond the limites that a maiden may,
And can the name of wife th se rovings stay?
She hath not augit
That's hid, unsonght; The grace's patterne, vertue's president?
These eies, these hards, so much know of that She, in whose eye
[common? Shines modestie:
As more thou canst not: can that please that's Upon whose brow lust never lookes with hope,
No: should I wed, Venus ral'd not in Phillis' horoscope :
My marriage bed,
And all that it containes, should as my beart Can make her onely thine; for she will doe
With those, that shall make thee mistrust them too,
Wilt thou not leave to taint a virgine's name?
A virgine! Yes: as sure as is her mother!
Fame is a lyer, and was never other.
PALINODE. Nor hath her servants, nor her favourites,
Nay, if she ever spoke true, now she did; That waite her husband's issuing at dore :
And thou wilt once confesse wbat I foretold : She that is free both from the act and tie,
The fire will be disclos'd that now lies hid,
Nor will thy thought of her thus long time hold.
Yet may she (if that possible can fall)
Be true to thee, that hath been false to all.
So pierce the rocks
A red-breast's knocks,
Ne're us'd her skill
Speed your plow.
I fear ere long Hath her allurements spent to work on me.
You'le sing a song Leave, leave her, Hobbinol; she is so ill,
Like that was sung bereby not long ago ; That any one is good that's naught of her,
Where there is carrion, never wants a crow. Tho' she be faire, the ground which oft we till
If on the plaine
[feed, With much ado, and with no little paine,
Thy sheep hence-forward come where mine do
Such are the thankes a friend's fore-warning brings.
Now, by the love I ever bore thee, stay!
Meete not mishaps! themselves have speedy
Fond man, then cease
To crosse that peace
If thou wilt live
MASTER BROOKE AND MASTER DAVIES,
To W. BROWNE, ON THE PUBLICATION OF THE
TO HIS MUCH-LOVED FRIEND,
MASTER W. BROWNĖ,
OF THE INNER TEMPLE, D.D.
Willie, well met, now whiles thy flocks do feed
by thy hooke, and take thy pleasant reed,
So dangerlesse, and free from any feare ;
[gate, And with thy melodie reblesse mine eare,
Which (upon Lammas last) and on this plaine,
Here admiration without envie's wonne, 1, Cutty, then I plaid unto my sheepe
All in the light, but in the heate sit none. Notes apt for them, but farre unfit for thee;
And to this mount thon dost translate thine essence, How should ing layes (alas !) true measure keepe
Altho' the plaines contain thy corporal presence; With thy choice eares, or make thee melodie ? Where tho' poore people's miseric thou show, Por in thy straine thou do'st so farre exceed,
That under griping lords they undergoe, Thou canst not rellish such my homely rcede.
And what content they (that do lowest lie)
Receive from good men, that do sit on hie.
And in each witry ditty (that surpasses) [lasses ; Thy nicenesse shows thy cunning, nothing more,
Dost, for thy lore, make strife 'mongst country Yet since thou seein'st so lowly in thy thonght,
Yet in thy humble straine, fame makes thee rise, (Who in thy pastorall veine, and learned lore,
And strikes thy mounting forehead'gainst the skies. Art so much prais'd, so farre and neere art fought) To memorize thy name? Would I could praise
Renowned friend, what trophie may I raise Lend me thine eares, and thou shalt heare me sing
(In any meane) thy worth ; strike Envy dumbe, In praise of shepheards, and of thee, their king. But I dic here; thon livist in time to come :
States have their period, statues lost with rust; My loved Willic, if there be a man
Soules to Elizium, Nature ycelds to dust; That never heard of a browne-colour'd swan,
All monuments of armes and power decay,
But that which lives to an eternall day,
Letters preserve ; nay, gods with mortall men Or if there be among the spawne of earth,
Do sympathize by vertue of the penne, That thinkes so vilety of a shepheard's birth,
And so shalt thou. Sweet Willie, then proceede, That though he tune bis reed in meanest key,
And in eternall merit fame thy reede. Yet in his braine holds not Heaven, earth, and sea :
Pan to thy fleeced numbers give increase, Then let him know, thou art that young brown swan,
And Pales to thy love-thoughts give true peace; That through the winding streames of Albion
let faire Feronia (goddesse of the woods) Taking thy course, dost seeme to make thy pace
Preserve thy yong plants, multiply thy buds; With Glockes full plum'd, equall in love and grace;
And whiles thy rams doe tup, thy ewes do twyn, And thou art he (that tho' thy bumble straines
Doe thou in peacefull shade (from men's rude dyo) Do move delight to those that love the plaines :)
Adde pinyons to thy fame: whose active wit Yet to thyselse (as to thy sort) is given
With Hermes' winged cap doth suite most fit.
THIRSIS AND ALEXIS.
The humble friendship of a meaner swaine;
Under the shadow of this broad-leav'd tree: In thy discoursive thought, dost range as farre, For though I seeine a stranger, yet mine eye Nor canst thou erre, led by thine owne faire starre. Observes in thee the markes of curtisie: Thought hath no prison, and the mind is free And if my judgement erre vot, noted too Under the greatest king and tyranny.
More than in those that more would seeme to doc : Tho' low thou seem'st, thy genius mounts the bill, Such vertues thy rude modesty doth hide, Where heavenly nectar doth from Jove distil; Which by thy proper luster I espi’d; Where bayes still grow, (by thunder not struck And tho' long mask’t in silence they have beene, 1 down)
I have a wisedom thro' that silence seene: The victor's garland, and the poet's crown; Yea, I have learned knowledge from thy tongue, And underneath the horse-foote-fount doth Now, And heard when thou hast in concealment şuing: Which gives wit verdure, and makes learning Which me the bolder and more willing made grow.
Thus to invite thee to this hoinely shade. To this faire bill (from stormes and tempests free) And tho' (it may be) thon couldst never spye Thou oft repair'st for truthe's discovery ;
Sucb worth in me to make me known therehy, A prospect, upon all time's wand'ring mazes, In thee ( doe; for here my neighbouring shecpe Displaying vanity, disclosing graces :
Upon the border of these downes I keepe: Nay, in some clitle it leads the eye beyond Where often thou at pastorals and playes The time's horizon, stripping sea and land.
Hast grac'd our wakes on sommer holy-dayes : And farther (not obscurely) Joth divine
And many a time with thee at this cold spring All future times : here doc the Muses shine, Met I, to beare your learned shepherds sing, Here dignitie with safetie doe combine,
Saw them disporting in the shady groves, Pleasure with merit makes a lovely twine.
Anit in chast sonnets wcoe their chaster lores : Vitam vitalein they shall ever leade,
When I, endued with the mean it:kill, That mount this hill and learning's path do treade: 'Mongst others have been urg'd to tune iny quill;
Where (cause but little conning I had got) Pitty I had to see gooil parts conceald,
Since 'tis a fault admitteth no excuse
To possesse much, and yet put nought in use :
Should be but this, that thou wouldst show thy Scard'st all the wolves and foxes in the sheere ?
How thou couldst tune thy verses to thy guill: And in a match at foot-ball lately try'd,
And teach thy Muse, in some well-framed song, (Having scarce twenty satyres on thy side) To show the art thou hast supprest so long: Held'st play: and, tho' assailed, kept'st thy stand Which, if my new acquaintance may obtaine, Gainst all the best try'l ruffians in the land: Thirsis will ever honour this daie's gaine. Didst thou not then in doleful sonnets mone, When the beloved of great Pan was gone ; And, at the wedding of faire Thame and Rhyne, Alas! my small experience scarce can tell Sing of their glories to thy Valentine?
So much as where those nymphes the Muses dwell, I know it, and I must confesse that long
Nor (tho' my slow conceit still travels on) In one thing I did doe thy nature wrong:
Shall I ere reach to drinke of Helicon; For till ( markt the aime thy satyrs had,
Or if I might so favour'd be to taste I thought them overbolid, and Thirsis mad; What those sweet streames but over-flow in waste, Biit, since I did more ncerely on thee looke, And touch Parnassus where it low'st doth lye, I soon perceiv'd that I had all inistooke :
I feare my skill would hardly flagge so bye.. I saw that of a cynicke thou mad'st show, Where since I find that thou wert nothing so, And that of many thou much blame hadst got, Despaire not, man, the gods have prized nought When as thy irmocence deserv'd it not.
So deere that may not be with labour bought,
They (as a blessing) at thy birth have given.
Why, say they hasl.
Then use their gifts thou must, Where I do love, I am not coy to stay.
Or be ungratefull, and so be unjust :
Ingratitude men's benefits do hide,
W’ho doth conceale the bounty of the gods.
That's true indeed; but Envy hateth those
Who, seeking fame, their hidden skill disclose : Who hast acquaintance in one word begunne
Where else they might (obscur'd) from her espying As well as I could in an age have done:
Escape the blasts and danger of enrying: Or by an over-weaping slownesse marre
Critickes will censure our best straines of wit, What thy more wisedome hath bronght on so farre, And purblinde ignorance misconster it. Then sit thou downe, and I'le my minde declare
All which is bad, yet worse than this doth follow, As frely as if we familiars were:
Most hate the Muses, and contemne Apollo.
So let them; why should we their hate esteeme?
Is't not enough we of ourselves can deeme? Willingly, Thirsis, I thy wish obey.
'Tis more to their disgrace that we scorne them, Than unto us that they our art contemne;
Can we have better pastime than to see Then know, Alexis, from that very day,
Our grosse heads may so much deceived be,
And, in despight of her, more fame attaine
Who should drive forth my flockes unto the plaines,
Those tender heards, both I and they should perish.