Sivut kuvina

Willie, by thy incitement I'le assay
To raise my subject higher than tofore,
And sing it to our swaines next holy-day,
Which (as approv'd) shall fill them with the store
Of such rare accents: if dislik'd, no more
Will I a higher straine than shepheards use,
But sing of woods and rivers as before.

Thon wilt be ever happy in thy Muse.

But see, the radiant Sunne is gotten hye,
Let's seeke for shadow in the grove hereby.

And though I say't, hath better tricks in store

Than both of yours, or twenty couple more.
How often have the maidens strove to take bim,
When he hath crost the plaine to barke at crowes!
How many lasses have I knowne to inake him
Garlands to gird his necke, with which he goes
Vaunting along the lands so wondroua trim,
That not a dog of yours durst barke at him.
And when I list (as often-times I use)
To tune a horne pipe, or a morris-dance,
The dogge (as he by nature could not choose)
Seeining asleepe before, will leap and dance.

Belike your dog came of a pedler's brood,
Or Philos' musicke is exceeding good.









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,
Philos of his dogge doth bragge

As for a coller of sbrill sounding bels
For having many feates :

My dog shall strive with yours, or any's els.
The while the curre undoes his bagge,
And all his dinner eates.

Pbilos in truth I must confesse your wagge

(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.
Star Jockie, let us rest here by this spring, How fast thy bread and cheese goes downe his
And Philos too, since we so well are met;
This spreding oke wil yeeld us shadowing
Till Phæbus' steeds be in the ocean wet.

Now Philos see how mannerly your curre,

Your well-taught dog, that hath so many trickes,

Devoures your dinner.
Gladly (kind swaine). I yeeld, so thou wilt play
And make us merry with a roundelay.

I wish 'twere a burre

To choke the mungrell!
No Jockie, rather wend we to the wood,
The time is fit, and filberds waxen ripe ;

See how he lickes
Let's go and fray the squirrell from his food;
We will another time heare Willie pipe.

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.
I dare not goe and let them feede alone.


Philos, run amaine,
Nor I; since but the other day it fell,

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;

Such curres as those shall never watch my sheepe. I, so it seemes : and Philos now may gne

Unto the wood, or borne for other cheere.
Yet Philos hath a dog not of the best;

He seemes too lazy, and will take no plaines;
More fit to lie at home and take his rest,

'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
Till my returne.

Can Spoyle the perfume of sweet cynnamon;

Nor vile aspersions, or by thee or them
We will

Cast on her name, can stay my going on.

Make haste againe.

On maist thou goe, but not with such a one,
Whoin (I dare sweare) thou know'st is not a maid:
Remember when I met ber last alone
As we to yonder grove for Gilberds straid,

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.
Palinode intreates his friend

Not long agoe
To leave a wanton lasse;
Yet he pursues her to his end

Too long I lov'd her, and as thou dost now
And lets all councell passe.

Would sweare Diana was lesse chaste than she,
That Jupiter would court her, knew he how
To find a shape might tempt such chastitie :

And that her thoughts were pure as new falne snow,

Or silver swans that trace the bankes of Po,

And free within
WHITHER wends Hobbinol so early day?

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 idle sport,

To be the mate
But did resort

Unto our lady of our gleesome May,
As early to thy charge from drowzy bed,

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;
Upon these downcs.

Nor any could with Phillis dance but bee,

On Paligode sne thenceforth not a glance
Such heavy frownes

Bestowes, but hates him and his poverty,
Fortune for others keeps; but bends on me Cladon bad sheape and lims for stronger lode
Smiles would befit the seat of majestie.

Then ere she saw in simple Palinode:
Hath Palinode

He was the man
Made his abode

Mest clip ber than;
Upon our plaines, or in soine uncouth cell? For him she wreathes of lovers and chaplets made;
That heares not what to Hobbinol befell;

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
But heare what language all of Pbillis use,
Yet, than such tongues,

The Aesh whereto so many flies liars cleft.
To her belongs

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
Forsake her first.

Beyond the limites that a maiden may,

And can the name of wife th se rovings stay?
Thou inost accurst!

She hath not augit
Durst thou to slander thus the innocent,

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
Be knowne but to myselfe; if we impart

With those, that shall make thee mistrust them too,
What golden rings

The Fairy brings,
We loose the jem, nor will they give tis more:

Wilt thou not leave to taint a virgine's name?
Wives loose their value, if once knowne before :
Behold this violet that cropped lyes,

A virgine! Yes: as sure as is her mother!
I know not by what hand first from the stem, Dost thou not heare her good report by fame!
With what I plucke myselfe shall I it prise ?

I scorne the offals of a diadem.
A virgin's bed hath millions of delights,

Fame is a lyer, and was never other.
If than goods parents please she know no more:

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,
Onely deserves the due of chastitie.

Nor will thy thought of her thus long time hold.
But Pbillis is

Yet may she (if that possible can fall)
As farre froin this,

Be true to thee, that hath been false to all.
As are the poles in distance from each other,

She well beseemes the daughter of her mother.
Is there a brake

So pierce the rocks
By hill or lake,

A red-breast's knocks,
In all our plaines, that hath not guilty been, As the beleefe of aught thou tell'st me now.
In keeping close her stealths ; the Papbian queene Yet be iny guest to-morrow.

Ne're us'd her skill
To win her will

Speed your plow.
Of yong Adonis, with more heart than she

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

Growes with his burden old and barrener.

Ill-tutour'd swaine,

If on the plaine

[feed, With much ado, and with no little paine,

Thy sheep hence-forward come where mine do
Have I out-heard thy railing 'gainst my love : They shall be sure to smart for thy misdeed.
But it is common, what we cannot gaine
We oft disvalew : sooner shalt thou move
Yond lofty mountaine from the place it stands,

Such are the thankes a friend's fore-warning brings.
Or count the meadowe's flowers, or Isis' sands,

Now, by the love I ever bore thee, stay!
Than stirre one thought

Meete not mishaps! themselves have speedy
In me, that aught

Can be in Phillis which Diana faire,
And all the goddesses, would not wish their. It is in vainc. Farewel. I must away.

Fond man, then cease

To crosse that peace
Which Phillis' vertue and this heart of mine
Have well begun; and for those words of thine

I doe forgive,

If thou wilt live
Hereafter free from such reproches moe,

Since goodnesse never was without her foe.


Beleeve me, Hobbinol, what I have said

Was more in love to thee than hate to her:
Thinke on thy liberty ; let that be weigh'l;

Great good may oft betide, if we deferre
And use some short delayes ere marriage rites;

Wedlocke hath daies of toile as joysome nights.
Canst thou be free

From jealousie ?
Oh, no! that plague will so infect thy braine,
That only death must worke thy peace againe.
Thou canst not dwell

Willie, well met, now whiles thy flocks do feed
One minute well
Prom whence thou leav'st her; locke on her thy Lay

by thy hooke, and take thy pleasant reed,

So dangerlesse, and free from any feare ;
Yet will her mind be still adulterate.
Not Argos' eyes,

[gate, And with thy melodie reblesse mine eare,
Nor ten such spies,

Which (upon Lammas last) and on this plaine,
Thou plaidst so sweetly to thy skipping traine,



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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,
Whose tender pinions, scarcely fledg'd in show,
Could make his way with whitest swans in Po :

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.
A Jacob's stafie, to take the height of Heaven;
And with a naturall cosmography
To comprehend the Earth's rotunditie:
Besides, the working plummet of thy braine
Can sound the decpes and secrets of the maine :

For if the shepheard a true figure be
Of contemplation, (as the learn'd agree)
Which, in bis seeming rest, doth (restlesse) move Alexis, if thy worth doe not disdaine
About the center, and to Heav'n above?

The humble friendship of a meaner swaine;
And in his thought is onely bounded there, Or some more necelfull businesse of the day
Sees Nature's chaine fast'oed to Jove's high chaire, Urge thee to be too hasty on thy way;
Then thou (that art of Pan the sweetest swaine, Come (gentle shepheard) rest thee here by me,
And far transcending all his lowly traine)

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;

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Where (cause but little conning I had got) Pitty I had to see gooil parts conceald,
Perhaps thou saw'st me, tho' thou knew'st me not. Care I bad how to have that good reveald,

Since 'tis a fault admitteth no excuse

To possesse much, and yet put nought in use :
Yes, Thirsis, I doe know thee and thy name, Hereon I vow'd, (if we iwo ever met)
Nor is my knowledge grounded all on fame; The first request that I would strive to get (skill,
Art not thou hic, that but this other yeare,

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,
But this too good opinion thou hast seem'd Nor neede thy paine be great, since fate and Heaven
To have of me (not so 10 be esteem'd)

They (as a blessing) at thy birth have given.
Prevailes not aught to stay him who doth feare,
He rather should reproofes than praises heare;
'Tis true I found thee plaine and honest too,

Why, say they hasl.
Which made me like, then love, as now I do;
And, Thirsis, though a stranger, this I say,

Then use their gifts thou must, Where I do love, I am not coy to stay.

Or be ungratefull, and so be unjust :
For if it cannot truly be deny'd,

Ingratitude men's benefits do hide,
Thankes, gentle swayne, that dost so soone unfold Then more ungratefull must he be by oddes,
What I to thee as glailly would have told,

W’ho doth conceale the bounty of the gods.
And thus thy wonted curtesie exprest
lo kindly entertaining this request:
Sure I should injury my owne content,

That's true indeed; but Envy hateth those
Or wrong thy love, to stand on complement,

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.
And if thou wilt but daigne to give me eare,
Something thou maist for thy more profit hcare.

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,
When as I saw thee at that shepheard's coate, As to allow those doings best, where wholly
Where each, I thinke, of other tooke first noate, We scoffe them to their face, and thout their folly?
I meane that pastor who by 'Tavie's springs, Or to behold blacke Envy in her prime
Chaste shepheards' loves in sweetest numbers sings, Die selfe-consum'd, whilst we vie lives with time?
And with his musicke (to his greater fame)

And, in despight of her, more fame attaine
Hath late made proud the fairest nimphes of Thame. Than all her malice can wipe out againe.
E'ne then, me thought, I did espy in thee
Some unperceiv'd and hidden worth to be,
Which in thy more apparent virtues shin'd, Yea, but if I apply me to those straines,
And among many I in thought devin'd,

Who should drive forth my flockes unto the plaines,
By something my conceit had understood, Which whilst the Muses rest, and leasure crave,
That thou wert markt one of the Muses' brood, Must watering, folding, and attendance have?
That made me love thee: and that love I beare Por if I leave with wonted care to cherish
Begat a pitty, and that pitty care:

Those tender heards, both I and they should perish.







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