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was newly slipte away, and whilst they were Let wise Ulysses judge. Some I confesse, at a stand, wond'ringe what was become of him, That tow'rds this isle not long since did addresse the woodman stepte forth and sunge this Their stretched oares, no sooner landed were,
But (carelesse of themselves) they here and there
Fed on strange fruits, invenominge their bloods, Grillus is gone, belyke he hath hearde
And now like monsters range about the woods. The dayrie-maid knocke at the trough in the If those thy mates were, yet is Circe free, yearde:
For their misfortunes have not birth from me. Through thicke and thinne he wallowes, Who in the apothecarie's shop hath ta'ne And weighes nor depths nor shallowes.
(Whilst he is wantinge) that which breeds his bane, Harke! how he whynes,
Should never blame the man who there had plac'd it, Run all e're he dines,
But his owne folly urging him to taste it.
For beinge so quicke,
Æva's queene, and great Hyperion's pride,
Pardon misdoubtes, and we are satisfide.
His troughe, And spill all bis wash : and his graines.
Swifter the lightninge comes got from above,
Than do our grants born on the wings of love; With this the triplex of their tune was plaid twice And since what's past doth not Ulysses please,
or thrice over, and by turnes brought them Call to a dance the fair Nereides, from the stage; when the woodman sung this with other nymphes, which doe in every creeke, other staffe of the last songe, and then ran after In woods, on plaines, on mountaines symples seeke them.
For powerfull Circe, and let in a songe And now 'tis wish'd that all such as hee,
Ecchos be aydinge, that they may prolonge Were rooting with him at the tronghe or the tree.
My nuw command to each place where they be, Fly, fly, from our pure fountaines,
To bringe them hither all more speedilye. To the darke vales or the mountaines, Presently in the wood was heard a full musicke of Liste, some one whines
lutes, which descending to the stage, had to With voyce like a swine's,
them sung this followinge songe, the Ecchos beAs angry that none
ing plac'd in several parts of the passage. With Grillus is gone,
Circe bids you come awaye.
Come awaye, come awaye.
From the rivers, from the sea. To hinder the boare from his kinde.
ECCHO. From the sea, from the sea. CIRCE.
From the greene woods every one. How likes Ulysses this !
ECCHO. Every one, every one.
Of her maides be missinge none.
ECCHO. Missinge none, missinge nope.
No longer stay, except it be to bringe Who in a shipwracke being cast upon
A med'cine for love's stinge. The froathy shores, and safe beholdes his mates
That would excuse you, and be held more deare, Equally cross'd by Neptune and the Fates.
Than wit or magicke, for both they are here. You might as well have ask'd how I would like
Eccho. They are here, they are here. A straine whose equall Orpheus could not strike, Upon a barpe whose stringes none other be, The Eccho had no sooner answered to the last line Than of the heart of chaste Penclope.
of the songe, They are here, but the second O let it be enough that thou in these,
Antimasque came in, being seven nymphs, and Hast made most wretched Laertjades:
were thus attir'd: Let yet the sad chance of distressed Greekes, With other teares than sorrowe's dewe your checkes!
Foure in white taffita robes, long trèsses, and Most ahject basenesse hath enthral'd that breste
chaplets of flowers, herbs, and weels on their Which laughs at men by misery oppreste.
heads, with little wicker baskets in their bandes,
neatly painted. These were supposed to be maides CIRCE.
attending upon Circe, and used in gatheringe Jo this, as lylljes, or the new-falne snove,
simples for their mistress's inchantments. Is Circe spotlesse yet: what though the bowe
(Pausanias in prioribus Eliacis.) Which Iris bendes, appeareth to each sight
Three in sea greene robes, greenish haire hangIn various hewes and colours infinite :
ing loose“, with leaves of corall and shells interThe learned knowe that in itselfe is free,
mixt upon it. These are by Ovid affirmed to And light and shade make that varietye.
helpe the nymphs of Circe in their collections". Things farre off seen seem not the same they are, Fame is not ever truth's discoverer ;
* Florac. lib. 3. carmin. For still where envy meetcth a reporte,
Nereides nymphæque simul quis vellera motis Ill she makes worse, and what is good come shorte.
Nulla trahunt digitos, nec fila sequentia ducunt, In whatso'ere this land hath passine beene,
Gramina disponunt; sparsosque sine ordine fores Or she that here 'ore other raigneth queene,
Secernunt Calathis, variisque coloribus herbas.
Ipsa quod hæ faciunt opus exigit; &c. : Ovid. Metam. lib. 1*
Osid. lib, 14. Metam.
These havinge danced a most curious measure to a softer tune than the first Antimasque, as most
Shake off sleepe, ye worthy knights, fitting, returned as they came; the Nereides
Though ye dreame of all delights; towardes the cliffes, and the other maides of
Show that Venus doth resorte Circe to the woods and plaines. After which
To the campe as well as courte. Ulysses, thus :
By some well timed measure,
And on your gestures and your paces, Fame addes not to thy joyes, I see in this,
Let the well-composed graces, Rut like a high and stately Pyramis
Lookinge like, and parte with pleasure. Growes least at farthest: now faire Circe grante, Although the faire-hair'd Greeks do never vaunte,
By this the knights being all risen from their That they in measur'd paces aught have done,
seates, were, by Ulysses (the loud musicke sound But where the god of batteles led them on;
inge) brought to the stage; and then to the violins Give leave that (freed from sleepe) the small
danced their first measure; after which this remaine
songe brought them to the second. Of my companions, on the under plaine,
SONGE May in a dance strive how to pleasure thee,
On and imitate the Sun, Eyther with skill or with varietye.
Stay not to breathe till you have done:
Earth doth thinke as other where
Do some woemen she doth beare.
Those wifes whose husbands only threaten, And from their eyes each child of sleepe command,
Are not lov'd like those are beaten: Whilst my choice maides with their harmonious
Then with your feete to suffringe move her, voyces
For whilst you beate earth thus, you love her.
Upon whose brestes love would for ever slumber:
Choose not ainisse, since you may where you wille, Circe, with this speech, deliveringe her wande Then do not leave, though oft the musicke closes,
Or blame yourselves for choosinge ille. to Ulysses, rests on the lower parte of the hill, u bile he going up the hill, and striking the Till lillyes in their cheekes be turned to roses. trees with his wande, suddenly two greate gates flew open, makinge, as it were, a large glade
And if it lay in Circe's power, through the wood, and along the glade a faire
Your blisse might so persever, walke; two seeming bricke walles on either That those you choose but for an hower, side, over which the trees wantonly hunge; a
You should enjoy for ever. great light (as the Sun's sudden unmaskinge) | The knights, with their ladyes, dance here the old being seene upon this discovery. At the furthe rend was described an arbour, very curiously
measures, galliards, corantoes, the branles, &c.
and then (havinge led them againe to their done, havinge one entrance under an archi
places) danced their last measure; after which treave, borne up by two pillers, with their
this songe called them awaye. chapters and bascs guilte; the top of the entrance beantifide with postures of Satyres, W'oodnymphs, and other anticke worke; as also the
Wro but Time so hasty were, sides and corners: the coveringe archaise inter
To fly away and leave you here. wove with boughes, the backe of it girt round
Here where delight with a rine, and artificially done up in knottes
Might well allure towardes the toppe: beyond it was a wood
A very stoicke, from this night scene in perspective, the fore part of it opening
To turne an epicure. at Ulysses's approach, the maskers were dis- But since he calles away; and Time will soone re. covered in severall seates, leaninge as asleepe.
He staid not longer here, but ran to be more idly Doublets of greene taffita, cut like oaken leaves,
as upon cloth of silver; their skirtes and winges cut into leaves, deepe round hose of the same,
AN ELEGIE, both lind with sprigge lace spangled; long white sylke stockings; greene pumps, and roses done over with sylver leavis; hattes of the same stuffe, and cut narrowe-brimmed, and
HENRY, PRINCE OF Wales'. risinge smaller compasse at the crowne ; white What time the world, clat in a mourning robe, reathe hatbandes; white plumes; egrettes with
A stage made, for a woefull tragedie, a greene fall; ruffe bands and cuffes.
When showres of teares from the celestial globe, Ulysses severally came and toucht every one of Bewail'd the fate of sea-lov'd Brittanie; them with the wand, while this was sunge.
. This copy is transcribed from a manuseript ia
ON THE BEWAILED DEATH OF
THE TRULY BELOVED AND MOST VERTUOUS
When sighes as frequent were as various sights, That any one, which lov'd him, hated me,
Alas, my plaint,
In such constraint,
Breakes forth in rage, that thoughe my passions Nought being heard but what the minde affrights:
swimme, When Autumn had disrob’d the Sumıner's pride, Yet are they drowned ere they landed be.
Then England's honour, Europe's wonder dide. Imperfect lines : oh happy were I hurl'd O saddest straine that ere the Muses sung!,
And cut from life, as England from the world. A text of woe for griefe to comment on;
O! happier had we beene, if we had beene
Where hath the glorious eye of Heaven seene
spring! Bequeathed be,
Breake Nature's lawes! search the records of old ! To strew the place, wherein bis sacred urne
If aught e're fell Shall be enclos'd. This inight in many more
Might paralel The lıke effect: (who would not doe it) when Sad Albion's case : then note when I unfold No grave befits him, but the harts of men. Wbat seas of sorrow she is plunged in :
Where stormes of woe so mainly have beset her, The man whose masse of sorrowes have been such,
She hath no place for worse, nor hope for better.
Lying so ruefull and disconsolate?
Hath not her watrie zone in murmuring,
Fild every shoare with ecchoes of her crie?
Yes, Thetis raves,
And bids her waves
See where they sadly sit on Isis' shore,
And rend their haires as they would joy no more. Is Henrie dead, and doe the Muses sleepe? Alas! I see each one amazed stands, Shallow foords mutter, silent are the deepe: Faine would they tell their griefes, but know not
THIRSIS'S PRAISE TO HIS MISTRES3.
BY W. BROWNE.
FROM A COLLECTION OF POEMS, CALLED ENGLAND'S To men so cloide they faine would heare no more,
HELICON; OR, THE MUSES HARMONY. Though blaming those whose plaints they cannot heare?
On a bill that grac'd the plaine
Thirsis sate, a comely swaine,
Whilst his flock, that wandred nie,
Cropt the greene grasse busilie;
Thus he tuu'd his oaten quill :
Ver hath made the plesant field
Many several odours yeeld,
From faire Astra's cherrie lip,
Sweeter smells for ever skip, Yet should we hardly be inforc'd to wonder,
They in pleasing passen all. Our former griefes would so exceed their last :
Leavie groves now mainely rừng, Time cannot make our sorrowes aught com
With each sweet bird's sopnetting, pleater,
Notes that make the ecchocs long: Nor add one griefe to make our mourning greater.
But when Astra tunes her voice, England stood ne’re engirt with waves till now,
All the mirthful birds rejoice, Till now it held part with the continent,
And are list'ning to her song, Aye me! some one, in pittie show me how
Fairely spreads the damaske rose, I might in dolefull numbers so lament,
Whese rare mixture doth disclose
Beauties, penrills cannot faine. the Bodleian library, and is inserted here on ac
Yet, if Astra passe the bush, count of the variations from that printed in the first
Roses have been seen to blush. book of Britannia's Pastorals.
She doth all their beauties staine.
Phoebus shining bright in skie,
With his beames' all quick’ning fire:
And enflames them with desire.
Birds make happy ev'ry grove,
She makes marble fall in love.
ATTRIBUTED BY PRINCE, IN HIS WORTHIES OF DEVON,
TO WILLIAM BROWNE.
I oft bave heard of Lydford law,
And sit in judgment after.
As it deserves no laughter.
The vanes blown down by weather: To lye therein one night, 'lis guess'd, 'Twere better to be ston'd and press'd,
Or hang'd, now choose you whether. Ten men less room within this cave, Than five mice in a lanthorn have,
The keepers they are sly ones ;
'Twere fit to carry lyons.
Hath Lydford! When I saw all, I know none gladly there would stay, But rather hang out of the way,
Than tarry for a tryal. The prince an hundred pounds hath sent *To mend the leads, and planchens rent,
Within this living tomb,
There till the day of doom.
Two sureties for a noble.
John Vaughan, or John Doble?.
Seven ashes, and one oak;
But I saw ne'er a cloak.
Whereby you may consider well,
At Lydford, without bravery.
No cloak to hide their knavery.
For sure I do not fain;
And come to life again.
But sure the walls were clay,
The town is run away.
Come quickly while there is one.
The whole town to a prison.
So was I at the matter.
And we had milk and water.
This dyet was our bounds,
Among a pack of hounds.
But now from it much wider;
And half a pint of cyder.
Honours the rose and thistle.
Would make a good child's whistle.
Within a place so arrant.
Unless by some Tynn warrant.
RICHARD THE THIRD, HIS CHARACTER, LEGEND, AND TRAGEDY, A POEM, 4to.
1614. [AMONGST OTHER VERSES BY CHASMAN, BEK
JOHNSON, &c.] TO HIS WORTHY AND INGENIOUS FRIEND THE AUTHOR. So farre as can a swayne (who than a rounde
Un oaten-pipe no further boasts his skill) I dare to censure the shrill trumpets' sound,
Or other music of the sacred hil:
OF THE EVIL TIME.
The popular applause hath not so fell
He getteth up unlike to rise at all, (Like Nile's lowd cataract) possest mine cars He slips to ground as much unlike to fall; But others' songs I can distinguish well
Which doth inforce me partly to prefer And chant their praise, despised vertue rears: The opinion of that mad philosopher, Nor shall thy buskin's Muse be heard alone Who taught, that those all-framing powers above, In stately pallaces; the shady woods
(As 'tis suppos’d) made man not out of love By ine shall learn't, and ecchoes one by one To him at all, but only as a thing,
Teach it the bils, and they the silver floods. To make them sport with, which the use to bring, Our learned shepheards that have us'd to fore As men do monkies, puppets, and such tools
Their hasty gifts.in notes that wooe the plaines, Of laughter: so men are but the gods' fools. By rural ditties will be known no more ;
Such are by titles lifted to the sky, But reach at fame by such as are thy straines. As wherefore no man knows, God scarcely why; And I would gladly (if the sisters spring
The virtuous man depressed like a stone Had me inabled) beare a part with thee,
Por that dull sot to raise himself upon; And for sweet groves, of brave' heroes sing, He who ne'er thing yet worthy man durst do, But since it fits not my weake melodie,
Never durst look upon his country's foe,
Than the base beggar (rightly if coinpar'd);
grow MR. WILLIAM DRAYTON, TO HIS NOBLE FRIEND
To any title empire can bestow;
For this believe, that impudence is now
A cardinal vertue, and men it allow
New ways, nay glory to be impudent.
Into the clouds the Devil lately got, What this mad time's catastrophe will be;
And by the moisture doubting much the rot, The world's first wisernen certainly mistook A medicine took to make him purge and cast; T'hemselves, and spoke things quite beside the Which in a short time began to work so fast, book,
That he fell to't, and from bis backside flew And that which they have said of God, untrue, A rout of rascal a rude ribald crew Or else expect strange judgment to ensue.
Of base plebeians, which no sooner light This isle is a mere Bedlam, and therein, Upon the Earth, but with a sudden flight We all lie raving mad in every sin,
They spread this isle; and as Deucalion once And him the wisest most men use to call,
Over his shoulder back, by throwing stones Who doth (alone) the maddest thing of all; They became men, even so these beasts became He whom the master of all wisdom found,
Owners of titles from an obscure name. For a mark'd fool, and so did him propound, He that by riot, of a mighty rent, The time we live in, to that pass is brought,
Hath his late goodly patrimony spent, That only he a censor now is thought;
And into base and wilful begg'ry run,
This world of ours, thus runneth upon wheels, In the forlorn hope of times is plac'd.
To Fortune's guiding, nor would have to do
With man, nor aught that doth belong him to, Then I suppose by the strong power of fate,
Or at the least God having given more That those which at confused Babel were,
Power to the Devil, than he did of yore, And since that time now many a lingering year,
Over this world: the fiend as he doth hate Through fools, and beasts, and lunatics have The virtuous man; maligning bis estate, past,
All noble things, and would have by his will, Are here imbodied in this age at last,
To be damn'd with him, using all his skill,
All worthy men, and strangly to perplex
But of these things I vainly do but tell, But to our proverb, all turn'd upside down ; Where Hell is Heaven, and Hear'n is now turn'd To do in time, is to do out of season,
Hell; And that speeds best, that's done the farthest Where that which lately blasphemy hath been, from reason,
Now godliness, much less accounted sin;
Till that of late I constru'd it, that they
To present tbrift had got the perfect way,