40

365

309

And han1 bene watered at the Muses well;
The kindely dewe drops from the higher tree,
And wets the little plants that lowly dwell:
But if sadde winters wrath, and season chill,
Accord not with thy Muses merriment,
To sadder times thou maist attune thy quill,
And sing of sorrowe and deathes dreriment;
For deade is Dido, deade, alas! and drent,2
Dido! the great shepheard his daughter sheene 3:
The fayrest May 4 shee was that ever went,
Her like shee has not left behinde I weene:
And, if thou wilt bewayle my wofull teene,5
I shall thee give yond cosset for thy payne;
And, if thy rymes as rounde and ruefull beene
As those that did thy Rosalind complayne,
Much greater gifts for guerdon thou shalt gayne,
Than kid or cosset, which I thee bynempt 7:
Then up, I say, thou iolly shepheard swayne,
Let not my small demaunde be so contempt.8

6

COL. Thenot, to that I chose thou doest mee tempt; But ah! too well I wote 9 my humble vayne,

And how my rimes bene rugged and unkempt 1o;

Yet, as I conne, my conning I will strayne.'

11

"Up, then, Melpomene! the mournefulst Muse of Nine, Such cause of mourning never hadst afore; Up, grislie ghostes! and up my rufull rime!

1 Han, have.

2 Drent, drowned, perished.

3 Sheene, bright.

4 May, maid.

5 Teene, sorrow.

6 Yond, yonder.

7 Bynempt, bequeathed.

8 Contempt, contemned.

9 Wote, know.

10 Unkempt, unpolished.

11 Strayne, imbody in strains.

55

50

45

Matter of myrth now shalt thou have no more;
For dead shee is, that myrth thee made of yore.
Dido, my deare, alas! is dead,

Dead, and lyeth wrapt in lead.
O heavie herse!

Let streaming teares be powred out in store;
O carefull verse!

60

"Shepheards, that by your flocks of Kentish downes abyde,
Waile ye this woefull waste of Natures warke ;

Waile we the wight, whose presence was our pryde;
Waile we the wight, whose absence is our carke1;

The sunne of all the world is dimme and darke;

The earth now lacks her wonted light,

And all we dwell in deadly night.

O heavie herse!

Breake we our pipes, that shrild 2 as lowde as larke;
O carefull verse !

Why doe we longer live, (ah! why live we so long?)
Whose better dayes Death hath shut up in woe?

The fayrest flowre our girlond all emong、

Is faded quite, and into dust ygoe.3

Sing now, ye shepheards daughters, sing no moe
The songs that Colin made you in her praise,
But into weeping turn your wanton layes.

O heavie herse!

Nowe is time to die: nay, time was long ygoe:
O carefull verse!

"Whence is it, that the flowret of the field doth fade,
And lyeth buried long in Winters bale;

65

1 Carke, sorrow. 2 Shrild, sounded shrill.

3 Ygoe, gone.

Yet, soone as Spring his mantle hath displayde,
It flowreth fresh, as it should never fayle?
But thing on earth that is of most availe,

As vertues branch and beauties bud,
Reliven 1 not for any good.

O heavie herse!

The branch once dead, the bud eke needes must quaile;
O carefull verse!

85

,90

"She, while she was, (that was, a wofull word to saine 2 !)
For beauties praise and pleasaunce had no peere;
So well she couth 3 the shepheards entertaine
With cakes and cracknells, and such countrey cheere:
Ne would she scorne the simple shepheards swaine;
For she would call him often heme,

And give him curds and clouted creame.

95

O heavie herse!

100

Als Colin Cloute she would not once disdaine;

O carefull verse!

"But now sike 4 happy cheere is turnde to heavy chaunce,
Such pleasaunce now displast by dolors dint 5;

All musick sleepes, where Death doth lead the daunce,

105

And shepheards wonted solace is extinct.

The blew in black, the greene in gray, is tinct 6;

The gaudy girlonds deck her grave,

The faded flowres her corse embrave."

O heavie herse!

Morne now, my Muse, now morne with teares besprint 8;

O carefull verse!

1 Reliven, live again.

2 Saine, say.

3 Couth, knew how.

4 Sike, such.

5 Dolors dint, pang of grief.

6 Tinct, colored.

Embrave, adorn.

8 Besprint, besprinkled.

110

1

115

"O thou great shepheard, Lobbin, how great is thy griefe !
Where bene the nosegayes that she dight for thee?
The coloured chaplets wrought with a chiefe,
The knotted rush-ringes, and gilt rosemaree?
For shee deemed nothing too deere for thee.
Ah! they bene all yclad in clay;

One bitter blast blewe all away.

O heavie herse!

120

Thereof nought remaynes but the memoree;

O carefull verse!

"Ay me! that dreerie Death should strike so mortall stroke, That can undoe Dame Natures kindely course;

The faded lockes fall from the loftie oke,

125

The flouds doe gaspe, for dryed is their sourse,

And flouds of teares flow in theyr stead perforce:

The mantled medowes mourne,

Theyr sundrie colours tourne.

O heavie herse!

130

The heavens doe melt in teares without remorse;
O carefull verse!

"The feeble flocks in field refuse their former foode,
And hang their heades as they would learne to weepe;
The beastes in forrest wayle as they were woode,2
Except the wolves, that chase the wandring sheepe,
Now shee is gone that safely did hem keepe:
The turtle on the bared braunch

1 Dight, prepared.

2 Woode, mad.

135

Ver. 113. Lobbin.] "The name of a shepheard, which seemeth to have been the lover and deare friend of Dido."-E. K.

Ver. 115. Wrought with a chiefe.] Wrought into a head, like a nosegay.

Laments the wounde that Death did launch.

O heavie herse!

And Philomele her song with teares doth steepe;

O carefull verse!

140

"The water nymphs, that wont with her to sing and daunce, And for her girlond olive braunches beare,

Nowe balefull boughes of cypres doen advaunce;

145

The Muses, that were wont greene bayes to weare,

Now bringen bitter eldre braunches seare;

The Fatall Sisters eke repent

Her vitall threde so soone was spent.

O heavie herse!

Morne now, my Muse, now morne with heavy cheare;
O carefull verse!

"O trustlesse state of earthly things, and slipper1 hope
Of mortall men, that swincke2 and sweate for nought,
And, shooting wide, doth misse the marked scope 3;
Nowe have I learnde (a lesson deerely bought)
That nis on earth assuraunce to be sought;

For what might bee in earthly mould,

That did her buried body hould?

O heavie herse!

Yet saw I on the beere when it was brought;

O carefull verse!

150

155

160

"But maugre 5 Death, and dreaded Sisters deadly spight,

And gates of hell, and fyrie furies force,

She hath the bonds broke of eternall night,

1 Slipper, slippery, uncertain.

165

2 Savincke, toil.