Idea the shepheards garland Fashioned in nine eglogs. Rowlands sacrifice to the nine Muses.

THE FIRST EGLOG. When as the ioyfull spring brings in the Summers sweete reliefe : Poore Rowland malcontent be wayles the winter of his griefe . NOw Phoebus from the equinoctiall Zone , Had task'd his teame vnto the higher spheare . And from the brightnes of his glorious throne , Sends forth his Beames to light the lower ayre , The cheerfull welkin , comen this long look'd hower , Distils adowne full many a siluer shower . Fayre Philomel night-musicke of the spring , Sweetly recordes her tunefull harmony , And with deepe sobbes , and dolefull sorrowing , Before fayre Cinthya actes her Tragedy : The Throstle cock , by breaking of the day , Chants to his sweete , full many a louely lay . The crawling snake , against the morning sunne , Now streaks him in his rayn-bow coloured cote : The darkesome shades , as loathsome he doth shunne , Inchanted with the Birds sweete siluan note : The Buck forsakes the launds where he hath fed , And scornes the hunt should view his veluet head . Through all the partes , dispersed is the blood , The lustie spring , in flower of all her pride , Man , bird , and beast , and fish , in pleasant flood , Reioycing all in this most ioyfull tide : Saue Rowland leaning on a Ranpick tree , O'r growne with age , forlorne with woe was he . Oh blessed Pan , thou shepheards god sayth he , O thou Creator of the starrie light , Whose wonderous workes shew thy diuinitie , Thou wise inuentor of the day and night , Refreshing nature with the louely spring , Quite blemisht erst , with stormy winters sting . O thou strong builder of the firmament , Who placedst Phoebus in his fierie Carre , And by thy mighty Godhead didst inuent , The planets mansions that they should not iarre , Ordeyning Phebe , mistresse of the night , From Tytans flame to steale her forked light . Euen from the cleerest christall shining throne , Vnder whose feete the heauens are low abased , Commaunding in thy maiestie alone , Whereas the fiery Cherubines are placed : Receiue my vowes as incense vnto thee , My tribute due to thy eternitie . O shepheards soueraigne , yea receiue in gree , The gushing teares , from neuer-resting eyes , And let those prayers which I shall make to thee , Be in thy sight perfumed sacrifice : Let smokie sighes be pledges of contrition , For follies past to make my soules submission . Submission makes amends for all my misse , Contrition a refined life begins , Then sacred sighes , what thing more precious is ? And prayers be oblations for my sinnes , Repentant teares , from heauen-beholding eyes , Ascend the ayre , and penetrate the skies . My sorowes waxe , my ioyes are in the wayning , My hope decayes , and my despayre is springing , My loue hath losse , and my disgrace hath gayning , Wrong rules , desert with teares her hands sits wringing : Sorrow , despayre , disgrace , and wrong , doe thwart My Ioy , my loue , my hope , and my desert . Deuouring time shall swallow vp my sorrowes , And strong beliefe shall torture black despaire , Death shall orewhelme disgrace , in deepest furrowes , And Iustice laie my wrongs vpon the Beere : Thus Iustice , death , beleefe , and time , ere long , Shall end my woes , despayre , disgrace , and wrong . Yet time shall be expir'd and lose his date , And full assurance cancell strongest trust , Eternitie shall trample on deathes pate , And Iustice shall surcease when all be iust : Thus time , beleefe , death , Iustice , shall surcease , By date , assurance , eternity , and peace . Thus breathing from the Center of his soule , The tragick accents of his extasie , His sun-set eyes gan here and there to roule , Like one surprisde with sodaine lunacie : And being rouzde out of melancholly , Flye whirle-winde thoughts vnto the heauens quoth he . Now in the Ocean Tytan quencht his flame , And summond Cinthya to set vp her light , The heauens with their glorious starry frame , Preparde to crowne the sable-vayled night : When Rowland from this time consumed stock , With stone-colde hart now stalketh towards his flock . Quid queror ? & toto facio conuicia coelo : Di quoque habent oculos , di quoque pectus habent .

THE SECOND EGLOG. Wynken of mans frayle wayning age declares the simple truth , And doth by Rowlands harmes reprooue Mottos vnbrideled youth .

Motto . MIght my youths mirth delight thy aged yeeres , My gentle shepheard father of vs all , Wherewith I why lome Ioy'd my louely feeres , Chanting sweete straines of heauenly pastorall . Now would I tune my miskins on this Greene , And frame my muse those vertues to vnfold , Of that sole Phenix Bird , my liues sole Queene : Whose locks done staine , the three times burnisht gold . But melancholie grafted in thy Braine , My Rimes seeme harsh , to thy vnrelisht taste , Thy droughthy wits , not long refresht with raigne , Parched with heat , done wither now and waste .

Wynken . Indeed my Boy , my wits been all forlorne , My flowers decayd , with winter-withered frost , My clowdy set eclips'd my cherefull morne , That Iewell gone wherein I ioyed most . My dreadful thoughts been drawen vpon my face , In blotted lines with ages iron pen , The lothlie morpheu saffroned the place , Where beuties damaske daz'd the eies of men . A cumber-world , yet in the world am left , A fruitles plot , with brambles ouergrowne , Misliued man of my worlds ioy bereft , Hart-breaking cares the ofspring of my mone . Those daintie straines of my well tuned reed , Which manie a time haue pleasd my wanton eares , Nor sweet , nor pleasing thoughts in me done breed , But tell the follies of my wandring yeares . Those poysned pils been biding at my hart , Those loathsome drugs of my youths vanitie , Sweete seem'd they once , ful bitter now and tart , Ay me consuming corosiues they be .

Motto . Euen so I weene , for thy olde ages feuer , Deemes sweetest potions bitter as the gall , And thy colde Pallat hauing lost her sauour , Receiues no comfort in a cordiall .

Wynken . As thou art now , was I a gamesome boy , Though staru'd with wintred eld as thou do'st see , And well I know thy swallow-winged ioy , Shal be forgotten as it is in me . When on the Arche of thine eclipsed eies , Time hath ingrau'd deepe characters of death , And sun-burnt age thy kindlie moisture dries , Thy wearied lungs be niggards of thy breath , Thy brawne-falne armes , thy camock-bended backe , The time-plow d furrowes in thy fairest field , The Southsaiers of natures wofull wrack , When blooming age must stoupe to starued eld , When Lillie white is of a tawnie die , Thy fragrant crimson turn'd ash-coloured pale , Thy skin orecast with rough embroderie , And cares rude pencell , quite disgrac'd thy sale , When downe-beds heat must thawe thy frozen cold , And luke-warme brothes recure Phlebotomie , And when the bell is readie to be tol'd , To call the wormes to thine Anatomie : Remember then my boy , what once I said to thee . Now am I like the knurrie-bulked Oke , Whome wasting eld hath made a toombe of dust , Whose windvfallen branches fold by tempest stroke , His barcke consumes with canker wormed rust And though thou seemst like to the bragging bryer , As gay as is the mornings Marygolde , Yet shortly shall thy sap be drie and seere , Thy gaudy Blossomes blemished with colde . Euen such a wanton , an vnruly swayne , was little Rowland , when of yore as he , Vpon the Beechen tree on yonder playne , Carued this rime of loues Idolatrie . The Gods delight , the heauens hie spectacle , Earths greatest glory , worlds rarest miracle . Fortunes fayr'st mistresse , vertues surest guide , Loues Gouernesse , and natures chiefest pride . Delights owne darling , honours cheefe defence , Chastities choyce , and wisdomes quintessence . Conceipts sole Riches thoughts only treasure , Desires true hope , loyes sweetest pleasure . Mercies due merite , valeurs iust reward , Times fayrest fruite , fames strongest guarde . Yea she alone , next that eternall he , The expresse Image of eternitie .

Motto . Oh diuine loue , which so aloft canst raise , And lift the minde out of this earthly mire , And do'st inspire the pen with so hie prayse , As with the heauens doth equal mans desire . Thou lightning flame of sacred Poesie , Whose furie doth incense the swelling braines , As drawes to thee by heauen-bred Sympathie , The sweete delights of highest soaring vaines : Who doth not helpe to deck thy holy Shrine , With Mirtle , and triumphant Lawrell tree ? Who will not say that thou art most diuine ? Or who doth not confesse thy deitie ?

Wynken . A foolish boy , full ill is he repayed , For now the wanton pines in endles paine , And sore repents what he before missaide , So may they be which can so lewdly faine . Now hath this yonker torne his tressed lockes , And broke his pipe which sounded erst so sweete , Forsaking his companions and their flocks , And casts his gayest garland at his feete . And being shrowded in a homely cote , And full of sorrow as a man might be , He tun'd his Rebeck with a mournfull note , And thereto sang this dolefull elegie . Tell me fayre flocke ( if so you can conceaue ) The sodaine cause of my night-sunnes eclipse , If this be wrought me my light to bereaue , By Magick spels , from some inchanting lips Or vgly Saturne from his combust sent , This fat all presage of deaths dreryment . Oh cleerest day-starre , honored of mine eyes , Yet sdaynst mine eyes should gaze vpon thy light , Bright morning sunne , who with thy sweet arise , Expell'st the clouds of my harts lowring might , Goddes reiecting sweetest sacrifice , Of mine eyes teares ay offered to thine eyes . May purest heauens scorne my soules pure desires ? Or holy shrines hate Pilgrims orizons ? May sacred temples gaynsay sacred prayers ? Or Saints refuse the poores deuotions ? Then Orphane thoughts with sorrow be you waind , When loues Religion shal be thus prophayn'd . Yet needes the earth must droupe with visage sad ; When siluer dewes been turn'd to bitter stormes , The Cheerefull Welkin once in sables clad , Her frownes foretell poore humaine creatures harmes . And yet for all to make amends for this , The clouds sheed teares and weepen at my misse .

Motto . Woe 's me for him that pineth so in payne , Alas poore Rowland , how it pities me , So faire a baite should breed so foule a bayne , Or humble shewes should couer crueltie .

Winken Beware by him thou foolish wanton swayne , By others harmes thus maist thou learne to heede , Beautie and wealth been fraught with hie disdaine , Beleeue it as a Maxim of thy Creede .

Motto . If that there be such woes and paines in loue , Woe be to him that list the same to proue .

Wynken . Yes thou shalt find , if thou desir'st to proue , There is no hell , vnto the paines in loue .

THE THIRD EGLOG. Rowland and Perkin both Ifeere , in field vpon a day , With little Robin redbrests Round , doe passe the time away .

Perkin . ROwland for shame awake thy drowsie muse , Time plaies the hunts-vp to thy sleepie head , Why li'st thou here as thou hadst long been dead , foule idle swayne ? Who euer heard thy pipe and pleasing vaine , And doth but heare this scurrill minstralcy . These noninos of filthie ribauldry , that doth not muse . Then slumber not with foule Endymion , But tune thy reede to dapper virelayes , And sing a while of blessed Betas prayse , faire Beta she : In thy sweete song so blessed may'st thou bee , For learned Collin laies his pipes to gage , And is to fayrie gone a Pilgrimage : the more our mone .

Rowland . What Beta ? shepheard , she is Pans belou'd , Faire Betas praise beyond our straine doth stretch , Her notes too hie for my poore pipe to reach , poore oten reede : So farre vnfit to speake of worthies deede , But set my stops vnto a lower kay , Whereas a horne-pipe I may safelie play , yet vnreproou'd . With flatterie my muse could neuer fage , Nor could affect such vaine scurrility , To please lewd Lorrels , in their foolery , too base and vile : Nor but a note yet will I raise my stile , My selfe aboue Will Piper to aduance , Which so bestirs him at the morris dance , for pennie wage .

Perkin . Rowland , so toyes oft times esteemed are , And fashions euer changing with the time , Then frolick it a while in lustie rime , with mirth and glee : And let me heare that Roundelay of thee , Which once thou sangst to me in Ianeueer . When Robin-redbrest sitting on a breere , the burthen bare .

Rowland . Well needes I must yet with a heauie hart : But were not Beta sure I would not sing , Whose praise the ecchoes neuer cease to ring , vnto the skies .

Pirken . Be blith good Rowland then , and cleere thine eyes : And now sith Robin to his roost is gone , Good Rowland then supplie the place alone , and shew thy arte . O thou fayre siluer Thames : ô cleerest chrystall flood , Beta alone the Phenix is , of all thy watery brood , The Queene of Uirgins onely she : And thou the Queene of floods shalt be : Let all thy Nymphes be ioyfull then to see this happy day , Thy Beta now alone shal be the subiect of my laye . With daintie and delight some straines of sweetest virelayes : Come louely shepheards sit we down & chant our Betas prayse : And let vs sing : so rare a verse , Our Betas prayses to reheaerse That little Birds shall silent be , to heare poore shepheards sing , And riuers backward bend their course , & flow vnto the spring . Range all thy swannes faire Thames together on a rancke , And place them duely one by one , vpon thy stately banck , Then set together all a good , Recording to the siluer stood , And craue the tunefull Nightingale to helpe you with her lay , The Osel & the Throstlecocke , chiefe musick of our maye . O see what troups of Nimphs been sporting on the strands , And they been blessed Nimphs of peace , with Oliues in their How meryly the Muses sing , ( hands . That all the flowry Medowesring , And Beta sits vpon the banck , in purple and in pall , And she the Queene of Muses is , and weares the Corinall . Trim vp her Golden tresses with Apollos sacred tree , ô happy sight vnto all those that loue and honor thee , The Blessed Angels haue prepar'd , A glorious Crowne for thy reward , Not such a golden Crowne as haughtie Caesar weares , But such a glittering starry Crowne as Ariadne beares . Make her a goodly Chapilet of azur'd Colombine , And wreath about her Coronet with sweetest Eglentine : Bedeck our Beta all with Lillies , And the dayntie Daffadillies , With Roses damask , white , and red , and fairest flower delice , With Cowslips of Jerusalem , and cloues of Paradice . O thou fayre torch of heauen , the dayes most deerest light , And thou bright-shyning Cinthya , the glory of the night : You starres the eyes of heauen , And thou the glyding leuen , And thou ô gorgeous Iris with all strange Colours dyed , When she streams foorth her rayes , then dasht is all your pride . See how the day stands still , admiring of her face , And time loe stretcheth foorth her armes , thy Beta to imbrace , The Syrens sing sweete layes , The Trytons sound her prayse , Goe passe on Thames and hie thee fast vnto the Ocean sea , And let thy billowes there proclaime thy Betas holy-day . And water thou the blessed roote of that greene Oliue tree , With whose sweete shadow , al thy bancks with peace preserued Lawrell for Poets and Conquerours , ( be , And mirtle for Loues Paramours : That fame may be thy fruit , the boughes preseru'd by peace , And let the mournfist Cipres die , now stormes & tempests cease . Wee 'l straw the shore with pearle where Beta walks alone , And we wil paue her princely Bower with richest Indian stone , Perfume the ayre and make it sweete , For such a Goddesse it is meete , For if her eyes for purity contend with Tytans light , No maruaile then although they so doe dazell humaine sight . Sound out your trumpets then , from Londons stately towres , To beat the stormie windes a back & calme the raging showres , Set too the Cornet and the flute , The Orpharyon and the Lute , And tune the Taber and the pipe , to the sweet violons , And moue the thunder in the ayre , with lowdest Clarions . Beta long may thine Altars smoke , with yeerely sacrifice , And long thy sacred Temples may their Saboths solemnize , Thy shepheards watch by day and night , Thy Mayds attend the holy light , And thy large empyre stretch her armes from east vnto the west , And thou vnder thy feet mayst tread , that soule seuen-headed beast .

Perken . Thanks gentle Rowland for my Roundelay , And bless'd be Beta burthen of thy song , The shepheards Goddesse may she florish long , ô happie she . Her yeares and dayes thrice doubled may they bee . Triumphing Albion clap thy hands for ioy , And pray the heauens may shield her from anoy , so will I pray .

Rowland . So doe , and when my milk-white eawes haue yeande , Beta shall haue the firstling of the foulde , I le burnish all his hornes with finest gould , and paynt his fleece with purple grayne .

Perkin . Beleeue me as I am true shepheards swayne , Then for thy loue all other I forsake , And vnto thee my selfe I will betake , with fayth vnfayn'd . Ipse ego thura dabo , fumosis candidus aris : Ipse feram ante tuos munera vota pedes .

THE FOVRTH EGLOG. Wynken be wayleth Elphinslosse , the God of Poesie , with Rowlands rime ecleepd the tears of the greene Hawthorne tree .

Gorbo . WEll met good wynken , whither doest thou wend ? How hast thou far'd sweet shepherd many a yeer ? May wynken thus his daies in darkenes spend ? Who I haue knowne for piping had no peere ? Where been those fayre flocks thou wert wont to guide ? What ? been they dead ? or hap'd on some mischance , Or mischiefe hath their master else betide , Or Lordly Loue hath cast thee in a trance . What man ? let s still be merie whilst we may , And take a truce with sorrow for a time , And let vs passe this wearie winters day , In reading Riddles , or in making rime .

Wynken . Ah woe's me Gorbo , mirth is farre away , Mirth may not soiourne with black malcontent , The lowring aspect of this dismall day , The winter of my sorrow doth augment . My song is now a swanne-like dying song , And my conceipts , the deepe conceipts of death , My heart becom'n a very hell of wrong , My breast the irksome prison of my breath . I loth my life , I loth the dearest light , Com'n is my night , when once appeeres the day , The blessed sunne seemes odious in my sight , No song may like me but the shreech-owles lay .

Gorbo . What mayst thou be , that old wynkin de word , Whose thred-bare wits o'rworne with melancholly , Once so delightsome at the shepheards boord , But now forlorne with thy selues self-wild folly . I think thou dot'st in thy gray-bearded age , Or brusd with sinne , for thy youths sin art sory , And vow'st for thy ? a solemne pilgrimage , To holy Hayles or Patricks Purgatory . Come sit we downe vnder this Hawthorne tree . The morrowes light shall lend vs daie enough , And tell a tale of Gawen or Sir Guy , Of Robin Hood , or of good Clema Clough . Or else some Romant vnto vs areed , Which good olde Godfrey taught thee in thy youth , Of noble Lords and Ladies gentle deede , Or of thy loue , or of thy lasses truth .

Winken Gorbo , my Comfort is accloyd with care , A new mishap my wonted ioyes hath crost : Then meruaile not although my musicke iarre , When she the Author of her mirth hath lost , Elphin is dead , and in his graue is laid , Our liues delight whilst louely Elphin liued , What cruell fate hath so the time berraid , The widow world of all her ioyes depriued . O cursed death , Liues fearsull enemie , Times poysned sickle : Tyrants reuenging pride : Thou blood-sucker , Thou childe of infamie : Deuouring Tiger : slaughtering homicide : Ill hast thou done , and ill may thee betide . Naught hast thou got , the earth hath wonne the most , Nature is payd the interest of her due , Pan hath receau'd , what him so dearly cost , O heauens his vertues doe belong to you . A heauenly clowded in a humaine shape , Rare substance , in so rough a barcke Iclad , Of Pastorall , the liuely springing sappe , Though mortall thou , thy fame immortall made . Spel-charming Prophet , sooth-diuining seer , ô heauenly musicke of the highest spheare , Sweet sounding trump , soule-rauishing desire , Thou stealer of mans heart , inchanter of the eare . God of Inuention , Ioues deere Mercury , Ioy of our Lawrell , pride of all our ioy : The essence of all Poets diuinitie , Spirit of Orpheus : Pallas louely boy . But all my words shal be dissolu'd to teares , And my tears fountaines shall to riuers grow : These Riuers to the floods of my dispaires , And these shall make an Ocean of my woe . His rare desarts , shall kindle my desire , With burning zeale , the brands of mine vnrest , My sighes in adding sulphure to this fire , Shall frame another AEtna in my breast . Planets reserue your playnts till dismall day , The ruthles rockes but newly haue begonne , And when in drops they be dissolu'd away , Let heauens begin to weepe when earth hath done . Then tune thy pipe and I will sing alaye , Vpon his death by Rowland of the rocke , Sitting with me this other stormy day , In you sayre field attending on our flock .

Gorbo . This shall content me Wynken wondrous well , And in this mistie wether keepe vs waking , To heare ofhim , who whylome did excell , In such a song of learned Rowlands making . Melpomine put on thy mourning Gaberdine , And set thy song vnto the dolefull Base , And with thy sable vayle shadow thy face , with weeping verse , attend his hearse , Whose blessed soule the heauens doe now enshrine . Come Nymphs and with your Rebecks ring his knell , Warble forth your wamenting harmony , And at his drery fat all obsequie , with Cypres bowes , maske your fayre Browes , And beat your breasts to chyme his burying peale . Thy birth-day was to all our ioye , the euen , And on thy death this dolefull song we sing , Sweet Child of Pan , and the Castalian spring , vnto our endles mone , from vs why art thou gone , To fill vp that sweete Angels quier in heauen . O whylome thou thy lasses dearest loue , When with greene Lawrell she hath crowned thee , Immortall mirror of all Poesie : the Muses treasure , the Graces pleasure , Reigning with Angels now in heauen aboue . Our mirth is now depriu'd of all her glory , Our Taburins in dolefull dumps are drownd . Our viols want their sweet and pleasing sound , our melodie is mar'd and we of ioyes debard , Oh wicked world so mutable and transitory . O dismall day , bereauer of delight , O stormy winter sourse of all our sorrow , ô most vntimely and eclipsed morrow , to rob vs quite of all delight , Darkening that starre which euer shone so bright : Oh Elphin , Elphin , Though thou hence be gone , In spight of death yet shalt thou liue for aye , Thy Poesie is garlanded with Baye : and still shall blaze thy lasting prayse : Whose losse poore shepherds euer shall bemone . Come Girles , and with Carnations decke his graue , With damaske Roses and the hyacynt : Come with sweete Williams , Marioram and Mynt , with precious Balmes , with hymnes and psalmes , His funerall deserues no lesse at all to haue . But see where Elphin sits in fayre Elizia , Feeding his flocke on yonder heauenly playne , Come and behold , yon louely shepheards swayne , piping his fill , on yonder hill , Tasting sweete Nectar , and Ambrosia .

Gorbo . Oh how thy plaints ( sweete friend ) renew my payne , In listning thus to thy lamenting cries : That from the tempest of my troubled brayne , See how the floods been risen in mine eyes . And being now a full tide of our teares , It is full time to stop the streame of griefe , Lest drowning in the floods of our despaires , We want our liues , wanting our soules reliefe . But now the sunne beginneth to decline , And whilest our woes been in repeating here , Yon little eluish moping Lamb of mine , Is all betangled in yon crawling Brier . Optima prima ferè manibus rapiuntur auaris : Implentur numer is deteriora suis.

THE FIFTH EGLOG. This lustie swayne bis lowly quill , to higher notes doth rayse , And in Ideas person paynts , his louely lasses prayse .

Motto . COme frolick it a while my lustie swayne , Let 's see if time haue yet reuiu'd in thee , Or if there be remayning but a grayne , Of the olde stocke of famous poesie , Or but one slip yet left of this same sacred tree . Or if reseru'd from elds deuouring rage , Recordes of vertue , Aye memoriall , Left to the world as learnings lasting gage , Or if the prayse of worthy pastorall , May tempt thee now , or mooue thee once at all . To Fortunes Orphanes Nature hath bequeath'd , That mighty Monarchs seldome haue possest , From highest Heauen , this influence is breath'd , A most diuine impression in the breast , ( feast . And those whom Fortune pines doth Nature often Ti 's not the troupes of paynted Imagerie , Nor these worlds Idols , our worlds Idiots gazes , Our forgers of suppos'd Gentillitie , When he his great , great Grand-sires glory blases , And paints out fictions in base coyned Phrases . For honour naught regards , nor followeth fame , These silken pictures shewed in euery streete : Of Idlenes comes euill , of pride ensueth shame , And blacke obliuion is their winding sheete , And all their glory troden vnder feete . Though Enuie sute her seuen-times poysned dartes , Yet purest golde is seuen times try'd in fier , True valeur lodgeth in the lowlest harts , Vertue is in the minde , not in th' attyre , Nor stares at starres ; nor stoups at filthy myre .

Rowland . I may not sing of such as fall , nor clyme , Nor chaunt of armes , nor of heroique deedes , It fitteth not poore shepheards rurall rime , Nor is agreeing with my oaten reedes , Nor from my quill , grosse flatterie proceedes . Vnsitting tearmes , nor false dissembling smiles , Shall in my lines , nor in my stile appeare , Worlds fawning fraud , nor like deceitfull guiles , No , no , my muse none such shall soiourne here , Nor any bragges of hope nor signes of base despaire , No fatall dreades nor fruitles vaine desires , Nor caps , nor curtsies to a paynted wall , Nor heaping rotten sticks on needles fires , Ambitious thoughts to clime nor fearcs to fall , A minde voyd of mistrust , and free from seruile thral . Foule slander thou suspitions Bastard Child , Selfe-eating Impe from vipers poysned wombe , Foule swelling to ade with lothly spots defil'd , Vile Aspis bred within the ruinde tombe , Eternall death for euer be thy doombe . Still be thou shrouded in blacke pitchie night , Luld with the horror of night-rauens song , Let foggie mistes , clowd and eclipse thy light , Thy wooluish teeth chew out thy venomd tongue , With Snakes and adders be thy body stong .

Motto . Nor these , nor these , may like thy lowlie quill , As of too hie , or of too base a straine , Vnfitting thee , and sdeyned ofthy skill , Nor yet according with a shepheards vayne , Nor no such subiect may beseeme a swayne . Then tune thy reede vnto Ideas prayse : And teach the woods to wonder at her name : Thy lowlie notes here mayst thou learne to rayse , And make the ecchoes blazen out her name , The lasting trumpe of Phebes lasting fame . Thy Temples then shall with greene bayes be dight , Thy Egle-soring muse vpon her wing , With her fayre siluer wings shall take her flight , To that hie welked tower where Angels sing , From thence to fetch the tutch of her sweete string .

Rowland . Oh hie inthronized Ioue , in thy Olympicke raigne , Oh battel-waging Marte , oh sage-saw'd Mercury , Oh Golden shrined Sol , Uenus loues soueraigne , Oh dreadfull Saturne , flaming aye with furie , Moyst-humord Cinthya , Author of Lunacie , Conioyne helpe to erect our faire Ideas trophie . Oh Tresses of faire Phoebus stremed die , Oh blessed load-starre lending purest light , Oh Paradice of heauenly tapistrie , Angels sweete musick , ô my soules delight , ô fayrest Phebe passing euery other light . Whose presence ioyes the earths decayed state , Whose counsels are registred in the sphere , Whose sweete reflecting clearenes doth amate , The starrie lights , and makes the Sunne more fayre , Whose breathing sweete perfumeth all the ayre . Thy snowish necke , fayre Natures tresurie , Thy swannish breast , the hauen of lasting blisse , Thy cheekes the bancks of Beauties vsurie , Thy heart the myne , where goodnes gotten is , Thy lips those lips which Cupid ioyes to kisse . And those fayre hands within whose louely palmes , Fortune diuineth happie Augurie , Those straightest fingers dealing heauenly almes , Pointed with pur'st of Natures Alcumie , Where loue sits looking in loues palmistrie . And those fayre Iuorie columnes which vpreare , That Temple built by heauens Geometrie , And holiest Flamynes sacrifizen theare , Vnto that heauenly Queene of Chastitie , Where vertues burning lamps can neuer quenched be . Thence see the fairest light that euer shone , That cleare which doth worlds cleerenes quite surpasse , Braue Phoebus chayred in his golden throane , Beholding him , in this pure Christall glasse , See here the fayrest fayre that euer was . Delicious fountaine , liquid christalline , Mornings vermilion , verdant spring-times pride , Purest of purest , most refined fine , With crimson tincture curiously Idy'd , Mother of Muses , great Apollos bride . Earths heauen , worlds wonder , hiest house of fame , Reuiuer of the dead , eye-killer of the liue , Belou'd of Angels , Vertues greatest name , Fauors rar'st feature , beauties prospectiue , Oh that my verse thy vertues could contriue . That stately Theater on whose fayre stage , Each morall vertue actes a princely part , Where euery scene pronounced by a Sage , Eternizeth diuinest Poets Arte , Ioyes the beholders eyes , and glads the hearers hart . The worlds memorials , that sententious booke , Where euery Comma , points a curious phrase , Vpon whose method , Angels ioye to looke : At euery Colon , Wisdomes selfe doth pause , And euery Period hath his hie applause . Read in her eyes a Romant of delights , Read in her words the prouerbs of the wise , Read in her life the holy vestall rites , Which loue and vertue sweetly moralize : And she the Academ of vertues exercise . But on thy volumes who is there may comment , When as thy selfe hath Arts selfe vndermined : Or vndertake to coate thy learned margent , When learnings lines are euer enterlined , And purest words , are in thy mouth refined . Knewest thou thy vertues , oh thou fayr'st of fayrest , Thou earths sole Phenix , of the world admired , Vertue in thee repurify'd and rarest , Whose endles fame by time is not expired , Then of thy selfe would thy selfe be admired . But arte wants arte to frame so pure a Myrror , Where humaine eyes may view thy vertues beautie , When fame is so surprised with the terror , wanting to pay the tribute of her duetie , with colours who can paint out vertues beautie . But since vnperfect are the perfects colours , And skill is so vnskilfull how to blaze thee : Now will I make a myrror of my dolours , and in my teares then looke thy selfe and prayse thee , oh happy I , if such a glasse might please thee . Goe gentle windes and whisper in her eare , and tell Idea how much I adore her , And thou my flock , reporte vnto my fayre , How she excelleth all that went before her , Tell her the very foules in ayre adore her . And thou cleare Brooke by whose fayre siluer streame , Grow those tall Okes where I haue caru'd her name , Conuay her praise to Neptunes watery Realme , refresh the rootes of her still growing fame , and teach the Dolphins to resound her name .

Motto . Cease shepheard cease , reserue thy Muses store , Till after time shall teach thy Oaten reede , Aloft in ayre with Egles wings to sore , and sing in honor of some worthies deede , to serue Idea in some better steede . She sees not shepheard , no she will not see , her rarest vertues blazond by thy quill , Nor knowes the effect the same hath wrought in thee , The very tuch and anuile of thy skill , and this is that which bodeth all thy ill . Yet if her vertues glorie shall decay , Or if her beauties flower shall hap to fall , Or any cloud eclipse her sun-shine day , Then looke ( Idea ) in thy pastorall , And thou thy vertues vnto minde shalt call ,

Rowland . Shepheard farewell , the skies begin to lowre , Yon pitchie clowd which hangeth in the West , I feare me doth presage some sodaine showre , Come let vs home , for so I think it best , For all our flocks been laid them downe to rest .

Motto . And if thou list to come vnto my Coate , Although ( God knowes ) my cheere be to too small , And wealth with me was neuer yet afloate , Yet take in gree what euer doe befall , And wee will sit , and sing a mery madrigall .

Rowland . Per superos iuro testes , pampamque Deorum , Te Dominam nobis tempus in omne fore .

Motto . Nos quoque per totum pariter cantabimur orbem , Iunctáque semper erunt nomina nostratuis .

THE SIXT EGLOG. Good Gorbo cals to mind the fame , of our old Ancestrie : And Perkin sings Pandoras prayse , The Muse of Britanye .

Perkin . ALL haile good Gorbo , yet return'd at last , What tell me man ? how goes the world with thee ? What is it worse then it was wont to be ? Or been thy youthfull dayes already past ? Haue patience man , for wealth will come and goe , And to the end the world shall ebbe and flowe . The valiant man , whose thoughts on hie been placed , And sees sometime how fortune list to rage , With wisdome still his actions so doth gage , As with her frownes he no whit is disgraced , And when she fawnes , and turnes her squinting eye , Bethinks him then , of her inconstancie . When as the Cullian , and the viler Clowne , Who with the swine , on draffe sets his desire , And thinks no life to wallowing in the myre , In stormie tempest , dying layes him downe , Yet tasting weale , the asse begins to bray , And feeling woe , the beast consumes away .

Gorbo . So said the Sage in his Philofophie , The Lordly hart inspir'd with noblesse , With courage doth his crosses still suppresse , His patience doth his passions mortifie , when other folke this paine cannot endure , because they want this med'cine for their cure .

Perkin . And yet oft times the world I doe admire , When as the wise and vertuous men I see , Be hard beset with neede and pouertie , And lewdest fooles to highest things aspire , what should I say ? that fortune is to blame ? or vnto whome should I impute this shame .

Gorbo . Vertue and Fortune neuer could agree , Foule Fortune euer was faire vertues foe , Blinde Fortune blindly doth her gifts bestowe , But vertue wise , and wisely doth foresee , they tall which trust to fortunes fickle wheele , but staied by vertue , men shall neuer reele .

Perkin . If so , why should she not be more regarded , Why should men cherish vice and villanie , And maintaine sinne and basest rogerie , And vertue thus so slightly be rewarded , this shewes that we full deepe dissemblers be , and all we doe , but meere hypocrisie .

Gorbo . Where been those Nobles , Perkin , where been they ? Where been those worthies , Perkin , which of yore , This gentle Ladie did so much adore ? And for her Impes did with such care puruey , they been yswadled in their winding sheete , and she ( I thinke ) is buried at their feete . Oh worthy world , wherein those worthies liued , Vnworthy world , of such men so vnworthy , Vnworthy age , of all the most vnworthy , Which art of these so worthy men depriued , and inwardly in vs is nothing lesse , Than outwardly that , which we most professe .

Perkin . Nay stay good Gorbo , Vertue is not dead , Nor all her friends be gone which wonned here , She liues with one who euer held her deere , And to her lappe for succour she is fled , In her sweete bosome , she hath built her nest , And from the world , euen there she liues at rest . Vnto this sacred Ladie she was left , ( To be an heire-loome ) by her ancestrie , And so bequeathed by their legacie , When on their death-bed , life was them berest : And as on earth together they remayne , Together so in heauen they both shall raigne . Oh thou Pandora , through the world renoun'd , The glorious light , and load starre of our West , With all the vertues of the heauens possest , With mighty groues of holy Lawrell cround , Erecting learnings long decayed fame , Heryed and hallowed be thy sacred name . The flood of Helicon , forspent and drie , Her sourse decayd with foule obliuion , The fountaine flowes againe in thee alone , Where Muses now their thirst may satisfie , And old Apollo , from Pernassus hill , May in this spring refresh his droughty quill . The Graces twisting garlands for thy head , Thy Iuorie temples deckt with rarest flowers , Their rootes refreshed with diuinest showers , Thy browes with mirtle all inueloped , shepheards erecting trophies to thy praise , lauding thy name in songs and heauenly laies . Sapphos sweete vaine in thy rare quill is seene , Minerua was a figure of thy worth , Mnemosine , who brought the Muses forth , Wonder of Britaine , learnings famous Queene , Apollo was thy Syer , Pallas her selfe thy mother , Pandora thou , our Phoebus was thy brother . Delicious Larke , sweete musick of the morrow , Cleere bell of Rhetoricke , ringing peales of loue , Ioy of the Angels , sent vs from aboue , Enchanting Syren , charmer of all sorrow , the loftie subiect a heauenly tale , Thames fairest Swanne , our summers Nightingale . Arabian Phenix , wonder of thy sexe , Louely , chaste , holy , Myracle admired , With spirit from the highest heauen inspired , Oh thou alone , whome fame alone respects , Natures chiefe glory , learnings richest prize , hie Ioues Empresa , vertues Paradize . Oh glorie of thy nation , beauty of thy name , Ioy of thy countrey , blesser of thy birth , Thou blazing Comet , Angel of the earth , Oh Poets Goddesse , sun-beame of their fame : whome time through many worlds hath sought to thou peerles Paragon of woman kinde . ( find , Thy glorious Image , gilded with the sunne , Thy lockes adorn'd with an immortall crowne , Mounted aloft , vpon a Chrystal throne , When by thy death , thy life shal be begun : the blessed Angels tuning to the spheares , with Gods sweete musick , charme thy sacred eares . From Fayrie I le , deuided from the mayne , To vtmost Thuly fame transports thy name , To Garamant shall thence conuey the same , Where taking wing , and mounting vp againe , from parched banckes on sun-burnt . Affricks shore , shall flie as farre as erst she came of yore . And gentle Zephire from his pleasant bower , Whistling sweete musick to the shepheards rime , The Ocean billowes duely keeping time , Playing vpon Neptunus brazen tower : louers of learning shouting out their cries , shaking the Center with th' applaudities . Whilst that great engine , on her axeltree , Doth role about the vaultie circled Globe , Whilst morning mantleth , in her purple Robe , Or Tytan poste his sea Queenes bower to see , whilst Phoebus crowne , adornes the starrie skie , Pandoras fame so long shall neuer die . When all our siluer swans shall cease to sing , And when our groues shall want their Nightingales , When hils shall heare no more our shepheards tales , Nor ecchoes with our Roundelayes shall ring , the little birdes long listning to thy fame , shall teach their ofspring to record thy name . Ages shall tell such wonders of thy name , And thou in death thy due desert shalt haue , That thou shalt be immortall in thy graue , Thy vertues adding force vnto thy fame , so that vertue with thy fames wings shall flie , and by thy fame shall vertue neuer die . Vpon thy toombe shall spring a Lawrell tree , Whose sacred shade shall serue thee for an hearse , Vpon whose leaues ( in golde ) ingrau'd this verse , Dying she liues , whose like shall neuer be , a spring of Nectar flowing from this tree , the fountayne of eternali memorie . To adorne the trrumph of eternitie , Drawne with the steedes which dragge the golden sunne , Thy wagon through the milken way shall runne , Millions of Angels still attending thee , Millions of Saints shall thy liues prayses sing , pend with the quill of an Archangels wing .

Gorbo . Long may Pandora weare the Lawrell crowne , The ancient glory of her noble Peers , And as the Egle : Lord renew her yeeres , Long to vpholde the proppe of our renowne , long may she be as she hath euer beene , the lowly handmaide of the Fayrie Queene . Non mihi mille placent : non sum desertor Amoris : Tu mihi ( si quafides ) curaperennis eris .

THE SEVENTH EGLOG. Borrill an aged shepheard swaine , with reasons doth reprooue , Batte a foolish want on boy , but lately falne in loue .

Batte . BOrill , why sit'st thou musing in thy coate ? like dreaming Merlyn in his drowsie Cell , What may it be with learning thou doest doate , or art inchanted with some Magick spell ? Or wilt thou an Hermites life professe ? And bid thy beades heare like an Ancoresse ? See how faire Flora decks our fields with flowers , and clothes our groues in gaudie summers greene , And wanton Uer distils rose-water showers , to welcome Ceres , haruests hallowed Queene , Who layes abroad her louely sun-shine haires , Crown'd with great garlands of her golden eares . Now shepheards layne their blankets all awaie , and in their lackets minsen on the plaines , And at the riuers fishen daie by daie , now none so frolicke as the shepheards swaines , Why liest thou here then in thy loathsome caue , As though a man were buried quicke in graue .

Borrill . Batte , my coate from tempest standeth free , when stately towers been often shakt with wind , And wilt thou Batte , come and sit with me ? contented life here shalt thou onely finde , Here mai'st thou caroll Hymnes , and sacred Psalmes , And hery Pan , with orizons and almes . And scorne the crowde of such as cogge for pence , and waste their wealth in sinfull brauerie , Whose gaine is losse , whose thrift is lewd expence , and liuen still in golden slauery : Wondring at toyes , as foolish worldlings doone , Like to the dogge which barked at the moone . Here maist thou range the goodly pleasant field , and search out simples to procure thy heale , What sundry vertues hearbs and flowres doe yeeld , gainst griefe which may thy sheepe or thee assaile : Here mayst thou hunt the little harmeles Hare , Or else entrap false Raynard in a snare . Or if thou wilt in antique Romants reede , of gentle Lords and ladies that of yore , In forraine lands atchieu'd their noble deede , and been renownd from East to Westerne shore : Or learne the shepheards nice astrolobie , To know the Planets moouing in the skie .

Batte . Shepheard these things been all too coy for mee , whose lustie dayes should still be spent in mirth , These mister artes been better fitting thee , ( earth : whose drouping dayes are drawing towards the What thinkest thou ? my iolly peacocks trayne , Shall be acoyd and brooke so foule a stayne ? These been for such as make them votarie , and take them to the mantle and the ring , And spenden day and night in dotarie , hammering their heads , musing on heauenly thing , And whisper still of sorrow in their bed , And done despise all loue and lustie head : Like to the curre , with anger well neere woode , who makes his kennel in the Oxes stall , And snarleth when he seeth him take his foode , and yet his chaps can chew no hay at all . Borrill , euen so it fareth now with thee , And with these wisards of thy mysterie .

Borrill . Sharpe is the thorne , full soone I see by thee , bitter the blossome , when the fruite is sower , And early crook d , that will a Camock bee , rough is the winde before a sodayne shower : Pittie thy wit should be so wrong mislead , And thus be guyded by a giddie head . Ah foolish else , I inly pittie thee , misgouerned by thy lewd brainsick will : The hidden baytes , ah fond thou do'st not see , nor find'st the cause which breedeth all thy ill : Thou think'st all golde , that hath a golden shew , And art deceiu'd , for it is nothing soe . Such one art thou as is the little flie , who is so crowse and gamesome with the flame , Till with her busines and her nicetie , her nimble wings are scorched with the same , Then fals she downe with pitteous buzzing note , And in the fier doth sindge her mourning cote .

Batte . Alas good man I see thou ginst to raue , thy wits done erre , and misse the cushen quite , Because thy head is gray and wordes been graue , Thou think'st thereby to draw me from delight : What I am young , a goodly Batcheler , And must liue like the lustie limmeter . Thy legges been crook'd , thy knees done bend for age , and I am swift and nimble as the Roe , Thou art ycouped like a bird in cage , and in the field I wander too and froe , Thou must doe penance for thy olde misdeedes , And make amends , with Auies and with creedes . For al that thou canst say , I will not let , for why my fancie strayneth me so sore , That day and night , my minde is wholy set on iollie . Loue , and iollie Paramore : Only on loue I set my whole delight , The summers day , and all the winters night . That pretie Cupid , little god of loue , whose imped wings with speckled plumes been dight , Who striketh men below , and Gods aboue , Rouing at randon with his feathered flight , When louely Uenus sits and giues the ayme , And smiles to see her little Bantlings game . Vpon my staffe his statue will I carue , his bowe and quiuer on his winged backe , His forked heads , for such as them deserue , and not of his , an implement shall lacke , And Uenus in her Litter all of loue , Drawne with a Swanne , a Sparrow , and a Doue . And vnder him Thesby of Babylon , and Clcopatra somtime of renowne : Phillis that died for loue of Demophôon , Then louely Dido Queen of Carthage towne , Which euer held god Cupids lawes so deare , And been canoniz'd in Loues Calendere .

Borrill . Ah wilfull boy , thy follie now I finde , and hard it is a fooles talke to endure , Thou art as deafe euen as thy god is blinde , sike as the Saint , sike is the seruiture : But wilt thou heare a good olde Minstrels song , A medicine for such as been with loue ystong .

Batte . Borrill , sing on I pray thee let vs heare , that I may laugh to see thee shake thy beard , But take heede Borrill that thy voyce be cleare , or by my hood thou 'lt make vs all afeard , Or els I doubt that thou wilt fright our flockes , When they shall heare thee barke so like a foxe .

Borrill . Oh spight full wayward wretched loue , Woe to Venus which did nurse thee , Heauens and earth thy plagues do proue , Gods and men haue cause to curse thee . Thoughts griefe , hearts woe , Hopes paine , bodies languish , Enutes rage , sleepes foe , Fancies fraud , soules anguish , Desires dread , mindes madnes , Secrets bewrayer , natures error , Sights deceit , sullens sadnes , Speeches expence , Cupids terror , Malcontents melancholly , Liues slaughter , deaths nurse , Cares slaue , dotards folly , Fortunes bayte , worlds curse , Lookes theft , eyes blindnes , Selfes will , tongues treason , Paynes pleasure , wrongs kindnes , Furies frensie , follies reason : With cursing thee as I began , Cursing thee I make an end , Neither God , neither man , Neither Fayrie , neither Feend .

Batte . Ah worthy Borrill , here 's a goodly song , now by my belt I neuer heard a worse : Olde doting foole , for shame hold thou thy tongue , I would thy clap were shut vp in my purse . It is thy life , if thou mayst scolde and braule : Yet in thy words there is no wit at all . And for that wrong which thou to loue hast done , I will aueng me at this present time , And in such forte as now thou hast begonne , I will repeat a carowlet in rime , Where , Borrill , I vnto thy teeth will proue , That all my good consisteth in my loue .

Borrill . Come on good Batte , I pray thee let vs heare ? Much will be sayd , and neuer a whit the near .

Batte . Loue is the heauens fayre aspect , loue is the glorie of the earth , Loue only doth our liues direct , loue is our guyder from our birth , Loue taught my thoughts at first to flie , loue taught mme eyes the way to loue , Loue raysed my conceit so hie , loue framd my hand his arte to proue . Loue taught my Muse her perfect skill , loue gaue me first to Poesies Loue is the Soueraigne of my will , loue bound me first to loyalty . Loue was the first that fram'd my speech , loue was the first that gaue me grace : Loue is my life and fortunes leech , loue made the vertuous giue me place . Loue is the end of my desire , loue is the loadstarre of my loue , Loue makes my selfe , my selfe admire , loue seated my delights aboue . Loue placed honor in my brest , loue made me learnings fauoret , Loue made me liked of the best , loue first my minde on vertue set . Loue is my life , life is my loue , loue is my whole felicity , Loue is my sweete , sweete is my loue , I am in loue , and loue in me .

Borrill . Is loue in thee ? alas poore sillie lad , thou neuer couldst haue lodg'd a worser guest , For where he rules no reason can be had , so is he still sworne enemie to rest : It pitties me to thinke thy springing yeares , Should still be spent with woes , with sighes , with teares .

Batte . Gramercy Borrill for thy company , for all thy iestes and all thy merrie Bourds , I still shall long vntill I be with thee , because I find some wisdome in thy words , But I will watch the next time thou doost ward , ( heard . And sing thee such a lay of loue as neuer shepheard

THE EIGHTH EGLOG. Good Gorbo of the golden world , and Saturns raigne doth tell , And afterward doth make reporte , of bonnie Dowsabell .

Motto . SHepheard why creepe we in this lowly vaine , as though our muse no store at all affordes , Whilst others vaunt it with the frolicke swayne , and strut the stage with reperfumed wordes . See how these yonkers raue it out in rime , who make a traffique of their rarest wits , And in Bellonas buskin tread it fine , like Bacchus priests raging in franticke fits . Those mirtle Groues decay'd , done growe againe , their rootes refresht with Heliconas spring , Whose pleasant shade inuites the homely swayne , to sit him downe and heare the Muses sing . Then if thy Muse hath spent her wonted zeale , with Iuie twist thy temples shall be crownd , Or if she dares hoyse vp top-gallant sayle , Amongst the rest , then may she be renownd .

Gorbe . My boy , these yonkers reachen after fame , and so done presse into the learned troupe , With filed quill to glorifie their name , which otherwise were pend in shamefull coupe . But this hie obiect hath abiected me , and I must pipe amongst the lowly sorte , Those little heard-groomes who admir'd to see , when I by Moone-shine made the fayries sporte . Who dares describe the toyles of Hercules , and puts his hand to fames eternall penne , Must inuocate the soule of Hercules , attended with the troupes of conquered men . Who writes of thrice renowmed Theseus , a monster-tamers rare description , Trophies the iawes of vglie Cerberus , and paynts out Styx , and fiery Acheron . My Muse may not affect night-charming spels , whose force effects th' Olympicke vault to quake , Nor call those grysly Goblins from their Cels , the euer-damned frye of Limbo lake . And who erects the braue Pyramides , of Monarches or renowned warriours , Neede bath his quill for such attempts as these , in flowing streames of learned Maros showres . For when the great worlds conquerer began , to proue his helmet and his habergeon , The sweat that from the Poets-God Orpheus ran , foretold his Prophets had to play vpon . When Pens and Launces sawe the Olympiad prize , those chariot triumphes with the Lawrell crowne , Then gan the worthies glorie first to rise , and plumes were vayled to the purple gowne . The grauest Censor , sagest Senator , with wings of Iustice and Religion , Mounted the top of Nimrods statelie Tower , soring vnto that hie celestiall throne : Where blessed Angels in their heauenly queares , chaunt Anthemes with shrill Syren harmonie , Tun'd to the sound of those aye-crouding sphears , Which herien their makers eternitie . Those who foretell the times of vnborne men , and future things in foretime augured , Haue slumbred in that spell-gods darkest den , which first inspir'd his prophesiyng head . Sooth-saying Sibels sleepen long agone , we haue their reede , but few haue cond their Arte , Welch-wisard Merlyn , cleueth to a stone , no Oracle more wonders may impart . The Infant age could deftly caroll loue , till greedy thirst of that ambitious honor , Drew Poets pen , from his sweete lasses gloue , to chaunt of slaughtering broiles & bloody horror . Then Ioues loue-theft was priuily discri'd , how he playd false play in Amphitrios bed , And how Apollo in the mount of Ide , gaue Oenon phisick for her maydenhead . The tender grasse was then the softest bed , the pleasant'st shades were deem'd the statelyest hals , No belly-god with Bacchus banqueted , nor paynted ragges then couered rotten wals . Then simple loue with simple vertue way'd , flowers the fauours which true fayth reuayled , Kindnes with kindnes was againe repay'd , with sweetest kisses couenants were sealed . Then beauties selfe with her selfe beautified , scornd payntings pergit , and the borrowed hayre , Nor monstrous formes deformities did hide , nor foule was vernisht with compounded fayre . The purest fleece then couered purest skin , for pride as then with Lucifer remaynd : Deformed fashions now were to begin , nor clothes were yet with poysned liquor staynd . But when the bowels of the earth were sought , and men her golden intrayles did espie , This mischiefe then into the world was brought , this fram'd the mint which coynd our miserie . Then lofty Pines were by ambition hewne , and men sea-monsters swamme the brackish flood , In waynscot tubs , to seeke out worlds vnknowne , for certain ill to leaue assured good . The starteling steede is manag'd from the field , and serues a subiect to the riders lawes , He whom the churlish bit did neuer weeld , now feels the courb controll his angrie iawes . The hammering Uulcane spent his wasting fire , till he the vse of tempred mettals found , His anuile wrought the steeled cotes attire , and forged tooles to carue the foe-mans wound . The Citie builder then intrencht his towres , and wald his wealth within the fenced towne , Which afterward in bloudy stormy stours , kindled that flame which burnt his Bulwarks downe . And thus began th' Exordium of our woes , the fatall dumbe shewe of our miserie : Here sprang the tree on which our mischiefe growes , the drery subiect of worlds tragedie .

Motto . Well , shepheard well , the golden age is gone , wishes may not reuoke that which is past : It were no wit to make two griefes of one , our prouerb sayth , Nothing can alwayes last . Listen to me my louely shepheards ioye , and thou shalt heare with mirth and mickle glee , A pretie Tale , which when I was a boy , my toothles Grandame oft hath tolde to me .

Corbo . Shepheard say on , so may we passe the time , There is no doubt it is some worthy ryme .

Motto . Farre in the countrey of Arden , There wond a knight hight Cassemen , as bolde as Isenbras : Fell was he and eger bent , In battell and in Tournament , as was the good sir Topas . He had as antique stories tell , A daughter cleaped Dowsabell , a may den fayre and free : And for she was her fathers heire , Full well she was ycond the leyre , of mickle curtesie . The silke wel couth she twist and twine , And make the fine Marchpine , and with the needle werke , And she couth helpe the priest to say His Mattens on a holyday , and sing a Psalme in Kirke . She ware a frock of frolicke greene , Might well be seeme a mayden Queene , which seemly was to see . A hood to that so neat and fine , In colour like the colombine , ywrought full featuously . Her feature all as fresh aboue , As is the grasse that growes by Doue , as lyth as lasse of Kent : Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll , As white as snow on peakish hull , or Swanne that swims in Trent . This mayden in a morne betime , Went forth when May was in her prime , to get sweete Cerywall , The hony-suckle , the Harlocke , The Lilly and the Lady-smocke , to deck her summer hall . Thus as she wandred here and there , Ypicking of the bloomed Breere , she chanced to espie A shepheard sitting on a bancke , Like Chanteclere he crowed crancke , and pip'd with merrie glee : He leard his sheepe as he him list , When he would whistle in his fist , to feede about him round : Whilst he full many a caroll sung , Vntill the fields and medowes rung , and that the woods did sound : In fauour this same shepheards swayne , was like the bedlam Tamburlayne , which helde prowd Kings in awe : But meeke he was as Lamb mought be , Ylike that gentle Abel he , whom his lewd brother slaw . This shepheard ware a sheepe gray cloke , which was of the finest loke , that could be cut with sheere , His mittens were of Bauzens skinne , His cockers were of Cordiwin , his hood of Meniueere . His aule and lingell in a thong , His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong , his breech of Coyntrie blew : Full crispe and curled were his lockes , His browes as white as Albion rocks , so like a louer true . And pyping still he spent the day , So mery as the Popingay : which liked Dowsabell , That would she ought or would she nought , This lad would neuer from her thought : she in loue-longing fell , At length she tucked vp her frocke , White as the Lilly was her smocke , she drew the shepheard nie , But then the shepheard pyp'd a good , That all his sheepe for sooke their foode , to heare his melodie . Thy sheepe quoth she cannot be leane , That haue a iolly shepheards swayne , the which can pipe so well . Yea but ( sayth he ) their shepheard may , If pyping thus he pine away , in loue of Dowsabell . Of loue fond boy take thou no keepe , Quoth she , looke well vnto thy sheepe , lest they should hap to stray . Quoth he , so had I done full well , Had I not seene fayre Dowsabell , come forth to gather Maye . With that she gan to vaile her head , Her cheekes were like the Roses red , but not a word she sayd . With that the shepheard gan to frowne , He threw his pretie pypes adowne , and on the ground him layd . Sayth she , I may not stay till night , And leaue my summer hall vndight , and all for long of thee . My Coate sayth he , nor yet my foulde , Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould , except thou fauour me . Sayth she yet leuer I were dead , Then I should lose my maydenhead , and all for loue of men : Sayth he yet are you too vnkind , If in your heart you cannot finde , to loue vs now and then : And I to thee will be as kinde , As Colin was to Rosalinde , of curtesie the flower : Then will I be as true quoth she , As euer mayden yet might be , vnto her Paramour : With that she bent her snow-white knee , Downe by the shepheard kneeled shee , and him she sweetely kist . With that the shepheard whoop'd for ioy , Quoth he , ther 's neuer shepheards boy , that euer was so blist .

Gorbo . Now by my sheep-hooke here 's a tale alone , Learne me the same and I will giue thee hier , This were as good as curds for our Ione , When at a night we sitten by the fire .

Motto . Why gentle hodge I will not sticke for that , when we two meeten here another day , But see whilst we haue set vs downe to chat , yon tikes of mine begin to steale away . And if thou wilt but come vnto our greene , on Lammas day when as we haue our feast , Thou shalt sit next vnto our summer Queene , and thou shalt be the onely welcome guest .

THE NINTH EGLOG. When cole-blacke night with sable vaile eclipsd the gladsome light , Rowland in darkesome shade alone , bemoanes his wofull plight . WHat time the wetherbeaten flockes , forsooke the fields to shrowd them in the folde , The groues dispoyl'd of their fayre summer lockes , the leaueles branches nipt with frostie colde , The drouping trees their gaynesse all agone , In mossie mantles doe expresse their moane . When Phoebus from his Lemmans louely bower , throughout the sphere had ierckt his angry Iades , His Carre now pass'd the heauens hie welked Tower , gan dragge adowne the occidentall slades , In silent shade of desart all alone , Thus to the night , Rowland bewrayes his moane . Oh blessed starres which lend the darknes light , the glorious paynting of that circled throane , You eyes of heauen , you lanthornes of the night , to you bright starres , to you I make my moane , Or end my dayes , or ease me of my griefe , The earth is frayle , and yeelds me no reliefe . And thou fayre Phebe , cleerer to my sight , then Tytan is when brightest he hath shone , Why shouldst thou now shut vp thy blessed light , and sdayne to looke on thy Endymion ? Perhaps the heauens me thus despight haue done , Because I durst compare thee with their sunne . If drery sighes the tempests of my brest , or streames of teares from floods of weeping eyes , If downe-cast lookes with darksome cloudes opprest , or words which with sad accents fall and rise , If these , nor her , nor you , to pittie moue , There 's neither helpe in you , nor hope in loue . Oh fayr'st that liues , yet most vnkindest mayd , ô whilome thou the ioy of all my flocke , Why haue thine eyes these eyes of mine betrayd , Vnto thy hart more hard then flintie rocke , And lastly thus depriu'd me of their sight , From whome my loue deriues both life and light . Those dapper ditties pend vnto her prayse , and those sweete straynes of tunefull pastorall , She scorneth as the Lourdayns clownish layes , and recketh as the rustick madrigall , Her lippes prophane Ideas sacred name , And sdayne to read the annals of her fame . Those gorgeous garlands and those goodly flowers , wherewith I crown'd her tresses in the prime , She most abhors , and shuns those pleasant bowers , made to disport her in the summer time : She hates the sports and pastimes I inuent , And as the toade , flies all my meriment . With holy verses heryed I her gloue , and dew'd her cheekes with fountaines of my teares , And carold her full many a lay of loue , twisting sweete Roses in her golden hayres . Her wandring sheepe full safely haue I kept , And watch'd her flocke full oft when she hath slept . Oenon neuer vpon Ids hill , so oft hath cald on Alexanders name , As hath poore Rowland with an Angels quill , erected trophies of Ideas fame : Yet that false shepheard Oenon fled from thee , I follow her that euer flies from me . Ther 's not a groue that wonders not my woe , there 's not a riuer weepes not at my tale : I heare the ecchoes ( wandring too and froe ) resound my griefe in euery hill and dale , The beasts in field , with many a wosull groane , The birds in ayre help to expresse my moane . Where been those lines ? the heraulds of my heart , my plaints , my tears , my vowes , my sighes , my prayers ? ô what auayleth fayth , or what my Artes ? ô loue , ô hope , quite turn'd into despayres : She stops her eares as Adder to the charmes , And lets me lye and languish in my harmes . All is agone , such is my endles griefe , And my mishaps amended naught with moane , I see the heauens will yeeld me no reliefe : what helpeth care , when cure is past and gone , And teares I see , doe me auayle no good , But as great showres increase the rising flood . With folded armes , thus hanging downe his head , he gaue a groane as though his heart had broke , Then looking pale and wan as he were dead , he fetch'd a sigh , but neuer a word he spoke : For now his heart wax'd cold as any stone , Was neuer man aliue so woe begone . With that fayre Cinthya stoups her glittering vayle , and diues adowne into the Ocean flood , The easterne brow which erst was wan and pale , now in the dawning blusheth red as blood : The whistling Larke ymounted on her wings , To the gray morrow , her good morrow sings . When this poore shepheard Rowland of the Rocke , whose faynting legges his body scarse vpheld , Each shepheard now returning to his flocke , alone poore Rowland fled the pleasant field , And in his Coate got to a vechie bed : Was neuer man aliue so hard bested .