Is called Anander of the Court quoth he Though neuer Country-man abid more scorne Yet keep it as thy heardlam close to thee That no day heare it but that blessed morne Wherein that angell of my good and ill Salutes thy stocks and thee vpon this hill Then tell hir when she giues thee hir good morrow That thou alate didst see Anander here And then speake teares of my vnfained sorrow Or speake vnfained sorrow of my teares And when she doth some light occasion borrow Of other reasons to employ hir eares Seeme thou as if thou didst not vnderstand hir And mixe thy speeches with distrest Anander If she dispraise or praise thy wanton flocke Tell thou hir that Anander did so too If brode the â—ield she for some mate doth looke Anander tell hir thus did looke for you And let remembrance worke some better lucke For sure I am more harme it cannot do And sometimes absence doâ—s ingender Passion By giuing leasure to consideration So hie thee to thy sheep good Shepheard boy But stay O first enrich me with thy name Anetor of the Field Sir did I say Though vnderstand yee I am not the same That in amendall of the woolues annoy That mighty voyage vnto Peleus came Anetor he and I Anetor am But he seru'd Peleus I as good a man Discourses ended t' was now time a day For him to ride and for my selfe to wander Such causes call vs both we cannot stay His dear's at Court and my deere flockes be yonder And all our part no more but this to say Farewell Anetor and farewell Anander Saue that in our farewelles this wish we moue Me to recall my Flocks and he his Loue. Elegie II. Anetor seeing seemes to tell The beauty of faire Muridell And in the end he lets hir know Ananders plaint his lâ—ue his woe WHen Ianiuere in 's one and thirtith age Had late embrac'd the wintring Feuerill And March departed with his windy rage Presented time with honny'd April And Shepheards to their lasses layd to gage The yellow Cowslip and the Daffadill Whâ—n flocks gan to be lusty lambes to skip That ioy'd the well yscape of Winters nip The dayes were wealthie in a greater store Of temp'rate minutes and of calmer weather The Welkin blast was milder then before The winde and Sunne was blended so togither The spready Beech and dangling Sycomores Were clad in tender leaues and shady shiuer Where was by Sheapheards toyle and Shepheards wit Banks vnder-set for Nimphes to vnder-sit Morne-walking Feiries halfe gods of the woods Trip through the plenty of our flowery plots Gracing our Medowes hallowing our flâ—ods With wholesome blessings to our gladsome flocks Chearing their colours chearing of their bloods Their milky vdders and their milke-white locks All ioy the libâ—rall sweetnes of the aire Beauty's renewed and all things now looke faire Now Proserpine besets her comâ—ly locks With such perfumes as Aetnaes woods can yeeld And Ceres with hir rolle and weeding hookes 〈◊〉 the infant huswifery of her field And Ocean calls in his immounded brookes From spoyling where Trâ—ptolemus hath til'd Our master â—an seekes Syrinx in the reedes Poynts out our Pastures and diuides our feedes This sacred Time inuited to the hill This hill where I my louing Lambes do feede That comely mistris of vnhappy will In whom that Court'ers comforts first did breed Though with vnkinde succession of that ill That wrought by hir in him did more exceed The Infant Spring breath'd out his youthfull aire A gratefull thing to Ladies yong and faire Now as mine eyes did stretch their curious looke Ouer the spreading heardlam of my worth Eu'n from that king the formost of my troupe That beares the ringing triumph of their mirth Vnto that poorest Lambe that seemes to droope Through weaknes youth and latternes of birth With many blessings to my wandring â—locke And wishes of amendance to their flocke I might afarre discerne a princely crew Of twenty â—adies pera â—uenture more A hie on yonder greene where daâ—ses grew And sommers mistresse kept her flowers in store Too heau'nly prospect for so poore a view And yet a case in vulgâ—râ—ence forbore The eyes themselues haue euer bene thus free What things must needes be seene they must needs see No man at all to guard this louely traine Where Peeres and Princes might haue guardants beene Saue one faire youth of a pure modest graine That neuer yet desirous dayes had seene Nor neuer greater thoughts besieg'd his braine Then what belongs to one of seuenteene Brought vp a purpose for this mayden taske One that would shame to loue and blush to aske And by his nouice lookes and childish grace Cast on himselfe wherein was all his glory I saw he made a poorer vse on 's place Then wou'd that worthy causer of my Story That sober sad Anander if in case His Muridella were not peremptory Who now that grace that fauour and that ioy That longs vnto her man she giues hir boy This feate yong stripling guided by the will And wandring finger of his Ladies hand Thus leades his blessed Army o're the hill Yet not where he list but where they command A thing that taught me one faire point of skill That my rude dayes yet did not vnderstand The last may haue the first in seruile dreade And some are led although they seeme to leade And as they stood aloofe beyond my heard Marking the homely ioyes of them and mee With many curteous smiles and much good word To their encrease and my prosperitie To quittance all the graces they affoord I wend aside where I vnseene may see These walking Saints and giue them secret praise Since t is not good to stand in sight and gase And as I note their faces iudge their yeares Compare their Beauties to discerne the best One saw I gone betwixt two women peares Two gentles Lady-like and maides profest Who by your leaue if she had not beene there That for hir state their seruices possest For comlines and beauty might haue got The vndissembled verdict of my thought But she whose Armes were folded vp in theirs Three gracefull fadams twisted all in one Like Pallas led twixt Iunos hand and Ceres Where nothing but the midst is look't vpon So rich yâ—lad in beauties pomp appeares Besides the wonders cost she had put on That when I look't vpon no more but she I cou'd ha wisht ther had beene no more to see But O! what eye can be contented in So straight a compasse or so small a round But that some sparkle of his sight shall sinne In glauncing here or there or vp or downe So did these â—azeled circles neuer linne To looke on all till they the fairest found Then fixe themselues still to behold the best Some peeuish light wou'd swarue and see the rest On cloudy sullen implement of blacke Yâ—ald a maske or some such hideous name Vpon hir face whether it was for lacke Of things more fit more gracefull then the
other glories moe That first in me wrought these rebellious sits But to be short if thou a thousand see Looke which is fairest and be sure that 's shee Hir hand if thou hir hand canst naked see From those blest musses that guard their blisfull whitenes Is like that gripe that Alpheus maz'd to see Place Aâ—ethuâ—a in perpetuall brightnes And by her foote these plaines shall blessed bee Vnles the ground relent not at her lightnes Hir substance is so giâ—t in slender finenes That nothing's heauy but hir owne vnkindenes â—ut that thou mayst belieue she is a creature As hardly else thou mout'st conceiue the same I tell thee shall when that Creatres nature Once set a Princely webbe into her frame And was about to loome her sacred feature Tâ—is sed that in the while Minerua came Who by enquirie faine would vnderstand What blessed body now she had in hand Nature forthâ— n no otherwise inclinde In thought but to obeâ—ant curtesie Freely acqâ—â—nt the goddes of hir minde And humbly craues hir gracious remedie In such defects as may hir wisedome finde In this new portion of hir huswifery Or if at least there might no fault bee had Yet that she would some more perfection adde For truth she said that whensoe're she might Once bring to good this Idoll that she wrought She would present it to the gracious sight Of hir owne selfe for so she had bethought And since hir comming now fell out so right The larger was her hope that she had brought Some ornamentall grace whose large infusing Might make it fit the gift and worth the chusing Then Pallas tooke into her owne embrace This curious Plot that Nature was about Hauing no meanes to worke into hir face This bloud that glorifies hir shape without Nor could of Venus borrow any grace Cause they alate had sharpely fallen out Therefore bids Nature for some beautie goe High hearts disdaine the kindenes of the foe Meane while from thâ— issue of that sacred vaine That her whole selfe with wits abundance fills She fâ—eely powres into this Infants braine By hoâ—y dâ—ops and plentifull distills That 〈◊〉 conceit that now doth raigne Ouer herselfe her Loue her Louers ills Yet by this gift hir selfe no lesse cou'd haue She gaue hir selfe what to her owne she gaue Two siluer cuppes then drew she from her brest The one of Spirit and hauty influence The other fild with maydenly Pretest Of Chastities diuinest conunence Some drops whereof she in this hart imprest Therein to double Natures excellence But chiefely in these heau'nly honours three Of Wisedome Puissance and Chastitie Yet hast thou leaue to thinke and so doe I Vnlesse my thoughts should sinne in thinking so That loues wise daughter did not meane hereby That both these gifts should be alike in show For if her Chastnes liue perpetually As does hir spirit Ananders cake were dow Though neuer gift descended from aboue Of greater honesty then honest Loue. Then neither is her labour vainely spent Nor yet her gifts in idlenes defray'd If Muridella with true loue content Anander in encreasing Loues decay'd For why doth ciuill curtesie consent The marri'd wife to goe aboue the mayde Because the Life by Loue is doubly grac'de And to be wed is more then to be chaste This while the busie dame in eager post Comes home to see how faire hir worke went on And from an luory boxe of wonders cost That friendly 〈◊〉 had bestowed vpon Her for her Infant sake began to cast With greater art then was in 〈◊〉 son That red and white thus in hir beauties making Nature and heauâ—ns themselues were al pertaking And this is it that holdes in Loue and Muse The two blacke circles of my conquer'd sight What wondrous cunning Nature seem'd to vse In placing of this mingled 〈◊〉 so right And what a skill she shewed when she did chuse So red a crimson and so white a white O heau'ns sed I what gifts were Beauties Peeres If it might neuer beene yâ—lad in yeares Thus or as like to thus as I can say The youth concluding his teare-liquored vaine Leaues my vnletter'd thoughts to beare away Both what he said and what he wood ha saine And though I want his griefe yet sure I may Well ground vpon his passionate complaine His Loue was faire and blest in euery lim With no default but that she lou'd not him My youngling wit amuzed at the hearing Of that her dayes had no conuersement in Like a new-fielded souldrer wanting chearing Stands all astoni'd two conceits betwin Whether I moâ—e with small or no for bearing Burden some disobedience vpon him Or shou'd an verdict of dispraises tuch Her whom himselfe durst dispraise too much If you quoth I haue neuer yet misdone To then sane 〈◊〉 Lady more then I can deeme In these your words By heau'n and by this Sunne Your 〈◊〉 should deserue a more esteeme 〈◊〉 alas 〈…〉 haue ouer-run In things to her that mote vngratefull seeme Gâ—udge not a sharpe rewardance of the same Men â—ust doe well that wou'd enioy good name With this about to aske him somwhat more With hasty answer and a hearty oth He 〈◊〉 my speech and said and vow'd and swore No spot of guilt in his attaintles â—â—oth But â—s t is now so euer heretofore Quoth I the better for I would be loth Though now I aske you as fâ—s sit he shu'd Well know your ill that must procure your good Yet did my soule within it selfe yâ— doubt No vndeseruings in his noble heart Though I for reasons sake mote go about To shew him that I fear'd some vndesart He mought ha thought me else some soothing lout Ylearn'd in neither iudgement nor good part To discommend hir thoughts and mourne his fall Without examining the cause of all Yet speake no further of thy chaunce said I A single cause wou'd haue a single telling But 〈◊〉 discourse hopes mortall enemy Tat's 〈◊〉 preuaâ—ing in his oft reuealing O giue me leaue saith he to balme mine eie And let those teares that hurt it giue it healing For since hir loues are not disposde to granting Poore helpes are welcome when the best are wanting These teares shall witnes when he wept indeed How neere vnto my soule hir enuy crept How much my hart doth hir owne substance bleed In fresh remembrance of what vowes I kept And in what hate that Lady did exceed That threw me downe to this and still he wept O thing for euer to be vnforgot Vntill she loues me as she loues me not My â—locks this while that saw their maisters eie Perusâ—d in things vntutâ—hing their estate Ywended to a neighbors seuâ—ral me That for faire feed was mounded in alate Where left they shou'd too much offendingly Ore-ramp the grasse and get the owners hate I crau'd his name and leaue away to go No shame to part when need compelles thereto My name tho now it may a causer be Of too long memory of a man forlorne
Hir smooth and dainty leg hir handsome knee The pillers of this euer-worthy shrine Where Chastnes Beauty Wit enrooded bee Who can perswade me that hir foot 's not fine When these adoring eyes the shooe did see That for his length might of the sixes bee But sure for bredth it cou'd be but the three To tell how â—aire and straight this vnder-part Held vp the rest so brâ—ght and goodly hie Would make the heauâ— n-supporting Atlas start And in a rage let fall the mighty skie And whisper to himselfe within his hart How base and euer lasting slaue am I Whom this eternall drudgery contents While meaner props beare fairer elements How comely Lord me thinks hir backe was made How right hir shoulders to the same were knit How excellently both hir sides were laidâ— How straight how long hir armes were and how fit How white hir hand was and how vndecai'd And what faire fingers ioyned were to it How delicately euery limme was plac't And euery member by another grac't No painter that did euer pensill dip In oryent Russet or in sable die Ha's pow'r to match the rednes of hir lip Or the thrâ—e-colour'd harts-case of hir eie Pygmalion at her cheekes and chin wou'd trip And at hir browes would blush and looke awry And for hir Nose Nature would doe as much For heauen and earth yields not another such A wounden wreathe she had of Baies and Firre That had y'clipt hir formost locks in greene Whose trembling Leafe the mildest blast would stirre Vnlesse the winde had much forbearefull beene And for hir haire except you look on hir I 'm sure there is no more such to be seene And all hir head was dressed in that haire So might it best no dressing is so faire Hir band about hir necke was plainey ' spread Withouten doubles settes but falling flat And all vpon it wrought in golden thread Roses vines pances and I wot not what A curled locke descending from hir head Hung on her shoulder partly hiding that On hir left shoulder Shoulders that do beare Somthing what Nothing but the things they weare She wore withall a Tyrian mantle made Of silken yearne with strippe of siluer mixt Of the same webbe that young Appollo had For certainely went but the sheares betwixt Hir vpperâ— part was in a Doublet clad Wrought o re with cloudes and golden planets fixt And skirted like a man but that before Hir buttons and hir girdle came much lower Hir buttons were great store and very small In colours like vnto hir doublet wrought Hir Belt was finer geare but yet withall As semblant to the rest as might be thought Saue that it was with pearle as round as ball With aggets and with glimsy saphyres fraught And all was like hir doublet to hir hand Sauing hir cuffes and they were like hir band Hir kirtle was an equall minglement Of diuers silks in diuers beauties dide And with a tucke it was that as she went Her middle-leg the fringe did scarcely hide And to this tucke brode Lace in order spent One from another not a finger wide And from hir ankle to hir knee did rise Gamashaes of the best of Iasons prise Of silken greene hir nether stocks were knit One of her garters cou'd I hardly see For she aâ—oue the ioynt had twisted it Yet seem'd it like to that below the knee Because I saw the endes were sembled fit With broydery as like as like might bee Hâ—â— shooe was lowe because she did desie Any aditions to make hir hie As I a while was standen in a weare In ill conceit of my vnworthy state Whether I mote presume to let hir heare What of hirselfe was told to me so late I sodainly might see approaching neere A handsome bonny Virgin that did waite Vpon this Lady and in hand she led A milke-white Steede and richly furnished Withouten bashfull dread or further thought I crosst aloose vnto this comely Maide And hauing bid her welcome as I ought And broke into a homely speech and sayde Faire Mistresse you are she that I haue sought But cerâ—es for no harme be not afraide If you a mayde to Muridelâ—a be Pray tell me is she here and which is she This Damsell seeming proud and angry too Snuffes at my plainenesse flouts and walkes awry I follow on and for an answere wooe â—ut for my heart I cou'd haue no reply What shall it boote me then in vaine to sue If thou be thus what is thy Dame thought I Or mayst thou be as ancient tales expresse A Mayde more dainty then thy Misteresse But yet anon because she would not stay Nor I thinke of her any worse then well She threw this minsing Answere in my way I am she 's here that 's she and so farewel But which quoth I is that you meane I pray Whoo then she sayth go looke I will not tell With this we part and both our wayes we keepe And she leades on hir Horse and I my sheepe And well I was that I so much cou'd know And for the same I gaue hir faire God-speed And after that preparde my selfe to go To meete with hir whom I shouâ—d meete indeed I meane the â—ady that I praysed so The Mistresse of the Mayde and of the Steed 〈◊〉 goddes and his loue for aye My goddes and my Mistresse for to day Now look'd I on my selfe what must be don And â—ubâ—d my garments cleane in euery seame My face that long had basked in the Sunne I made it handsome in the gentle streame I combd my bustled locks and wipt my shoon And made my selfe as tricke as Polypheme When he first kept his heardlam neere the Sea For loue and sake of constant Galate The gentle Ladies when they did behold My 〈◊〉 approch anon began to fleere Ether thâ— occasion was to see me bold To vent◠〈◊〉 in a Swaynish guise so neere Or else they highly wonderd what I would Or what might be the bus'nes I had there Yet feared not for they full well did know The Country to the Court was neuer foe The princocke youth as I alate did tell That mand this goodly soâ—t along the hil In his pure wisdome thought I did not well Though I had sworne in thought to do no ill And therefore meetes me with a count'nance fell And this disdaineful question What 's your will No harme sweet maister sed I but to see My Land-lady if any here be she These are the Ladies of the court quoth he Whose pleasure is to walke vpon this greene Whose honour desâ—ices and high degree Is daily waiting on our Soueraigne Queene And with that word his head vncouer'd he And all his youthfull yellow locks were seene And I kneeld downe and cride O heauens so deare Preserue hir grace and all her Ladies here With that on gentle Lady mong them all Partly resoul'd I had some tale to 〈◊〉 With becking hand the Image of a call Examins what I would and where I dwell Quoth I my
wonning is in yonder stall And I would speake with beauteous Mâ—ridell All honour be to euery one of you But she is whom my message longs vnto Whose faire respect in such abundance wrought And curtesie did in such sort supplie That euery grace and euery gentle thought Did seeme to be assembl'd in hir eie When with a piercing smiling glaunce it sought The arrand of the homely stander by And did inspire the mouing lips to say What newes to Muridella Shepheards boy If shepheards then may dare to be so bolde With such estates as yours I gan to'say Or if Loues Message may be rudely tolde As better know my betters what it may Duty and promise vrge me to vnfolde That on this greene I met vpon a day Youthfull Anander that in Court doth dwell As you well know if you be Muridell And that aboue the world he loues you deare If be to you vnthought of or vnknowne Once trust my oth vpon it if I sweare Where in I yet haue bene vntrue to none If euer Loues did by the lookes appeare Or euer miseries were declar'd by mone Anander is as farre in loue with you As he on this side death ha's powre to goe But are you sure she saith it is to me As sure as I am sure y' are Muridell But are you sure she sayth that that was hee As sure as I am sure he loues you well But are you sure she sayth that I am shee That is quoth I the thing I least can tell But that 's the name I 'm sure he do's adore And shee that owes that name he honours more Be-like she saith your message doth pertaine To Muridell and that 's I indeed But that those loues and honors that you saine And those high thoughts that from his heart proceed Areâ— one to me it is a lest but vaine And let it be no member of your creed T' was he I know t he loues I know it too But whom he loues he knowes not I nor you For thee to sweare what thou hast heard him vow Is but the childish error of thy youth For me to trust things sworne I wot not how Might argâ—e fondnes lightnes and vntruâ—h And therefore Shepheard what a foole art thou To thinke that euery teare proceedes of ruth When men that other causes doe lament Will burden loue with all their Discontent Be thou not then so lightly borne away With euery idle tale that men professe And looke how much the more of Loues they say Be wise inough to credit them the lesse For if in sooth they are enclind that way Thy pitty do's but adde to their distresse But if they doe not meane the things they say What foole are you and what dissemblers they Downe halts the beggar when he seekes to moue The mistresse of the Almes-house to be kinde And craft is sickly when he meanes to proue The lib'rall pitty of the innocent minde And light beliefe is but the Asse of Loue That beares his oathes before his mocks behinde And neuer trauels with an empty poke Vntill all mockes be spent all oathes be broke Mens vowes to vs haue beene of small import Since loue put on Dianas moony cap And in the loâ—ely woods of chast disport Opprest Calâ—sto with a dire mishap Since 〈◊〉 outlawes came to Carthage Court And â—alse Iulus play'd in Didoes lap No why Loues into our hearts shall creepe O word full ill to speake full hard to keepe All shamefac'd as I stood at this defence With all my wittes astounded in a muse I had a suddaine hap to call to sence Anander told me how she wou'd excuse Hir drery hardnes and vnkind offence A thing she so familarly did vse That to a meane and single vnderstander The fault of Loue seem'd rather in Anander Herewith the gentle silence of hir tongue Giues more tune to my message and his cause This feeble answer from affection strong Fild vp the empty minutes of that pause Faire Lady more it please you do no wrong Though for his Loue you guiden all the Lawes Nor him of fayning or false oathes condemne For sure that hart did neuer harbor them To count those vowes before me he did take To tell the teares that he did lauish here To call to minde the praises he did make Of you his Muridella you his deare What griefes what thoughts what labors for your sake What discontent what fury he did beare Would make me Lady more distraught to tell Then is the maddest Eumenis of hell But since the Euening hastes let all things rest Till please it you to meet him on this hill That haâ—â—y heau'ns may make your hart possest With 〈◊〉 pitty of Ananders ill A 〈◊〉 wished change restore him blest With Muridellaes gentles and good-will And if that then the fault in him shal be Let me cuâ—se him and you abandon me To this request hir greatnes mildely spake Much is the Loue Anander might haue won If other courses he had pleas'd to take Then thus abroade haue cry'd himselfe vndon And by his open blames a Tyrant make Of me that wisht him as I wou'd my son Though I confesse the loues he would haue had I did denie but not to make him mad For let our weakenes as it well hath need Resolue it selfe vpon profound aduise For when consent is made with too much speed Entreating Loue esteemes it of no price Such weighty bargaines are not soone agreed A substance is too much to play at twice The loue 's but small that is too yong to know That all the hope 's not past when wee say no. But on the day that I him here shall meete The fairest day of all the fairest dayes I learne him shal how to be more discreete And curteous in the bruite of my disprayse And then if heau'ns ordaine it not vnmeete Vnarmed Loue shall part our lingring fraies And where the most vnkindenesse then shall bee There the iust sentence shall be giu'n by thee For I do know Anâ—nder young and faire And much I thinke and much I wou'd doe for him And that it is my euerlasting care That disconsent of loue should neuer marre him Witnes thy selfe yong shepheard boy that are The onely iudge to whom I shal referre him And so I must be gon the night is neere Time stayes no longer at the Court then here With that the lightnes of hir nimble foote Withdrew it selfe into a silent trace And all hir veiny limmes consenting to 't Made a faire turne and vanisht hence apace With all the comely troupe leauing me mute And languisht in the loosing of hir face While does the aire into mine eares infuse The message of hir musicall adewes Elegie III. Anander sicke with Loues disdaine Doth change himselfe into a Swaine While dos the youthful shepherd show him His Muridellaes answere to him THe Sunne that had himselfe a Courtier beene And for his beautie lou'd of Ladies faire Spread forth his yellow beames vpon the