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 VVith Roses damask white and red and fairest flower delice VVith 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 VVhen 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 VVith 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 VVee'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 ānd 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 vvynken 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 lets 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 VVynken 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 vvynkin 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 VVinken 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 shalbe 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 VVynken 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
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 Lavvrell 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 flovves againe in thee alone VVhere 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 vvhome 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 shalbe begun the blessed Angels tuning to the spheares with Gods sweete musick charme thy sacred eares From Fayrie Ile 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 levvd 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 flovvres doe yeeld gainst griefe vvhich 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 vvilt in antique Romants reede of gentle Lords and ladies that of yore In forraine lands atchieu'd their noble deede and been renovvnd from East to Westerne shore Or learne the shepheards nice astrolobie To knovv the Planets moouing in the skie Batte Shepheard these things been all too coy for mee vvhose lustie dayes should still be spent in mirth These mister artes been better fitting thee earth vvhose drouping dayes are dravving tovvards the VVhat 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 vvhisper still of sorrovv in their bed And done despise all loue and lustie head Like to the curre vvith anger vvell neere vvoode vvho makes his kennel in the Oxes stall And snarleth
vvhen he seeth him take his foode and yet his chaps can chevv no hay at all Borrill euen so it fareth novv vvith thee And vvith these vvisards of thy mysterie Borrill Sharpe is the thorne full soone I see by thee bitter the blossome vvhen the fruite is sovver And early crook d that vvill a Camock bee rough is the vvinde before a sodayne shovver Pittie thy vvit should be so vvrong 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 vvith her busines and her nicetie her nimble vvings are scorched vvith the same Then fals she dovvne vvith pitteous buzzing note And in the fier doth sindge her mourning cote Batte Alas good man I see thou ginst to raue thy vvits done erre and misse the cushen quite Because thy head is gray and vvordes been graue Thou think'st thereby to dravv 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 svvift and nimble as the Roe Thou art ycouped like a bird in cage and in the field I vvander too and froe Thou must doe penance for thy olde misdeedes And make amends vvith Auies and vvith 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 renovvne 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 vvith 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 way ward wretched loue VVoe 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 be wrayer 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 VVith 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 vvhit 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 Dovvsabell 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 dovvne and heare the Muses sing Then if thy Muse hath spent her wonted zeale with Iuie twist thy temples shall be crownd Or