and liue here agen Not Hybla mountaine in the iocund prime Vpon her many bushes of sweet Thyme Shewes greater number of industrious Bees Then were the Birds that sung there on the trees Like the trim windings of a wanton Lake That doth his passage through a Meadow make Ran the delightfull Vally 'tweene two Hils From whose rare trees the precious Balme distils And hence Apollo had his simples good That cur'd the Gods hurt by the Earths ill brood A Crystall Riuer on her bosome slid And passing seem'd in sullen muttrings chid The artlesse Songsters that their Musicke still Should charme the sweet Dale and the wistfull Hill Not suffering her shrill waters as they run Tun'd with a whistling gale in Vnison To tell as high they priz'd the brodred Vale As the quicke Lennâ—s or sweet Nightingale Downe from a steepe Rocke came the water first Where lusty Satyres often quench'd their thirst And with no little speed seem'd all in haste Till iâ— the louely bottome had embrac'd Then as intranâ—'d to heare the sweet Birds sing In curled whirlpooles she her course doth bring As lâ—th to leaue the songs that lull'd the Dale Or waiting time when she and some soft gale Should speake what true delight they did possesse Among the rare flowres which the Vally dresse But since those quaint Musitians would not stay Nor suffer any to be heard but they Much like a little â—ad who gotten new To play his part amongst a skilfull crew Of choise Musitians on some softer string That is not heard the others fingering Drowning his Art the boy would gladly get Applause with others that are of his Set. And therefore strikes a stroke loud as the best And often desâ—ants when his fellowes rest That to be heard as 〈◊〉 â—ingers doe Spoiles his owne Musickâ— and his partners too So at the furtâ—er end the waters fell From off an 〈◊〉 bancke downe a lowly Dell As they had vow'd ere passing from that ground The Birds should be inforc'd â—o heare their sound No small delight the Shepherds tooke to see A coombe so dight in Floraâ—iuery â—iuery Where faire Feronia honour'd in the Woods And all the Deities that haunt the floods With powrefull Nature stroue to 〈◊〉 a plot Whoâ—â— like the sweet Arcadia yeelded nor Downe through the arched wood the Shepherds wend And seeke all places that might helpe their end When comming neere the bottome of the hill A deepe fetch'd sigh which seem'd of power to kill The brest that held it pierc'd the listning wood Whereat the eare still Swaines no longer stood Where they were looking on a tree whose 〈◊〉 A Loue knot held which two ioyn'd hearts the winde But searching round vpon an aged foot Thicke linde with moste which though to little boot Seem'd as a shelter it had lending beene Against cold Winters stormes and wreakfull teene Or clad the stocke in Summer with that hue His withered branches not a long time knew For in his hollow truncke and perish'd graine The Cuckow now had many a Winter laine And thriuing Pismires laid their egges in store The Dormouse slept there and a many more Here sate the Lad of whom I thinke of old Virgils prophetique spirit had foretold Who whilst Dame Nature for her cunnings sake A male or female doubted which to make And to adorne him more then all assaid This pritty youth was almost made a Maid Sadly he sate and as would griefe alone As if the Boy and Tree had beene but one Whilst downe neere boughs did drops of Amber creepâ— As if his sorrow made the trees to weepe If euer this were true in Ouids Verse That teares haue powre an Adamant to pierce Or moue things void of sense 't was here approu'd Thâ—ngs vegetatiue once his teares haue mou'd Surely the stones might well be drawne in pitty To burst that he should mone as for a Ditty To come and range themselues in order all And of their owne accord raise Thebes a wall Or else his teares as did the others song Might haue th'attractiue power to moue the throng Of all the Forrests Citizens and Woods With eu'ry Denizon of Ayre and Floods To sit by him and grieue to leaue their iarres Their strifes dissentions and all ciuill warres And though else disagreeing in this one Mourning for him should make an Vnion For whom the heauens would weare a sable sute If men beasts fishes birds trees stones were mute His eyes were fixed rather fixed Starres With whom it seem'd his teares had beene in warres The diff'rence this a hard thing to descry Whether the drops were clearest or his eye Teares fearing conquest to the eye might fall An inundation brought and drowned all Yet like true Vertue from the top of State Whose hopes vile Enuie hath seene ruinate Being lowly cast her goodnesse doth appeare Vncloath'd of greatnesse more apparant cleere So though deiected yet remain'd a feature Made sorrow sweet plac'd in so sweet a creature The test of misery the truest is In that none hath but what is surely his His armes a crosse his sheepe-hooke lay beside him Had Venus pass'd this way and chanc'd t' haue spide him With open brest locks on his shoulders spred She would haue sworne had she not seene him dead It was Adonis or if e're there was Held transmigration by Pithagoras Of soules that certaine then her lost-loues spirit A fairer body neuer could inherit His Pipe which often wont vpon the Plaine To sound the Dorian Phrygian Lydian straine Lay from his Hooke and Bagge cleane cast apart And almost broken like his Masters heart Yet till the two kinde Shepherds neere him stept I finde he nothing spake but that he wept Cease gentle Lad quoth Remond let no teare Cloud those sweet beauties in thy face appeare Why dost thou call-on that which comes alone And will not leaue thee till thy selfe art gone Thou maist haue griefe when other things are rest thee All else may slide away this still is left thee And when thou wantest other company Sorrow will euer be embracing thee But fairest Swaine what cause hast thou of woe Thou hast a well-fleec'd flocke seed to and fro His sheepe along the Vally that time fed Not â—arre from him although vnfollowed What doe thy Ewes abortiues bring or Lambs For want of milke seeke to their fellowes Dams No gryping Land-lord hath inclos'd thy walkes Nor â—oyling Plowman furrow'd them in balkes Ver hath adorn'd thy Pastures all in greene With Clouer-grasse as fresh as may be seene Cleare gliding Springs refresh thy Meadowes heat Meads promise to thy charge their winter-meat And yet thou grieu'st Oâ— had some Swains thy store Their Pipes should tell the Woods they ask'd no more Or haue the Parca with vnpartiall knife Lefâ— some friends body tenantlesse of life And thou bemoan'st that Fate in his youths morne Ore-cast with clouds his light but newly borne Count not how many yeares he is bereau'd But those which he possest and had receiu'd
thus tride they show to vs As Scâ—ua's Shield thy Selfe Emeritus W. HERBERT To my Browne yet brightest Swaine That woons or haunts or Hill or Plaine Pocta nascitur PIpe on sweet Swaine till Ioy in Blisse sleepe waking Hermes it seemes to thee of all the Swaines Hath lent his Pipe and Art For thou art making With sweet Notes noted Heau'n of Hils and Plaines Nay if as thou beginst thou dost hold on The totall Earth thine Arcadie will bee And Neptunes Monarchy thy Helicon So all in both will make a God of thee To whom they will exhibit Sacrifice Of richest Loue and Praise and enuious Swaines Charm'd with thine Accents shall thy Notes agnizâ— To reach aboue great Pans in all thy Straines Then ply this Veyne for it may well containe The richest Morals vnder poorest Shroud And sith in thee the Past'rall spirit doth raigne On such Wits-Treasures let it sit abrood Till it hath hatch'd such Numbers as may buy The rarest Fame that e're enriched Ayre Or fann'd the Way faire to AETERNITY To which vnsoil'd thy Glory shall repaire Where with the Gods that in faire Starres doe dwell When thou shalt blazing in a Starre abide Thou shalt be stil'd the Shepherds-Starre to tell Them many Mysteries and be their Guide Thus doe I spurre thee on with sharpest praise To vse thy Gifts of Nature and of Skill To double-gilde Apollos Browes and Bayes Yet make great NATVRE Arts true Sou'raigne still So â—ame shall euer say to thy renowne The Shepherds-Star or bright'st in Skie is Browne The true Louer of thine Art and Nature IOHN DAVIES of Heres AD ILLVSTRISSIMVM IVVENEM GVLIELMVM BROWNE Generosum in Operis sui Tomum secundum Carmen gratulatorium SCriâ—ta priùs vidi legi digitoque notaui Carminis istius singula verba meo Ex scriptis sparsim quaerebam carpere dicta Omnia sed par est aut ego nulla notem Filia si fuerit facies haec nactae sororis Laudator prolis solus Author eris Haec nondum visi qui flagrat amore libelli Praeâ—arrat scriptis omnia câ—rta tuis CAROLVâ— CROKE To my noble Friend the Author A Perfect Pen it selfe will euer praise So pipeâ— our Shepherd in his Roundelayes That who could iudge of Musickes sweetest straine Would sweare thy Muse were in a heauenly vaine A Worke of worth showes what the Worke-man is When as the fault that may be found amisse To such at least as haue iudicious eyes Nor in the Worke nor yet the Worke-man lyes Well worthy thou to weare the Lawrell wreath When froÌ„ thy brest these blessed thoughts do breath That in thy gracious Lines such grace doe giue It makes thee euerlastingly to liue Thy words well coucht thy sweet inuention show A perfect Poet that could place them so VNTON CROKE è Societate Inter. Templi To the Author THat priuiledge which others claime To flatter with their Friends With thee Friend shall not be mine ayme My Verse so much pretends The generall Vmpire of best wit In this will speake thy fame The Muses Minioâ—s as they sit Will still confirme the â—ame Let me sing him that merits best Let others scrape for fashion Their bâ—zâ—ing prate thy worth will iest And sleight such commendation ANTH. VINCENT To his worthy Friend Mr. W. BROWNE on his BOOKE THat Poets are not bred so but so borne Thy Muse it proues for in her ages morne She hath stroke enuy dumbe and charm'd the loue Of eu'ry Muse whose birth the Skies approue Goe on I know thou art too good to feare And may thy earely straines affect the eare Of that rare Lord who iudge and guerdon can The richer gifts which doe aduantage man â— IOHN MORGAN è Societate Inter. Templi To his Friend the Authour SOmetimes deare friend I make thy Booke my meat And then I iudge 't is Hony that I eat Sometimes my drinke it is and then I thinke It is Apollo's Nectar and no drinke And being hurt in minde I keepe in store Thy Booke a precious Balsame for the sore 'T is Hony Nectar Balsame most diuine Or one word for them all my Friend 't is thine THO. HEYGATE è Societate Inter. Templi To his Friend the Author IF antique Swaines wanne such immortall praise Though they alone with their melodious Layes Did onely charme the Woods and flowry Lawnes Satyres and Floods and Stones and hairy Fawnes How much braue Youth to thy due worth belongs That charm'st not theÌ„ but men with thy sweet Songs AVGVSTVS CAESAR è Societate Inter. Templi To the Authour T Is knowne I scorne to flatter or commend What merits not applause though in my Friend Which by my censure should now more appeare Were this not full as good as thou art deare But since thou couldst not erring make it so That I might my impartiall humour show By finding fault Nor one of thâ—se friends tell How to shew loue so ill that I as well Might paint out mine I feele an enuious touch And tell thee Swaine that at thy fame I grutch Wishing the Art that makes this Poeme shine And this thy Worke wert not thou wronged mine For when Detraction shal forgotten be This will continue to eternize thee And if hereafter any busie wit Should wronging thy conceit miscensure it Though seeming learn'd or wise here he shall see T is prais'd by wiser and more learn'd then hee G. WITHER To Mr. BROWNE WEre there a thought so strange as to deny That happy Bayes doe some mens Births adorne Thy worke alone might serue to iustifie That Poets are not made so but so borne How could thy plumes thus soone haue soar'd thus Hadst thou not Lawrell in thy Cradle worne Thy Birth o'er-tooke thy Youth And it doth make hie Thy youth herein thine elders ouer-take W. B. To my truly-belou'd Friend M. Browne on his Pastorals SOme men of Bookes or Friends not speaking right May hurt them more with praise then Foes with spight But I haue seene thy Worke and I know thee And if thou list thy selfe what thou canst bee For though but early in these paths thou tread I finde thee write most worthy to be read It must be thine owne iudgement yet that sends This thy worke forth that iudgement mine commends And where the most reade bookes on Authors fames Or like our Money-brokers take vp names On credit and are couzâ—n'd see that thou By offring not more sureties then enow Hold thine owne worth vnbroke which is so good Vpon th' Exchange of Letters as I wou'd More of our Writers would like thee not swell With the how much they set forth but th' how well BEN. IONSON BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS THE SECOND BOOKE THE FIRST SONG THE ARGVMENT Marina's freedome now I sing And of her new endangering Of Famines Caue and then th' abuse Tow'rds buried Colyn and his Muse. AS when a Mariner accounted lost Vpon the watry Desert long time tost In Summers parching hear in Winters cold In tempests great in
If I may tread no longer on this stage Though others thinke me young it is mine age For who so hath his Fates full period told He full of yeeres departs and dyeth old May be that Auarico thy minde hath crost And so thy sighes are for some trifâ—e lost Why shouldst thou hold that deare the world throwes on thee Thinke nothing good which may be taken from thee Look as some pondrous weight or massie pack Laid to be carried on a Porters back Doth make his strong ioynts cracke and forceth him Maugre the helpe of euery nerue and lim To straggle in his gate and goeth double Bending to earth such is his burdens trouble So any one by Auarico ingirt And prest with wealth lyes groueling in the dirt His wretched minde bends to no point but this That who hath most of wealth hath most of blisse Hence comes the world to seeke such traffique forth And passage through the congealed North Who when their haires with Isicles are hung And that their chatt'ring teeth confound their tongue Shew them a glitt'ring stone will streight waies say If paines thus prosper oh what fooles would play Yet I could tell them as I now doe thee In getting wealth we lose our libertie Besides it robs vs of our better powres And we should be our selues were these not ours He is not poorest that hath least in store But he which hath enough yee asketh more Noâ— is he rich by whom are all possest But he which nothing hath yet asketh least If thou â— life by Nature leading pitch Thou neuer shalt be poore nor euer rich Led by Opinion for their states are such Nâ—ture but little seekes Opinion much Amongst the many buds proclaiming May Decking the fields in holy dayes aâ—ay Striuing who shall surpasse in brauery Marke the â—aste blooming of the Hawthorne-tree Who finely clothed in a robe of white Feeds full the wanton eye with May's delight Yet for the brauery that she is in Doth neither handle Cara nor Wheele to spin Nor changeth robes but twice is neuer seene In other colours then in white or greene Leaâ—ne then content young Shepherd from this tree Whose greatest wealth is Natures liuery And richest ingots neuer toyle to finde Nor care for pouerty but of the minde This spoke young Remond yet the mournfull Lad Not once replyde But with a smile though sad He shooke his head then crost his armes againe And from his eyes did showres of salt teares raine Which wrought so on the 〈◊〉 they could not smother Their sighes but spent them fâ—eely as the other Tell vs quoth Doridon thou fairer farre Then he whole chastity made him a Starre More fit to throw the wounding shafts of Loue Then follow sheepe and pine here in a Groue O doe not hide thy sorrowes shew them briefe He oft findes ayde that doth disclose his griefe If thou wouldst it continue thou dost wrong No man can sorrow very much and long For thus much louing Nature hath dispos'd That 'mongst the woes that haue vs round inclos'd This comfort 's left and we should blesse her for 't That we may make our griefes be borne or short Beleeue me Shepherd we are men no lesse Free from the killing throes of heauinesse Then thou art here and but this diff'rence sure That vse hath made vs apter to endure More he had spoke but that a Bugle shrill Rung through the Vally from the higher Hill And as they turn'd them tow'rds the hartning sound A gallant Stag as if he scorn'd the ground Came running with the winde and bore his head As he had beene the King of forrests bred Not swifter comes the Messenger of Heauen Or winged vessell with a full gale driuen Nor the swift Swallow flying neere the ground By which the ayres distemp'rature is found Nor Mirrha's course nor Daphne's speedy flight Shunning the daliance of the God of light Then seem'd the Stag that had no sooner crost them But in a trice their eyes as quickly lost him The weeping Swaine ne're mou'd but as his eyes Were onely giuen to shew his miseries Attended those and could not once be won To leaue that obiect whence his teares begun O had that man who by a Tyrants hand Seeing his childrens bodies strew the sand And he next morne for torments prest to goe Yet from his eyes let no one small teare flow But being ask'd how well he bore their losse Like to a man affliction could not crosse He stoutly answer'd Happier sure are they Thâ—â— I shall be by space of one short day No more his griefe waâ— But had he beene here He had beene flint had he not spent a teare For still that man the perfecter is knowne Who others sorrowes feeles more then his owne Râ—mond and Doridon were turning then Vnto the most disconsolate of men But that a gallant Dame faire as the morne Or louely bloomes the Peach-tree that adorne Clad in a changing silke whose lustre shone Like yellow flowres and grasse farre off in one Or like the mixture Nature doth display Vpon the quaint wings of the Popiâ—iay Her horne about her necke with siluer tip Too hard a metall for so soft a lip Which it no oftner kist then Ioue did frowne And in a mortals shape would saine come downe To feed vpon those dainties had not hee Beene still kept backe by Iuno's iealousie An Iuory dart she held of good command White was the bone but whiter was her hand Of many peeces was it nearly fram'd But more the hearts were that her eyes inflam'd Vpon her head a greene light silken cap A peece of white Lawne shadow'd either pap Betweene which hillocks many Cupids lay Where with her necke or with her teats they play Whilst her quicke heart will not with them dispence But heaues her brests as it would beat them thence Who fearing much to lose so sweet repaire Take faster hold by her disheâ—ell'd haire Swiftly she ran the sweet Bryers to receiue her Slipt their-embracements and as loth to leaue her Stretch'd themselues to their length yet on she goes So great Diana frayes a heard of Roes And speedy followes Arethusa sled So from the Riuer that her rauished When this braue Huntresse neere the Shepherds drew Her Lilly arme in full extent she threw To plucke a little bough to fan her face From off a thicke-leau'd Ash no tree did grace The low Groue as did this the branches spred Like Neptune's Trident vpwards from the head No sooner did the grieued Shepherd see The Nimphs white hand extended tow'rds the tree But rose and to her ran yet she had done Ere he came neere and to the wood was gone Yet now approach'd the bough the Huntresse tore He suck it with his mouth and kist it o're A hundred times and softly gan it binde With Dock-leaues and a slip of Willow rinde Then rouÌ„d the trunke he wreaths his weakned armes And with his scalding teares the smooth bark warms Sighing and