The Countesse of Pembrokes Arcadia. Written by Sir Philip Sidney Knight. Now since the first edition augmented and ended

[ 30] The second Eclogues.

THE rude tumult of the Enispians gaue occasion to the honest shepheards to begin their Pastoralls this day with a daunce, which they called the skirmish betwixt Reason and Passion. For seuen shepheards (which were named the [ 35] reasonable shepheards) ioined themselues; foure of them making a square, and the other two going a little wide of either side, like wings for the maine battell, and the seuenth man formost, like the forlorne hope, to begin the skirmish. In like order came out the seuen appassionated shepheards, all keeping the pase of their foot by their voice, and sundry consorted instruments they held in their armes. And first, [ 40] the formost of the Reasonable side began to sing:

R.

Thou Rebell vile, come, to thy master yeeld.

And the other that met with him answered:

P.

No, Tyrant, no: mine, mine shall be the field,

[ 45] Reason.

Can Reason then a Tyraunt counted bee?

Passion.

If Reason will, that Passions be not free.

R.

But Reason will, that Reason gouerne most.

P.

And Passion will, that Passion rule the rost.

R.

Your will is will, but Reason reason is.

P.

Will hath his will, when Reasons will doth misse.

R.

Whome Passion leades vnto his death is bent.

P.

And let him die, so that he die content. [ 5]

R.

By nature you to Reason faith haue sworne.

P.

Not so, but fellow-like togither borne.

R.

Who Passion doth ensue, liues in annoy.

P.

Who Passion doth forsake, liues void of ioy.

R.

Passion is blinde, and treades an vnknowne trace. [ 10]

P.

Reason hath eyes to see his owne ill case.

Then as they approched nearer, the two of Reasons side, as if they shot at the other, thus sang:

R.

Dare Passions then abide in Reasons light? [ 15]

P.

And is not Reason dimme with Passions might?

R.

O foolish thing, which glory doth destroy.

P.

O glorious title of a foolish toy.

R.

Weakenes you are, dare you with our strength fight?

P.

Because our weaknes weakeneth all your might. [ 20]

R.

O sacred Reason, helpe our vertuous toiles.

P.

O Passion, passe on feeble Reasons spoiles.

R.

We with our selues abide a daily strife.

P.

We gladly vse the sweetnesse of our life.

R.

But yet our strife sure peace in end doth breede. [ 25]

P.

We now haue peace, your peace we doo not neede.

Then did the two square battailes meete, and in steed of fighting embrace one another, singing thus:

R.

We are too strong: but Reason seekes no blood. [ 30]

P.

Who be too weake, do feigne they be too good.

R.

Though we cannot orecome, our cause is iust.

P.

Let vs orecome, and let vs be vniust.

R.

Yet Passions yeeld at length to Reasons stroke.

P.

What shall we winne by taking Reasons yoke. [ 35]

R.

The ioyes you haue shall be made permanent.

P.

But so we shall with griefe learne to repent.

R.

Repent in deed, but that shall be your blisse.

P.

How know we that, since present ioyes we misse?

R.

You know it not: of Reason therefore know it. [ 40]

P.

No Reason yet had euer skill to show it.

R.

Then let vs both to heauenly rules giue place.

P.

Which Passions kill, and Reason do deface.

Then embraced they one another, and came to the King, who framed his pray∣ses [ 45] of them according to Zelmanes liking; whose vnrestrained parts, the mind & eie

had their free course to the delicate Philoclea, whose looke was not short in well re∣quiting it, although shee knew it was a hatefull sight to her iealouse mother. But Dicus (that had in this time taken a great liking of Dorus, for the good partes he foūd aboue his age in him) had a delight to taste the fruites of his wit, though in a subiect [ 5] which he himselfe most of all other despised: & so entred to speach with him in the manner of this following Eclogue.

Dicus. Dorus.

[ 10] Dicus.

Dorus, tell me, where is thy wonted motion, To make these woods resound thy lamentation? Thy sainte is dead, or dead is thy deuotion, For who doth holde his loue in estimation, To witnes that he thinkes his thoughts delicious, [ 15] Thinks to make each thing badge of his sweet passion.

Dorus.

But what doth make thee Dicus so suspicious Of my due faith, which needs must be immutable? Who others vertue doubt, themselues are vicious, [ 20] Not so; although my mettals were most mutable, Her beames haue wrought therein most faire impression, To such a force some chaunge were nothing sutable.

Dicus.

The harte well set doth neuer shunne confession: [ 25] If noble be thy bandes, make them notorious: Silence doth seeme the maske of base oppression. Who glories in his loue, doth make Loue glorious: But who doth feare, or bideth muet wilfully, Shewes, guilty harte doth deeme his state opprobrious. [ 30] Thou then, that fram'st both wordes and voice most skilfully, Yeeld to our eares a sweet and sound relation, If Loue tooke thee by force, or caught thee guilefully.

Dorus.

If sunnie beames shame heau'nly habitation, [ 35] If three-leau'd grasse seeme to the sheepe vnsauorie, Then base and sowre is Loues most high vocation. Or if sheepes cries can helpe the Sunnes owne brauerie, Then may I hope, my pipe may haue abilitie, To helpe her praise, who decks me in her slauerie, [ 40] No, no: no words ennoble selfe nobilitie, As for your doubts, her voice was it deceaued me, Her eye the force beyond all possibilitie.

Dicus.

Thy words well voyc'd, well grac'de had almost heaued me, [ 45] Quite from my selfe to loue Loues contemplation; Till of these thoughts thy sodaine ende bereaued me, Goe on therefore, and tell vs by what fashion

In thy owne proofe he gets so straunge possession, And how possest he strengthens his invasion.

Dorus.

Sight is his roote, in thought is his progression, His child hood wonder, prentizeship attention, [ 5] His youth delight, his age the soules oppression Doubt is his sleepe, he waketh in inuention, Fancie his foode, his clothing is of carefulnes; Beautie his booke, his play louers dissention: His eyes are ••urious search, but vailde with warefulnesse: [ 10] His wings desire oft clipt with desperation. Largesse his hands could neuer skill of sparefulnesse But how he doth by might, or by perswasion To conquere, and his conquest how to ratifie, Experience doubts, and schooles hold disputation. [ 15]

Dicus.

But so thy sheepe may thy good wishes satisfie With large encrease, and wooll of fine perfection, So she thy loue, her eyes thy eyes may gratifie; As thou wilt giue our soules a deare refection, [ 20] By telling how she was, how now she framed is To helpe, or hurt in thee her owne infection.

Dorus.

Blest be the name, wherewith my mistres named is: Whose wounds are salues, whose yokes please more then pleasure doth [ 25] Her staines are beames; vertue the fault she blamed is, The hart, eye, eare here onely find his treasure doth. All numbring artes her endlesse graces number not: Time, place, life•• witt, scarcely her rare gifts measure doth. Is she in rage? so is the Sunne in sommer hot, [ 30] Yet haruest brings. Doth she, alas! absent her selfe? The Sunne is hid; his kindly shadows cumber not. But when to giue some grace she doth content herselfe, O then it shines, then are the heau'ns distributed, And Venus seemes, to make vp her, she spent herselfe. [ 35] Thus then (I say) my mischiefes haue contributed A greater good by her diuine reflection, My harmes to me, my blisse to her attributed. Thus she is fram'd: her eyes are my direction, Her loue my life, her anger my distruction, [ 40] Lastly what so she is, that's my protection.

Dicus.

Thy safetie sure is wrapped in destruction, For that construction thine owne wordes do beare. A man to feare a womans moodie eye, [ 45] Makes Reason lie a slaue to seruile sense, A weake defence where weaknes is thy force:

So is remorse in follie dearly bought.

Dorus.

If I had thought to heare blasphemous wordes, My brest to swords, my soule to hell haue solde [ 5] I rather would, then thus mine eares defile With words so vile, which viler breath doth breed. O heards take heed; for I a woolfe haue found, Who hunting round the strongest for to kill, His breast doth fill with earth of others woe, [ 10] And loden so pulls downe, pull'd downe destroyes. O sheepheards boyes, eschue these tongues of venome, Which do enuenome both the soule and senses. Our best defenses are to flie these adders. O tongues like ladders made to clime dishonour, [ 15] Who iudge that honour, which hath scope to slander!

Dicus.

Dorus you wander farre in great reproches, So Loue encroches on your charmed reason, But it is season for to end our singing. [ 20] Such anger (bringing: as for me, my fancie In sicke-mans frenzie rather takes compassion, Then rage for rage: rather my wish I send to thee, Thou soone may haue some helpe, or change of passion, She oft her lookes, the starres her fauour bend to thee, [ 25] Fortune store, Nature health, Loue grant perswasion. A quiet mind none but thy selfe can lend to thee, Thus I commend to thee all our former Loue.

[ 30] Dorus••

Well do I proue, errour lies oft in zeale, Yet it is seale, though errour, of true hart. Nought could impart such heates to friendly mind, But for to find thy words did her disgrace, Whose onely face the little heauen is, [ 35] Which who doth misse his eyes are but delusions, Barr'd from their chiefest obiect of delightefulnesse Throwne on this earth the Chaos of confusions; As for thy wish, to my enraged spitefulnesse The louely blow, with rare reward, my prayer is Thou mayst loue her that I may see thy sightfulnesse. [ 40] The quiet mind (whereof my selfe empairer is, As thou doest thinke) should most of all disquiet me Without her loue, then any mind who fairer is, Her onely cure from surfet woes can diet me: She holdes the ballance of my contentation: [ 45] H••r cleared eyes, nought els, in stormes can quiet me, Nay rather then my ease discontentation Should breed to her•• let me for aye deiected be

From any ioy, which might her griefe occasion. With so sweet plagues my happie harmes infected be: Paine willes me die•• yet will of death I mortifie: For though life irkes, in life my loues protected be, Thus for each change my changelesse hart I fortifie. [ 5]

When they had ended to the good pleasing of the assistants, especiallie of Zelma∣ne, who neuer forgat to giue due cōmendatiōs to her friend Dorus, Basilius called for Lamon to end his discourse of Strephon & Klaius, wherwith the other day he marked Zelmane to haue bene exceedingly delighted. But him sicknes had staied from that [ 10] assemblie•• which gaue occasion to Histor and Damon two yonge shepheards, taking vpō them the two frendly riualles names, to present Basilius with some other of their complaints Ecloge-wise, and first with this double Sestine.

Strephon. Klaius. [ 15]

Strephon.

Yee Goteheard Gods, that loue the grassie mountaines, Ye nymphes that haunt the springs in pleasant vallies, Ye Satyrs ioyde with free and quiet forrests, Vouchsafe your silent eares to plaining musique, [ 20] Which to my woes giue still an early morning. And drawes the dolor on till weary euening.

Klaius.

O Mercurie, foregoer to the euening, O heauenly huntresse, of the sauage mountaines, [ 25] O louelie starre, entit'led of the morning, While that my voice doth fill these woefull vallies, Vouchsafe your silent eares to plaining musique, Which oft hath Echo tir'de in secrete forrests.

[ 30]

Strephon.

I that was once free burges of the forrests, Where shade from Sunne, and sports I sought at euening, I that was once esteem'd for pleasant, musique, Am banisht now among the monstrous mountaines Of huge despaire, and foule afflictions vallies, [ 35] Am growne a shrich owle to my selfe each morning.

Klaius.

I that was once delighted euery morning, Hunting the wilde inhabiters of forrests, I that was once the musique of these vallies, [ 40] So darkened am, that all my day is euening, Hart broken so, that molehilles seeme high mountaines, And fill the vales with cries in steed of musique.

Strephon.

Long since alas, my deadly swannish musique [ 45] Hath made it selfe a crier of the morning, And hath with wailing strength clim'd highest mountaines:

Long since my thoughts more desert be then ••orrests: Long since I see my ioyes come to their euening, And state throwne downe to ouertroden vallies.

[ 5] Klaius.

Long since the happie dwellers of these vallies, Haue praide me leaue my ••trange exclaming musique, Which troubles their dayes worke, & ioyes of euening, Long since I hate the night, more hate the morning: Long since my thoughts cha••e me like beasts in forrests, [ 10] And make me wish my selfe layd vnder mountaines.

Strephon.

Me seemes I see the high and stately mountaines, Transforme themselues to lowe deiected vallies: Me seemes I heare in these ill changed forrests, [ 15] The Nightingales doo le••rne of Owles their musique: Me seemes I feele the comfort of the morning Turnde to the mortall serene of an euening.

Klaius.

Me seemes I see a filthy clowdie euening, [ 20] As soone as Sunne begins to clime the mountaines: Me seemes I feele a noysome sent, the morning When I doo smell the flowers of these vallies: Me seemes I heare, when I doo heare sweete musique, The dreadfull cries of murdred men in forrests.

[ 25]

Strephon.

I wish to fire the trees of all these forrests, I giue the Sunne a last farewell each euening, I curse the fidling finders out of musicke: With enuie I doo hate the loftie mountaines; [ 30] And with dispite despise the humble vallies: I doo detest night, euening, day, and morning.

Klaius.

Curse to my selfe my praier is, the morning; My fire is more then can be made with forrests; [ 35] My state more base, then are the basest vallies: I wish, no euenings more to see, each euening; Shamed I hate my selfe in sight of mountaines, And stoppe mine eares, lest I grow mad with musicke.

[ 40] Strephon.

For she whose parts maintainde a perfect musique Whose beautie shin'de more then the blushing morning, Who much did passe in state the stately mountaines, In streightnes past the Cedars of the forrests, Hath cast me wretch into eternall euening, [ 45] By taking her two Sunnes from these darke vallies.

Klaius.

For she, to whom compar'd, the Alpes are vallies,

She, whose lest word brings from the spheares their musique, At whose approche the Sunne rose in the euening, Who where she went bare in her forhead morning, Is gone, is gone, from these our spoyled forrests, Turning to desarts our best pastur'de mountaines. [ 5]

Strephon.

These mountaines witnesse shall, so shall these vallies, These forrests eke, made wretched by our musique,

Klaius.

Our morning hymne is this, and song at euening.

[ 10]

But, as though all this had bene but the taking of a taste of their wailings, Strephon againe begā this Dizaine, which was answered vnto him in that kind of verse which is called the crowne.

Strephon. Klaius. [ 15]

Strephon.

I Ioy in griefe, and doo detest all ioyes: Despise delight am tyr'd with thought of ease: I turne my minde to all formes of annoyes, And with the chaunge of them my fancie please, [ 20] I studie that which may me most displease, And in despite of that displeasures might, Embrace that most, that most my soule destroyes. Blinded with beames, fell darkenes is my sight: Dwell in my ruines, feede with sucking smarte [ 25] I thinke from me, not from my woes to parte.

Klaius.

I thinke from me, not from my woes to parte, And loth this time, call'd life, nay thinke, that life Nature to me for torment did emparte; [ 30] Thinke, my harde haps haue blunted deaths sharpe knife, Not sparing me, in whom his workes be rife: And thinking this, thinke nature, life, and death Place Sorrowes triumph on my conquerd harte, Whereto I yeeld, and seeke none other breath, [ 35] But from the sent of some infectious graue: Nor of my fortune ought, but mischieue craue,

Strephon.

Nor of my fortune ought but mischieue craue, And seeke to nourish that, which now containes [ 40] All what I am: if I my selfe will saue, Then must I saue, what in me chiefely raignes, Which is the hatefull web of sorrowes paines. Sorrow, then cherish me, for I am sorrow: No being now, but sorrowe I can haue: [ 45] Then decke me as thine owne; thy helpe I borrowe, Since thou my riches art, and that thou haste

Enough to make a fertill minde lie waste.

Klaius.

Enough to make a fertill minde lie waste, Is that huge storme, which powres it selfe on me: [ 5] Hailestones of teares, of sighes a monstrous blast, Thunders of cries; lightnings my wilde lookes be, The darkned heau'n my soule, which nought can see. The flying sprites which trees by rootes vp teare, Be those despaires, which haue my hopes quite wast. [ 10] The difference is; all folkes those stormes forbeare•• But I cannot; who then my selfe should flie. So close vnto my selfe my wrackes doo lie.

Strephon.

So close vnto my selfe my wrackes doo lie, [ 15] Both cause, effect, beginning, and the ende Are all in me: what helpe then can I trie? My ship, my selfe, whose course to loue doth bende, Sore beaten doth her mast of comfort spend: Her cable, Reason, breakes from anchor, Hope: [ 20] Fancie, her tackling, torne away doth flie: Ruine, the winde, hath blowne her from her scope: Brused with waues of Cares, but broken is On rocke, Despaire, the buriall of my blisse.

[ 25] Klaius.

On rocke, Despaire, the buriall of my blisse, I long do•• plowe with plough of deepe desire: The seed Fast meaning is, no truth to misse: I harow it with Thoughts, which all conspire Fauour to make my chiefe and onely hire. [ 30] But, woe is me, the yeare is gone about, And now I faine would reape, I reape but this Hatefully growne, Absence new sprongen out. So that I see, although my sight empaire, Vaine is their paine, who labour in despaire.

[ 35]

Strephon.

Vaine is their paine, who labour in despaire. For so did I, when with my angle Will, I sought to catch the fish Torpedo faire. Eu'n then Despaire did Hope already kill•• [ 40] Yet fancie would perforce employ his skill, And this hath got; the catcher now is caught, Lamde with the angle, which it selfe did beare, And vnto death, quite drownde in dolours, brough•• To death, as then disguisd in her faire face. [ 45] Thus, Thus alas, I had my losse in chase.

Klaius.

Thus, Thus alas, I had my losse in chase, When first that crowned Basiliske I knewe, Wose footesteps I with kisses oft did trace, Till by such hap, as I must euer rue, Mine eyes did light vpon her shining hue, [ 5] And hers on me, astonisht with that sight. Since then my hart did loose his wonted place, Infected so with her sweet poysons might, That, leauing me for dead, to her it went: But ah her flight hath my dead reliques spent. [ 10]

Strephon.

But ah her flight hath my dead reliques spent, Her flight from me, from me, though dead to me, Yet liuing still in her, while her beames lent Such vitall sparke, that her mine eyes might see. [ 15] But now those liuing lights absented be, Full dead before, I now to dust shall fall, But that eternall paines my soule haue hent, And keepe it still within this body thrall: That thus I must, while in this death I dwell, [ 20] In earthly fetters feele a lasting hell.

Klaius.

In earthly fetters feele a lasting hell Alas I doo; from which to finde release, I would the earth, I would the heauens sell. [ 25] But vaine it is to thinke these paines should cease, Where life is death, and death cannot breed peace. O faire, ô onely faire, from thee alas, These foule, most foule, desastres to me fell; Since thou from me (o me) ô Sunne didst passe. [ 30] Therefore esteeming all good blessings toyes I ioy in griefe, and doo detest all ioyes.

Strephon.

I ioy in griefe, and doo detest all ioyes But now an ende, (O Claius) now an ende: [ 35] For euen the hearbes our hatefull musique stroyes, And from our burning breath the trees do bende.

So well were these wailefull complaints accorded to the passions of all the princely hearers, while euery one made what he heard of another the ballance [ 40] of his owne fortune, that they stood a long while striken in a sad and silent consideration of them. Which the olde Geron no more marking then condem∣ning in them, desirous to set foorth what counsailes the wisedome of age had layde vp in store against such fancies (as he thought) follies of youth (yet so as it might not apeare that his wordes respected them) bending himselfe to [ 45] a young shepheard named Philisides, (who neither had daunced nor song with them, and had all this time layne vpon the ground at the foote of a Cypresse tree,

leaning vpon his elbowe with so deepe a melancoly that his sences caried to his minde no delight from any of their obiects) he strake him vpon the shoulder, with a right old mans grace, that will seeme liuelier then his age will afford him, And thus began vnto him his Ecloge.

[ 5]

Geron. Philisides.

Geron.

VP, vp Philisides, let sorrowes goe, Who yelds to woe, doth but encrease his smart. [ 10] Do not thy hart, to plaintfull custome bring, But let vs sing, sweet tunes do passions ease, An olde man heare, who would thy fancies raise.

Philisides.

Who minds to please the minde drownd in annoyes [ 15] With outward ioyes, which inly cannot sincke, As well may thincke with oyle to coole the fire: Or with desire to make such foe a frend, Who doth his soule to endlesse malice bend.

[ 20] Geron.

Yet sure an end, to each thing time doth giue, Though woes now liue, at length thy woes must dye. Then vertue try, if she can worke in thee That which we see in many time hath wrought, And weakest harts to constant temper brought.

[ 25]

Philisides.

Who euer taught a skillesse man to teach, Or stop a breach, that neuer Cannon sawe? Sweet vertues lawe barres not a causefull mone. Time shall in one my life and sorrowes end, [ 30] And me perchaunce your constant temper lend.

Geron.

What can amend where physick is refusde? The witts abusde with will no counsayle take. Yet for my sake discouer vs thy griefe. [ 35] Oft comes reliefe when most we seeme in trappe. The starres thy state, fortune may change thy happe.

Philisides.

If fortunes lappe became my dwelling place, And all the starres conspired to my good, [ 40] Still were I one, this still should be my case, Ruines relique, cares web, and sorrowes foode: Since she faire fierce to such a state me calls, Whose wit the starres, whose fortune fortune thralls.

[ 45] Geron.

Alas what falls are falne vnto thy minde? That there where thou confest thy mischiefe lyes Thy wit dost vse still still more harmes to finde.

Whome wit makes vaine, or blinded with his eyes, What counsell can preuaile, or light giue light? Since all his force against himselfe he tries. Then each conceit that enters in his sight, Is made, forsooth, a Iurate of his woes, [ 5] Earth, sea, ayre, fire, heau'n, hell, and gastly sprite. Then cries to sencelesse things, which neither knowes What ayleth thee, and if they knew thy minde Would scorne in man (their king) such feeble show's. Rebell, Rebell, in golden fetters binde [ 10] This tyran Loue; or rather do suppresse Those rebell thoughts which are thy slaues by kinde. Let not a glittring name thy fancie dresse In painted clothes, because they call it loue. There is no hate that can thee more oppresse. [ 15] Begin (and halfe the worke is done) to proue By rising vp, vpon thy selfe to stand. And thinck she is a she, that doth thee moue. He water plowes, and soweth in the sand, And hopes the flickring winde with net to holde, [ 20] Who hath his hopes laid vp in womans hand. What man is he that hath his freedome solde? Is he a manlike man, that doth not know man Hath power that Sex with bridle to withhold? A fickle Sex, and trew in trust to no man, [ 25] A seruant Sex, soone prowde if they be coi'de And to conclude thy mistresse is a woman.

Philisides.

O gods, how long this old soole hath annoi'd My wearied eares! O gods yet graunt me this, [ 30] That soone the world of his false tong be void. O noble age who place their only blisse In being heard vntill the hearer dye Vttring a serpents minde with serpents hisse. Then who will heare a well autoris'd lye, [ 35] (And pacience hath) let him goe learne of him What swarmes of vertues did in his youth flye Such hartes of brasse, wise heads, and garments trim Were in his dayes: which heard, one nothing heares, If from his words the falshood he do skim. [ 40] And herein most their folly vaine appeares That since they still alledge, When they were yong: It shews they fetch their wit from youthfull yeares Like beast for sacrifice, where saue the tong And belly nought is left, such sure is he, [ 45] This life-deadman in this old dungeon flong. Olde houses are throwne downe for new we see:

The oldest Rammes are culled from the flocke: No man doth wish his horse should aged bee. The ancient oke well makes a fired blocke: Old men themselues, doe loue young wiues to choose: [ 5] Only fond youth admires a rotten stocke. Who once a white long beard, well handle does, (As his beard him, not he his beard did beare) Though cradle witted, must not honnor loose. Oh when will men leaue off to iudge by haire, [ 10] And thinke them olde, that haue the oldest minde, With vertue fraught and full of holy feare!

Geron.

If that thy face were hid, or I were blinde, I yet should know a young man speaketh now, [ 15] Such wandring reason in thy speech I finde. He is a beast, that beastes vse will allowe For proofe of man, who sprong of heau'nly fire Hath strongest soule, when most his raynes do bowe•• But fondlings fonde, know not your owne desire [ 20] Loth to dye young, and then you must be olde, Fondly blame that to which your selues aspire. But this light choller that doth make you bolde, Rather to wrong then vnto iust defence, Is past with me, my bloud is waxen colde. [ 25] Thy words, though full of malapert offence, I way them not, but still will thee aduize How thou from foolish loue maist purge thy sense. First thinke they erre, that thinke them gayly wise, Who well can set a passion out to show: [ 30] Such sight haue they that see with goggling eyes. Passion beares high when puffing wit doth blowe, But is indeed a toy, if not a toy, True cause of euils, and cause of causelesse woe. If once thou maist that fancie glosse destroy [ 35] Within thy selfe, thou soone wilt be ashamed To be a player of thine owne annoy. Then let thy minde with better bookes be tamed, Seeke to espie her faultes as well as praise, And let thine eyes to other sports be framed. [ 40] In hunting fearefull beastes, do spend some dayes, Or catch the birds with pitfalls, or with lyme, Or trayne the fox that traines so crafty laies. Ly but to sleepe, and in the earely prime Seeke skill of hearbes in hills, haunt brookes neere night, [ 45] And try with bayt how fish will bite sometime. Goe graft againe, and seeke to graft them right, Those pleasant plants, those sweete and frutefull trees,

Which both the pallate, and the eyes delight. Cherish the hiues of wisely painfull Bees: Let speciall care vpon thy flock be staid, Such actiue minde but seldome passion sees.

[ 5]

Philisides.

Hath any man heard what this old man said? Truly not I, who did my thoughts engage, Where all my paines one looke of her hath paid.

Geron was euen out of countenance, finding the words he thought were so wise, [ 10] winne so little reputation at this young mans hands; and therefore sometimes loo∣king vpon an old acquaintance of his called Mastix, one of the repiningest fellows in the world, and that beheld no body but with a minde of mislike (saying still the world was amisse, but how it should be amended, he knew not) sometimes casting his eyes to the ground, euen ashamed to see his gray haires despised, at last he spied [ 15] his two dogges, whereof the elder was called Melampus, and the younger Laelaps (in deede the iewells he euer had with him) one brawling with another; which occasion he tooke to restore himselfe to his countenance, and rating Melampus, he began to speake to his doggs, as if in them a man should finde more obedience then in vnbridled young men. [ 20]

Geron. Mastix.

Geron.

DOwne, downe Melampus; what? your fellow bite? I set you ore the flock I dearly loue, [ 25] Them to defend, not with your selues to fight. Do you not thincke this will the wolues remoue From former feare, they had of your good mindes, When they shall such deuided weakenesse proue? What if Laelaps a better morsell finde? [ 30] Then you earst knew? rather take part with him Then iarle: lo, lo, euen these how enuie blindes. And then Laelaps let not pride make thee brim Because thou hast thy fellow ouergone, But thanke the cause, thou seest, where he is dim. [ 35] Here Laelaps, here, in deed against the foen Of my good sheepe, thou neuer trew's time tooke: Be as thou art, but be with mine at one. For though Melampus like a wolfe doo looke, (For age doth make him of a woluish hew) [ 40] Yet haue I seene when well a wolfe he shooke. Foole that I am that with my dogges speake grewe. Come neer•• good Mastix, tis now full tway score Of yeeres (alas) since I good Mastix knewe. Thou heardst euen now a yong man snebb me sore, [ 45] Because I red him, as I would my son. Youth will haue will: Age must to age therefore.

Masttix.

What maruaile is in youth such faults be done, Since that we see our saddest Shepheards out Who haue their lesson so long time begonne? Quickly secure, and easilie in doubt, [ 5] Either a sleepe be all if nought assaile, Or all abroade if but a Cubb start out. We shepeheards are like them that vnder saile Doe speake high wordes, when all the coaste is cleare, Yet to a passenger will bonnet vaile. [ 10] I con thee thanke to whom thy dogges be deare, But commonly like currs we them entreate, Saue when great need of them perforce apeare. Then him we kisse, whom before we beatt With such intemperance, that each way grows [ 15] Hate of the firste, contempt of later feate: And such discordtwixt greatest shepheards flowes, That sport it is to see with howe greate art By iustice worke they their owne faultes disclose: Like busie boyes, to winne their tutors harte, [ 20] One saith, He mockes; the other saith, he playes; The third his lesson mist, till all do smarte. As for the rest, howe shepeheardes spend their daies, At blowe point, hotcocles, or els at keeles While, Let vs passe our time each shepeheard saies. [ 25] So small accompt of time the shepeheard feeles And doth not feele, that life is nought but time And when that time is paste, death holdes his heeles. To age thus doe they draw there youthfull pryme, Knowing no more, then what poore tryall showes, [ 30] As fishe tryall hath of muddy slyme. This paterne good, vnto our children goes, For what they see, their parents loue or hate Their first caught sence prefers to teachers blowes. These cocklinges cockred we be waile to late, [ 35] When that we see our ofspring gaily bent, Wemen man-wood, & men effeminate.

Geron.

Fy man, fy man, what wordes hath thy tonge lent? Yet thou art mickle warse then ere was I, [ 40] Thy too much zeale, I feare thy braine hath spent. We ost are angrier, with the feeble flie For busines, where it pertaines him not, Then with the poisno'us todes that quiet lie. I pray thee what hath ere the Parret gott, [ 45] And yet they say he talkes in greate mens bowers? A Cage (guilded perchaunce) is all his lott. Who of his tongue the lickowr gladly powrs,

A good foole call'd with paine, perhapps may be, But euen for that shall suffer mightie Lowers. Let swannes example siker serue for thee, Who once all birdes, in sweetly-singing past, But now to silence turn'd his minstralsie. [ 5] For he woulde sing, but others were defaste; The peacockes pride, the pyes pild stattery, Cormoraunts glutt, Kites spoile, king fishers waste. The Falcons fercenes, Sparrows letchery The Cockows shame, the Gooses good intent, [ 10] Euen turtle toutcht he with hypocrisie. And worse of other more, till by assent Of all the birdes, but namely those were grieued, Of fowles there called was a parliament. There was the swan of dignitie depriued, [ 15] And statute made he neuer shoulde haue voice, Since when I thinke he hath in silence liued. I warne thee therefore (since thou maist haue choice) Let not thy tonge become a firy matche, No sword soe bytes as that euill toole annoyes. [ 20] Lett our vnpartiall eyes a litle watche Our owne demeane, and soone we wondre shall That huntinge faultes, our selues we did not catch. Into our mindes let vs a little fall, And we shall find more spottes then Leopards skinne. [ 25] Then who makes vs such iudges ouer all? But farewell nowe, thy fault is no great sinne, Come, come my currs, tis late I will goe in.

[ 30]

And away with his doggs streight he went as if he would be sure to haue the laste worde: all the assemblie laughing at the lustines of the olde fellowe who departed muttering to himselfe he had sene more in his daies then twentie of them. But Basi∣lius, who neuer before had heard Philisides (though hauing seldome failed to beat these metings) desired him hee woulde begin some Ecloge with some other of the [ 35] shepheardes according to the accustomed guise. Philisides though very vnwilling, at the Kings cōmaundemēt of••red to sing with Thyrsis. But he directly refused him, seing, he should within few dayes be maried to the faire Kala; and since he had got∣ten his desire he would sing no more. Then the king willed Philisides to declare the discourse of his owne fortunes vnknowen to them as being a stranger in that coun∣trie [ 40] but hee praied the King to pardon him, the time being farre to ioyfull to suffer the rehearsall of his miseries. But to satisfie Basilius someway, hee began an Eclogue betwixt himselfe and the Echo, framing his voice so in those desert places as what wordes he would haue the Echo replie vnto, those he woulde sing higher then the rest; and so, kindelie framed a disputation betwixt himselfe and it, which with these [ 45] hexam eters in the following order he vttered.

Philisides. Echo.

Faire Rocks, goodly riuers, sweet woods, when shall I see peace? Peace, Peace? what barrs me my tongue? who is it that comes me so ny? I. [ 5] Oh! I do know what guest I haue mett; it is Echo. 't is Echo. Well mett Echo, aproche: then tell me thy will too. I will too. Echo, what do I gett yelding my sprite to my grieues? Grieues. What medecin may I finde for a griefe that draw's me to death? Death. O poisonous medecin! what worse to me can be then it? It. [ 10] In what state was I then, when I tooke this deadly disease? Ease. And what manner a mind which had to that humor a vaine? Vaine. Hath not Reason enough vehemence the desire to reproue? Proue. Oft proue I: but what salue, when Reason seeks to be gone? One Oh! what is it? what is it that may be a salue to my Loue? Loue. [ 15] What do louers seeke for, long seeking for to enioy? Ioy. What be the ioyes which for to enioy they went to the paines? Paines. Then to an earnest Loue what doth best victorie lend? Ende. End? but I can neuer end, loue will not giue me the leaue? Leaue. How be the minds dispos'd that can not tast thy physick? Sick. [ 20] Yet say againe thy aduise forth' eu'lls that I told thee? I told thee. Doth th'infected wretch, of his harme th' extremity know? No. But if he know not his ••arms what guides hath he whil'st he be blind? Blind. What blinde guides can he haue that leanes to a fancy? A fancy. Can fancies want eies, or he fall that steppeth aloft? Oft. [ 25] What causes first made these torments on me to light? Light. Can then a cause be so light that forceth a man to go die? Yea. Yet tell what light thinge I had in me to draw me to die? Eye. Eysight made me to yeelde, but what first pierst to my eies? Eies. Eies hurters, eies hurt but what from them to me fall's? Fall's. [ 30] But when I first did fal, what brought most fall to my hart? Arte. Arte? what can be that art that thou dost meane by thy speche? Speche. What be the fruites of speaking arte? what growes by the words? Words. O much more then words: those words seru'd more me to blesse. Lesse. Oh when shall I be knowne, wher most to be knowne I do longe? Long. [ 35] Long be thy woes for such newes, but how reck's she my thoughts? Oughts. Then then what do I gaine, since vnto hir will I do winde? Winde. Winde, tempests, & stormes, yet in ende what giues she desire? Ire, Silly rewarde! yet among women hath she of vertu the most, Most. What great name may I giue to so heau'nly a woman? A woe-man, [ 40] Woe, but seems to me ioy, that agrees to my thought so. I thought so. Think so, for of my desired blisse it is only the course. Curse. Curs'd be thy selfe for cursing that which leades me to ioies. Toies. What be the sweet creatures wher lowly demaunds be not heard? Hard. What makes them be vnkind? speake for th' hast narroly pride? Pride. [ 45] Whence can pride come there, since springs of beawty be thence? Thence, Horrible is this blasphemy vnto the most holy. O lie. Thou list false Echo, their minds as vertu be iust, Iust.

Mock'st thou those Diamonds which only be matcht by the gods? Ods. Ods? what an ods is their since them to the heau'ns I prefer? erre. Tell yet againe me the names of these faire form'd to do eu'lls. Deu'lls. Deu'lls? if in hell such deu'lls do a bide, to the hells I do go. Go. [ 5]

Philisides was commended for the placing of his Echo, but little did hee regarde their praises, who had sett the foundation of his honour there, where hee was most despisde: and therefore retorning againe to the traine of his desolate pensiuenes, Zelmanes seing no body offer to fill the stage, as if her long restrayned conceates did now burst out of prison: she thus desiring her voice should be accorded to nothing, [ 10] but to Philocleas eares, threw downe the burden of her minde in Anacreous kinde of verses.

My muse what ail's this ardour To blase my onely secretts? Alas it is no glory To sing my owne decaid state. Alas it is no comfort, To speake without an answere. Alas it is no wisdome To shew the wound without cure,

My muse what ail's this ardour? Mine eys be dym, my lyms shake, My voice is hoarse, my throte scerchte, My tong to this my roofe cleaues, My fancy amazde, my thought dull'd, My harte doth ake, my life faints, My sowle beginnes to take leaue. So greate a passion all feele, To think a soare so deadly I should so rashly ripp vp.

My muse what ail's this ardour? If that to sing thou arte bent Go sing the fall of old, Thebes The warres of ougly Centaurs, The life, the death of Hector So may the songe be famous, Or if to loue thou art bent, Rocount the rape of Europe, Adonis end, Venus nett The sleepy kisse the moone stale: So may thy song be pleasant.

My muse what ail's this ardour To blase my onely secretts? Wherein do only flowrish [ 15] The sorry fruites of anguish. The song thereof a last will, The tunes be cryes, the words plaints, The singer is the songs theame When no eare can haue ioy, [ 20] Nor ey receaue due obiect Ne pleasure here, ne fame gett.

My muse what ail's this ardour? Alas she saith I am thine, [ 25] So are thy pains my pains too. Thy heated harte my seat is Wherein I burne thy breath is My voice, too hott to keepe in, Besides lo here the auther [ 30] Of all thy harmes: Lo here she, That only can redresse thee, Of her I will demaund helpe.

My muse I yeeld, my muse singe, [ 35] But all thy songe herein knitt, The life we leade is all loue: The loue we holde is all death, Nor ought I craue to feede life, Nor ought I seeke to shun death, [ 40] But onely that my goddesse My life my death do counte hers.

Basilius when shee had fully ended her song, fell prostrate vpon the ground, and [ 45] thanked the Gods they had preserued his life so longe, as to heare the very musicke they themselues vsed, in an earthly body. And then with like grace to Zelmane neuer

left intreating her till she had (taking a Lyra Basilius helde for her) song these Pha••e••∣ciakes

Reason, tell me thy mind, if here be reason In this strange violence, to make resistance. [ 5] Where sweet graces erect the stately banner Of vertues regiment, shining in harnesse Of fortunes Diademes, by beauty mustred. Say then Reason, I say what is thy counsell?

[ 10] Her loose haire be the shott, the breaste the pykes be, Skowts each motion is, the hands be horsmen, Her lipps are the riches the warres to maintaine, Where well couched abides a coffer of pearle, Her legges carriage is of all the sweet campe: [ 15] Say then Reason I say what is thy counsell?

Her cannons be her eys, myne eys the walls be, Which at firste voly gaue too open entry, Nor ramper did abide; my braine was vp blowne, [ 20] Vndermin'd with a speech the pearcer of thoughts. Thus weakned by my selfe, no helpe remaineth Say then Reason; I say, what is thy counsell?

And now fame the herald of her true honour, [ 25] Doth proclaime with a sound made all by mens mouths That nature souerayne of earthly dwellers, Commands all creatures, to yeeld obeysance Vnder this, this her owne, her only dearling. Say then Reason I say what is thy counsell?

[ 30]

Reason sighes but in end he thus doth answere. Nought can reason auaile in heau'nly matters. Thus natures Diamond receaues thy conquest, Thus pure pearle, I do yeeld, my senses and soule. [ 35] Thus sweete paine, I do yeeld, what ere I can yeelde, Reason looke to thy selfe, I serue a goddesse.

Dorus had long he thought kept silence from saying, somwhat which might tend to the glorie of her in whom all glory to his seeming was included, but nowe hee [ 40] brake it, singing these verses called Asclepiadikes.

O sweet woods the delight of solitarines! O how much I do like your solitarines! where mans mind hath afreed consideration [ 45] Of goodnes to receiue louely direction. Where senses do behold th'order of heau'nly hoste, And wise thoughts do behold what the creator is:

Contemplation here holdeth his only seate: Bowndedwith no limitts, borne with a wing of hope Clymes euen vnto the starres, Nature is vnder it. Nought disturbs thy quiet, all to thy seruice yeelds, Each sight draws on a thought, thought mother of science, [ 5] Sweet birds kindly do graunt harmony vnto thee, Faire trees shade is enough fortification, Nor danger to thy selfe if be not in thy selfe.

O sweete woods the delight of solitarines! [ 10] O how much I do like your solitarines! Here nor treason is hidd, vailed in innocence, Nor enuies snaky ey, finds any harbor here, Nor flatterers venomous insinuations, Nor comming humorists puddled opinions, [ 15] Nor courteous ruin of proffered vsury, Nor time pratled away, cradle of ignorance, Nor causelesse duty, nor comber of arrogance, Nor trifling title of vanity dazleth vs, Nor golden manacles, stand for a paradise, [ 20] Here wrongs name is vnheard: slander a monster is Keepe thy sprite from abuse, here no abuse doth haunte. What man grafts in a tree dissimulation?

O sweete woods the delight of solitarines! O how well I do like your solitarines! [ 25] Yet deare soile, if a soule closedin a mansion As sweete as violetts, faire as lilly is, Streight as Cedar, a voice staines the Cannary birds, Whose shade safely doth hold, danger auoideth her: Such wisedome, that in her liues speculation: [ 30] Such goodnes that in her simplicitie triumphs: Where enuies snaky ey, winketh or els dyeth, Slander wants aprelext, flattery gone beyond: Oh! if such a one haue bent, to a lonely life, Her stepps gladd we receaue, gladd we receaue her eys. [ 35] And thinke not she doth hurt our solitarines, For such company decks such solitarines.

The other Shepeheards were offring themselues to haue continued the sportes, but the night had so quietlie spent the most parte of herselfe among them that the [ 40] king for that time licēsed thē. And so bringing Zelmane to her lodging, who would much rather haue done the same for Philoclea, of all sides they went to counterfett a sleepe in their bedd, for a trewe one there agonies could not aforde them. Yet there they Lay (so might they be moste solitarie for the foode of their thoughts) til it was neere noone the next day, after which Basilius was to continue his Appollo deuotions, [ 45] and the other to meditate vpon their priuate desires.