Faire-virtue, the mistresse of Phil'arete. Written by George Wither

FAIRE-VIRTVE: OR, THE MISTRESSE OF PHIL'ARETE.

TWo prettie Rills doe meet, and meeting make Within one vally, a large siluer lake: About whose bankes the fertile mountaines stood, In ages passed brauely crownd with wood; Which lending Cold-sweet-shadowes, gaue it grace, To be accounted Cynthia's Bathing place. And from her father Neptunes brackish Court, Faire Thetis thither often would resort, Attended by the Fishes of the Sea, Which in those sweeter waters came to plea. There, would the daughter of the Sea-God diue; And thither came the Land-Nymphs euery Eue, To wait vpon her: bringing for her browes, Rich garlands of sweet flowres, and Beechy boughs.

For, pleasant was that Poole; and neere it, then, Was neither rotten Mersh, nor boggy Fen. It was nor ouergrowne with boystrou•• Sedge, Nor grew there rudely then along the edge, A bending Willow, nor a pricky Bush, Nor broadleafd Flag, nor Reed, nor knotty Rush. But here, wel order'd was a groue with Bowers: There grassy plots set round about with Flowers. Here, you might (through the water) see the land, Appeare, strowd o're with white or yellow sand. ••onn, deeper was it; and the wind by whiffes. Would make it rise, and wash the little cliffes, On which, oft pluming sate (vnfrighted than) The gagling Wild goose, and the snow-white Swan: With all those flockes of Fowles, which to this day, Vpon those quiet waters breed, and play. For, though those excellences wanting be, Which once it had; it is the same, that we By Transposition name the Ford of Arle. And out of which along a Chalky Marle) That Riuer trils, whose waters wash the Fort, In which braue Arthur kept his royall Court. North-east (not far frō this great Poole) there lies A tract of Beechy mountaines, that arise With leasurely-ascending to such height, As from their tops the warlike Ile of Wight.

You in the Oceans bosome may espie, Though neere two hundred furlongs thence it lie. The pleasant way, as vp those hils you clime, Is strewed o're, with Mariarome, and Thyme. Which growes vnset. The hedge-rowes do not want The Cowslip, violet, Primrose, nor a plant, That freshly sents: as Birch both greene and tall; Low Sallowes, on whose bloomings Bees doe fall. Faire Woodbinds which, about the hedges twine; Smooth Priuet, and the sharpesweete Eglantine. With many moe, whose lea••es and blossomes faire, The Earth addorne, and oft perfumes the ayre. When you vnto the highest doe attaine; An intermixture both of Wood and Plaine, You shall behold: which (though aloft it lye) Hath downes for sheepe, and fields for husbandry▪ So much (at least) as little needeth more, If not enough to marchandize their store. In euery Rowe hath Nature planted there, Some banquet, for the hungry passenger. For here, the Haste-nut and Filbird growes; There Bulloes, and little further Sloes. On this hand, standeth a faire weilding-tree; On that, large thickets of blacke Cherries be. The shrubbie fields, are Raspice Orchards there, The new fel'd woods, like Strabery-gardens are:

And, had the King of Riuers blest those hills With some small number of such prettie Rills As flow elsewhere, Arcadia had not seene A sweeter plot of Earth then this had beene. For what offence this Place was scanted so Of springing waters, no record doth show: Nor haue they old tradition left, that tels; But till this day, at fiftie fathome Wels The Shepherds drink. And strange it was to heare Of any Swaine that euer liued there, Who either in a Pastorall-Ode had skill, Or knew to set his fingers to a quill. For, rude they were who there inhabited, And to a dull contentment being bred, They no such art esteem'd, nor tooke much heed Of any thing, the world without them did. Eu'n there; and in the least frequented place Of all these mountaines, is a little space Of pleasant ground hemd in with dropping trees, And those so thicke, that Phoebus scarcely sees The earth they grow on once in all the yeere, Nor what is done among the shaddowes there. Along those louely pathes (where neuer came Report of Pan, or of Apollo's name, Nor rumour of the Muses till of late) Some Nymphs were wandring: and by chance, or Fate

Vpon a Laund ariued, where they met The little flocke of Pastor Philaret. They, were a troupe of Beauties knowne well nigh Through all the Plaines of happy Britany. A Shepheards lad was he, obscure and young, Who (being first that euer there had sung) In homely Verse, expressed Countrey loues; And onely told them to the Beechy groues: As if to sound his name he neuer ment, Beyond the compasse that his Sheep-walke went. They saw not him; nor them perceiued he: For, in the branches of a Maple-tree He shrouded sate, and taught the hollow hill To Eccho foorth the Musique of his quill: Whose tatling voice redoubled so the sound, That where he was conceald, they quickly found. And there, they heard him sing a Mad••igall; That soone betrayd his cunning to them all. Full rude it was no doubt, but such a Song, Those rusticke, and obscured shades among, Was neuer heard (they say) by any care; Vntill his Muses had inspir'd him there. Though meane and plain, his Country habit seemd, Yet by his Song the Ladies rightly deemd, That either he had trauailed abrode, Where Swaines of better knowledge make abode.

Or else, that some braue Nimph who vs'd that Groue, Had dained to inrich him, with her loue. Approaching nearer, therefore, to this Swaine, They him saluted; and he, them againe: In such good fashion, as well seemd to be According to their state and his degree. Which greetings, being passed; and much chat, Concerning him, the place, with this and that; He, to an Arbor doth those beauties bring; Where, he them prayes to sit, they him to sing: And to expresse that vntaught Country Art, In setting forth the Mistresse of his hart; Which they ore••eard him practise, when vnseene, He thought no eare had witnesse of it beene. At first (as much vnable) he refusd; And seemed willing to haue beene excusde, From such a taske. For, tr••st me Nimphs (quoth he) I would not purposely vnciuill be, Nor churlish in denying what you craue; But, as I hope Great Pan my flocke will saue, I rather wish, that I might heard of none, Enioy my Musick, by my selfe alone: Or, that the murmers of some little Flood (Ioynd with the friendly Ecchoes of the wood) Might be th'impartial•• Vmpires of my wit, Then vent it, where the worla might heare of it.

And doubtlesse, I had sung lesse loud while-ere, Had I but thought of any such so neere. Not that I either wish obscurifide, Her matchlesse Beanty; or desire to hide Her sweet perfections. For, by Loue I sweare, The vtmost happinesse I ayme at here, It but to compasse worth enough to raise A high-built Trophee equall with her praise. Which (fairest Ladies) I shall hope in vaine: For, I was meanly bred on yonder Plaine. And, though I can well prooue my Blood to be Deriu'd from no ignoble Stems to me: Yet Fate and Time them so obscur'd and crost, That with their Fortunes their esteeme is lost. And whatsoere repute I striue to win, Now, from my selfe alone, it must begin. For, I haue nor estate, nor friends, nor fame, To purchase either credit to my name, Or gaine a good Opinion; though I doe Ascend the height I shall aspire vnto. If any of those virtues yet I haue, Which honour to my Predecessors gaue, Ther's all that's left me. And though some con∣temn•• Such needy Iewels; yet it was for them, My Faire-one did my humble suit affect, And dayned my aduenturous loue respect.

And by their helpe, I passage hope to make Through such poore things as I dare vndertake. But, you may say; what goodly thing alas! Can my despised meannesse bring to passe? Or what great Monument of honour raise To Virtue, in these Vice abounding dayes? In which (a thousand times) more honor finds, Ignoble gotten meanes, then noble minds? Indeed, the world affoordeth small reward For honest minds; and therefore her regard I seeke not after: neither doe I care, If I haue blisse, how others thinke I fare. For, so my thoughts haue rest, it yrkes not me, Though none but I, doe know how blest they be. Here therefore, in these groues and hidden plaines, I pleased sit alone; and many straines I carroll to my selfe, these hills among: Where no man comes to interrupt my Song. Whereas, if my rude layes make knowne I should, Beyond their home; perhaps, some Carpers would (Because they haue not heard from whence we be) Traduce, abuse, and scoffe both them and me. For, if our great and learned Shepheards (who Are grac't with wit, and fame, and fauours to,) With much adoe, escape vncensurd may; What hopes haue I to passe vnscoft I pray,

Who yet vnto the Muses am vnknowne? And liue vnhonoured, heere among mine owne? A gadding humour seldome taketh me, To range out further then yonn mountaines be: Nor hath applausiue Rumour borne my name Vpon the spreading wings of sounding Fame. Nor can I thinke (faire Nymphs) that you resort For other purpose, then to make a sport At that simplicitie which shall appeare Among the rude vntutor'd Shepheards here. I know that you my Noble Mistresse weene At best, a homely Milk-maid on the Greene; Or some such Country Lasse, as tasked stayes At seruile labour vntill Holy dayes. For, poore mens vertues so neglected grow, And are now prized at a rate so low, As tis impossible, You should bee brought, To let it with beleefe possesse your thought, That any Nymph whose loue might worthy be; Would daigne to cast respectiue eyes on me. You see I liue, possessing none of those Gay things, with which the world enamor'd grows. To woo a Courtly Beautie, I haue neither Rings, Bracelets, Iewels, nor a Scarfe, nor Feather. I vse no double dyed Cloth to weare; No Scrip embroydered richly doe I beare:

No silken Belt, nor Sheephooke layd with pearles, To win me fauour from the Shepherds Girles. No place of office, or Command I keepe, But this my little Flocke of homely sheepe. And in a word; the summe of all my pelfe Is this; I am the Master of my selfe. No doubt; in Courts of Princes you haue beene, And all the pleasures of the Palace seene. There, you beheld braue Courtly passages, Betweene Heroës and their Mistresses. You, there perhaps (in presence of the King) Haue heard his learned Bards and Poets sing. And what contentment then, can wood, or field, To please your curious vnderstandings yeeld? I know, you walked hither, but to prooue, What silly Shepheards doe conceiue of loue: Or to make triall how our simplenesse Can passions force, or Beauties power expresse: And when you are departed, you will ioy, To laugh, or descant on the Shepheards boy. But yet (I vow) if all the Art I had Could any more esteeme, or glory add To her vnmatched worth; I would not weigh What you intended. Prethee lad, quoth they, Distrustfull of our Courtsie doe not seeme. Her Noblenesse can neuer want esteeme;

Nor thy concealed Measures be disgrac't, Though in a meaner person they were plac't: If thy too-modestly reserued Quill, But reach that height, which we suppose it will. Thy meannesse or obscurenesse cannot wrong, The Nymph thou shalt eternize in thy Song. For, as it higher reares thy glory, that A noble Mistresse thou hast aymed at: So, more vnto her honour it will prooue, That whilst deceauing shaddowes others moue, Her constant eyes, could passe vnmoued by, The subtill times bewitching brauery; And those obscured virtues loue in thee, That with despised meannesse clouded be. Now then, for her sweet sake, whose Beautious eye, Hath filled thy soule with heauenly Poesie, Sing in her praise some new inspired straine: And, if within our power there shall remaine, A fauour to be done may pleasure thee: A••ke, and obtaine it whatsoere it be. Faire Ladies quoth the lad, such words as those, Compell me can•• and, therewithall he rose; Return'd them thanks, obeisance made, and than, Downe sate againe, and thus to sing began.

YOV, that at a blush can tell, Where the best perfections dwell; And the substance can coniecture, By a shaddow, or a Picture: Come, and try, if you by this; Know my Mistresse, who she is. For, though I am farre vnable Here to match Apelles table, Or draw Zeuxes, cunning Lines, Who, so painted Bacchus Vines, That the hungry Byrds did muster, Round the counterfeited Cluster. Though, I vaunt not to inherit, Petrarchs, yet vnequal'd spirit; Nor to quaffe the sacred Well, Halfe so deepe as Astrophill: Though, the much commended Celi••, Louely Laura, Stella, Delia, (Who in former times excell'd) Liue in Lines vnparaled; Making vs beleeue 'twere much, Earth should yeeld another such. Yet, assisted but by Nature, I assay to paint a Creatnre

Whose rare worth, in future yeares, Shall be praysd, as much as theirs. Nor let any thinke amisse, That I haue presumed this: For, a gentle Nimph is shee, And hath often honor'd me. Shees, a noble sparke of light, In each part so exquisit, Had she in times passed beene, They had made her, beauties Queene. Then, shall cowardly despaire, Let the most vnblemisht faire, For default of some poore Art (Which her fauour may impart) And the sweetest Beauty fade, That was euer borne or made? Shall, of all the faire ones, shee Onely so vnhappy be; As to liue in such a Time, In so rude, so dull a Clime, Where no spirit can ascend High enough, to apprehend Her vnprized excellence, Which lies hid from common sense? Neuer shall a staine so vile, Blemish this, our Peets Ile.

I my selfe, will rather runne, And seeke out for Helicon. I, will wash, and make me cleane, In the waues of Hyppocrene: And in spight of Fortunes barres, Climbe the Hill that braues the starres. Where, if I can get no Muse That will any skill infuse, (Or my iust attempt prefer) I will make a Muse of Her: Whose kind heat shall soone distill, Art, into my ruder quill. By her fauour, I will gaine Helpe, to reach so rare a Straine: That the learned Hils shall wonder, How the vntaught vallies vnder, Met with Raptures so diuine, Without knowledge of the NINE. I, that am a Shepheards Swaine, Piping on the lowly plaine, And no other Musique can, Then what learn'd I haue of Pan. I, who neuer sung the Layes, That deserue Apollo's bayes, Hope not onely, here to frame, Measures, which shall keepe Her name,

From the spight of wasting Times; But (enshrin'd in sacred Rimes) Place her, where her forme diuine, Shall to after ages shine: And without respect of Odds, Vye renowne with Demy-Gods. Then, whilst of her praise I sing, Harken Vally, Groue and Spring; Listen to me sacred Fountaines, Solitarie Rocks, and Mountaines: Satyres, and you wanton Elues, That doe nightly sport your selues. Shepheards, you that on the Reede, Whistle while your lambes doe feed: Aged Woods, and Floods, that know, What hath beene long times agoe. Your more serious Notes among, Heare, how I can in my Song, Set a N••mphs perfection forth: And, when you haue heard her worth; Say, if such another Lasse, Euer knowne to mortall was. Listen Lordlings; you that most, Of your outward honors boast. And you Gallants; that thinke scorne, We to lowly fortunes borne,

Should attaine to any graces, Where, you looke for sweet embraces. See, if all those vanities, Whereon your affection lies. Or the Titles, or the power, By your Fathers virtues your, Can your Mistresses enshrine, In such state, as I will mine: Who am forced, to importune Fauours, in despight of Fortune. Beauties listen; chiefly you, That yet know not Virtues due. You, that thinke there are no sports, Nor no honours but in Courts. (Though of thousands there liues not Two, but dye and are forgot:) See, if any Palace yeelds Ought more glorious, then the Fields. And consider well, if we May not as high-flying be In our thoughts, as you that sing In the Chambers of a King. See; if our contented minds, Whom Ambition neuer blinds: (We, that clad in home-spun gray, On our owne sweet Meadowes play)

Cannot honour (if we please) Where we list as well as these. Or as well of worth approue; Or with equall passions loue. See, if beauties may not touch Our soone-louing hearts as much: Or our seruices effect Fauours, with as true respect In your good conceits to rise, As our painted Butterflies. And you Fairest giue her roome, When your Sexes pride doth come: For that Subiect of my song, I inuoke these Groues among, To be witnesse of the Layes, Which I carroll in her praise. And because shee soone will see, If my Measures faultie be; Whilst I chaunt them, let each Rime Keepe a well proportioned time: And with straines that are diuine, Meet her thoughts in euery line. Let each accent there, present To her Soule a new content; And, with rauishings so ceaze her, She may feele the height of pleasure.

You enchanting spells, that lye, Lurking in sweet Poesie: (And to none else will appeare, But to those that worthy are) Make Her know there is a power Ruling in these Charmes of your; That transcends (a thousand heights) Ordinary mens delights: And can leaue within her brest, Pleasures, not to be exprest. Let her linger, on each straine, As if shee would heare't againe; And were loth to part from thence, Till shee had the quintessence, Out of each conceit shee meets, And had stord her, with those sweets. Make her, by your Art to see: I, that am her Swaine, was he, Vnto whom all beauties here, Were alike, and equall deare. That I could of freedome boast, And of fauours with the most: Yet, now (nothing more affecting) Sing of Her, the rest neglecting. Make her heart, with full Compassion, Iudge the merit of true passion;

And, as much my loue prefer, As I striue to honor Her. Lastly; you, that will (I know) Heare me, wh'ere you should or no. You, that seeke to turne all Flowers, By your breathes infectious powers, Into such ranke lothsome weedes, As your dunghill nature breeds. Let your hearts be chast, or here Come not, till you purge them cleare. Marke; and marke then, what is worst: For, what ere it seeme at first; If you bring a modest minde, You shall nought immodest finde. But, if any too seuere, Happ to lend a partiall eare; Or, out of his blindnesse yawne, Such a word, as Oh prophane: Let him know thus much from me, If here's ought prophane, tis he; Who applies these excellences, Onely to the touch of senses: And, dimm sighted, cannot see, Where the soule of this, may bee. Yet, that no offence may grow, Tis their choice, to stay, or goe.

Or, if any for despight, Rather comes, then for delight: For his presence Ile not pray, Nor his absence: come he may. Critticks shall admitted be, Though I know theile carpe at me. For I neither feare nor care, What in this, their censures are. If the Verse heere vsed, be Their dislike; it liketh me. If my Methode they deride, Let them know, Loue is not tide In his free Discourse, to chuse Such strict rules-as Arts-men vse. These may prate of Loue; but they, Know him not: for Hee will play From the matter, now and then, Off and on, and off agen. If this Prologue tedious seeme, Or the rest too long they deeme: Let them know, my loue they win, Though they goe ere I begin, Iust as if they should attend me, Till the last, and there commend me. For, I will for no mans pleasure Change a Syllable or measure:

Neither for their praises adde Ought to mend what they thinke bad: Since it neuer was my fashion, To make worke of Recreation. Pedants shall not tye my straines, To our Antique Poets vaines; As if we, in latter dayes, Knew to loue, but not to praise. Being borne as free as these, I will sing, as I shall please; Who, as well new paths may run, As the best before haue done. I disdaine to make my Song, For their pleasures short or long. If I please Ile end it here: If I list Ile sing this yeere. And, though none regard of it, By my selfe I pleas'd can sit, And, with that contentment cheare me▪ As if halfe the world did heare me. But because I am assured, All are either so coniured, As they will my Song attend, With the patience of a friend; Or (at least) take note, that I Care not much: now willingly

I these goodly Colours lay, Wind, nor Raine, shall we are away. But retaine their purest glasse, When the Statues made of brasse, For some Princes more renowne, Shall be wholly ouerthrowne: Or (consum'd with cankred rust) Lie neglected in the dust. And my Reason giues direction, (When I sing of such perfection) First, those beauties to declare, Which (though hers) without her are. To aduance her fame, I find, Those are of a triple kind. Priuiledges she hath store, At her birth, since, and before. From before her birth, the fame, Shee of high discents may claime; (Whose wel-gotten honors, may Her deseruing more display) For, from heauenly race shee springs, And from high and mightie Kings. At her birth; shee was by Fate In those Parents fortunate, Whose estates and virtues stood, Answerable to their Blood.

Then, the Nation, Time, and Place, To the rest may adde some grace. For the People, with the Clime, And the fashions of the time; (In all which she hath been blest, By enioying them at best) Doe not onely mend the features, But oft times make better natures. Whereas, those who hap not so, Both deform'd, and ruder grow. In these Climes, and latter dayes, To deserue sweet Beauties praise, (Where so many females dwell, That each seemeth to excell) In more glory twenty fold, Then it was in dayes of old, When our ordinary Faire ones Might haue been esteemed rare ones; And haue made a subiect fit, For their brauest Poets wit. Little P••ush-lights, or a sparke, Shineth fairely in the darke: And, to him occasion giues That from sight of lesser liues To adore it: yet the Ray Of one Torch will take away

All the light of twentie more, That shin'd very well before. So, those pettie Beauties, which Made the times before vs rich; Though but sparkles seemd a flame, Which hath been increast by Fame, And their true affections, who Better neuer liu'd to know. Whereas, her if they had seene, Shee had sure adored beene, And ta••ght Ages past, to sing Sweeter in their Sonneting. Such a Ray, so cleare, so bright, Had out-shined all the light, Of a thousand such as theirs, Who were then esteemed Starres; And would haue enlightned, neere Halfe the worlds wide Hemisphere. Shee is fairest, that may passe For a faire one, where the Lasse Trips it on the Countrie greene, That may equall Spartas Queene. Where (in euery street you see) Throngs of Nymphs and Ladies be, That a•• faire enough to moue Angels; and enamour loue.

Shee must matchlesse features bring That now mooues a Muse to sing, When as one small Prouince may Shew more Beauties in a day, Then the halfe of Europe could, Breed them in an age of old. Such is shee, and such a lot Hath her rare perfection got. Since her birth; to make the coulor Of so true a Beautie fuller; And to giue a better grace To that sweetnesse in the face: Shee, hath all the furthrance had, Noble educations add. And not onely knoweth all, Which our Ladies, Courtship call, With those knowledges, that doe Grace her sex, and sute thereto: But shee hath attaind to find, (What is rare with womankind) Excellencies, whereby she May in soule delighted be; And reape more contentment, than One of twentie thousand can. By this meanes, hath better'd bin, All without her, and within.

For, it hath by adding Arts, To addorne her natiue parts, Raised to a noble flame, (Which shall lighten forth her fame) Those deare sparkes of sacred fire, Which the Muses did inspire At her birth: that she compleat, Might with them befit a seat. But, perhaps I doe amise, To insist so long on this. These, are superficiall things; And but slender shaddowings, To the worke I haue in hand. Neither can you vnderstand, What her excellence may be, Till her selfe desrib'd you see. Nor can mine, or any penn, Paint her halfe so louely then, As she is indeed. For, here Might those Deities appeare, Which young Paris view'd, at will, Naked, vpon Ida hill; That I from those three might take, All their beauties One to make (Those, no question well compact, Would haue made vp one exact)

Something yet, we misse of might, To expresse her sweetnesse right, Iuno's maiestie would fit; Venus beauty, Pallas wit: Might haue brought to patterne hers, In some shew'd particulers. But, they neuer can expresse, Her whole frame or worthinesse: With those excellences, which Make both soule, and body rich. Pallas sometimes was vntoward, Venus wanton, Iuno froward: Yea, all three infected were, With such faults as women are. And, though falsly Deifi'd, Fraileties had, which shee'le deride. By herselfe, must therefore she, Or by nothing pattern'd, be. And I hope to paynt her so, By her selfe; that you shall know, I haue seru'd no common Dame, Of meane worth, or vulger fame, But a Nimph that's fairer than, Pen, or Pencill, portrait can. And to morrow if you stray, Backe againe this vncoth way:

I my simple art will show: But, the time preuents me now. For, except at yonder glade, All the Laund is vnder shade. That, before these Ewes be told, Those my Weathers in the fold, Ten young Wainlings driuen downe To the well beneath the Towne; And my Lambkins changed from Brome leaze, to the Mead at home: Twill be farre in night: and so, I shall make my father woe For my stay, and be in feare Some what is mischanced here. On your way, Ile therefore bring you, And a Song or two Ile sing you, Such as I (halfe in despaire) Made when first I woo'd my Faire: Whereunto my Boy shall play, That my voyce assist, it may.

COme my Muse, if thou disdaine, All my comforts are bereft me; No delight doth now remaine, I nor friend, nor flocke haue left me, They are fcattered on the plaine.

(Men, alas) are too seuere, And make scoffes at Louers Fortunes; Women, hearted like the Beare, That regards not who importunes, But, doth all in pieces teare.

If I should my sorrowes show Vnto Riuers, Springs, or Fountaines, They are sencelesse of my woe; So are groues, and rockes, and mountaines. Then, oh whither shall I goe?

Meanes of harbour me to shield From dispaire; Ah, know you any? For, nor Citie, Grange, nor Field (Though they lend content to many) Vnto me, can comfort yeeld.

I haue wept and sighed to. For compassion to make triall: Yea, done all that words can doe, Yet hane nothing but denyall. What way is there then to wooe?

Shall I sweare, protest, and vow? So haue I done most extreamely. Should I die? I know not how. For, from all attempts vnseemely, Loue, and Virtue, keepes me now.

I have heard that Time preuailes; But I feare mee tis a fable. Time, and all endeavour failes; To beare more, my heart's vnable, Yet none careth what it ayles.

Lines, to some haue op't the dore, And got entrance for affection. Words well spoken, much implore By the Gestures good direction: But a Looke doth ten times more.

Tis the Eye that onely reades, To the heart, loues deepest Lectures. By a moouing looke it pleads, More then common sence coniectures: And, a way to pittie leades.

This, I knowing did obserue, (both by Words, & Looks complayning) Yet, for pittie I may starue: There's no hope of my obtaining; Till I better can deserue.

Yea, and he that thinkes to winne By desert, may bee deceiued. For, they who haue worthiest bin, Of their right haue beene bereaued, And a Groome admitted in.

Wherefore Muse, to thee I call; Thou (since nothing else auailes me) Must redeeme mee from my thrall. If thy sweet enchauntment failes me, Then adue, loue, life, and all.

2.

TEll me my hart, what Thoughts these pantings moue? My Thoughts of LOVE. What Flames are these, that set thee so on fire? Flames of DESIRE. What Meanes hast thou, contentments floure to crop? No Meanes but HOPE. Yet let vs feed on Hope, and Hope the best. For, they amid their griefes are something blest; Whose Thoughts, & Flames, & Meanes, haue such free scope, They may at once, both LOVE, DESIRE, and HOPE.

But say; what Fruit will loue at last obtaine? Fruitlesse DISDAINE. What will those Hopes proue, which yet seeme so faire? Hopelesse DESPAIRE.

What End shall runne those passions out of breath? An endlesse DEATH. Oh can there be such crueltie in Loue? And doth my Fortune so vngentle proue, Shee will no Fruit, nor Hope, nor End bequeath, But cruellest DISDAIN, DISPAIRE, and DEATH?

Then what new Studie shall I now apply? Studie to DIE. How might I end my Care, and dye content? Care to REPENT. And what good Thoughts may make my end more holy? Thinke on thy FOLLY. Yes, so I will; and since my Fate can giue No Hope, but euer without Hope to liue. My Studies, Cares, and Thoughts, ile all apply. To weigh my FOLLY well, REPENT and DIE.

3.

SAD Eyes what doe you ayle To be thus ill disposed? Why doth your sleeping faile, Now all mens else are closed? Wast I, that nere did bow In any seruile dutie; And will you make me, now, A slaue to Loue and Beautie?

What though thy Mistresse smile, And in her loue affects thee? Let not her eye beguile, I feare shee disrespects thee. Doe not poore heart depend On those vaine thoughts that fill thee; Theyle faile thee in the end, So must thy passions kill thee.

What hopes haue I, that shee will hold her fauours euer; When so few women be, That constant can perseuer? What ere shee doe protest, When Fortunes doe deceiue me; Then shee, with all the rest, I feare, alas! will leaue me.

Whil'st youth, & strength remains, With art that may commend her; Perhaps, she nought disdaines, Her seruant should attend her. But, it is one to ten, If crosses ouertake me; Shee will not know me, then, But scorne, and so forsake mee.

Shall then in earnest truth, My carefull eyes obserue her? Shall I consurne my youth, And short my time to serue her? Shall I, beyond my strength, Let passions torments prooue me, To heare her say, at length, Away, I cannot loue thee?

Oh, rather let me dye, Whil'st I thus gentle finde her; Twere worse then death, if I, Should finde shee prooues vnkinder. One frowne (though but in iest) Or one vnkindnes, fained, Would rob me of more rest, Then ere could be regained.

But, in her eyes I finde, Such signes of pitie moouing; Shee cannot be vnkinde: Nor erre, nor faile in louing. And, on her forehead, this, Seemes written to relieue me; My heart no ioy shall misse, That Loue, or Shee, can giue me.

Which if I finde, I vow, My seruice shall perseuer: The same that I am now, I will continue euer. No others high degree, Nor beautious looke shall change me. My Loue shall constant bee, And no estate estrange me.

When other noble Dames By greater men attended; Shall with their Liues, and Names, Haue all their glories ended; With fairest Queenes shall she, Sit sharing equall glory: And Times to come, shall be, Delighted with our Story.

In spight of others hates, More honour I will doe her, Then those, that with Estates, And helpes of Fortune wooe her. Yea, that true worth I spie, Though Monarchs stroue to grace it, They should not reach more hie, Then I dare hope to place it.

And though I neuer vaunt, What fauours are possessed, Much lesse content I wan, Then if they were expressed. Let others make their mirth, To blab each kisse, or toying; I know no blisse on earth, Like, seeret Loue enioying.

And this shall be the worst, Of all that can betide me; If I, like some accurst, Should finde my hopes deride me: My Cares will not be long, I know which way to mend them; Ile thinke who did the wrong, Sigh, breake my heart, and end them.

HAile faire Beauties, and againe, Haile to all your goodly traine. What I promisd yesterday, If it please you, heare yee may: For, now once begun haue I, Sing I will, though none were by.

And, though freely on I runne, Yet confused paths to shunne, First, that part shalbe disclos'd, Thats of Elements compos'd. There, the two vnequall paire, Water, Fire, Earth and Ayre. (Each one suting a Complexion,) Haue so cunning a Commixtion; As they, in proportion sweet, With the rarest temper meete. Either, in as much as needeth, So as neither, ought exceedeth. This pure substance, is the same, Which the Body we doe name. Were that, of immortall stuffe; Tis resin'd and pure enough, To be cald a Soule: for sure, Many Soules are not so pure. I (that with a serious looke Note of this rare Moddel tooke) Find, that Nature in their places, So well couched all the Graces, As the Curioust eies that be, Can nor blot, nor blemish see. Like a Pine it groweth streight, Reaching an approued height:

And hath all the choice perfections, That inflame the best affections. In the motion of each part, Nature seemes to striue with Art, Which her gestures most shall blesse, With the guifts of Pleasingnesse. When she sits; me, thinkes, I see, How all virtues fixed be, In a frame; whose constant mould, Will the same vnchanged hold. If you note her when she moues, Cytherea drawne with doues: May come learne such winning motions, As will gaine to loues deuotions, More then all her painted wiles; Such as teares, or sighs, or smiles. Some, whose bodies want true graces, Haue sweete features in their faces: Others, that doe misse them there, Louely are some other where, And to our desires doe fitte, In behauiour, or in witte: Or some inward worth appearing, To the soule, the soule endearing: But, in her your eie may find, All thats good in Womankind.

What in others we preferre, Are but sundry parts of her: Who, most perfect, doth present, What might one, and all content. Yea, he that in loue still ranges, And each day, or howrly changes; (Had he iudgement but to know, What perfection in her grow) There would find the spring of store, Sweare a faith, and change no more. Neither in the totall frame, Is she only void of blame; But, each part suruei'd a sunder, Might beget both loue and wonder. If you dare to looke so high, Or behold such maiestie; Lift your wondring eies, and see, Whether ought can better'd be. Ther's her Haire, with which Loue angles, And beholdes eies intangles. For, in those faire curled snares, They are hampred vnawares: And compeld to sweare a duty, To her sweete inthrauling beauty. In my mind, tis the most faire, That was euer called haire,

Somewhat brighter then a browne, And her Tresses wauing downe, At full length, and so dispread: Mantles her from foote to head. If you saw her Arched Brow, Tell me pray, what Art knowes how To haue made it in a line, More exact, or more diuine. Beauty there may be diseri'd, In the height of all her pride, Tis a meanly rising plaine, Whose pure white hath many a vaine, Interlacing like the springs, In the earths enamilings. If the tale be not a toy, Of the little winged Boy; When he meanes to strike a heart, Thence, he throwes the fatall dart: Which of wounds still makes a paire, One of Loue, one of Dispaire. Round her visage: or so neare, To a roundnes doth appeare, That no more of length it takes, Then what best proportion makes. Short her Chinne is; and yet so, As it is iust long enow:

Louelines, doth seeme to glory, In that Cyrcling Promontory. Pretty mouing features skip, Twixt that hillocke and the lip: If you note her, but the while She is pleas'd to speake, o•• smile. And her Lips (that shew no dulnes) Full are, in the meanest fulnes: Those, the leaues be, whose vnfolding, Brings sweete pleasures to beholding: For, such pearles they doe disclose, Both the Indies match not those: Yet, are so in order placed, As their whitenesse is more graced. Each part is so well disposed, And her dainty mouth composed, So, as there is no distortion, Misbeseemes that sweete proportion. When her Iuorie Teeth she buries, Twixt her two enticing cherries, There appeares such pleasures hidden, As might tempt what were forbidden. If you looke againe the whiles, She doth part those lips in smiles: Tis as when a flash of light, Breakes from heauen to glad the night.

Other parts my pencill craue, But those lips I cannot leaue; For (me thinkes) I should goe, And forsake those Cherries so. Ther's a kind of excellence, Holds me from departing hence. I would tell you what it were, But my cunning failes me there. They are like in their discloses, To the mornings dewie roses: That beside the name of faire, Cast perfumes that sweet the Aire. Melting-soft her kisses be, And had I, now, two or three; (More inspired, by their touch) I had praisd them twise asmuch. But sweete Muses marke yee how, Her faire eies doe checke me now, That I seem'd to passe them so: And their praises ouer goe: And yet blame me not, that I Would so faine haue past them by. For, I feared to haue seene them, Least there were some danger in them. Yet, such gentle lookes they lend, As might make her foe, a friend;

And by their allurings moue, All beholders, vnto loue. Such a power is also there, As will keepe those thoughts in feare; And command enough I saw, To hold impudence in awe. There, may he that knowes to loue, Read contents, which are aboue, Their ignoble aimes, who know Nothing, that so high doth grow. Whilst she me beholding is, My hart dares not thinke amisse: For, her sight most peircing cleare, Seemes to see, whats written there. Those bright Eies, that with their light, Often times haue blest my sight, And in turning thence their shining, Left me in sad darkenes pining: Are the rarest, loueliest gray. And do cast forth such a ray; As the man, that black prefers, More would like this gray of hers. When their matchles beames she shrouds, Tis like Cynthia hid in Clouds. If againe she shew them light, Tis like morning after night.

And, tis worthy well beholding, With how many a pretty folding, Her sweet eye lids grace that faire, Meanly fring'd with beaming haire: Whereby, neatly ouerspread, Those bright lamps are shaddowed. Twixt the Eyes, no hollow place, Wrinkle nor vndecent space, Disproportions her in ought; Though by Enuy, faults were sought. On those Eye-browes neuer yet, Did disdainefull scowling sit. Loue and Goodnesse gotten thither, Sit on equall thrones together; And doe throw iust scorne on them, That their gouernment contemne. Then (almost obscur'd) appeares Those her Iewell-gracing Eares, Whose owne Beauties more adome, Then the richest Pearle that's worne By the proudest Persian Dames, Or the best that Nature frames. There, the voice (in loues Meanders Those their pretty cirklings, wanders: Whose rare turnings will admit, No rude speech to enter it.

Stretching from mount Forhead lies, Beauties Cape betwixt her eyes. Which two Chrystall-passing lakes, Loues delightfull Isthmus makes; Neither more nor lesse extending, Then most meriteth commending. Those, in whom that part hath beene, Best deseruing praises seene: Or, (surueid without affection) Came the neerest to perfection. Would scarce handsome ones appeare, If with her compar'd they were. For, it is so much excelling, That it passeth meanes of telling. On the either side of this, Loues most louely Prospect is. Those her smiling Cheekes, whose colour Comprehends true Beautie fuller, Then the curioust mixtures can, That are made by art of Man. It is Beauties Garden plot, Where, as in a True-loue-knot, So, the Snowy Lilly growes, Mixed with the Crimson Rose, That, as friends they ioyned be. Yet, they seeme to disagree,

Whether of the two shall raigne; And the Lillies oft obtaine Greatest sway, vnlesse a blush Helpe the Roses at a push. Hollow fallings, none there are; Ther's no wrinkle, ther's no scar: Onely ther's a little Mole, Which from Venus cheeke was stole. If it were a thing in Nature, Possible, that any Creature, Might decaying life repaire Onely by the helpe of Aire: There were no such Salue for death, As the balme of her sweet breath. Or, if any humane power, Might detaine the Soule an houre, From the flesh to dust bequeathing, It would linger on her breathing: And be halfe in mind, that there; More then mortall pleasures were. And whose fortune were so faire, As to draw so sweet an ayre, Would no doubt, let sleighted lie, The perfumes of Arabie. For the English Eglantine, Doth through enuy of her, pine.

Violets, and Roses to; Feares that she will them vndoe. And, it seemes that in her brest, Is compos'd the Ph••nix nest. But, descend a while mine eye. See, if polisht Iuory, Or the finest sleeced flockes, Or the whitest Albi••n Rocks; For comparisons may stand, To expresse that snowy hand. When she drawes it from her gloue, It hath virtue to remoue, Or disperst; if there be ought, Cloudeth the beholders thought. If that palme but toucheth your, You shall feele a secret power Cheare your heart; and glad it more, Though it droopt with griefe before. Through the vaines, disposed true Crimson, yeelds a Saphir hue: Which adds grace, and more delight, By embracing with the white. Smooth, and moist, and soft, and tender, Are her palmes; the fingers slender; Tipt with mollified Pearle. And if that transformed Girle,

Whose much cunning, made her dare, With loues daughter to compare, Had that hand worne; maugre spight, Shee had sham'd the Goddesse quite. For, there is in euery part, Nature perfecter then Art. These, were ioyned to those Armes, That were neuer made for harmes: But, possesse the sweetest graces, That may apt them for imbraces. Like the Siluer streames they be, Which from some high hill we see Clipping in a goodly Vale, That growes prowd of such a thrall. Neither Alabaster Rocks, Pearl strowd-shores, nor Cotswold flockes, Nor the Mountaines tipt with Snow, Nor the Milk-white Swannes of Po, Can appeare so faire to me, As her spotlesse shoulders be. They are like some worke of state, Couer'd with the richest plate: And a presence haue, that strike With deuotions, Goddes-like. Twixt those shoulders (meanly spread) To support that Globe-like head,

Riseth vp her Necke; wherein, Beautie seemeth to beginne To disclose it selfe, in more Tempting manner then before. How, therein she doth excell, (Though I would) I cannot tell: For, I naught on earth espie, That I may expresse it by. There, should Louers as in dutie, Hange rich Trophes vp to Beauty. Tis proportion'd to a height, That is euen with delight. Yet, it is a great deale higher, Then to answere base desire. Where the Necke hath end, begins That smooth path, where loues close ginns Are thicke placed to inthrall, Such, as that way straggle shall. There, a pleasing passage lies, Farre beyond the sight of eies: And much more delight containes, Then the old Elizian plaines. Whatsoeuer others say, There's alone the Milkie-way; That to beauties walkes doth goe, Which, if others came to know;

In possessing their delight, They should neuer reach the height, Of the pleasures which I share, Whilst that those debarred are. Yet (vnspoken of) there rests, Her two twinlike louely Breasts, Whose round-rising, pretty panting I would tell, but art is wanting. Words can neuer well declare, Her faire sweete perfections there: For, would measures giue me leaue, To expresse what I conceiue, I doe know I should goe neare, Halfe to rauish all that heare. And, but that I learne to season, What I apprehend with Reason, It had made my Passions weight, Sincke me through my owne conceit, There I finde so large a measure, Of an vnexpressed pleasure; That my heart, through strong surmize, In a pleasing fainting lies. He that there may rest to proue, Softer finds those beds of loue, Then the Cotton ripest growne; Or fine pillowes of such downe,

As in time of Molting, fanns, From the breasts of siluer Swannes. Those two sisters are a paire Smoth alike, like soft, like faire; If together they be vewed. Yet if they a part be shewed, That you touch, or see, seemes smother; Softer, fairer, then the other. That the Colour may delight, So much red as makes the white, Purer seeme, is shed among: And then, here, and there, along, Runnes a Saphire-Mine, whose blew Shaddowd, makes so braue a shew On those lillie mounts, as tho, Beauties simples there did grow. In the vale, twixt either hill, Lies Desire in ambush still; And surprizeth euerie eie, Which doth that way dare to pry. There, is sure the twy-top Hill, Where the Poets, learne their skill. Thats Parnassus where the Muses, Chast, and wise Minerua vses. Her two Cherrilets are those, Whence the pleasantst Nectar flowes:

And no fruits ere equall'd these, Fetcht from the Hesperides. Once, as Cynthir's games she Chased, And for Aire, left halfe vn••ased, Her light summer-robe of greene, (Beauties safe, but slender skreene) Vnawares, I partly spide, That faire Lillie field vnhid, Which you may her Belly name; Yet, nor she, nor I, to blame. For, it was but what mine eie, Might behold with modestie. Tis a faire and matchlesse Plaine, Where vnknowne Delights remaine, Tis the store-house wherin, Pleasure, Hides the richest of her treasure. Which, true Modestie (in ward) Keepes with a continuall guard, Of such Virtues; as shee's sure, No corruption can allure. There they say (for mind it well) I doe this by hearesay, tell, Growes her Nauell which doth seeme, Like some Iewel of esteeme: With so wondrous cunning wrought, That an iniury tis thought:

Such a beauty, with the rest, (Should vnknowne) be vnexprest. Some what else there is, thats hidden; Which to name I am forbidden: Neither haue I euer pried, After that should be vnspied. Neuer shall my Maiden-Muse, So her selfe, and me abuse, As to sing what I may feare, Will offend the Choisest eare. Though I know, if none be by, But true friends to Modestie; I might name each part at will, And yet no mans thought be ill. Yet, for feare loose hearers may, Iudge amisse, if more I say: Ile descend to shunn all blame, To the Pillers of this Frame. Where, though I nere aimd so high, As her daintie youthfull Thigh; (Whose rare softnes, smothnes, fulnes, Being knowne, would teach my dulnes Such a straine, as might be fit, Some braue Tuscan Poets wit) Once a sawcie bush I spide, Plucke her silken skirts aside;

So discouered vnto me, All those beauties to the knee. And, before the thornes entanglings, Had let goe the Siluer spanglings, I perceiud the curious knitting, Of those ioynts were well be fitting; Such a Noble piece of worke: Mongst whose turnings, seem'd to lurke, Much to entertaine the sight, With new obiects of delight. Then the Legge for shape as rare, Will admit of no compare. Streight it is; the Anckle leane, Full the Calfe, but in the meane: And the slender Foote doth fit, So each way to suit with it, As she nothing lesse excells Therein, then in all things els. Yea from Head to Foote, her feature, Shewes her an vnblemisht Creature: In whom loue with reason, might, Finds so matchlesse a Delight. That more cannot be acquired, Nor, a greater blisse desired. Yet if you will rest an howre, Vnder yonder shady bowre:

I, anon my Muse will raise To a higher pitch of praise. But a while with Raspice-berries, Strawberries, ripe Peares, and Cherries, (Such as these our Groues doe beare) We will coole our palats there. And those homely Cates among, Now and then, a Past' rall Song, Shall my Lad, here, sing, and play: Such, as you had yesterday.

1

A Lad whose faith will constant proue, And neuer know an end: Late by an ouer sight in loue, Displeas'd his dearest friend. For which, incens'd shee did retake, The fauours which he wore; And said, he neuer for her sake, Should weare, or see them more.

The griefe whereof, how neere i•• ••ent, And how vnkindly tooke; Was figur'd by the discontent, Appearing in his looke.

At first, he could not silence breake, (So heauy sorrow lay) But when his sighs gaue way to speake, Thus, sadly did he say.

My onely Deare; and with that speech, Not able to sustaine, The floods of griefe at sorrowes breach; He paus'd awhile againe. At length (nigh fainting) did expresse, These words, with much adoe; Oh deare! let not my loues excesse. Me, and my loue vndoe.

Shee, little mooued with his paine, His much distraction eyde; And changing loue, into disdaine, Thus (still vnkind) replide: Forbeare to vrge one kindnesse more, Vnlesse you long to see, The good respect you had before, At once all lost in me.

With that, dismaid, his suit he ceast, And, downe his head he hung: And, as his Reasons strength decreast, His passion grew more strong.

But, seeing shee did flight his mone (With Willow Garlands wreath'd) He sate him downe, and all alone, This sad complaint he breahb'd.

Oh Heauens! Quoth he, Why doe we spend, Endeauours thus in vaine; Since what the Fates doe fore-intend, They neuer change againe? Nor Faith, nor Loue, nor true Desert, Nor all that man can doe, Can winne him place within her heart, That is not borne theret••.

Why doe I fondly waste my youth, In secret sighs, and teares? Why to preserue a spotlesse truth, Taste I, so many cares? For, women that no worth respect, Doe so vngentle prooue; That some shall wi••ne by their neglect, What others lose with loue.

Those, that haue set the best at naught, And no man could enioy; At last, by some base Gull are caught, And gotten with a toy.

Yea, they that spend an ages light, Their fauours to obtaine; For one vnwilling ouer sight, May loose them all againe.

How glad, and faine, alas would I, For her haue vnderwent, The greatest care, ere she should trie, The smallest discontent? Yet she, that may my life commaund, And doth those passions know, Denieth me a poore demaund, In height of all my wo••.

Oh, if the Noblest of her time, And best belou'd of me; Could for so poore, so slight a crime, So voyd of pitie be. Sure, had it beene some common one, Whose patience I had tride; No wonder I had been vndone, Or vnforgiuen di'de.

A thousand liues I would haue layd, So well I once beleeu'd, She would haue dain'd to lend me ayd, If she had seene me gree••'d.

But now, I liue to see the day, Where I presumed so; I neither dare for pitie pray, Nor tell her of my woe.

Yet, let not poore despised heart, Her worth ought question'd be; Hadst thou not fayled in desert, Shee had not failed thee. But least perhaps, they flout thy mone, That should esteeme thee deare; Goe, make it by thy selfe alone, Where none may come to heare.

Still keepe thy forhead crown'd with smiles, What passion ere thou trie; That none may laugh at thee the whiles, Thou discontented lye. And let no wrong, by change distaine A Loue so truely faire: But rather, neuer hope againe, And thou shalt ne're despaire.

2

ORetyr'd by cruell passions that oppresse me, With heart nigh broken, Time no hope would giue me Upon my bed I laid mee downe to rest me; And gentle sleepe, I wo••ed to releeue me. But oh alas! I found that on the morrow My sleeping Ioyes, brought forth my waking Sorrow.

For loe, a dreame I had so full of pleasure, That to possesse, what to imbrace I seemed, Could not effect my Ioy in higher measure, Then now it grieues mee, that I haue but dreamed. Oh let my dreames be sighs and teares hereafter: So, I that sleeping weepe, may wake in laughter.

Faine would I tell, how much that shaddow pleasd me; But tongue and pen, want words, and art in telling. Yet, this lle say, to shew what horrour seazd me; (When I was rob'd of blisse, so much excelling) Might all my dreames be suchj; oh let me neuer Awake againe: but sleepe, and dreame for euer.

For, when I waking saw my selfe deceiued, And what an inward Hell it had procured,

To finde my selfe of all my hopes bereaued, It brought on passions not to be endured: And, knew I; next night had such dreames in keeping, I'de make my eyes, forsweare, for euer sleeping.

3

YOu wooddy Hils, you Dales, you Groues, You Floods, and euery Spring, You Creatures come, whom nothing moues, And heare a Shepheard sing. For, to Heroës, Nymphes, and Swaines, I long haue made ••y mone: Yet, what my mournfull Verse containes, Is vnderstood of none.

In Song, APOLLO gaue me skill; Their loue, his Sisters daine. With those, that haunt Pernassus hill, I friendship entertaine. Yet, this is all in vaine to me, So haplessely I fare, As those things which my glory be, My cause of ruine, are.

For, Loue hath kindled in my brest, His neuer quenched fire: And I, who often haue exprest, What other men desire, (Because I could so diue into, The depth of others mone) Now, I my owne affliction show, I heeded am, of none.

Oft haue the Nymphs of greatest worth, Made sute my Songs to heare. As oft (when I haue sighed forth, Such notes as saddest were) Alas! said they, poore gentle heart, Who ere that Shepheard be: But, none of them suspects my smart, nor thinkes, it meaneth me.

When I haue reacht so high a straine, Of passion in my Song; That they, haue seene the teares toraine And trill my cheeke along: Insteed of sigh, or weeping eye, To sympathize with me; Oh, were he once in loue, they crie, How mouing would he be?

Oh pitie me, you Powers aboue, And take my skill away: Or, let my hearers thinke I loue, And faine not what I say. For, if I could disclose the smart, Which I vnknowne doe beare; Each line would make them sighs impart, And euery word, a teare.

Had I a Mistresse, some doe thinke, Shee should reuealed be; And I would fauors weare, or drinke Her Health vpon my Knee. Alas poore fooles! they ayme awry, Their fancy flags too low: Could they my loues rare course espie, They would amazed grow.

But, let nor Nymph nor Swaine conceiue, My tongue shall euer tell, Who of this rest, doth mee bereaue; Or where I am not well. But, if you sighing me espie, Where rarest features be; Marke, where I fixe a weeping eye, And sweare you, There is shee.

Yet, ere my eyes betray me shall, Ile swell, and burst with paine: And, for each drop they would let fall, My heart shall bleed me twaine. For, since my soule more sorrow beares, Then common Louers know; I scorne, my passions should like theirs, A common humour show.

Eare, neuer heard of, heretofore, Of any Loue like mine. Nor shall there be for euermore, Affection so diuine. And, that to faine it, none may try, When I dissolu'd must be; The first I am, it liued by, And die it shall, with me.

BOY, h'a done; for now my braine Is inspir'd afresh againe, And new Raptures pressing are, To be sung in praise of her: Whose faire Picture lieth nigh, Quite vnuail'd to eu'ry eye.

No small fauour hath it beene, That such Beautie might be seene: Therefore, euer may they rue it, Who with euill eyes shall view it. Yea, what ancient stories tell, Once to rude Acteon fell, (When with euill thoughts, he stood Eyeing Cynthia in the Flood) May that fatall horned curse, Light vpon them; or a worse. But (what euer others be) Lest some fault be found in me, If vnperfect this remaine; I will ouer-trym't againe. Therefore, turne where we begun: And now all is ouerrunne. Marke, if euery thing exprest, Sute not so vnto the rest, As if Nature would prefer, All perfections, vnto her. Wherefore seemes it strange to any, That they daily see so many, Who were else most perfect Creatures, In some one part, want true features? Since, from all the fair'st that liue, Nature tooke the best, to giue

Her pefection in each part. I, alone, except her heart; For, among all woman-kind. Such as hers, is hard to find. If you truely note her Face, You shall find it hath a grace, Neither wanton, nor ore serious; Nor too yeelding, nor imperious: But, with such a feature blest, It is that, which pleaseth best: And delight's each seu'rall eye, That affects with modesty. Lowlinesse, hath in her looke, Equall place with Greatnes tooke. And, if Beautie (any where) Claimes Prerogatiues, tis there. For, at once, thus much twill doe; Threat, command, perswade, and wooe. In her Speech there is not found, Any harsh, vnpleasing sound. But a well beseeming power; Neither higher, neither lower, Then will sute with her perfection, Tis the Loadstone of Affection. And, that man, whose iudging eyes, Could well sound such mysteries,

Would in loue, make her, his choice; Though he did but heare her voice. For, such accents, breath not, whence Beautie keeps Non-residence. Neuer word of hers, I heare, But tis Musicke to mine eare: And, much mor•• contentment brings, Then the sweetly-touched strings, Of the pleasing Lute, whose straines, Rauish hearers when it plaines. Rais'd by her Discourse, I flie, In contented thoughts so high, That I passe the common measures, Of the dulled Senses pleasures: And, leaue farre below my flight, Vulger pitches of delight. If Shee smile, and merry be; All about her, are as she. For, each looker on, takes part Of the ioy that's in her heart. If Shee grieue, or you but spie, Sadnesse peeping through her eye; Such a grace it seemes to borrow, That you'l fall in loue with sorrow: And abhorre the name of Mirth, As the hatefulst thing on earth.

Should I see her shed a teare, My poore eyes would melt, I feare. For, much more in Hers appeares, Then in other womens teares: And her looke, did neuer faine Sorrow, where there was no paine. Seldome hath she beene espide So impatient as to chi••e: For, if any see her so, They'l in loue with anger grow. Sigh, or speake, o•• smile, or talke, Sing, or weepe, or sit, or walke, Euery thing that shee doth doe, Decent is, and louely too. Each part that you shall behold, Hath within it selfe inrold, What you could desire to see, (Or your heart conceiue to be) Yet if from that part your eye, Mouing shall another spye: There you see as much or more, Then you thought to praise before. While the eye surueyes it, you Will imagine that her Brow Hath all beautie; when her Cheeke, You behold, it is as like

To be deemed fairest too. (So much there can Beautie doe) Looke but thence vpon her eye, And you wonder by and by, How there may be any where, So much worthy praise as there. Yet, if you suruey her Brest, Then as freely you'l protest, That in them perfection is; Though (I know) that one poore kisse, From her tempting Lips, would then, Make all that forsworne agen. For, the selfe same moouing grace, Is at once in euery place. She, her Beautie neuer foyles, With your oyntments, waters, oyles, Nor no loathsome Fucus settles, Mixt with Iewish fasting spetles. Faire by Nature, being borne, She doth borrowed beautie seorne. Who so kisses her, needs feare No vnwholesome varnish there. For, from thence he onely sips, The pure Nectar, of her lips. And at once with these he closes, Melting Rubies, Cherries, Roses.

Then, in her behauiour, she Striueth but her selfe to be. Keeping such a decent state, As (indeed) she seemes to hate Precious leasure should be spent, In abused Complement. Though she knowes what other doe, (And can all their Courtship toe) She, is not in so ill case, As to need their borrowed grace. Her Discourses sweetned are, With a kind of artlesse care, That expresseth greater Art, Then affected words imp••rt. So, her gestures (being none, But that freenesse which alone, Suits the brauenesse of her mind) Make, her, of her selfe, to find, Postures more becomming far, Then the meere acquired, are. If you marke, when for her pleasure, Shee vouchsafes to foot a Measure, Though, with others skill, she pace, Ther's a sweet delightfull grace, In her selfe; which doth prefer, Art, beyond that Art, in her.

Neither needs she beat her wit, To deuise what dressings fit. Her complexion, and her feature, So beholding are to Nature; If she in the Fashions goe, All the reason she doth so, Is; because she would not erre, In appearing singuler. Doubtlesse, not for any thought, That 'twill perfect her, in ought. Many a dainty-seeming Dame, Is in natiue Beauties lame. Some, are graced by their Tyres, As their Quoifs, their Hats, their Wyres. One, a Ruffe doth best become; Falling-Bands much altreth some. And their fauours, oft, we see, Changed as their dressings be. Which, her Beautie neuer feares: For, it graceth all she weares. If ye note her Tyre to day, That, doth sute her best, you'l say. Marke, what she next morne doth weare; That, becomes her best, you'l sweare. Yea, as oft as her you see; Such new graces, still there be:

As, she euer seemeth grac't, Most by that, she weareth last. Though, it be the same wore, But the very day before. When she takes her Tyers about her, (Neuer halfe so rich without her) At the putting on of them, You may liken euery Iem, To those lamps, which at a play, Are set vp to light the day. For, their l••sture addes no more, To what Titan gaue before; Neither doth their pretty gleamings, Hinder ought, his greater beamings. And yet (which is strange to me) When those costly deckings be, Laid away; there seemes descrid, Beauties, which those Vailes did hide. And, she looke••, as doth the Moone, Past some Clowd through which she shone: O••, some Iewell Watch, whose Case, Set with Diamonds, seemes to grace What it doth containe within 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Till the curious worke be seene, Then; tis found, that costly shrining; Did but hinder tothers shining.

If you chance to be in place, When her Mantle she doth grace; You would presently protest, Irish dressings were the best. If againe she lay it downe, While you view her in a gowne: And how those her dainty limbs, That close-bodied garment trims. You would sweare, and sweare agen: She appeared loueliest then. But, if she so truely faire, Should vntie her shining haire, And at length, that treasure shed; Ioues endured Gammed, Neither Cythereas Ioy, Nor the sweet selfe-louing Boy, (Who in beauty did surpasse) Nor the fair'st that euer was: Could, to take you prisoner bring, Lookes so sweetly conquering. She, excells her, whom Appollo, Once with weeping eies did follow. Or that Nimph, who shut in Towers, Was beguild with golden showers; Yea, and She, whose loue was wont, To swime ore the Hellispont.

For her sake (though in attire, Fittest to enflame desire) Seem'd not halfe so faire to be, Nor so louely, as is she. For, the man whose happy eye, Viewes her in full Maiesty: Knowes, she hath a power that mooues, More then doth the Queene of Loues, When she vseth all her power, To inflame her Paramour. And, sometime I doe admire, All men burne not with desire. Nay, I muse her seruants are not Pleading loue; but oh they dare not. And, I therfore wonder, why They doe not grow sicke, and die. Sure they would doe so, but that By the ordinance of Fate, There is some concealed thing, So, each gazer limiting; He can see no more of merit, Then beseemes his worth, and spirit. For, in her a Grace there shines, That o're-daring thoughts confines; Making worthlesse men dispaire, To be lou'd of one so faire.

Yea, the Destinies agree, Some good iudgments blind should be, And not gaine the power of knowing Those rare Beauties in her growing. Reason doth as much imply: For, if euery iudging eye, (Which beholdeth her) should there, Find what excellencies are: All, orecome by those perfections, Would be captiue to affections. So, in happinesse vnblest; Shee, for Louers, should not rest. This, well heeding, thinke vpon: And, if there be any one, Who alloweth not the worth, Which my Muse hath painted forth; Hold it no defect in her; But, that hee's ordaind to erre. Or, if any female wight, Should detract from this I write, Shee, I yeeld, may shew her wit, But disparage her no whit. For, on earth few women be, That from Enuies touch are free. And, who euer, Enuy knew, Yeeld those honours that were due?

Though sometime my Song I raise, To vnused heights of praise, (And breake forth as I shall please. Into strange Hyperboles) Tis to shew, Conceit hath found, Worth, beyond expressions bound. Though, her breath I doe compare, To the sweet'st perfumes that are; Or, her Eies that are so bright, To the mornings cheerefull light. Yet, I doe it not so much, To inferre that she is such; As to shew, that being blest, With what merrits name of best, She appeares more faire to me, Then all Creatures else that be. Her true beauty leaues behind, Apprehensions in my mind, Of more sweetnes then all Art, Or inuentions can impart. Thoughts, too deepe to be exprest, And too strong to be supprest. Which, oft raiseth my conceits, To so vnbeleeued heights; That (I feare) some shallow braine, Thinkes my Muses doe but faine.

Sure, he wrongs them if he doe: For, could I haue reached to So like Straines, as these you see; Had there beene no such as She? Is it possible that I, Who scarce heard of Poesie; Should a meare Idea raise, To as true a pitch of praise, As the learned Poets could, Now, or in the times of old; All those reall-beauties bring, Honord by their Sonneting? (Hauing Arts, and fauors to, More t' encourage what they doe) No; if I had neuer seene, Such a beauty; I had beene Piping in the Country shades, To the homely Dary-maides: For a Country Fidlers fees; Clouted creame, & bread and cheese. I no skill in Numbers had, More then euery Shepheards Lad, Till She taught me, Straines that were, Pleasing to her gentle eare. Her faire splendor, and her worth, From obscurenes, drew me forth.

And, because I had no Muse, Shee her selfe daignd to infuse All the skill, by which I clime, To these praises in my Ryme. Which, if she had pleasd to add, To that Art sweet Drayton had, Or that happy Swaine that shall Sing Britanias Pastorall; Or to theirs, whose Verse set forth Rosalind, and Stella's worth; They had doubled all their skill, Gained on Apollos Hill: And, as much more set her forth, As I' me short of them in worth. They, had vnto heights aspired, Might haue iustly been admired; And, in such braue Straines had moued, As of all had been approued. I, must praise her as I may; Which I doe mine owne rude way: Sometime setting forth her glories, By vnheard of Allegories. Thinke not, tho, my Muse now sings, Meere absurd, or fained things. If to gold I like her Haire, Or, to Starres, her Eyes so faire:

Though I praise her Skin by snow, Or, by Pearles, her double-Row: Tis, that you might gather thence, Her vnmatched excellence. Eyes, as faire (for eyes) hath she As starres faire, for starres may be. And, each part as faire doth show, In it kind, as white in Snow. Tis no grace to her at all, If her Haire I Sunne-beames call: For, were there a power in Art, So to pourtrait euery part, All men might those beauties see, As they doe appeare to me. I would scorne to make compare With the glorioust things that are. Nought I ere saw, faire enow, But the Haire, the haire to show. Yet, some thinke him ouerbold, That compares it but to Gold. He, from Reason seemes to erre, Who commending of his Deare, Giues her Lips the Rubies hue, Or by Pearles her Teeth doth shew. But what Pearles, what Rubies can, Seeme so louely faire, to man,

As her Lipps whom he doth loue, When in sweete discourse they moue? Or her louelier Teeth the while, She doth blesse him with a smile. Starres indeed, faire Creatures be: Yet, amongst vs, where is he, Ioyes not more the while he lies, Sunning in his Mistresse Eies, Then in all the glimmering light, Of a starrie winters night? Him to flatter, most suppose, That preferrs before the Rose Or the Lillies (while they grow) Or the flakes of new-falne suow; Her complextion whom he loueth: And yet, this my Muse approueth. For, in such a beauty, meets Vnexpressed mouing sweets; That, (the like vnto them) no man, Euer saw but in a Woman. Looke on Moone, on Starrs, on Sunne, All Gods Creatures ouer-runne. See, if all of them presents, To your mind, such sweet contents: Or, if you from them can take, Ought that may a beauty make,

Shall one halfe so pleasing proue, As is Hers, whom you doe loue. For indeed, if there had beene Other mortall Beauties seene, Obiects for the loue of man, Vaine was their creation than. Yea, if this could well be granted, Adam might his Eue haue wanted. But a woman is the Creature, Whose proportion with our nature Best agrees; and whose perfections, Sympathize with our affections: And not onely finds our Senses, Pleasure in their excellencies. But our Reason also knowes, Sweetnesse in them, that outgoes Humane wit to comprehend, Much more, truely, to commend. Note, the Beautie of any Eye; And, if ought you praise it by, Leaue such passion in your mind, Let my Reasons eye be blind. Marke, if euer red or white, Any where, gaue such delight, As when they haue taken place, In a worthy womans sace.

He that so much hath not noted, Will not: or is growne besotted. Such as Louers are, conceaue, What impressions Beauty leaue; And those Hearts, that fire haue took, By a loue-enflaming looke: Those, beleeue, what here I say; And, suppose not that I stray, In a word, by setting foorth Any praise beyond true worth. And yet, wherefore should I care, What anothers Censures are, Since I know her to be such, As no praise can be too much? All that see her, will agree, In the selfe same mind with me; If their wit be worth the hauing, Or their Iudgement merrit crauing. And the man that kens her not, Speaks, at best, he knowes not what: So, his Enuy, or good will. Neither doth her good, nor ill. Then, Fooles cauils I disdaine, And, call backe my Muse againe, To decipher out the rest. For, I haue too long digrest.

This is Shee, in whom there meets, All varietie of sweets. An Epitomie, of all, That on earth we Faire may call. Nay, yet more I dare auer: He that is possest of her, Shall at once all pleasure find, That is reapt from Woman-kind. Oh, what man would further range, That in one might finde such change? What dull eye such worth can see, And not sworne a Louer be? Or, from whence was he, could proue, Such a Monster in his loue; As, in thought, to vse amisse, Such vnequald worth as this? Pitie 'twere that such a Creature, Phenix-like, for matchlesse feature, Should so suffer; or be blamed, With what now the Times are shamed. Beautie (vnto me diuine) Makes my honest thoughts encline, Vnto better things, then that, Which the Vulgar aymeth at. And, I vow, I grieue to see, Any Faire, and false to be:

Or, when I sweet pleasures find, Matcht with a defiled mind. But (aboue all others) Her, So much doth my soule prefer; That to Him whose ill desire, Should so nurse a lawlesse Fire, As to tempt, to that, which might Dimme her sacred Virtues light; I could wish that he might die Ere he did it; though 't were I. For, if Shee should hap to stray, All this Beautie would away: And not her alone vndoe, But kill him, that prais'd her to. But, I know her Maker will Keepe her vnd••••tained still: That ensuing Ages may Patterne out, by her the way To all goodnesse. And if Fate That appoints all things a Date Heare me would; I'de wish that She Might for aye preserued be. And that neither wasting Cares, Neither all-consuming Yeares, Might, from what she is, estrange her, Or in mind, or body change her.

For, oh why should enuious Time, Perpetrate so vile a Crime, As to waste, or wrong, or staine, What shall ne're be matcht againe? Much I Hope, it shall not be: For, if Loue deceiue not me, To that height of Faire she growes, Age, or Sicknesse (Beauties foes) Cannot so much wrong it there, But enough there will appeare, Euer worthy to be lou'd: And, that heart shall more be mou'd, (Where there is a iudging eye) With those prints it doth espie, Of her beautie wrongd by Time, Then by others, in their prime. One aduantage shee hath more, That adds grace to all before. It is this; her Beauties fame, Hath not done her honour shame. For, where Beautie we doe find, Enuy still is so vnkind, That, although their Vertues are Such, as passe their Beauies farre; Yet on Slanders rocks they be Shipwrackt oftentimes, we see:

And are subiect to the wrongs, Of a thousand spightfull tongues, When the greatest fault they had, Was, that some would make them bad; And not finding them for action, Sought for vengeance, by detraction. But her beauty sure no tongue, Is so villanous to wrong. Neuer did the Iealoust eare, Any muttering rumor heare, That might cause the least suspects, Of indifferent defects. And (which somewhat stranger is) They, whose slanders few can misse, (Though set on by euill will, And habituated ill) Nothing can of her inuent, Whence to frame disparagement. Which, if we respect the Crimes, Of these loose iniurious times; Doth not only truly proue, Great discretion in her loue: And, that she hath liu'd vpright, In each iealouse tongues dispight. But, it must be vnderstood, That her priuate thoughts are good.

Yea, tis an apparant signe, That her beautie is Diuine: And, that Angels haue a care, Mens polluting tongues should spare To defile, what God hath giuen, To be deare to Earth, and Heauen. Tell me you that heare me now; Is there any one of you, Wanteth feeling of affection? Or that loues not such perfection? Can there be so dull an eare, As of so much worth to heare; And not seriously incline, To this Saint-like friend of mine? If there be; the fault doth lie, In my artlesse Poesy. For, If I could reach the Straine, Which me thinkes I might obtaine; Or, but make my Measures flie, Equall with my fantasie; I would not permit an eare, To attend vnrauisht heere; If, but so much fence it knew, As the blocks, that Orphe••s drew. Thinke on this discription, well, And, your noblest Ladyes tell;

Which of you (that worth can see) This my Mistresse would not be? You braue English, who haue run, From the rising of the Sun: Till in trauelling you found, Where he doth conclude his Round. You, that haue the beauties seene, Which in farthest Lands haue beene; And sur••eid the faire resorts, Of the French and Spanish Courts: (With the best that Fame renownes, In the rich Trans-Alpine Townes) Doe not with our brainelesse Fry, (That admire each nouelty) Wrong your Countries fame in ought. But, here freely speake your thought; And I durst presume youle sweare, Shee's not matched any where. Gallants, you that would so faine, Nymphs and Ladies loues obtaine. You, that striue to serue and please, Fairest Queenes and Empresses. Tell me this, and tell me right; If you would not (so you might) Leaue them all dispis'd to proue, What contents are in her loue?

Could your Fathers euer tell, Of a Nymph did more excell? Or hath any storie told, Of the like, in times of old? Dido was not such a one. Nor the Troians Paragone. Though they so much fauour found, As to haue their honors crownd, By the best of Poets penns, Euer knowne before, or since. For, had Dido beene so faire, Old Anchises noble heire; Ioues command had disobaid: And with her in Carthage staid: Where, he would haue quite forswore, Seeing the Lauinian Shore. Or, had Laedas Daughter beene, (When she was the Spartan Queene) Equall with this louely-one, Menelaus had neuer gone, From her sight so farre away, As to leaue her for a pray; And his roome, to be possest, By her wanton Phrigian guest. But, least yet among you, some, Thinke she may behind these, come:

Stay a little more, and here me: In another straine Ile reare me. Ile vnmasque a beauty, now, Which to kisse, the Gods may bow. And so feelingly did moue, That your soules shall fall in loue. I haue yet, the best behind; Her most faire, vnequald, Minde. This, that I haue here exprest, Is but that, which vailes the rest. An incomparable shrine, Of a Beauty more diuine. Whereof, ere I farther speake, Off againe, my Song Ile breake. And, if you among the Roses, (Which, yo•• quickset hedge incloses) Will with plucking flowres, beguile Tedious-seeming Time awhile; Till I step to yonder Greene, (Whence the sheep so plaine are seen) I, wilbe returned, ere You an howre haue stayd there. And, excuse me now, I pray, Though I rudely goe away. For, Affaires I haue to doe: Which, vnlesse I looke into;

I may sing out Summer here, Like the idle Grashopper, And at Winter, hide my head, Or else fast, till I am dead. Yet if Rusticke Past'rall Measures, Can ought adde vnto your pleasures; I will leaue you some of those, Which, it pleasd me to compose, When dispairing fits were ouer; And I made a happy Louer, Exercisd my louing passion, In an other kind of fashion, Then to vtter, I deuised, When I fear'd to be despised. Those; shall lye in gage for me, Till I backe returned be. And, in writing; here, you haue them: Either Sing, or Read, or leaue them.

Sonnet 1.

ADmire not Shepheards Boy, Why I my Pipe forbeare; My sorrowes, and my ioy, Beyond expression are.

Though others may, In Songs display Their passions, when they wooe: Yet, mine doe flie, A pitch too high, For words to reach vnto.

If such weake thoughts as those, With others fancies moue; Or, if my breast did close, But common Straines of Loue: Or passions store, Learnd me no more, To feele then others doe: I'de paint my cares, As blacke as theirs, And teach my Lynes to wooe.

But oh! thrice happy yee, Whose meane conceit is dull; You from those thoughts are free, That stuffe my breast so full: My loues excesse, Lets to expresse, What Songs are vsed to:

And my delights, Take such high flights, My Ioyes will mee vndoe.

I haue a Loue that's faire, Rich, Wise, and Nobly borne; Shee's true Perfections heire, Holds nought but Vice in scorne. A heart to find, More chast, more kind, Our Plaines affoord no moe. Of her degree, No blab Ile be, For doubt, some Prince should wooe.

And yet I doe not feare, (Though shee my meannesse knowes) The Willow Branch to weare, No, nor the yellow hose. For, if great Ioue, Should sue for loue, Shee would not me forgoe Resort I may, By night or day. Which brauer, dare not doe.

You Gallants, borne to pelfe, To Lands, to Titles store; Ime borne but to my Selfe, Nor doe I care for more. Adde to your earth, Wealth, Honors, Birth, And all you can thereto; You cannot proue, That height of Loue, Which, I in meannesse doe.

Great Men haue helpes to gaine, Those fauours they implore; Which, though I winne with paine, I finde my ioyes the more. Each Clowne may rise, And climbe the Skies, When he hath found a Staire: But ioy to him, That dares to climbe, And hath no helpe, but ayre.

Some say, that Loue repents, Where Fortunes disagree; I know the high'st contents,

From low beginnings be. My loue's vnfain'd, To her that daignd, From Greatnesse, stoope thereto. Shee loues, cause I, So meane, dar'dtrie, Her better worth to wooe.

And yet although much ioy, My Fortune seemes to blesse; Tis mixt with more annoy, Then I shall ere expresse: For, with much paine Did I obtaine, The Iem Ile nere forgoe: Which, yet I dare Nor shew, nor weare; And that breeds all my woe.

But fie, my foolish tongue, How loosely now it goes! First, let my Knell be rung, Ere I doe more disclose. Mounts thoughts on high; Cease words, for why: My meaning to diuine:

To those I leaue, That can conceiue, So braue a Loue as mine.

And now, no more Ile sing, Among my fellow Swaines: Nor Groues, nor Hilles shall ring, With Ecchoes of my plaines. My Measures be, Confus'd (you see) And will not sute thereto: Cause, I haue more, Braue thoughts in flore, Then words can reach vnto.

Sonnet. 2.

HEnce away, you Syrens, leaue me, And vnclaspe your wanton Armes; Sugred words shall ne're deceiue me, (Though thou proue a thousand Charmes) Fie, fie, forbeare; No common snare, Could euer my affection chaine: Your painted baits, And poore deceits, Are all bestowed on me, in vaine.

I'me no flaue, to such as you be; Neither shall a snowy Brest, Wanton Eye, or Lip of Ruby, Euer robb me, of my rest. Goe, goe, display, Your Beauties ray, To some ore-soone enamour'd Swaine. Those common wiles, Of sighs and smiles; Are all bestowed on me, in vaine.

I haue elsewhere, vowed a dutie; Turne away thy tempting eyes. Shew not me, a naked Beautie, Those Impostures, I despise. My Spirit lothes, Where gawdy clothes, And fained Othes, may loue obtaine. I loue Her so, Whose looke, sweares No; That, all your labours will be vaine.

Can he prize the tainted Posies, Which on euery brest are worne; That may plucke the spotlesse Roses, From their neuer-touched Thorne?

I can goe rest, On her sweet Brest; That is the pride of Cynthia's traine. Then hold your tongues, Your Mermaid Songs, Are all bestow'd on me in vaine.

Hee's a foole, that basely dallies, Where each Peasant mates with him. Shall I haunt the thronged Vallies, Whilst ther's noble Hils to climbe? No, no; though Clownes Are skar'd with frownes, I know the best can but disdaine: And those Ile proue; So shall your Loue Be all bestowed, on me in vaine.

Yet, I would not daigne embraces, With the greatest-fairest Shee, If another shar'd those graces, VVhich had beene bestowed on Me. I gaue that One, My Loue, where none, Shall come to robb me of my gaine.

Your fickle Hearts Makes Teares, and Arts, And all, bestowed on me in vaine.

I doe scorne, to vow a Dutie, VVhere each lustfull Lad may wooe. Giue me Her, whose Sun-like Beautie, Buzzards dare not soare vnto. Shee, shee it is, Affoords that Blisse, For which, I would refuse no paine. But such as you, Fond fooles adue; You seeke to captiue me in vaine.

Prowd she seem'd in the beginning, And disdaind my looking on: But, that coy one in the winning, Proues a true one being wonne. VVhat ere betide, Shee'l nere diuide, The fauour shee to me shall daigne. But, your fond loue, VVill fickle proue: And all that trust in you, are vaine.

Therefore know, when I enioy One, (And for loue employ my breath) Shee I Court shall be a Coy one, Though I winne her with my death. A fauour there, Few ayme at dare. And if perhaps, some Louer plaine, Shee is not wonne, Nor I vndone, By placing of my loue in vaine.

Leaue me then, you Syrens leaue me; Seeke no more to worke my harmes: Craftie wiles cannot deceiue me; Who am proofe against your Charmes. You labour may, To lead astray, The heart, that constant shall remaine: And I the while, Will sit and smile, To see you spend your time in vaine.

Sonnet 3.

WHen Philomela with her straines, The Spring had welcom'd in;

And Flora, to bestrow the Plaines, With Daysies did begin: My Loue, and I (on whom suspitious eyes, Had set a thousand spies) To cosen Argos stroue; And seene of none, We got alone, Into a shady Gr••••e.

On euery Bush, the Eglantine, with leaues perfumed hung. The Primrose, made the ••edge-rowes fine, The woods, of Musicke rung. The Earth, the Aire, & all things did conspire To raise contentment higher. That, had I come to wooe: Nor meanes of grace, Nor time, nor place; Were wanting thereunto.

With hand in hand, alone we walkt, And oft each other ••y••e: Of Loue, and passions past, we 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Which our poore hearts had tride. Our soules, infus'd into each other were: And, what may be her care,

Did my more sorrow breed. One mind we bore; One Faith we swore: And both in one agreed.

Her dainty Palme, I gently prest, And with her Lips I plaid. My Cheeke, vpon her panting Brest, And on her Necke I laid. And yet, we had no sence of wanton lust: Nor, did we then mistrust, The poyson in the sweet. Our Bodies wrought So close, we thought, Because our Soules should meet.

With pleasant toyle, we breathles grew; And kist in warmer blood: Vpon her Lips, the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Like drops on Roses stood; And on those 〈…〉〈…〉; Whose sweets; were such to me, Them could I not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 No, not to feast, On Venus 〈◊〉〈◊〉; Whence Streames of sweetnesse flow.

But, kissing and embracing, we So long together lay; Her touches all inflamed me, And I began to stray. My hands, presum'd so farre, they were too bold. My tongue, vnwisely told How much my heart was chang'd. And Virtue quite, VVas put to flight, Or, for the time estrang'd.

Oh! what are we, if in our strength, VVee ouer boldly trust? The strongest forts, will yeeld at length, And so our Virtues must. In Me, no force of Reason had preuaild; If shee had also faild. But ere I further straid, She sighing kist, My naked wrist; And thus, in teares she said.

Sweet heart (quoth she) if in thy brest, Those Virtues reall bee, Which hitherto thou hast profest, And I beleeu'd in thee:

Thy Selfe, and Me, oh seeke not to abuse. Whilst Thee I thus refuse, In hotter flames I frie: Yet, let vs not, Our true loue spot, Oh, rather let mee die.

For, if thy heart should fall from good, What would become of mine? As strong a passion, stirres my blood, As can distemper thine. Yet, in my brest this rage I smoother would, Though it consume me should; And, my desires containe: For, where we see, Such breaches be, They seldome stop againe.

Are we the two, that haue so long, Each others loues imbrac't? And neuer did Affection wrong, Nor thinke a thought vnchast? And shall, oh, shall we now, our matchlesse Iay, For one poore touch destroy?

And all content forgoe? Oh no, my Deare, Sweet heart, forbeare; I will not loose thee so.

For, should we doe a deed so base, (As it can neuer be) I could no more haue seene thy face, Nor wouldst thou looke on me. I should of all our passions gr••w asham'd; And blush when thou art nam'd, Yea (though thou constant wert) I being nought, A iealous thought, Would still torment my heart.

What goodly thing doe wee obtaine, If I consent to thee? Rare ioyes we loose, and what we gaine, But common pleasures be: Yea, those (some say) who are to lust enclind, Driue Loue out of the mind; And so much Reason misse: That they admire, What kind of fire, A chast affection is.

No vulgar blisse, I aymed at, When first I heard thee wooe: Ile neuer prize a man for that, Which euery Groome can doe. If that be loue; the basest men that be, Doe loue as well as we. Who, if we beare vs well, Doe passe them then, As Angels, men, In glory doe excell.

Whilst thus she spake, a cruell Band Of Passions ceazd my Soule: And, what one seemed to command, Another did controule. Twixt Good, and Ill, I did diuided lie, But, as I rais'd mine eye, In her me thought I saw, Those virtues shine, Whose rayes diuine, First gaue Desire, a Law.

With that, I felt the blush of shame, Into my cheeke returne, And Loue, did with a chaster flame, VVithin my Bosome burne.

My Soule, her light of Reason had renew'd; And by those Beames I view'd, How slily Lust ensnares: And all the fires, Of ill Desires, I quenched with my Teares.

Goe Wantons now, and flout at this, My coldnesse, if you list; Vaine fooles, you neuer knew the blisse, That doth in Loue consist. You sigh, and weepe, and labour to enioy; A Shade, a Dreame, a Toy. Poore Folly you pursue, And are vnblest, Since euery beast, In pleasure equals you.

You neuer tooke so rich content, In all your wanton play, As this to me hath pleasure lent,, That Chast she went away. For as some sinnes, which me committed haue; Sharpe stings behind them leeue.

Whereby we vexed are: So, ill supprest, Begetteth rest, And peace, without compare.

But least this Conquest slight you make, Which on my selfe I wonne; Twelue labors, I will vndertake, With Ioues victorious Sonne, Er'e I, will such another brunt endure. For, had Diana pure, Thus tempted beene to sinne; That Queene of Night, (With her chast light,) Had scarce, a Maiden binne.

OH! how honor'd are my Songs, Grac't by your melodious tongues? And how pleasing doe they seeme, Now your voices Carroll them? Were not, yet, that taske to doe, Which my word inioynes me to, I should begge of you, to heare, What your owne inuentions were.

But, (before I ought will craue) What I promisd, you shall haue. And, as I on mortall Creatures, Cald, to view her bodies features; Shewing how, to make the Senses, Apprehend her excellences. Now; I speake of no worse subiect, Then a Soules, and Reasons obiect: (And relate a Beauties glories, Fitting heauenly Auditories) Therefore, whilst I sit and sing, Hemme me Angels, in a Ring. Come ye Spirits, which haue eies, That can gaze on Deityes: And vnclog'd, with bruitish sences, Comprehend such excellences. Or, if any mortall eare, Would be granted leaue to heare, (And find profit with delight, In what now, I shall indite) Let him first be sure, to season A prepared hart with reason: And, with Iudgement, drawing nigh, Lay all fond affections by. So, through all her vailings, He Shall the Soule of beautie see.

But, auoid you earth-bred Wights, Cloid with sensuall appetites. On bafe obiects glut your eies, Till your starueling pleasure dies. Feede your eares, with such delights, As may match you grosse conceits; For, within your muddie braine, These, you neuer can containe. Thinke not, you, who by the sence, Only iudge of excellence; (Or doe all contentment place, In the beauty of a face) That these higher thoughts of our, Soare so base a pitch as your. I can giue, as well as you, Outward Beauties all their due: I can most contentments see, That in loue, or women be. Though I dote not on the features, Of our daintiest female creatures; (Nor, was ere so void of shames, As to play their lawlesse games) I more prize a snowye Hand, Then the gold on Tagus strand: And a daintie Lippe before, All the greatest Monarcks store.

Yea, from these I reape as true, And as large contents as you. Yet, to them I am not tide. I haue rarer sweets espide; (Wider prospects of true pleasure) Then your curbed thoughts can measure. In her Soule, my Soule descries, Obiects, that may feede her eyes. And the beauty of her mind, Shewes my Reason where to finde, All my former pleasure doubled. Neither with such passion troubled; As wherewith it oft was crost: Nor so easie to be lost. I, that rauisht lay, wel-nigh, By the lustre of her eye: And, had almost sworne affection, To the fore exprest perfection; As if nothing had been higher, Whereunto I might aspire. Now, haue found, by seeking nearer, Inward worth; that shining clearer; (By a sweet and secret mouing) Drawes me to a dearer louing. And, whilst I that loue conceiue, Such impressions it doth leaue,

In the Intellectiue part; As, defaceth from my hart, Eu'rie thought of those delights, Which allure base appetits. And, my mind so much imploies, In contemplating, those ioyes, Which, a purer sight, doth find, In the beauty of her Mind: That, I so thereon am set, As (me thinkes) I could forget, All her sweetest outward graces: Though I lay in her imbraces. But, some thinking with a smile, What, they would haue done the while: Now suppose my words are such, As exceed my power too much. For, all those, our Wantons hold, Void of Vigor, dull, and cold: Or (at best) but fooles, whose flame, Makes not way vnto their shame. Though at length with griefe they see They the fooles doe proue to be. These, the body so much minded, That their Reason ouer-blinded, By the pleasures of the Sence, Hides from them that excellence;

And that sweetnes, whose true worth, I am here to blazon forth. Tis not; tis not, those rare graces, That doe lurke in womens faces. Tis not, a displayd perfection, Youthfull eyes, nor cleare complexion; Nor a skin, smooth-satten like, Nor a daintie Rosie cheeke, That to wantonnesse can moue, Such as vertuously doe loue. Beautie, rather gently drawes Wild Desires, to Reasons Lawes; And oft frights men from that sin, They had else transgressed in: Through a sweet amazement, stroke, From an ouer-ruling looke. Beautie, neuer tempteth men To lasciuiousnes; but when Carelesse Idlenesse hath brought Wicked longings into thought. Nor doth youth, or heat of blood, Make men prooue what is not good. Nor the strength, of which they vaunt. Tis the strength, and power they want, And the basenesse of the Mind, Makes their bruit desires enclind,

To persue those vaine delights, Which affect their Appetites. And so blinded doe they grow, (Who are ouertaken so) As their dulnes cannot see, Nor beleeue that better be. Some, haue blood as hot as their, Whose affections loosest are; Bodies that require no art, To supply weake Natures part. Youth they haue; and, sure, might to, Boast of what, some (shamelesse doe) Yet, their Minds that aime more high, (Then those baser pleasures lye) Taught by Virtue can suppresse, All attempts of wantonnesse. And such powerfull motiues frame, To extinguish Passions flame; That (by Reasons good direction) Quallifying loose affection; Theile in midst of Beauties fires, Walke vnscorcht of ill Desires. Yet, no such, as stupid shame, Keeps from actions worthy blame. But, in all so truly Man, That their apprehensions can,

Prize the bodies vtmost worth: And, find many pleasures forth, In those Beauties; more then You, That abuse them, euer knew. But, perhaps her outward grace, Here discrib'd, hath tane such place, In some ore-enamourd breast, And so much his hart possest, As He thinkes it passeth telling, How shee may be more excelling: Or what worth, I can prefer, To be more admir'd in Her. Therefore, now I will be briefe, To preuent that misbeliefe. And, if there be present here, Any one, whose nicer eare: Taskes my Measures, as offending, In too seriously commending What affects the Sense; or may, Iniure Virtue any way. Let them know; tis vnderstood, That if they were truly good, It could neuer breed offence, That I shewd the excellence, With the power of God and Nature, In the beauty of his Creature.

They from thence would rather raise, Cause, to meditate his praise: And thus thinke; How faire must He, That hath made this Faire-one be! That; was my proposed End. And, to make them more attend Vnto this; so much excelling, As it passeth meanes of telling. But at worst; if any Straine, Makes your Memories retaine, Sparks of such a banefull fire, As may kindle ill desire: This, that followes after, shall Not alone extinguish all; But, eu'n make you blush with shame, That your thoughts were so to blame. Yet, I know when I haue done, (In respect of that bright Sunne, Whose inestimable light I would blazon to your sight) These, ensuing flashes, are, As to Cynthia's beames a Starre; Or, a petty Comets ray, To the glorious Eye of Day. For, what power of words or Art, Can her worth at full impart?

Or, what is there, may be found, Plac'd within the Senses bound; That can paint those sweets to me, Which the Eyes of Loue doe see? Or the Beauties of that Mind, Which her body hath enshrin'd. Can I thinke, the Guide of Heauen, Hath so bountifully giuen, Outward features, cause he meant, To haue made lesse excellent, Her diuine part? Or suppose, Beautie, Goodnesse doth oppose; Like those fooles, who doe despaire, To find any Good and Faire? Rather; There I seeke a mind, Most excelling, where I find God hath to the body lent, Most-beseeming Ornament. But, though he that did inspire First, the true Promethean fire, In each seuerall soule did place Equall Excellence and Grace, As some thinke; yet haue not they Equall Beauties euery way. For, they more or lesse appeare, As the outward Organs are:

Following much the temp'rature, Of the Body, grosse or pure. And I doe beleeue it true, That, as we the Body view: Nearer to perfection grow; So, the Soule her selfe doth show: Others more, and more excelling, In her powre; as in her dwelling. For, that purenesse giueth way, Better to disclose each Ray, To the Dull conceit of man, Then a grosser substance can. Thus, through spotlesse Christall, wee May the Dayes full glory see; When, if clearest Sunbeames passe, Through a foule polluted glasse: So discollerd, the'il appeare; As those Staines they shone through, were. Let no Critticke cauill then, If I dare affirme agen; That her Minds perfections are, Fairer then her Bodie's farr; And, I need not proue it by, Axioms of Philosophy, Since no proofe can better be, Then their rare effect in me.

For, while other men complaining, Tell their Mistresses disdaining: Free from care, I write a storie, Only of her worth and glory. While most Louers pining sit, (Rob'd of libertie and wit) Vassaling themselues with shame, To some proud imperious Dame: Or, in Songs their Fate bewailing, Shew the world their faithles fayling. I, enwreath'd with boughs of Myrtle, Fare like the beloued Turtle. Yea while most, are most vntoward, Peeuish, vaine, inconstant, froward. While their best contentments bring, Nought but after-sorrowing. She, those childish humors slighting, Hath conditions so delighting, And doth so my blisse indeauour, As my ioy encreaseth euer. By her actions I can see, That her Passions so agree, Vnto Reason; as they erre, Seldome, to distemper her. Lone she can (and doth) but so, As she will not ouerthrow,

Loues content by any folly, Or, by deeds that are vnholy. Dotingly, she nere affects; Neither willingly neglects Honest loue: But meanes doth find, With discretion to be kind. Tis nor thundring Phrase, nor Othes, Honors, wealth, nor painted Clothes, That can her good liking gaine, If no other worth remaine. Neuer tooke her heart, delight In your Court-Hermaphrodite, Or such frothy Gallants, as For the Times Heroes passe. Such; who (still in loue) doe all Faire, and Sweet, and Lady call. And where e're they hap to stray, Either prate the rest away; Or, of all discourse to seeke, Shuffle in at Cent, or Gleek. Goodnesse more delights her, than All their Maske of Folly can. Fond, she hateth to appeare; Though she hold her friend as deare, As her part of life vnspent: Or, the best of her content.

If the heat of youthfull fires, Warme her blood with those desires, Which are by the course of Nature, Stird in euery perfect Creature: As those Passions kindle, so Doth Heauens grace, and Reason grow Abler, to suppresse in her Those rebellions; and they stirre, Neuer more affection, then One good thought allayes agen. I could say, so chast is shee, As the new-blowne Roses be. Or, the drifts of Snow, that none Euer toucht, or lookt vpon. But, that were not worth a Flie, Seeing so much Chastitie, Old Pigmalion Picture had: Yea, those Eunuchs borne or made, Ne're to know Desire; might say, Shee deseru'd no more then they. Wheras, whilst their worth proceeds From such wants, as they must needs, Be vnmou'd (cause Nature fram'd No affections to be tam'd) Through her daintie Limbs, are spread, Vigour, heat, and freely shed,

Life blood into euery vaine; Till they fill, and swell againe: And no doubt they striue to force, Way, in some forbidden Course. Which, by Grace she still resists; And so Courbs within their lists, Those Desires: that she is chaster, Then if she had none to master. Malice, neuer lets she in: Neither hates she ought, but sin. Enuy, if she could admit, Ther's no meanes to nourish it: For, her gentle heart is pleas'd, When she knowes anothers eas'd. And ther's none, who euer got That perfection, she hath not. So, that no cause is there, why Shee should any one enuy. Mildly angry sheele appeare, That the baser Rout may feare; Through presumption to misdoe. Yet, she often faines that to. But let wrong be whatsoeuer, She giues way to Choller, neuer. If she e're of Vengeante thought, Twas nor life, nor blood was sought;

But (at most) some prayer to moue, Iustice for abused Loue: Or, that Fate would pay againe, Loues neglectors with disdaine. If she euer crau'd of Fate, To obtaine a higher State; (Or ambitiously were giuen) Sure, twas but to climbe to heauen. Pride, is from her heart as farre, As the Poles in distance are. For, her worth, nor all this praise, Can her humble spirit raise, Lesse to prize me, then before; Or her selfe, to value more. Were she Vaine; she might alledge, Twere her Sexes priuiledge. But, shee's such; as (doubtlesse) no man Knowes lesse folly, in a woman. To preuent a being Idle, Sometime, with her curious Needle, (Though it be her meanest glory) Shee so limnes an Antique Story, As Minerua (would she take it) Might her richest Sample make it. Other while, againe, she rather Labors, with delight to gather

Knowledge from such learned Writs, As are left by famous Wits. Where, Shee chiefly seekes to know, God; Her selfe; and what we owe, To our Neighbour: since with these, Come all needefull Knowledges. Shee, with Adam, neuer will Long to learne both Good and Ill; But, her state well vndestood, Rests her selfe, content with Good. Auarice, abhorreth shee, As the lothsom'st things that be: Since she knowes it is an ill, That doth ripest vertue kill. And, where ere it comes to rest, (Though in some strict Matrons brest) Be she ne're so seeming iust, Ile no shewes of Goodnesse trust. For, if you but gold can bring; Such, are hir'd to any thing. If you thinke she Iealous be; You are wide: For, credit me, Her strong'st Iealousies, nought are, Other then an honest care, Of her friends. And, most can tell, Who so wants that, loues not well.

Though some little feare she showes, Tis no more then loue allowes: So the passion doe not moue her, Till she greeue, or wrong her louer. Shee may thinke He may doe ill; Though, shee'l not beleeue he will. Nor, can such a harmelesse thought, Blemish true affection ought: Rather, when as else it would, Through security growe cold. This her Passion, keeping measure, Strengthens Loue, and sweetens Pleasure. Crueltie, her soule detests; For, within her Bosome rests, Noblest Pitty; vsherd by, An vnequall'd Courtesie. And, is grieu'd at good mens moane, As the griefe were all her owne. Iust shee is; so iust, that I Know she would not wrong a Flye; Or, oppresse the meanest thing, To be Mistresse to a King. If our Painters would include, Temperance, and Fortitude, In one Picture; She would fitt, For the nonce to paterne it.

Patient, as the Lambe is she. Harmelesse, as the Turtles be. Yea, so largely stor'd, with all Which we Mortals Goodnesse call; That, if euer Virtue were, Or may be, incarnate here; This is she, whose praises, I Offer to Eternitie. Shee's no Image trimd about, Faire within, and foule without: But a Iemm that doth appeare, Like the Diamond, euery where, Sparkling rayes of Beautie forth; All of such vnblemisht worth, That wert possible, your eye Might her inmost thoughts espie, And behold the dimmest part, Of the lustre in her heart. It would find that Center passe, What the Superficies was. And, that euery angle there, Like a Diamonds inside were. For, although that Excellence Passe the piercingst Eye of Sence; By their operations we, Guesse at things that hidden be.

So (beyond our common reach) Wise men can by Reason teach, What the influences beene, Of a Planet, when vnseene; Or the Beautie of a Starre, That doth shine aboue vs farre. So, by that wide-beaming Light, Wherewith Titan Courts our sight, By his clothing of the Earth; By the wondrous, various Birth, Of new Creatures, yearely bred Through his heat; and nourished: And by many Virtues moe (Which our Senses reach vnto) We conclude; they are not all, Which make faire that goodly Ball. Though shee prize her honour more, Then the far-fetcht precious store Of the rich Molucchi, or All the wealth was traffickt for, Since our Vessels, passage knew Vnto Mexico, Peru: Or those spacious Kingdomes, which Make the proud Iberians rich. Tis not that vncertaine blast, Keepes my Mistresse Good, or Chast.

Shee, that but for honours sake, Doth of ill a Conscience make; (More in feare what Rumour sayes, Then in loue to vertuous wayes) Though she seem'd more ciuill than, You haue seene a Courtezan, For an honor: And cries Oh fie, At each shew of vanitie. Though she censure all that be, Not so foolish coy as shee. Though she with the Roman Dame Kill her selfe, to purchase fame. Shee would prostitute become, To the meanest basest Groome; If so closely they may doe it, As the world should neuer know it. So at best those women prooue, That for honour; virtue loue. Giue me her, that Goodnes chuseth For it owne sake: And refuseth To haue greatest honors gain'd, With her secret conscience stain'd. Giue me her, that would be poore; Die disgrac't; nay, thought a whoore; And each Times reproch become, Till the generall day of Doome:

Rather then consent to act Pleasing Sinne, though by the fact, (With esteeme of vertuous) she Might the German Empresse be. Such my Mistresse is; and nought Shall haue power to change her thought. Pleasures cannot tempt her eye, On their Bayts to glance awry. For their good she still esteemes, As it is; not as it seemes: And, she takes no comfort in Sweetest pleasure, sowr'd with Sinn. By her selfe, she hath such care, That her actions decent are. For, were she in secret hid, None might see her what she did. Shee would doe, as if for spies, Euery wall were stucke with eyes. And be chary of her honour, Cause the heau'ns do looke vpon her. And, oh what had power to moue, Flames of Lust, or wanton loue, So farre, to disparage vs, If we all, were minded thus? These, are Beauties that shall last, When the Crimson blood shall wast;

And the shining Haire wax gray: Or with age be worne away. These, yeeld pleasures, such as might, Be remembred with delight; When we gaspe our latest breath, On the loathed bed of death. Though discreetly speake shee can, Sheele be silent, rather than Talke while others may be heard. As if she did hate, or fear'd, Their Condition; who will force All, to wait on their Discourse. Reason hath on her bestowed More of knowledge, then she owed To that Sex: and Grace with it, Doth aright her Practise fit. Yet, hath Fate so framed her, As she may at sometime, erre: But, if ere her iudgement stray, Tis that other women may, Those much-pleasing Beauties see, Which in yeelding Natures be. For, since no perfection can Here on earth be found in Man, Ther's more good in free submissions, Then ther's ill in our transgressions.

Should you heare her, once, contend, In discoursing, to defend (As she can) a doubtfull Cause: She such strong Positions drawes From known Truths; and doth apply, Reasons with such Maiestie: As if she did vndertake, From some Oracle to speake. And you could not think, what might Breed more loue, or more delight. Yet, if you should marke agen, Her discreet behauiour, when She finds Reason to repent Some wrong-pleaded Argument. She so temperatly lets all Her mis-held opinions fall; And, can with such Mildnesse bow: As 'twill more enamour you, Then her knowledge. For, there are Pleasing sweets without compare In such yeeldings; which doe prooue, Wit, Humilitie, and Loue. Yea, by those mistakings; you Her Condition so shall know, (And the nature of her mind, So vndoubtedly shall find)

As will make her, more endeared, Then if she had neuer erred. Farther; that she nought may misse, Which worth praise in woman, is: This, vnto the rest I add. If I wound, or sicknes, had; None should for my curing runne. (No not to Appollo's sonne) She, so well, the Virtue knowes, Of each needfull Hearbe that growes; And so fitly, can apply, Salues to euery Maladie: That, if she, no succour gaue me, Twere no meanes of Art, could saue me. Should my Soule oppressed lye, (Sunke with griefe and sorrow nigh) She hath balme for minds distrest; And could ease my pained breast. She so well knowes how to season, Passionate discourse with Reason; And knowes how to sweeten it, Both with so much loue and wit; That, it shall prepare the Sense. To giue way with lesse offence. For, greeued minds, can ill abide, Counsell churlishly applide:

Which, instead of comfortings; Desperation, often brings. But, harke Nymphs: me thinkes, I heare Musicke, sounding in mine eare. Tis a Lute: And hee's the best For a Voice, in all the West, That doth touch it. And the Swaine, I would haue you heare so faine, That my Song, forbeare will I, To attend his melodie. Hither comes he, day by day, In these Groues to sing, and play, And, in yonn close Arbor, He Sitteth now, expecting me. He, so bashfull is; that mute Will his Tougne be, and his Lute, Should he happen to espie This, vnlookt for Company. If you, therefore list to heare him, Let's with silence walke more neere him. Twill be worth your paines (beleeue me) (If a Voice, content may giue yee) And, await you shall not long; For, He now beginns a Song.

Sonnet. 1.

WHat is the cause, when elsewhere I resort, I haue my Gestures, and Discourse more free? And (if I please) can any Beauty Court, Yet stand so dull, and so demure by thee? Why are my speeches broken, whilst I talke? Why doe I feare almost thy hand to touch? Why dare I not imbrace thee as we walk, Since, with the greatest Nymphs I'ue dar'd as much? Ah! know that none of those I e're affected; And therefore, vs'd a carelesse Courtship there: Because, I neither their Disdaine respected, Nor recon'd them, or their embraces deare. But, louing Thee; my Loue hath found content; And rich delights, in things indifferent.

Sonnet. 2.

WHy Couet I, thy blessed eyes to see; Whose sweet aspect, may cheere the saddest mind? Why, when our bodies must diuided be, Can I no howre of rest, or pleasure find? Why doe I sleeping start, and waking mone, To finde, that of my dreamed Hopes I misse?

Why, doe I of••en contemplate alone, Of such a thing as thy Perfection is? And wherefore, when we meet, doth Passion stop My speechles Tongue, and leaue me in a panting? Why, doth my heart o'rechargd with feare & hope (In spight of Reason) almost droop to fainting? Because, in Me thy excellencies mouing, Haue drawne me to an Excellence in louing.

Sonnet. 3

FAire, since thy Virtues my affections moue, And I haue vowd, my purpose is to ioyne, (In an eternall Band of chastest Loue) Our Soules, to make a Mariage most diuine. Why (thou maist thinke) then, seemeth he to prize, An outward Beauties fading how so much? Why, doth he read such Lectures in mine eyes? And often striue my tender palme to touch? Oh pardon my presuming: For I sweare, My Loue is soyled, with no lustfull spot: Thy Soules perfections, through those vailes ap∣peare, And I halfe faint, that I embrace them not. No foule Desires, doth make thy touches sweet: But, my Soule striueth, with thy Soule to meet.

Sonnet 4.

SHall I wasting in Dispaire, Dye because a Womans faire? Or make pale my cheekes with care, Cause anothers Rosie are? Be shee fairer then the Day, Or the Flowry Meads in May; If She be not so to me, What care I how faire shee be.

Should my heart be grieud or pin'd, Cause I see a Woman kind? Or a well disposed Nature, Ioyned with a louely Feature? Be shee meeker, kinder, than Turtle-Doue, or Pelican: If shee be not so to me, What care I, how kind she be.

Shall a Womans Virtues moue, Me, to perish for her loue? Or, her well-deseruing knowne, Make me quite forget mine owne?

Be shee with that Goodnesse blest, Which may gaine her, name of Best: If she be not such to me, What care I, how good she be.

Cause her Fortune seemes too high, Shall I play the foole, and dye? Those that beare a Noble minde, Where they want of Riches find, Thinke, what with them, they would doe, That without them, dare to wooe. And, vnlesse that mind I see, What care I, though Great she be.

Great, or Good, or Kind, or Faire, I will ne're the more dispaire, If She loue me, this beleeue; I will die, er'e she shall grieue. If she slight me, when I wooe; I can scorne, and let her goe. For, if shee be not for me, What care I, for whom she be.

Sonnet 5.

I Wandred out, awhile agone, And went I know not whither: But, there doe Beauties many a one, Resort, and meet together. And Cupids power will there be showne, If euer you come thither.

For, like two Sunnes, two Beauties bright, I shining saw together. And, tempted by their double light, My eyes I fixt on either: Till both at once, so thral'd my sight, I lou'd, and knew not whether.

Such equall sweet Venus gaue, That I prefer'd not either. And when for loue, I thought to craue, I knew not well of whether. For, one while, This, I wisht to haue, And then, I That, had leifer.

A Louer of the curioust Eye, Might haue been pleasd in either. And so, I must confesse, might I, Had they not been together. Now, both must loue, or both denie, In one, enioy I neither.

But yet at last I scapt the smart, I feard, at comming hither. For, seeing my diuided heart, I chusing, knew not whether. Loue angry grew, and did depart; And now, I care for neither.

SEe; these Trees so ill did hide vs, That the Shepheard hath espide vs: And (as iealous of his cunning) All in hast away is running. To entreat him backe againe, Would be labour spent in vaine. You may therefore, now, betake ye To the Musicke I can make ye; Who, doe purpose my Inuention, Shall pursue my first Intention.

For, in Her (whose worth I tell) Many excellences dwell, Yet vnmention'd: whose perfections Worthy are of best affections. That, which is so rare to find, Both in Man, and Womankind: That; whose absence Loue defaceth, And both Sexes more disgraceth, Then the spight of furrowed Age, Sicknesses, or Sorrowes rage: That's the Iewell so diuine, Which doth on her Forehead shine. And, therewith endowed is Shee, In an excellent degree. CONSTANCY (I meane) the purest Of all Beauties; and the surest. For, who e're doth that possesse, Hath an endlesse Louelinesse. All Afflictions, Labours, Crosses, All our Dangers, Wounds, and losses, Games of Pleasure, we can make, For that matchlesse Womans sake; In whose brest that Virtue bideth: And we ioy what e're betideth. Most deiected Hearts it gladdeth: Twenty thousand glories addeth

Vnto Beauties brightest Ray: And, preserues it from decay. Tis the Salt, that's made to season, Beautie, for the vse of Reason. Tis the Vernish, and the Oyling, Keeps her Colours fresh, from spoiling. Tis an Excellence, whereby Age, though ioyn'd with Pouertie, Hath more deare Affection wonne, Then fresh Youth, and Wealth haue done. Tis a Louelinesse, endearing Beauties, scarce worth note, appearing; Whil'st a fairer fickle Dame, Nothing gaines, but scorne and shame. Further; tis a Beautie, such As I can nor praise too much, Nor frame Measures, to expresse. No; nor any man, vnlesse He, who (more then all men crost) Finds it in that Woman lost; On whose Faith, he would haue pawnd Life, and all he could commaund. Such a Man may by that Misse Make vs know how deare it is; When, o're-charg'd with Griefe, he shall Sigh, and breake his heart withall.

This is that Perfection, which In her fauour makes me rich. All whose Beauties (nam'd before) Else, would but torment me more: And, in hauing this, I find, (What e're haps) a quiet mind: Yea, tis that, which I doe prize, Farre aboue her Lips, her Eyes: Or, that generall Beauty, whence Shines each seuerall Excellence. For, alas! what gaind hath he, Who may clip the fairest Shee (That the name of Woman beares) If, vnhappily, he feares, Any others Worth, may win, What he thought his owne had bin? Him, Base-minded deeme I should, Who (although he were in Hold, Wrapt in chaines) would not disdaine, Loue with her to entertaine That both daughter to a Peere, And most rich and louely were; When a brainelesse Gull shall dare, In her, fauours with him share: Or, the Action of a Player, Robb him of a Hope so faire.

This, I dread not: For, I know, Strained gestures, painted show, Shamelesse boastings, borrowed Iests, Female Looks, gay-plumed Crests, Vowes nor protestations vaine, (Wherwith fooles are made so vaine) Moue her can; saue to contemne, Or perhaps, to laugh at them. Neither can I doubt, or feare, Time shall either change or weare This her Virtue: Or, impaire That which makes her Soule, so faire. In which Trust, great Comforts are, Which, the feare of losse, would marr. Nor hath this my rare Hope stood, So much, in her being good; (With her loue to blessed Things) As in her acknowledgings, From a higher Power to haue them; And her loue, to Him, that gaue them. For, although to haue a mind Naturally to Good inclin'd, (And to loue it) would assure Reason, that it might endure. Yet (since Man was first vniust) Ther's no warrant for such Trust.

Virtues, that most wonder winn, Would conuerted be to Sin; If their flourishings began, From no better Root, then Man. Our best Virtues, when they are Of themselues, we may compare, To the beautie of a Flower, That is blasted in an howre: And, which growing to be fuller, Turnes into some loathed Colour. But, those being freely giuen, And confirm'd in vs from Heauen; Haue a promise on them past: And for euermore shall last; Diamond-like, their lustre clearing, More and more, by vse and wearing. But, if this rare Worth I praise, Should by Fates permission, raise Passions in some gentle Brest, That distemper may his rest; (And be Author of such Treason, As might nigh endanger Reason) Or, inforce his tongue to craue, What another man must haue. Marke, in such a Streight as this, How discreet her dealing is.

Shee, is nothing of their humours, Who, their honor build on Rumours, And, had rather priuat sporting, Then allow of open courting: Nor of theirs, that would seeme holy, By diuulging others folly. Farther is she from their guise, That delight to Tyrannize, Or make boastings, in espying, Others for their fauours dying. Shee, a spirit doth possesse So repleat with Noblenesse, That, if shee be there beloued, Where she ought not to be moued, Equally, to loue againe: Shee, doth so well entertaine That affection; as ther's none Can suppose it, ill bestowne. From deluding, she is free: From disdaine, as farre is shee: And so feelingly beares part, Of what paines another heart; That no curse, of scorned dutie, Shall draw vengeance on her Beautie. Rather, with so tender feare, Of her Honour, and their care,

Shee is toucht; that neither shall, Wrong vnto her selfe, befall; (By the fauour she doth show) Nor will shee neglect them so; As may iust occafion giue, Any way to make them grieue. Hope, she will not let them see, Least they should presuming be; And aspire to that, which none, Euer must enioy but One. From Dispaire, shee keepes them to; Fearing, they might hap to doe, Either through Loues indiscretions, (Or much ouer stirred passions) What, might with their hurt & shame, Into question call her name. And a scandall on her bring, Who is iust in euery thing. Shee hath mark't how others runne; And by them hath learn'd to shunne, Both their fault, who (ouerwise) Erre, by being too precise: And their folly that o're kind, Are to all complaints inclind. For, her wit hath found the way, How a while to hold them play;

And, that in conu••nience shunne, Whereinto, both seeme to runne; By allowing them a scope, Iust betwixt Dispaire, and Hope. Where confin'd, and reaching neither▪ They doe take a part in either: Till, long liuing in suspence, (Tyr'd by her indifference) Time, at last, their Passion weares; Passions wearing, Reason cleares; Reason giues their Iudgement light; Iudgement bringeth all to right. So, their Hope appearing vaine, They become themselues againe. And, with high applauses, fit, For such Virtue, with such Wit; They, that seruice, onely profer, Shee may take, and they may offer. Yet, this course she neuer proues; Saue with those, whose virtuous Loues▪ Vse the noblest meanes of gaining, Fauours, worthy the obtaining. And, if such should chance to erre, (Either 'gainst themselues, or her) In some ouer-sights, when they, Are through Passion led astray.

Shee, so well mans frailtie knowes, With the Darts that Beautie throwes; As she will not adding terror, Breake the heart for one poore error. Rather (if still good they be) Twentie remedies hath she, Gently to apply, where Sense Hath inuaded Reasons Fence; And, without or wound, or scarre, Turnes to Peace, a lawlesse Warre. But, to those whose baser fires, Breath out smoke of such desires, As may dimm with vnpure steames, Any part of Beauties beames. Shee, will daigne no milder way, Those foule burnings to allay; Saue, with such extreme neglect, As shall worke her wisht effect. And, to vse so sharpe a cure, Shees not oft constrained sure. Cause, vpon her forhead, still Goodnesse sits, so fear'd of Ill. That the scorne, and high disdaines, Where with all she entertaines, Those loth'd glaunces; giueth ending, To such flamings in the tynding:

That their cooled Hopes, needs must Freeze Desires, in heat of Lust. Tis a power that neuer lies, In the fair'st immodest eyes. VVantons; tis not your sweet eyings, Forced Passions, fained Dyings, Gestures temptings, Teares beguilings, Dancings, Singings, Kissings, Smilings; Nor those painted sweets, with which, You vnwary men bewitch: (All vnited, nor asunder) That can compasse such a wonder. Or, to winn you loue preuailes, Where her mouing Virtues, failes. Beauties, tis not all those Features, Placed in the fairest Creatures; Though their best they should discouer, That can tempt from Her, a Louer. Tis not, those soft-snowie Brests, Where Loue rockt in pleasure, rests; (And by their continuall motions, Draweth hearts to vaine deuotions) Nor the Nectar that we sip From a hony-dropping Lip: Nor those Eyes, whence Beauties Launces, Wound the heart, with wanton glances:

Nor, those sought Delights, that lye In Loues hidden Treasurie▪ That, can liking gaine, where she, Will the best beloued be. For, should those who thinke they may, Draw my loue from her away; Bring forth all their female Graces, Wrapt me, in their close embraces; Practise all the Art they may; Weepe, or sing, or kisse, or pray, And with sighs and lookes come woe me, When they soonest may vndoe me: One poore thought of Her, would arme me So, as Circe could not harme me. Since beside those Excellences, Wherewith, others please the Senses; She, whom I haue prised so, Yeilds delights, for Reason to. Who could Dote on thing so common, As mere outward handsome Woman? Those halfe-beauties, only winne Fooles, to let affection in. Vulger wits, from Reason shaken, Are with such impostures taken: And, with all their Art in Loue, Wantons, can but Wantons moue.

But, when vnto those, are Ioind; Those things which adorne the Mind: None, their excellences see, But they straight enthralled be. Fooles, and wisemen, worst and best, Subiect are to Loues Arrest. For, when Virtue wooes a Louer, Shee's an vnresisted moouer: That will haue no kind of Nay, And in Loue brookes no delay. She, can make the Sensuall Wights, To restraine their Appetites. And, (her beautie when they see) Spight of Vice, in Loue to be: Yea (although themselues be bad) Praise the good they neuer had. She, hath to her seruice brought, Those, that Her, haue set at nought; And can fayre enough appeare, To enflame the most seueare. She, hath oft allured out, The religiously deuout, From their Cloysters, & their Vowes▪ To embrace what She allowes: And, to such contentments come, As blind zeale had bard them from.

While (her lawes mis-vnderstood) They did ill for loue of Good. Where I finde true worth to be, Sweetest are their lipps to me: And embraces tempt me to, More then outward Beauties doe. That my firme beleefe is this: If euer I doe amisse; Seeming-Good, the bayt will lay, That to ill shall me betray: Since, where shewes of Goodnesse are, I am oft emboldned there, Freedomes so permit, and vse; Which, I else-where doe refuse: For because I thinke they meane, To allow no deed vncleane. Yet, where two, loue Virtue shall, Both at once, they seldome fall. For, when one hath thoughts of ill, Tother helpes e••ile them still. My faire Virtues powre is this. And, that powre the Beauty is, Which doth make Her, here exprest, Equally both Faire, and Blest. This, was that contenting Grace, Which affection made me place,

With so deare respect, that neuer Can it faile; but, last for euer. This; a Seruant made me sworne, Who before time, held in scorne, To yeeld Vassilage, or Duty, Though, vnto the Queene of Beauty. Yet, that I her Seruant am, It shall more be to my fame; Then to owne these Woods and Downes: Or be Lord of fiftie Townes. And my Mistresse to be deem'd, Shall more honor be esteem'd; Then those Titles to acquire, Which most women, most desire. Yea, when you a woman shall, Countesse, or a Dutchesse call; That respect it shall not moue, Neither gaine her halfe such loue, As to say, Loe, this is she, That supposed is to be, Mistresse to PHIL••ARETE. And, that louelie Nymph, which he, In a Pastorall Poem fam'd, And FAIRE-VIRTVE, there hath nam'd. Yea, some Ladies (tenne to one) If not many (now vnknowne)

Will be very well apaid, When by chance, She heares it said Shee, that Faire-one is; whom I, Here haue prais'd, concealedly. And, though now this Ages pride, May so braue a Hope deride. Yet, when all their Glories passe As the thiug that neuer was; (And on Monuments appeare, That, they ere had breathing here) Who enuy it: Shee shall thriue In her Fame▪ And honor'd liue, Whilst Great-Bri••taines Shepheards, sing English, in their Sonnetting. And, who ere in future dayes, Shall bestow the vtmost praise, On his Loue; that any Man, Attribute to Creature can. Twill be this; that he hath dared, His, and Mine to haue compared. Oh! what starres did shine on me, When her Eyes I first did see? And how good was their aspect, When we first did both affect? For, I neuer since to changing Was enclind, or thought of ranging.

Me, so oft my Fancy drew, Here and there, that I nere knew Where to place Desire, before, So, that range it might no more. But, as he that passeth by, Where in all her iollitie, Floras riches in a row, Doth in seemely order grow: And a thousand Flowers stand, Bending as to kisse his hand; Out of which delightfull store, One he may take; and no more. Long he pausing, doubteth whether, Of those faire ones he should gather. First, the Primrose Courts his eyes; Then, the Cowslip he espies; Next, the Pansey seemes to wooe him; Then, Carnations bow vnto him: Which, whil'st that enamour'd Swaine From the stalke intends to straine, (As halfe fearing to be seene) Prettily her leaues betweene Peepes the Violet: pale, to see, That her Virtues sleighted be. Which, so much his liking winnes, That, to ceaze her, he beginnes.

Yet, before he stoopt so low, He, his wanton eye did throw On a Stemm that grew more high, And the Rose did there espie: Who, beside her pretious sent (To procure his eyes content) Did display her goodly Brest; Where he found at full exprest, All the Good, that Nature showers On a thousand other Flowers. Wherewith he, affected, takes it; His beloued Flowre he makes it. And, without desire of more, Walkes through all, he saw before. So, I wandring, but erewhile, Through the Garden of this Ile, Saw rich Beauties (I confesse) And in number, numberlesse. Yea, so differing louely to, That, I had a world to doe, Ere I could set vp my rest, Where to chuse; and chuse the best. One I saw, whose Haire excelled, On anothers Brow there dwelled, Such a Maiestie: it seemed, Shee, was best to be esteemed.

This, had with her Speeches won me, That, with Silence, had vndone me. On her Lips, the Graces hung; Tother, charm'd me with her tongue. In her Eyes, a third did beare, That, which did anew insnare. Then a fourth did fairer show; Yet, wherein I did not know. Onely this perceiued I, Somewhat pleas'd my Fantasie. Now, the Wealth I most esteemed; Honour then, I better deemed. Next, the loue of Beautie ceazd me, And, then Virtue better pleas'd me. Iuno's loue, I nought esteem'd, Whilst a Venus fairer seem'd. Nay, both could not Me suffice; Whilst a Pallas was more wise. Though I found enough in One, To content, if still alone. Amarillis, I did wooe; And I courted Phillis to. Daphne, for her loue I chose; Cloris for that Damaske Rose, In her Cheeke, I held as deare; Yea, a thousand lik••, welneere.

And, in loue with altogether, Feared the enioying either; Cause, to be of one possest, Bar'd the hope of all the rest. Thus I fondly far'd, till Fate, Which (I must confesse in that Did a greater fauour to me, Then the world can malice doe me) Shew'd to me that matchlesse Flowre, Subiect for this Song of our. Whose perfection, hauing eied, Reason instantly espied; That, Desire (which rang'd abroad) There, would find a Period. And no maruell, if it might: For, it there hath all delight; And in her hath Nature placed, What each seuerall faire one graced. Nor am I, alone delighted, With those Graces all vnited; Which the Senses eie, doth finde, Scattered, throughout Womankind. But, my Reason finds perfections, To enflame my Soules affections. Yea, such virtues she possesseth, As with firmest pleasures blesseth:

And keepes sound, that Beauties state, Which would else grow ruinate. In this Flowre, are sweets such store; I shall neuer, wish for more. Nor be tempted out to stray, For the fairest Budds in May. Let who lift (for me) aduance, The admired Flowres of France, Let who will; praise, and behold, The reserued Marigold. Let the sweet breath't Violet, now, Vnto whom she pleaseth, bow. And the fairest Lillie, spread Where she will, her golden head. I haue such a Flowre to weare, That for those I doe not care. Neuer shall my Fancie range, Nor once thinke againe of change: Neuer will I; (neuer more) Greeue, or sigh, as heretofore: Nor within the Lodgings lie, Of Dispaire, or Iealousie. Let the young and happy Swaines, Playing on the Britan Plaines: Court vnblamd, their Sheepherdesses. And with their gold-curled Tresses;

Toy vncensur'd; vntill I Grutch at their prosperitie. Let all Times; both Present, Past, And the Age, that shall be last, Vaunt the Beauties they bring forth. I haue found in One, such worth: That (content) I neither care, What the best before me were: Nor desire to liue, and see, Who shall Faire hereafter be. For, I know the hand of Nature, Will not make a fairer Creature. Which, because succeeding Dayes, Shall confesse; and adde their praise, In approuing, what my tongue, Ere they had their being, sung. Once againe, come lend an eare, And, a Rapture you shall heare, (Though I tast no Thespian Spring) Will amaze you, whilst I sing. I doe feele new Straines inspiring, And to such braue heights aspiring, That my Muse will touch a Key, Higher, then you heard to day. I haue Beauties to vnfold, That deserue a Penn of Gold.

Sweets, that neuer dream'd of were. Things vnknowne: and such, as Eare Neuer heard a Measure sound; Since the Sunne first ran his Round. When Apelles limb'd to life, Loathed Vulcans louely wife. With such Beauties, he did trim, Each sweet Feature, and each Limbe▪ And, so curiously did place, Euery well-becomming Grace. That twas said, e're he could draw Such a Peece; he naked saw Many women in their Prime, And the fairest of that Time. From all which, he parts did take, Which aright disposed, make Perfect Beautie. So, when you Know, what I haue yet to show: It will seeme to passe so farre, Those things which expressed are. That, you will suppose I'ue beene Priuiledg'd; where I have seene, All the Good, that's spread in parts, Through a thousand womens hearts. (With their fair'st conditions lye, Bare, without Hypocrisie)

And, that I, haue tooke from thence, Each dispersed Excellence. To expresse Her, who hath gained More, then euer One obtained. And yet soft, (I feare) in vaine, I haue boasted such a Straine. Apprehensions euer are Greater, then expression farre. And, my stryuing to disclose What I know; hath made me lose My Inuentions better part: And, my Hopes exceed my Art. Speake I can; yet think I more, Words compar'd with Thoughts, are poore. And I find, had I begun, Such a Straine; it would be done, When we number all the sands, Washt ore periur'd Goodwins lands. For, of things, I should indite; Which, I know, are infinite. I doe yeeld, my Thoughts did clime, Far aboue the powre of Ryme: And no wonder, it is so; Since, there is no Art can show; Red in Roses, white in Snow; Nor expresse how they doe grow.

Yea, since Bird, Beast, Stone, and Tree, (That inferior Creatures be) Beauties haue, which we confesse, Lines vnable to expresse: They more hardly can enroule, Those, that doe adorne a Soule. But, suppose my Measures could, Reach the height, I thought they would. Now, relate, I would not tho; What did swell within me so. For, if I should all discrie, You would know asmuch as I: And those Clownes, the Muses hate, Would of things aboue them prate. Or, with their prophaning eies, Come to view those Misteries, Whereof, (since they disesteem'd them) Heauen, hath vnworthy deemd them. And beside; It seemes to me, That your eares nigh tired be. •• perceiue; the fire that charmeth, And inspireth me; scarce warmeth Your chill harts. Nay sure; were I Melted into Poesie, •• should not a Measure hit, Though Apollo promted it)

Which should able be to leaue, That in you, which I conceaue. You are cold; and here I may Wast my vitall heat away, E're you will be moou'd so much, As to feele one perfect touch Of those Swee••s, which yet conceal'd Swell my brest, to be reueal'd. Now, my Words, I therefore cease: That, my mounting Thoughts, in peace, May alone, those pleasures share, Whereof, Lines vnworthy are. And so, you an end doe see Of my Song; though long it be. NO sooner had the Shepheard Philaret, To this Description his last period set: But, instantly, descending from a Wood, (Which, on a rising ground, adioyning stood) A troupe of Satyrs to the view of all, Came dauncing of a new-deuised Brall. The Measures they did pase, by Him, were taught th•• Who, to so rare a gentlenesse had brought them, That he, had learnd their rudenesse an obseruing, Of such respect vnto the well-deseruing,

As they became to no men else a terrour, But such, as did persist in wilfull errour: And they, the Ladies made no whit affeard, Though since that time they some great men haue scard. Their Dance, the W••ipping of Abuse they nam'd; And, though the Shepherd since that, hath bin blam'd, Yet, now tis daily seene in euery towne; And ther's no Countrey-Dance thats better knowne: Nor, that hath gain'd a greater commendation, ••Mongst those that loue an honest recreation. This Scene presented; from a Groue was heard, A set of Viols; and, there was prepar'd A Countrey Banquet, which this Shepheard made, To entertaine the Ladies, in the shade. And tis supposd, his Song prolonged was Of purpose, that it might be brought to passe. ••o well it was performd, that each one deem'd, The Banquet might the Citie haue beseem'd. Yet, better was their Welcome then their Fare: Which they perceiued, and the merrier were. One Beautie tho, there sate amongst the rest; That lookt as sad, as if her heart opprest With Loue had bene. Whom Philaret beholding, ••it so demurely, and her Armes enfolding. Lady (quoth he) am I, or this poore cheere, ••he cause that you so melancholy are? ••or, if the Obiect of your thoughts be higher, ••t fits nor me to know them; nor enquire. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 if from me it commeth, that offends, •• seeke the Cause, that I may make amends.

Kind Swaine (said she) it is nor so, nor so. No fault in you, nor in your Cheere I know. Nor doe I thinke there is a Thought in me; That can too worthy of your knowledge be. Nor haue I, many a day, more pleasure had, Then here I find; though I haue seemed sad. My hart, is sometime heauy, when I smile; And when I greeue, I often sing the while. Nor is it sadnesse, that doth me possesse, But, rather, musing with much seriousnesse, Vpon that multitude of sighs and teares; With those innumerable doubts and feares: Through which, you passed▪ ere you could acquire▪ A setled Hope of gaining your Desire. For, you dar••d loue a Nymph, so great, and faire, As might haue brought a Prince vnto Dispaire. And sure, the excellencie of your Passions, Did then produce as excellent expressions. If therefore, Me, the sute may well become; And, if to you it be not wearisome: In name of all these Ladies, I entreat, That, one of those sad Straines you would repeate, Which you composd; when greatest discontent Vnsought-for helpe, to your Inuention lent. Fayre Nymph (said Philarer) I will doe so. For, though your Shepheard, doth no Courtship know He hath Humanitie. And, what's in me To doe you Seruice, may commanded be. So, taking downe a Lute, that neere him hung, He gaue't his Boy, who plaid; whilst this, he sung.

Ah me! Am I the Swaine, That late from sorrow free, Did all the cares on earth disdaine? And still vntoucht, as at some safer Games, Plaid with the burning coals of Loue, & Beautis flames? Wast I, could diue, & soūd each passions secret depth at will; And, frō those huge ouerwhelmings, rise, by help of Reason stil? And am I now, oh heauens! for trying this in vaine, So sunke, that I shall neuer rise againe? Then let Dispaire, set Sorrows string, For Strains that dolefulst be. And I will sing, Ah me.

But why, Oh fatall Time! Dost thou constraine that I, Should perish, in my youths sweet prime? I, but a while agoe (you cruell Powers) Inspight of Fortune, cropt contentmēts sweetest flowers. And yet, vnscorned, serue a gentle Nymph, the fairest Shee, That euer was belou'd of Man, or Eyes did euer see. Yea, one, whose tender heart, would rue for my distresse; Yet I, poore I; must perish nay-the lesse. And (which much more augmēts my care) Vnmoaned I must dye: And, no man er'e, Kn••w why.

Thy leaue, My dying Song, Yet take, ere griefe bereaue, The breath which I enioy too long. Tel thou that Fair-one this; my soul prefers, Her loue aboue my life, and that I died hers: And let Him be, for euermore, to her remembrance deare, Who lou'd the very thought of Her, whilst he remained here. And now, farewell thou Place, of my vnhappy birth; Where once I breathd the sweetest aire on earth. Since me, my wonted ioyes forsake; And all my trust deceiue: Of all, I take My leaue.

Farewell, Sweet Groues to you: You Hils, that highest dwell; And all you humble Vales, adue. You wanton Brookes, and solitary Rockes, My deare companions all, and you, my tender flockes. Forevvell my Pipe, and all these pleasing Songs, vvhose mouing straines Delighted once the fairest Nymphes, that daunce vpon the Plaines. You Discontents (whose deep, & ouer deadly smart, Haue, without pitie, broke the truest heart) Sighs, Teares, and euery sad annoy, That erst did with me dwell, And all others Ioy, Farewell.

Adue, Faire Shepherdesses: Let Garlands of sad Yewe, Adorne your daintie golden Tresses. I, that loud you; and often with my Quill, Made musick that delighted Fountain Groue, & Hill: I, whom you loued so; and with a sweet and chast embrace, (Yea, with a thousand rarer fauors) would vouchsaf to grace. I, now must leaue you all alone, of Loue to plaine: And neuer Pipe, nor neuer Sing againe. I must, for euermore, bee gone; And therefore, bid I you, And euery one, Adue.

I dye! For oh, I feele Deaths horrors, drawing nie; And all this frame of Nature, reele. My hopelesse heart, dispairing of reliefe, Sinks vnderneath the heauy weight of saddest griefe. Which, hath so ruthles torn, so rackt, (o torturd' euery vaine; All comfort comes too late, to haue it euer cur'd againe. My swimming head, begins to dance Deaths giddy round. A shuddering chilnes doth each sence confound: Benum'd, is my cold-sweating brow; A dimnesse shuts my eye; And now, oh now, I die.

SO mouingly, these Lines He did expresse, And, to a Tune so full of heauinesse, As if indeed, his purpose had bin past, To liue no longer then the Song did last. Which in the Nymphs, such tender passion bred. That some of them, did teares of pitty shed. This, she perceiuing, who first craud the Song; Shepheard she said; although it be no wrong, Nor griefe to you, those passions to recall, Which heretofore you haue beene paind withall, But Comforts rather; since they now, are ouer, And you (it seemeth) an enioying Louer. Yet, some young Nymphs among vs I doe see, Who so much mooued with your passions be: That if, my aime, I taken haue aright, Their thoughts wil hardly, let them sleepe to night. I dare not therefore, beg of you againe, To sing another of the selfesame Straine: For feare, it breed within them, more vnrest, Then womens weakenesses, can well disgest. Yet, in your Measures, such content you haue; That, one Song more I will presume to craue. And, if your Memorie preserues of those, Which you of your Affections did compose, Before you saw this Mistresse: Let vs heare, What kind of passions, then, within you were. To which request, he instantly obaid; And, this ensuing Song, both sung and plaid.

Sonnet. 2.

YOu gentle Nymphs, that on these meadows play And oft relate the loues of Shepherds young: Come, sit you downe; for, if you please to stay, Now may you heare an vncouth Passion sung. A Lad there is, and I am that poore Groome; That faln in loue, & cannot tell with whom.

Oh doe not smile at sorrow as a Iest; With others cares good Natures mooued be: And, I should weepe, if you had my vnrest. Then, at my griefe, how, can you merry be? Ah, where is tender pitie now become? I am in loue, and cannot tell with whom.

I, that haue oft the rarest features viewd, And Beautie in her best perfection seene: I, that haue laught at them that Loue pursude▪ And euer free, from such affections beene. Lo now at last, so cruell is my doome; I am in loue, and cannot tell with whom.

My heart is full nigh bursting with desire, Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow:

My brest doth burne, but she that lights the fire, I neuer saw, nor can I come to know. So great a blisse my fortune keepes my from. That though I dearly loue; I know not whō.

Ere I had twice foure Springs, renewed seene, The force of Beautie I began to proue; And, ere I nine yeares old, had fully beene, It taught me how to frame a Song of Loue. And, little thought I, this day should haue come, Before that I to loue, had found out whom.

For, on my Chinn, the mossy downe you see, And, in my vaines, well-heated blood doth glow: Of Summers I haue seene twice three times three, And, fast, my youthfull time away doth goe. That much I feare, I aged shall become: And still complaine; I loue I know not whom.

Oh! why had I, a heart bestow'd on me, To cherish deare affections, so enclind? Since, I am so vnhappy borne to be No Obiect, for so true a Loue to find. When I am dead, it will be mist of some: Yet, now I liue; I loue, I know not whom.

I, to a thousand beautious Nymphs am knowne; A hundred Ladies fauours doe I weare: I, with as many, halfe in loue am growne; Yet none of them (I find) can be my Deare. Me thinks, I haue a Mistresse, yet to come; Which makes me sing; I loue I know not whom

There liues no Swaine doth stronger passion proue, For her, whom most he couets to possesse; Then doth my heart, that being full of Loue, Knowes not to whom, it may the same professe. For, he that is despisd, hath sorrow, some: But he hath more; that loues, and knowes not whom▪

Knew I my Loue, as many others doe, To some one obiect might my thoughts be bent: So, they diuided should not wandring goe, Vntill the Soules vnited force be spent. As his, that seekes, and neuer finds a Home: Such is my rest; that loue, & know not whom.

Those, whom the frownes of iealous friends diuide, May liue to meet, and descant on their woe: And he, hath gaind a Lady for his Bride, That durst not woe her Mayd, a while agoe.

But oh! what end vnto my Hopes can come? That am in loue, and cannot tel with whom.

Poore Collin, grieues that he was late disdaind: And Cloris, doth for Willy's absence pine. Sad Thirsis, weeps, for his sicke Phaebe paind. But, all their sorrowes cannot equall mine. A greater care alas, on me is come: I am in loue, and cannot tell with whom.

Narcissus-like, did I affect my shade; Some shaddow yet, I had, to dote vpon. Or, did I loue, some Image of the dead, Whose substance had not breathed long agone; I might dispaire, and so an end would come; B••t, oh, I loue! and cannot tell you whom.

Once in a Dreame, me thought, my Loue I view'd; But, neuer waking, could her face behold: And doubtles, that Resemblance was but shew'd, That more, my tyred heart torment it should. For, since that time, more grieu'd I am become; And more in loue; I cannot tell with whom.

When on my bed at night, to rest I lye, My watchfull eyes, with teares bedew my cheeke: And then, oh would it once were day, I crie; Yet when it comes, I am as far to seeke. For, who can tell, though all the earth he rome; Or when, or where, to find hee knowes not whom?

Oh! if she be among the beautious traines, Of all you Nymphs, that haunt the siluer ••ills; Or, if you know her, Ladies of the Plaines, Or you, that haue your Bowers, on the Hills. Tell if you can, who will my loue become: Or I shal die, and neuer know for whom.

THe Ladies smiled oft, when this they heard, Because the Passion strange to them appeard. And stranger was it; since, by his expression, (As well as by his owne vnfain'd confession) It seemed true. But, hauing sung it out: And seeing, scarcely manners, they it thought To vrge him farther, Thus to them he spake. Faire Ladies: for as much as doubt you make To re-command me: Of mine owne accord, Another Straine, I freely will afford.

It shall not be of Loue; nor any Song, Which to the praise of Beautie doth belong. But, that hereafter, when you hence are gone, Your Shepheard may be sometime thought vpon. To shew you also, what content the Field, And louely Groue, to honest Minds may yeeld. That you my humble Fate, may not despise; When you returne vnto your braueries. And not suppose, that in these homely Bowers, I hugg my Fortune, cause I know not yours. Such Lines Ile sing, as were composd, by me, When some proud Courtiers, where I hap't to be, Did (like themselues) of their owne glories prate; As in contempt, of my more happy state. And these they be.—

Sonnet.

LOrdly Gallants, tell mee this, (Though my safe content you weigh not) In your Greatnesse what one blisse, Haue you gain'd, that I enioy not? You haue Honors, you haue Wealth, I haue Peace, and I haue Health: All the day, I merry make, And, at night, no care I take.

Bound to none, my Fortunes be; This, or that mans fall, I feare not: Him I loue, that loueth me; For the rest, a pinne I care not. You are sad, when others chafe, And grow merry as they laugh; I, that hate it, and am free, Laugh and weepe, as pleaseth me.

You may boast of fauours showne, Where your seruice is applied▪ But, my pleasures are mine owne, And to no mans humours tyed. You oft flatter, soothe, and faine, I, such basenesse doe disdaine: And to none, be slaue I would, Though my fetters might be gold.

By great Titles, some beleeue, Highest honours are attained; And yet Kings haue power to giue, To their Fools, what these haue gained. Where they fauour, there they may, All their Names of Honour lay: But, I looke not, rais'd to be, Till mine owne wing, carrie me.

Seeke to raise your Titles higher, They are Toyes not worth my sorrow: Those that we to day admire, Prooue the Ages scorne to morrow. Take your Honors; let me find, Virtue, in a free-borne Mind: This, the greatest Kings that be, Cannot giue, nor take from me.

Though I vainly doe not vaunt, Large demesnes, to feed my pleasure: I haue fauours where you want, That would buy respect with treasure. You haue lands lie here, and there; But my wealth is euery where: And, this, addeth to my store: Fortune, cannot make me poore.

Say, you purchase with your pelfe, Some respect, where you importune. Those may loue me for my selfe, That regard you for your Fortune. Rich, or borne of high degree, Fooles, as well as you may bee: But, that ••eace, in which I liue, No Discent, nor Wealth can giue.

If you boast, that you may gaine, The respect of high-borne Beauties: Know, I neuer wooed in vaine, Nor preferred scorned Duties. Shee I loue, hath all delight; Rosie-red, with Lillie-white: And, who er'e your Mistresse be, Flesh and Blood as good as Shee.

Note, of Me, was neuer tooke, For my Woman-like perfections: But, so like a man, I looke, It hath gaind me best Affections. For my loue, as many showers Haue been wept, as haue for yours. And, yet none doth me condemne For Abuse, or scorning them.

Though of Dainties, you haue store, To delight a choyser Pallat: Yet your taste is pleas'd no more, Then is mine in one poore Sallat. You to please your Senses, feed; But, I eat, good Blood to breed. And am most delighted than, When I spend it like a man.

Though you Lord it ouer me, You in vaine thereof haue braued: For, those Lusts my Seruants be, Whereunto your minds are slaued. To your selues you wise appeare: But alas, deceiu'd you are. You doe foolish me esteeme, And are that, which I doe seeme.

When your faults I open lay, You are moou'd, and madd with vexing; But, you ne're could doe or say, Ought to driue me to perplexing. Therefore, my despised power Greater is, by farre, then your. And, what er'e you thinke of me, In your mindes, you poorer be.

You are pleased, more or lesse, As men well or ill report you; And, shew discontentednesse, When the Times forbeare to court you. That, in which my pleasures be, No man can diuide from me. And, my Care, it addes not to What-so, others say, or doe.

Be not proud, because you view, You by thousands are attended: For alas, it is not You, But your Fortune, tha's be-friended. Where I show of loue haue go••, Such a danger feare I not. Since, they nought can seeke of me; But, for loue, belou'd to be.

When your Hearts haue euery thing, You, are pleasantly disposed: But, I can both laugh and sing, Though my Foes haue me enclosed. Yea, when dangers ••oe doe hemm, I delight in scorning them, More then you, in your renowne; Or a King can in his Crowne.

You doe brauely domineere, Whilst the Sunne vpon you shineth. Yet, if any storme appeare, Basely then, your mind declineth. But, or shine, or raine, or Blow, I, my Resolutions know. Liuing, Dying, Thrall, or Free, At one height my Mind shall be.

When in thraldome, I haue laine, Me, not worth your thought you prized. But, your malice was in vaine, For, your fauours, I despised. And, how ere you value me, I, with praise, shall thought on be; VVhen the world esteemes you not, And your Names shall be forgot.

In these thoughts my riches are, Now, though poore or meane you deeme me; I am pleasd, and doe not care, How the Times, or you esteeme me. For, these Toyes that make you gay, Are but Play-games for a day. And, when Nature craues her due; I, as braue shall be, as you,

HEre Philaret did giue his Song an ending, To which the Nymphs, so seriously attending, About him sate; as if they had supposed, He still had somewhat more, to be disclosed. And, well they knew not; whether did belong, Most praise vnto the Shepheard, or his Song.

For, though (they must confesse) they often heare, Those Layes, which much more deeply learned are: Yet, when they well considerd of the Place, With how vnlikely (in their thought) it was, To giue them hope of hearing such a Straine; Or, that so young, and so obscure a Swaine, Should, such a matchlesse Beauties fauour get, And know her worth so well, to sing of it. They wondred at it. And some thus surmizd, That Hee a greater man was, so disguisd: Or else, that Shee, whom he so much had praisd Some Goddesse was: that those his Measures raisd, Of purpose, to that rare-attained height, In Enui's and presuming Art's despight. But, whilst they musing, with thēselues, bethought Which way, out of this Shepheard to haue wrought, What Nymph this Fair-one was; and where she liu'd. Loe, at that very instant there arriu'd Three men, that by their Habits Courtiers seemd: For (though obscure) by some he is esteemd Among the greatest: who do not contemne In his retyred walkes, to visit him. And there they tast those pleasures of the mind, Which they, can nor in Court, nor Citie find. Some news or message, these new guests had broght him, And, to make hast away (it seemes) besought him. For, instantly he rose: And that his nurture, Might not be taxed by a rude departure, Himselfe excusing, he those Nymphs did pray: His noble Friends might bring them on their way:

Who, as it seemes (he said) were therefore come; That they might wait vpon them to their home. So, with their fauour, he departed thence: And (as they thought) to meet her Excellence, Of whom he sung. Yet many deeme that this, But an Idea of a MISTRESSE is. Because to none, he yet had daind the telling, Her proper Name; nor shown her place of Dwelling.

When he was gone: a Lady from among Those Nymphs; tooke vp his Lute, & sung this Song.

The Nymphs Song.

GEntle Swaine, good speed befall thee; And in Loue still prosper thou: Fu••ure Times shall happy call thee, Though, thou lie neglected, now. Virtues Louers, shall commend thee; And perpetuall Fame, attend thee.

Happy are these woody Mountaines, In whose shad dowes thou doest hide:

And as happy, are those Fountaines, By whose murmures thou doest bide. For, Contents are here excelling; More, then in a Princes dwelling.

These thy Flocks doe clothing bring thee, And thy food, out of the Fields: Pretty Songs, the Birds doe sing thee; Sweet perfumes the Meddowe yeelds: And, what more is worth the seeing? Heauen and Earth thy prospect being?

None comes hither, who denies thee, Thy Contentments (for despight) Neither any that enuies thee, That, wherein thou dost delight. But, all happy things are meant thee? And what euer may content thee.

Thy Affection Reason measures; And distempers none it feeds: Still, so harmelesse are thy pleasures, That no others griefe it breeds.

And, if night, beget thee sorrow; Seldome stayes it, till the morrow.

Why doe foolish men so vainely, Seeke contentment in their store? Since they may perceiue so plainly, Thou art rich, in being poore? And that they are vext about it; Whilst thou merry art without it.

VVhy are idle braines deuising, How high Titles may be gaind? Since, by those poore toyes despising, Thou hast higher things obtaind? For the man who scornes to craue them, Greater is, then they that haue them.

If all men could tast that sweetnesse, Thou dost in thy meanesse know; Kings would be to seeke, where Greatnesse, And their honours to bestow. For, it such content would breed them; As they would not thinke they need them.

And, if those who so aspiring, To the Court-preferments bee;

Knew how worthy the desiring; Those things are, enioyed by thee. Wealth and Titles, would hereafter: Subiects be, for scorne and laughter.

He that Courtly stiles affected, Should a May-Lords honour haue. He that heaps of wealth collected, Should be counted as a slaue. And the man with few'st things cumbred, VVith the Noblest should be numbred.

Thou, their folly hast descerned, That neglect thy mind, and thee; And to sight them, thou hast learned, Of what Title er'e they be. That; no more with thee, obtaineth; Then with them, thy meannes gaineth.

All their Riches, Honours, Pleasures; Poore vnworthy trifles seeme; (If compared with thy Treasures) And, doe merit no esteeme. For, they true contents prouide thee; And from them can none diuide thee.

Whether thralled, or exiled; Whether poore or rich thou be: Whether praised, or reuiled; Not a rush, it is to thee. This, nor that, thy rest doth win thee: But, the mind, which is within thee.

Then, oh why, so madly dote we, On those things, that vs ore-lode? Why, no more, their vainnesse note we; But still make of them a God? For, alas! they still deceiue vs; And, in greatest need they leaue vs.

Therefore, haue the Fates prouided, Well (thou happy Swaine) for thee: That mayst, here, so farre diuided, From the worlds distractions be. Thee, distemper let them neuer; But, in peace continue euer.

In these lonely Groues, enioy thou, That contentment here begun: And, thy houres, so pleasd, employ thou, Till the latest glasse bee run.

From a Fortune so assured: By no temptings be allured.

Much good doo't them with their glories, Who in Courts of Princes dwell. We haue read in Antique stories, How some rose, and how they fell. And tis worthy well the heeding; Ther's like End, wher's like proceeding.

Be thou; still, in thy affection, To thy Noble Mistresse, true: Let her (neuer-matcht) perfection, Be the same, vnto thy view. And, let neuer other Beautie, Make thee faile, in Loue, or Dutie.

For, if thou shalt not estranged From thy Course professed, ••e. But remaine for aye vnchanged; Nothing shall haue power on thee. Those that sleight thee now, shall loue thee, And, in spight of spight, approue thee.

So those Vertues now neglected, To be more esteem'd; will come: Yea, those Toyes so much affected, Many shall be wooed from. And, the golden Age (deplored) Shall, by some, be thought restored.

THus sang the Nymph: so rarely-well inspired, That all the hearers, her braue Strains admired. And, as I heard, by some that there attended, When this her Song was finisht, all was ended.