The shepheards pipe

To his much loued friend Mr W. Browne of the Inner Temple. D. D.

Cuttie.

WIlly well met, now whiles thy flockes do feed So dangerlesse, and free from any feare; Lay by thy Hooke, and take thy pleasant Reed, And with thy melody reblesse mine eare, Which (vpon Lammas last) and on this plaine, Thou plaidst so sweetly to thy skipping Traine.

Willy.

I Cutty, then I plaid vnto my sheepe Notes apt for them, but farre vnfit for thee; How should my layes (alas) true measure keepe With thy choyce eares, or make thee melodie: For in thy straine thou do'st so farre exceede, Thou canst not rellish such my homely Reede.

Cuttie.

Thy nicenesse shewes thy cunning, nothing more, Yet since thou seem'st so lowly in thy thought; (Who in thy Pastorall veine, and learned lore Art so much prais'd; so farre and neere art sought.) Lend me thine eares, and thou shalt heare me sing In praise of Shepheards, and of thee their King. MY loued WILLY, if there be a Man That neuer heard of a browne colour'd Swan; Whose tender Pinions scarcely fledg'd in show Could make his way with whitest Swans in Poe; Or if there be among the Spawne of earth, That thinkes so vilely of a shepheards birth, That though he tune his Reed in meanest key, Yet in his braine holds not heauen, earth, and sea: Then let him know, thou art that yong browne Swan, That through the winding streames of Albion Taking thy course dost seeme to make thy pace With flockes full plum'd equall in loue and grace; And thou art he (that though thy humble straines Do moue delight to those that loue the plaines:) Yet to thy selfe (as to thy sort) is giuen A IACOBS staffe, to take the height of Heauen; And with a naturall Cosmography, To comprehend the earths rotunditie: Besides the working plummet of thy braine, Can sound the deepes, and secrets of the maine: For if the Shepheard a true figure be Of Contemplation (as the learn'd agree) Which in his seeming rest, doth (restlesse) moue About the Center, and to Heau'n aboue; And in his thought is onely bounded there, See's Natures chaine fastned to IOVES high Chaire,

Then thou (that art of PAN the sweetest Swaine And farre transcending all his lowly traine) In thy discoursiue thought, do'st range as farre Nor canst thou erre; led by thine owne faire starre. Thought hath no prison and the minde is free Vnder the greatest King and tyrannie. Though low thou seem'st thy Genius mounts the Hill Where heauenly Nectar doth from Ioue distill; Where Bayes still grows (by thunder not struck down) The Victors-Garland; and the Poets-Crowne, And vnderneath the Horse-foote-foun•…•… doth flow, Which giues Wit verdure, and makes learning grow. To this faire Hill (from stormes and tempests free.) Thou oft repair'st for Truthes discouery, A prospect vpon all times wandring mazes Displaying vanity; disclosing graces, Nay in some cliffe it leades the eye beyond The times horizon stripping sea and land. And farther (not obscurely) doth deuine All future times: Heere do the Muses shine, Heere dignity with safety do combine, Pleasure with merite make a louely twine. Vitam vitalem they shall euer leade That mount this hill and Learning's path do treade: Heere admiration without enui's wonne, All in the light, but in the heate sit none. And to this Mount thou dost translate thine Essence Although the plaines containe thy corporal presence, Where though poore peoples misery thou shewe That vnder g•…•…iping Lords they vndergoe, And what content they (that do lowest lye) Receiue from Good-men; that do sit on hye. And in each witty Ditty (that surpasses) Dost (for thy loue) make strife'mongst Country lasses

Yet in thy humble straine; Fame makes thee rise And strikes thy mounting forehead'•…•…ainst the skies Renowned friend; what Trophe may I raise To memorize thy name; would I could praise (In any meane) thy worth; strike enuy dumbe, But I dye heere; thou liu'st in time to come; States haue their Period statues lost with rust: Soules to Elizium, Nature yeelds to dust, All monuments of Armes and Power decay, But that which liues to an Eternall day, Letters preserue; Nay Gods, with mortall men Do simpathize by vertue of the penne. And so shalt thou: sweete Willy then proceede And in eternall merite fame thy Reede. PAN to thy fleeced numbers giue increase And Pales to thy loue-thoughts giue true peace Let faire Feronia (Goddesse of the woods) Preserue thy yong Plants multiply thy buds. And whiles thy Rams do Tup, thy Ewes do twyn Do thou in peacefull shade (from mens rude dyn) Adde Pinyons to thy Fame: whose actiue wit With Hermes winged cap doth suite most fit.

Christopher Brooke.