Englands mourning garment worne heere by plaine shepheards, in memorie of their sacred mistresse, Elizabeth; queene of vertue while she liued, and theame of sorrow being dead. To the which is added the true manner of her emperiall funerall. With many new additions, being now againe the second time reprinted, which was omitted in the first impression. After which followeth the shepheards spring-song, for entertainment of King Iames our most potent soueraigne. ...

The Shepheards Spring-Song, in gratulation of the royall, happy, and flourishing entrance to the Maiestie of England, by the most potent and prudent Soueraigne Iames King of Eng∣land, Scotland, France, and Ireland.

Collin.

THenot and Chloris, red lipt Driope, Shepheards, Nymphs Swaines, all that delight in fielde Liuing by harmelesse thrift your fat heards yeelde Why slacke yee now your loued company? Vp sluggards, learne, the larkes do mount and sing. Their cheerefull Carrolls, to salute our King.

The Mauis blacke-bird, and the little Wren, The Nitingale vpon the hawthorne brire, And all the wingd Musitions in a Quire, Do with their notes rebuke dull lazie men. Vp shepeheards, vp; your slouth breeds al your shames You sleep like beasts, while birds salute K. Iames.

The gray eyde morning with a blustering cheeke, Like Englands, Royall Rose mixt red and white, Summons all eies to pleasure and delight: Behold the euenings deaws doe vpward reeke, Drawn by the Sun, which now doth gild the skie, With his light-giuing and world-cheering eie.

O thats well done; I see your cause of stay, Was to adorne your tempels with fresh flowers: And gather beautie to bedecke your powers, That they may seeme the cabinets of May: Honor this time, Sweetest of all sweete Springs. That so much good so many pleasures brings.

For now alone the liuery of the earth Giues not liue comfort to your bleating lambes, Nor fils the strouting vdders of their dams; It yeeldes another cause of gleesome mirth, This ground weares all her best embrodery, To entertaine our Soueraignes Maiestie.

And well she may, for neuer English ground Bore such a Soueraigne as this royall Lord: Looke vpon all Antiquities Record; In no Inrolment such a King is found. Beginne with Brute, (if that of Brute be true) As I'le not doubt, but giue old Bards their due.

He was a Prince vnsetled, sought a shore, To rest his long tost Troian scattered race: And (as tis sed) found here a resting place: Grant this: but yeeld he did false gods adore. The Nations were not cald to Christ that time, Black Pagan clouds darkned this goodly clime.

So, when dissension brought the Romans in, No Caesar till the godly Constantine, (Descended truly from the Brittish line) Purg'd this Iles aire from Idoll-hated sinne; Yet in care of Rome left Deputies: Our Iames maintaines (himselfe) his dignities,

The Saxon, & the Dane, scourgd with sharp steele, (So did the Norman Duke) this beauteous land, Inuading Lords, raigne with an yron hand: A gentler ruling in this change we feele, Our Lyon comes as meekly as a doue, Not conqu'ring vs vs by hurt, but hartie loue▪

Euen as a calme to tempest-tossed men, As bread to the faint soule with famine vext; As a coole spring to those with heate perplext, As the Sunnes light into a fearefull denne, So comes our King▪ euen in a time of need, To saue, to shine, to comfort, and to feed.

O Shepheards, sing his welcome with sweet notes, Nymphs, strew his way with Roses red and white, Prouide all pastimes that may sense delight, Offer the fleeces of your flockes white cotes:

He that now spares, doth in that sauing spill; Where Worth is little, Vertue likes good will.

Now from the Orchades to the Cornish Iles, From thence to Cambria, and the Hiberian shore, The sound of ciuill warre is heard no more, Each countenance is garnished with smiles, All in one hymne with sweet contentment sing, The praise and power of Iames our onely King.

Our only King: one Lord, one Soueraigne; O long-desired, and perfected good! By him the heate of wrath, and boiling bloud Is mildly quencht; pale Enuy counted vaine. One King, one people: blessed vnitie! That ties such mighty Nations to agree.

Shepheards, Ile not be tedious in my song; For that I see you bent to actiue sport; Though I perswade me all time is too short To welcome him, whom we haue wisht for long. Well done, dance on; looke how your little lambs, Skip as you spring, about their fleecie dams.

Thus were ye wont to trip about the Greene, And dance in ringlets, like to Fairie Elues, Striuing in cunning to exceede your selues, In honour of your late-falne summer Queene: But now exceede; this May excels all springs, Which King and Queene, and Prince and Princesse brings.

Showtioyfully, ye Nymphs and rurall Swaines, Your maister Pan will now protect your folds, Your cottages will be as safe as Holds, Feare neither Wolues, nor subtill Foxes traines, A royall king will of your weale take keepe, Heele be your Shepheard, you shall be his sheepe.

He comes in pompe; so should a king appeare, Gods Deputie should set the world at gaze,

Yet his milde lookes driue vs from all amaze, Clap hands for ioy, our Soueraigne draweth neere, Sing Io, Io, shepheards dance and sing, Expresse all ioy, in welcoming our King.

The aire, the season, and the earth accord In Pleasure, Order, both for sight and sense: All things looke fresh to greet his excellence, And Collin humbly thus salutes his Lord: Dread and beloud, liue Englands happy King, While seasons last Fresh as the liuely Spring.