Idea the shepheards garland Fashioned in nine eglogs. Rowlands sacrifice to the nine Muses.

Motto.

COme frolick it a while my lustie swayne, Let's see if time haue yet reuiu'd in thee, Or if there be remayning but a grayne, Of the olde stocke of famous poesie, Or but one slip yet left of this same sacred tree.

Or if reseru'd from elds deuouring rage, Recordes of vertue, Aye memoriall, Left to the world as learnings lasting gage, Or if the prayse of worthy pastorall, May tempt thee now, or mooue thee once at all.

To Fortunes Orphanes Nature hath bequeath'd, That mighty Monarchs seldome haue possest, From highest Heauen, this influence is breath'd, A most diuine impression in the breast, (feast. And those whom Fortune pines doth Nature often

Ti's not the troupes of paynted Imagerie, Nor these worlds Idols, our worlds Idiots gazes, Our forgers of suppos'd Gentillitie, When he his great, great Grand-sires glory blases, And paints out fictions in base coyned Phrases.

For honour naught regards, nor followeth fame, These silken pictures shewed in euery streete: Of Idlenes comes euill, of pride ensueth shame, And blacke obliuion is their winding sheete, And all their glory troden vnder feete.

Though Enuie sute her seuen-times poysned dartes, Yet purest golde is seuen times try'd in fier, True valeur lodgeth in the lowlest harts, Vertue is in the minde, not in th'attyre, Nor stares at starres; nor stoups at filthy myre.