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

Gorbe.

My boy, these yonkers reachen after fame, and so done presse into the learned troupe, With filed quill to glorifie their name, which otherwise were pend in shamefull coupe.

But this hie obiect hath abiected me, and I must pipe amongst the lowly sorte, Those little heard-groomes who admir'd to see, when I by Moone-shine made the fayries sporte.

Who dares describe the toyles of Hercules, and puts his hand to fames eternall penne, Must inuocate the soule of Hercules, attended with the troupes of conquered men.

Who vvrites of thrice renovvmed Theseus, a monster-tamers rare description, Trophies the iavves of vglie Cerberus, and paynts out Styx, and fiery Acheron.

My Muse may not affect night-charming spels, vvhose force effects th' Olympicke vault to quake, Nor call those grysly Goblins from their Cels, the euer-damned frye of Limbo lake.

And who erects the braue Pyramides, of Monarches or renowned warriours, Neede bath his quill for such attempts as these, in flowing streames of learned Maros showres.

For when the great worlds conquerer began, to proue his helmet and his habergeon, The sweat that from the Poets-God Orpheus ran, foretold his Prophets had to play vpon.

When Pens and Launces sawe the Olympiad prize, those chariot triumphes with the Lawrell crowne, Then gan the worthies glorie first to rise, and plumes were vayled to the purple gowne.

The grauest Censor, sagest Senator, with wings of Iustice and Religion, Mounted the top of Nimrods statelie Tower, soring vnto that hie celestiall throne:

Where blessed Angels in their heauenly queares, chaunt Anthemes with shrill Syren harmonie, Tun'd to the sound of those aye-crouding sphears, Which herien their makers eternitie.

Those who foretell the times of vnborne men, and future things in foretime augured, Haue slumbred in that spell-gods darkest den, which first inspir'd his prophesiyng head.

Sooth-saying Sibels sleepen long agone, we haue their reede, but few haue cond their Arte, Welch-wisard Merlyn, cleueth to a stone, no Oracle more wonders may impart.

The Infant age could deftly caroll loue, till greedy thirst of that ambitious honor, Drew Poets pen, from his sweete lasses gloue, to chaunt of slaughtering broiles & bloody horror.

Then Ioues loue-theft was priuily discri'd, how he playd false play in Amphitrios bed, And how Apollo in the mount of Ide, gaue Oenon phisick for her maydenhead.

The tender grasse was then the softest bed, the pleasant'st shades were deem'd the statelyest hals, No belly-god with Bacchus banqueted, nor paynted ragges then couered rotten wals.

Then simple loue with simple vertue way'd, flowers the fauours which true fayth reuayled, Kindnes with kindnes was againe repay'd, with sweetest kisses couenants were sealed.

Then beauties selfe with her selfe beautified, scornd payntings pergit, and the borrowed hayre, Nor monstrous formes deformities did hide, nor foule was vernisht with compounded fayre.

The purest fleece then couered purest skin, for pride as then with Lucifer remaynd: Deformed fashions now were to begin, nor clothes were yet with poysned liquor staynd.

But when the bowels of the earth were sought, and men her golden intrayles did espie, This mischiefe then into the world was brought, this fram'd the mint which coynd our miserie.

Then lofty Pines were by ambition hewne, and men sea-monsters swamme the brackish flood, In waynscot tubs, to seeke out worlds vnknowne, for certain ill to leaue assured good.

The starteling steede is manag'd from the field, and serues a subiect to the riders lawes, He whom the churlish bit did neuer weeld, now feels the courb controll his angrie iawes.

The hammering Uulcane spent his wasting fire, till he the vse of tempred mettals found, His anuile wrought the steeled cotes attire, and forged tooles to carue the foe-mans wound.

The Citie builder then intrencht his towres, and wald his wealth within the fenced towne, Which afterward in bloudy stormy stours, kindled that flame which burnt his Bulwarks downe.

And thus began th' Exordium of our woes, the fatall dumbe shewe of our miserie: Here sprang the tree on which our mischiefe growes, the drery subiect of worlds tragedie.