Englands Helicon. Or The Muses harmony.

¶Syrenus Song to Eugerius.

LEt now the goodly Spring-tide make vs merrie, And fields, which pleasant flowers doe adorne: And Vales, Meads, Woods, with liuely colours flourish, Let plenteous flocks the Shepheards riches nourish,

Let hungry Wolues by dogges to death be torne, And Lambes reioyce, with passed Winter wearie. Let euery Riuers Ferrie In waters flow, and siluer streames abounding, And fortune, ceaselesse wounding. Turne now thy face, so cruell and vnstable, Be firme and fauourable. And thou that kill'st our soules with thy preten∣ces: Molest not (wicked Loue) my inward sences.

Let Country plainenesse liue in ioyes not ended, In quiet of the desert Meades and mountaines, And in the pleasure of a Country dwelling Let Shepheards rest, that haue distilled fountaines Of teares: proue not thy wrath, all paines excelling, Vpon poore soules, that neuer haue offended. Let thy flames be incended In haughty Courts, in those that swim in treasure, And liue in case and pleasure. And that a sweetest scorne (my wonted sadnes) A perfect rest and gladnes And hills and Dales, may giue me: with offences Molest not (wicked Loue) my inward sences.

In what law find'st thou, that the freest reason And wit, vnto thy chaines should be subiected, And harmelesse soules vnto thy cruell murder? O wicked Loue, the wretch that flieth furder From thy extreames, thou plagu'st. O false, suspected, And carelesse boy, that thus thy sweets doost season, O vile and wicked treason. Might not thy might suffice thee, but thy fuell

Of force must be so cruell? To be a Lord, yet like a Tyrant minded, Vaine Boy with errour blinded. Why do'st thou hurt his life with thy offences: That yeelds to thee his soule and inward sences?

He erres (alas) and soulely is deceiued That calls thee God, being a burning fire: A furious flame, a playning griefe and clamorous, And Venus sonne (that in the earth was amorous, Gentle, and mild, and full of sweet desire) Who calleth him, is of his wits bereaued. And yet that she conceaued By proofe, so vile a sonne and so vnruly: I say (and yet say truly) That in the cause of harmes, that they haue framed, Both iustly may be blamed: She that did breed him with such vile pretences, He that doth hurt so much our inward sences.

The gentle Sheepe and Lambs are euer flying The rauenous Wolues & beasts, that are pretending To glut their mawes with flesh they teare asunder. The milke-white Doues at noyse of fearefull thunder Fly home a-maine, themselues frō harme defending. The little Chick, when Puttocks are a crying. The Woods and Meadowes dying Forraine of heauen (if that they cannot haue it) Doe neuer cease to craue it. So euery thing his contrary resisteth, Onely thy thrall persisteth

In suffering of thy wrongs without offences: And lets thee spoile his heart and inward sences.

A publique passion, Natures lawes restrayning, And which with words can neuer be declared, A soule twixt loue, and feare, and desperation, And endlesse plaint, that shunnes all consolation. A spendlesse flame, that neuer is impaired, A friendlesse death, yet life in death maintaining, A passion, that is gaining On him that loueth well, and is absented, Whereby it is augmented. A iealousie, a burning griefe and sorrow, These fauours Louers borrow Of thee fell Loue, these be thy recompences: Consuming still their soule and inward sences.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.