Englands Helicon. Or The Muses harmony.

¶The Shepheard Delicius his Dittie.

NEuer a greater foe did Loue disdaine, Or trode on grasse so gay, Nor Nimph greene leaues with whiter hand hath rent, More golden haire the wind did neuer blow, Nor fairer Dame hath bound in white attire, Or hath in Lawne more gracious features tied, Then my sweet Enemie.

Beautie and chastitie one place refraine, In her beare equall sway: Filling the world with wonder and content. But they doe giue me paine and double woe, Since loue and beautie kindled my desire, And cruell chastitie from me denied All sence of iollitie.

There is no Rose, nor Lilly after raine, Nor flower in moneth of May, Nor pleasant meade, nor greene in Sommer sent, That seeing them, my minde delighteth so, As that faire flower which all the heauens admire, Spending my thoughts on her, in whom abide All grace and gifts on hie.

Me thinks my heauenly Nimph I see againe Her neck and breast display: Seeing the whitest Ermine to frequent Some plaine, or flowers that make the fairest show. O Gods, I neuer yet beheld her nier,

Or farre, in shade, or Sunne, that satisfied I was in passing by.

The Meade, the Mount, the Riuer, Wood, and Plaine, With all their braue array, Yeeld not such sweet, as that faire face that's bent Sorrowes and ioy in each soule to bestow In equall parts, procur'd by amorous fire Beauty and Loue in her their force haue tried, to blind each humane eye.

Each wicked mind & will, which wicked vice doth staine, her vertues breake and stay: All ayres infect by ayre are purg'd and spent, Though of a great foundation they did grow. O body, that so braue a soule do'st hire, And blessed soule, whose vertues euer pried aboue the starrie skie.

Onely for her my life in ioyes I traine my soule sings many a Lay: Musing on her, new Seas I doe inuent Of soueraigne ioy, wherein with pride I rowe. The deserts for her sake I doe require, For without her, the Springs of ioy are dried and that I doe defie.

Sweet Fate, that to a noble deede do'st straine, and lift my heart to day: Sealing her there with glorious ornament, Sweet seale, sweet griefe, and sweetest ouerthrow. Sweet miracle, whose fame cannot expire,

Sweet wound, and golden shaft, that so espied such heauenly companie Of beauties graces in sweet vertues died, As like were neuer in such yeares descried.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.