Englands Helicon. Or The Muses harmony.

ENGLANDS HELICON.

¶The Shepheard to his chosen Nimph.

ONely ioy, now heere you are, Fit to heare and ease my care: Let my whispring voyce obtaine Sweet reward for sharpest paine. Take mee to thee, and thee to me, No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

Night hath clos'd all in her cloke, Twinkling starres Loue-thoughts prouoke, Daunger hence good care doth keepe Iealousie it selfe doth sleepe. Take me to thee, and thee to me: No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

Better place no wit can finde, Cupids yoake to loose or binde, These sweet flowers on fine bed too, Vs in their best language woo, Take me to thee, and thee to me, No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

This small light the Moone bestowes, Serues thy beames but to enclose, So to raise my hap more hie, Feare not else, none can vs spie. Take me to thee, and thee to me: No, no, no, no, my Deare, let be.

That you heard was but a Mouse, Dumbe sleepe holdeth all the house, Yet a-sleepe me thinks they say, Young folkes, take time while you may. Take me to thee, and thee to me: No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

Niggard Time threats, if we misse This large offer of our blisse Long stay, ere he grant the same, (Sweet then) while each thing doth frame, Take me to thee, and thee to me: No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

Your faire Mother is a bed, Candles out, and Curtaines spred, She thinks you doe Letters write, Write, but let me first indite.

Take me to thee, and thee to me, No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

Sweet (alas) why saine you thus? Concord better fitteth vs. Leaue to Mars the force of hands, Your power in your beauty stands. Take me to thee, and thee to me: No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

Woe to me, and you doe sweare Me to hate, but I forbeare, Cursed be my destinies all, That brought me to so high a fall. Soone with my death I will please thee: No, no, no, no, my Deere, let be.

FINIS.

Sir Phil. Sidney.

THEORELLO. ¶A Shepheards Edillion.

YOu Shepheards which on hillocks lit, like Princes in their Thrones: And guide your Flocks, which else would flit your Flocks of little ones: Good Kings haue not disdained it, but Shepheards haue beene named: A sheepe-hooke is a Scepter fit for people well reclaimed.

The Shepheards life so honour'd is and praised: That Kings lesse happy seeme, though higher raised.

The Summer Sunne hath guilded faire, with morning rayes the Mountaines: The birds doe caroll in the ayre, and naked Nimphs in Fountaines. The Siluanes in their shagged haire, with Hamadriades trace: The shadie Satires make a Quiere, which rockes with Ecchoes grace. All breathe delight, all solace in the season: Not now to sing, were enemie to Reason.

Cosma my Loue, and more then so, the life of mine affections: Nor life alone, but Lady too, and Queene of their directions. Cosma my Loue, is fayre you know, and which you Shepheards know not: Is (Sophi said) thence called so, but names her beautie show not. Yet hath the world no better-name then she: And then the world, no fairer thing can be.

The Sunne vpon her fore-head stands, or (iewell Sunne-like glorious,) Her fore-head wrought with Ioues owne hands, for heauenly white notorious. Her golden lockes like Hermus sands, (or then bright Hermus brighter:) A spangled Cauill binds in with bands, then siluer morning lighter.

And if the Planets are the chiefe in skies: No other starres then Planets are her eyes.

Her cheeke, her lip, fresh cheeke, more fresh then selfe-blowne buds of Roses: Rare lip, more red then those of flesh, which thousand sweetes encloses: Sweet breath, which all things doth refresh. and words then breath farre sweeter: Cheeke firme, lip firme, not fraile nor nesh, as substance which is fleeter. In praise doe not surmount, although in placing: Her christall necke, round breasts, and armes embracing.

The thorough-shining ayre I weene, is not so perfect cleare: As is the skie of her faire skinne, whereon no spots appeare. The parts which ought not to be seene, for soueraigne worth excell: Her thighs with Azure braunched beene, and all in her are well. Long Iuorie hands, legs straighter then the Pine: Well shapen feet, but vertue most diuine.

Nor cloathed like a Shepheardesse, but rather like a Queene: Her mantle doth the formes expresse, of all which may be seene. Roabe fitter for an Empresse then for a Shepheards loue. Roabe fit alone for such a Lasse as Emperours doth moue.

Roabe which heauens Queene, the bride of her owne brother, Would grace herselfe with, or with such another.

Who euer (and who else but Ioue?) embroidered the same, He knew the world, and what did moue, in all the mightie frame. So well (belike his skill to proue) the counterfeits he wrought: Of Wood-Gods, and of euery Groue, and all which else was ought. Is there a beast, a bird, a fish worth note? Then that he drew, and pictur'd in her coate.

Availe of Lawne like vapour thin vnto her anckle trailes: Through which the shapes discerned bin, as too and fro it sailes. Shapes both of men, who neuer lin to search her wonders out: Of Monsters and of Gods a kin, which her empale about. A little world her flowing garment seemes: And who but as a wonder thereof deemes?

For here and there appeare forth towers, among the chalkie downes: Cities among the Country bowers, which smiling Sun-shine crownes. Her mettall buskins deckt with flowers, as th' earth when frosts are gone: Besprinkled are with Orient showers of hayle and pebble stone.

Her feature peerelesse, peerelesse her attire, I can but loue her loue, with zeale entire.

O who can sing her beauties best, or that remaines vnsung? Doe thou Apollo tune the rest, vnworthy is my tongue. To gaze on her, is to be blest, so wondrous faire her face is; Her fairenesse cannot be exprest, in Goddesses nor Graces. I loue my Loue, the goodly worke of Nature: Admire her face, but more admire her stature.

On thee (O Cosma) will I gaze, and reade thy beauties euer: Delighting in the blessed maze, which can be ended neuer. For in the luster of thy rayes, appeares thy Parents brightnesse: Who himselfe infinite displayes in thee his proper greatnesse. My Song must end, but neuer my desire: For Cosma's face is Theorellos fire.

FINIS.

E. B.

Astrophels Loue is dead.

RIng out your Belles, let mourning shewes be spread, For Loue is dead.

All loue is dead infected With plague of deepe disdaine: Worth, as nought worth reiected, And faith faire scorne doth gaine. From so vngratefull fancie, From such a female frenzie, From them that vse men thus: Good Lord deliuer vs.

Weepe neighbours weepe, doe you not heare it said That Loue is dead? His death-bed Peacocks folly, His winding sheet is shame: His will false, seeming holy, His sole exectour blame. From so vngratefull fancie. From such a female frenzie, From them that vse men thus: Good Lord deliuer vs.

Let Dirge be sung, and Trentals richly read, For Loue is dead. And wrong his Tombe ordaineth, My Mistresse marble hart: Which Epitaph containeth, Her eyes were once his Dart. From so vngratefull fancie, From such a female frenzie, From them that vse men thus: Good Lord deliuer vs.

Alas, I lie, rage hath this errour bred, Loue is not dead.

Loue is not dead, but sleepeth In her vnmatched minde: Where she his counsell keepeth, Till due desert shee finde. Therefore from so vile fancie, To call such wit a frenzie, Who loue can temper thus: Good Lord deliuer vs.

FINIS.

Sir Phil. Sidney.

¶A Palinode.

AS withereth the Primrose by the riuer, As fadeth Summers-Sunne from gliding fountaines; As vanisheth the light blowne bubble euer, As melteth Snow vpon the mossie Mountaines. So melts, so vanisheth, so fades, so withers, The Rose, the shine, the bubble and the snow Of praise, pompe, glory, ioy (which short life gathers,) Faire praise, vaine pompe, sweet glory, brittle ioy. The withered Primrose by the mourning riuer, The faded Summers-sunne from weeping fountaines: The light-blowne bubble, vanished for euer, The molten snow vpon the naked mountaines. Are Emblems that the treasures we vp-lay, Soone wither, vanish, fade, and melt away.

For as the snow, whose lawne did ouer-spread Th'ambitious hils, which Giant-like did threat

To pierce the heauen with their aspiring head, Naked and bare doth leaue their craggie seat. When as the bubble, which did empty flie The daliance of the vndiscerned winde: On whose calme rowling waues it did relie, Hath shipwrack mad••, where it did daliance finde: And when the Sun-shine which dissolu'd the snow, Colourd the bubble with a pleasant varie, And made the rathe and timely Primrose grow, Swarth clouds with-drawne (which longer time do tarie) Oh what is praise, pompe, glory, ioy, but so As shine by fountaines, bubbles, flowers or snow?

FINIS.

E. B.

¶Astrophell the Shepheard, his complaint to his Flocke.

GOe my Flocke, goe get yee hence, Seeke a better place of feeding: Where yee may haue some defence From the stormes in my breast breeding, And showers from mine eyes proceeding.

Leaue a wretch in whom all woe, can abide to keepe no measure: Merry Flocke, such one forgoe vnto whom mirth is displeasure, onely rich in mischiefes treasure.

Yet (alas) before you goe, heare your wofull Maisters Storie? Which to stones I else would showe, sorrow onely then hath glorie: when 'tis excellently sorrie.

Stella, fiercest Shepheardesse, fiercest, but yet fairest euer: Stella, whom the heauens still blesse, though against me she perseuer, though I blisse, inherite neuer.

Stella, hath refused me, Stella, who more loue hath proued In this Caitiffe heart to be, Then can in good by vs be moued: Towards Lambkins best beloued:

Stella, hath refused me, Astrophell that so well serued In this pleasant Spring must see while in pride flowers be preserued: himselfe onely Winter-sterued.

Why (alas) then doth she sweare, that she loueth me so dearely: Seeing me so long to beare coales of loue that burne so clearely: and yet leaue me helplesse meerely?

Is that loue? Forsooth I trow, if I saw my good dogge greeued:

And a helpe for him did know, my Loue should not be beleeued: but he were by me releeued.

No, she hates me, well away, faigning loue, somewhat to please me: Knowing, if she should display all her hate, Death soone would seaze me: and of hideous torments ease me.

Then my deare Flocke now adiew, but (alas) if in your straying, Heauenly Stella meete with you, tell her in your pittious blaying: her poore slaues vniust decaying.

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

¶Hobbinolls Dittie in praise of Eliza, Queene of the Shepheards.

YE dainty Nimphes that in this blessed Brooke Doe bath your brest; Forsake your watry Bowers, and hether looke At my request. And you faire Virgins that on Parnasse dwell, Whence floweth Helicon the learned well: Helpe me to blaze Her worthy praise, Who in her sexe doth all excell.

Of faire Eliza be your siluer song, That blessed wight: The flower of Virgins, may she flourish long In Princely plight: For she is Sirinx daughter, without spot, Which Pan the Shepheards God on her begot: So sprung her Grace, Of heauenly race: No mortall blemish may her blot.

See where she sits vpon the grassie greene, O seemely sight: Yclad in scarlet, like a mayden Queene, And Ermines white. Vpon her head a crimson Coronet, With Daffadils and Damaske Roses set, Bay leaues betweene, And Primeroses greene: Embellish the sweet Violet.

Tell me, haue ye beheld her Angels face, Like Phoebe faire? Her heauenly hauiour, her Princely Grace, Can well compare The red-Rose medled and the white yfere, In either cheeke depeincten liuely cheere. Her modest eye, Her Maiestie. Where haue you seene the like but there?

I saw Phoebus thrust out his golden head, On her to gaze:

But when he saw how broad her beames did spread: It did him maze. He blusht to see another Sunne below, Ne durst againe his fierie face out-show: Let him if he dare His brightnesse compare With hers, to haue the ouerthrow.

Shew thy selfe Cynthia with thy siluer rayes, And be not abasht, When she the beames of her beauty displayes, Oh how art thou dasht? But I will not match her with Latonaes seed, Such folly great sorrow to Niobe did breed, Now is she a stone, And makes deadly mone, Warning all other to take heed.

Pan may be proud, that euer he begot Such a Bellibone: And Sirinx reioyce, that euer was her lot To beare such a one. Soone as my Younglings cryen for the dam, To her will I offer a milke-white Lamb. She is my Goddesse plaine, And I her Shepheards Swaine, Albe for-swonck and for-swat I am.

I see Caliope speede her to the place, Where my Goddesse shines: And after her the other Muses trace With their Violines.

Bin they not Bay-branches which they doe beare: All for Eliza in her hand to weare? So sweetly they play, And sing all the way, That it a heauen is to heare.

Loe how finely the Graces can it foote, to the Instrument: They dauncen deffely, and singen foote In their merriment. Wants not a fourth Grace to make the daunce euen? Let that roome to my Lady be giuen. She shall be a Grace, To fill the fourth place, And raigne with the rest in heauen.

And whether runnes this beuie of Ladies bright, Ranged in a roe? They beene all Ladies of the Lake behight That vnto her goe: Chloris, that is the chiefe Nimph of all, Of Oliue-branches beares a Coronall: Oliues beene for peace When warres doe surcease, Such for a Princesse beene principall.

Bring hether the Pinke and purple Cullumbine. With Gillyflowers: Bring sweet Carnasions, and Sops in Wine, Worne of Paramours. Strew me the ground with Daffa-down-Dillies, And Cowslips, and Kings-cups, and loued Lillies,

The pretty Paunce, And the Cheuisaunce, Shall match with the faire flower-Delice.

Ye Shepheards daughters that dwell on the greene, Hye you there a pace, Let none come there but such as Virgins beene, To adorne her Grace. And when you come where as she is in place: See that your rudenesse doe not you disgrace. Binde your Fillets fast, And gird on your wast, For more finenesse, with a Tawdrie lace.

Now rise vp Eliza, decked as thou art, In royall ray: And now ye dainty Damsels may depart Each one her way. I feare I haue troubled your troupes too long: Let dame Eliza thanke you for her Song. And if you come hether, When Damzins I gather I will part them all, you among.

FINIS.

Edm. Spencer.

¶The Shepheards Daffadill.

GOrbo, as thou cam'st this way By yonder little hill, Or as thou through the fields didst stray, Saw'st thou my Daffadill?

She's in a frock of Lincolne-greene, The colour Maydes delight, And neuer hath her Beauty seene But through a vayle of white.

Then Roses richer to behold, That dresse vp Louers Bowers, The Pansie and the Marigold Are Phoebus Paramours.

Thou well describ'st the Daffadill, It is not full an hower Since by the Spring neere yonder hill I saw that louely flower.

Yet with my flower thou did'st not meete, Nor newes of her doest bring, Yet is my Daffadill more sweete Then that by yonder Spring.

I saw a Shepheard that doth keepe In yonder field of Lillies, Was making (as he fed his sheepe) A wreath of Daffadillies.

Yet Gorbo: thou delud'st me still, My hower thou did'st not see. For know; my pretty Daffadill Is worne of none but mee.

To shew itselfe but neere her seate No Lilly is so bold,

Except to shade her from the heate, Or keepe her from the cold.

Through yonder vale as I did passe Descending from the hill, I met a smerking Bonny-lasse, They call her Daffadill.

Whose presence as a-long she went The pretty flower did greete As though their heads they downe-ward bent, With homage to her feete.

And all the Shepheards that were nie, From top of euery hill; Vnto the Vallies loud did crie, There goes sweet Daffadill.

I gentle Shepheard now with ioy Thou all my Flock doest fill: Come goe with me thou Shepheards Boy, Let vs to Daffadill.

FINIS.

Michaell Drayton.

¶A Canzon Pastorall in honour of her Maiestie.

ALas what pleasure now the pleasant Spring Hath giuen place, To harsh black frosts the sad ground couering, Can we, poore we embrace,

When euery bird on euery branch can sing Naught but this note of woe alas? Alas this note of woe why should we found? With vs as May, September hath a prime, Then birds and branches your alas is fond, Which call vpon the absent Summer time: For did flowres make our May Or the Sun-beames your day. When Night and Winter did the World embrace, Well might you waile your ill, and sing alas.

Loe Matron-like the Earth her selfe attires In habite graue, Naked the fields are, bloomelesse are the brires, Yet we a Summer haue, Who in our clime kindleth these liuing fires, Which bloomes can on the briers saue. No Ice doth christallize the running Brooke, No blast deflowres the flowre-adorned field, Christall is cleare, but clearer is the looke Which to our climes these liuing fires doth yeeld: Winter though euery where, Hath no abiding here: On Brooks and Briers she doth rule alone, The Sunne which lights our world is alwayes one.

FINIS.

Edmund Bolton.

¶Milicertus Madrigale.

VVHat are my Sheepe, without their wonted food? What is my life, except I gaine my Loue? My Sheepe consume, and faint for want of blood, My life is lost vnlesse I Grace approue. No flower that saplesse thriues, No Turtle without pheare.

The day without the Sunne doth lower for woe, Then woe mine eyes, vnlesse they beauty see: My Sonne Samelaes eyes, by whom I know, Wherein delight consists, where pleasures be. Nought more the heart reuiues, Then to embrace his Deere.

The starres from earthly humours gaine their light, Our humours by their light possesse their power: Samelaes eyes fed by my weeping sight, Infuse my paines or ioyes, by smile or lower. So wends the source of loue, It feedes, it failes, it ends.

Kinde lookes, cleare to your Ioy, behold her eyes, Admire her heart, desire to tast her kisses: In them the heauen of ioy and solace lyes, Without them, euery hope his succour misses. Oh how I liue to proue, Whereto this solace tends?

FINIS.

Ro. Greene.

¶Old Damons Pastorall.

FRom Fortunes frownes and change remou'd, wend silly Flocks in blessed feeding: None of Damon more belou'd, feede gentle Lambs while I sit reading.

Carelesse Worldlings, outrage quelleth all the pride and pompe of Citie: But true peace with Shepheards dwelleth, (Shepheards who delight in pittie.) Whether grace of heauen betideth, on our humble mindes such pleasure: Perfect peace with Swaines abideth, loue and faith is Shepheards treasure. On the lower Plaines the thunder little thriues, and nought preuaileth: Yet in Cities breedeth wonder, and the highest hills assaileth.

Enuie of a forraigne Tyrant threatneth Kings, not Shepheards humble: Age makes silly Swaines delirant, thirst of rules garres greatmen stumble. What to other seemeth sorrie, abiect state and humble biding: Is our ioy and Country glorie, highest states haue worse betiding. Golden Cups doe harbour poyson, and the greatest pompe, dissembling: Court of seasoned words hath foyson, treason haunts in most assembling.

Homely breasts doe harbour quiet, little feare, and mickle solace: States suspect their bed and diet, feare and craft doe haunt the Pallace. Little would I, little want I, where the minde and store agreeth, Smallest comfort is not scantie, least he longs that little seeth. Time hath beene that I haue longed, foolish I, to like of folly: To conuerse where honour thronged, to my pleasures linked wholy.

Now I see, and seeing sorrow that the day consum'd, returnes not: Who dare trust vpon to morrow, when nor time, nor life soiournes not?

FINIS.

Thom. Lodge.

¶Perigot and Cuddies Roundelay.

IT fell vpon a holy-Eue, hey hoe holy-day: When holy-Fathers wont to shriue, now ginneth this Roundelay. Sitting vpon a hill so hie, hey hoe the high hill: The while my Flock did feede thereby, the while the Shepheards selfe did spill.

I saw the bouncing Belly-bone, hey hoe Bonny-bell: Tripping ouer the Dale alone, she can trip it very well. Well decked in a Frock of gray, hey hoe gray is greete: And in a Kirtle of greene Say, the greene is for Maydens meete.

A Chaplet on her head she wore, hey hoe the Chaplet: Of sweet Violets therein was store, she's sweeter then the Violet. My Sheepe did leaue their wonted food, hey hoe silly Sheepe: And gaz'd on her as they were wood, wood as he that did them keepe.

As the Bonny-lasse passed by, hey hoe Bonny-lasse: She rol'd at me with glauncing eye, as cleare as the Christall-glasse. All as the Sunnie-beame so bright, hey hoe the Sun-beame: Glaunceth from Phoebus face forth-right, so loue into my heart did streame.

Or as the thunder cleaues the clouds, hey hoe the thunder: Wherein the lightsome leuin shrouds, so cleaues my soule asunder. Or as Dame Cynthias siluer ray, hey hoe the Moone-light:

Vpon the glistering waue doth play, such play is a pitteous plight.

The glaunce into my heart did glide, hey hoe the glider: There-with my soule was sharply gride, such wounds soone wexen wider. Hasting to raunch the arrow out, hey hoe Perigot: I left the head in my heart roote, it was a desperate shot.

There it rankleth aye more and more, hey hoe the arrow: Ne can I finde salue for my sore, loue is a curelesse sorrow. And though my bale with death I bought, hey hoe heauie cheere: Yet should thilke Lasse not from my thought, so you may buy gold too deere.

But whether in painefull loue I pine, hey hoe pinching paine: Or thriue in wealth, she shall be mine, but if thou can her obtaine. And if for gracelesse griefe I dye, hey hoe gracelesse griefe: Witnesse, she slew me with her eye, let thy folly be the preefe.

And you that saw it, simple sheepe, hey hoe the faire Flocke:

For priefe thereof my death shall weepe, and moane with many a mocke. So learn'd I loue on a holy-Eue, hey hoe holy-day: That euer since my heart did grieue; now endeth our Roundelay.

FINIS.

Edm. Spencer.

¶Phillida and Coridon.

IN the merry month of May, In a morne by breake of day, Forth I walked by the Wood-side, When as May was in his pride: There I spied all alone, Phillida and Coridon. Much a-doo there was God wot, He would loue, and she would not. She said neuer man was true, He said, none was false to you. He said, he had lou'd her long, She said, Loue should haue no wrong. Coridon would kisse her then, She said, Maides must kisse no men, Till they did for good and all. Then she made the Shepheard call All the heauens to witnesse truth: Neuer lou'd a truer Youth. Thus with many a pretty oath, Yea and nay, and faith and troath,

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Such as silly Shepheards vse, When they will not Loue abuse; Loue, which had beene long deluded, Was with kisses sweet concluded. And Phillida with garlands gay: Was made the Lady of the May.

FINIS.

N. Breton.

¶To Colin Cloute.

BEautie sate bathing by a Spring, where fairest shades did hide her. The windes blew calme, the birds did sing, the coole streames ranne beside her. My wanton thoughts entic'd mine eye, to see what was forbidden: But better Memory said, fie, so, vaine Desire was chidden. Hey nonnie, nonnie, &c.

Into a slumber then I fell, when fond imagination: Seemed to see, but could not tell her feature or her fashion. But euen as Babes in dreames doe smile, and sometime fall a weeping: So I awakt, as wise this while, as when I fell a sleeping. Hey nonnie, nonnie, &c.

FINIS

Shepheard Tonie.

¶Rowlands Song in praise of the fairest Beta.

O Thou siluer Thames, ô clearest christall flood, Beta alone the Phaenix is of all thy watry brood. The Queene of Virgins onely she, And thou the Queene of flouds shalt be. Let all the Nimphs be ioyfull then, to see this happy day, Thy Beta now alone shall be the subiect of my Lay.

With daintie and delightsome straines of sweetest Virelayes, Come louely Shepheards sit we downe, and chaunt our Betas praise. And let vs sing so rare a verse, Our Betas praises to rehearse, That litle Birds shall silent be, to heare poore Shepheards sing: And Riuers backward bend their course, & flow vnto the spring.

Range all thy Swannes faire Thames together on a ranke: And place them duly one by one vpon thy stately banke. Then set together all a-good, Recording to the siluer flood: And craue the tunefull Nightingale to helpe ye with her Lay; The Osell and the Thrustlecocke, chiefe musicke of our May.

O see what troupes of Nimphs beene sporting on the strands; And they beene blessed Nimphs of peace, with Oliues in their hands. How merrily the Muses sing, That all the flowrie Meddowes ring And Beta sits vpon the banke in purple▪ and in pall. And shee the Queene of Muses is, and weares the Coronall.

Trim vp her golden tresses with Apollos sacred tree, O happy sight vnto all those that loue and honour thee,

The blessed Angels haue prepar'd A glorious Crowne for thy reward. Not such a golden Crowne as haughty Caesar weares: But such a glittering starrie Crowne as Ariadne beares.

Make her a goodly Chaplet of azurd Cullumbine, And wreath about her Coronet with sweetest Eglantine. Bedeck our Beta all with Lillies. And the dainty Daffadillies, With Roses Damaske, white and red, and fairest flowre-Delice: With Cowslips of Ierusalem, and Cloaues of Paradice.

O thou faire Torch of heauen, the dayes most dearest light, And thou bright-shining Cynthia, the glory of the night. You starres the eyes of heauen, And thou the gliding leuen, And thou O gorgeous Iris, with all strange colours dyed: When she streames forth her rayes, then dasht is all your pride.

See how the Day stands still, admiring of her face, And Time loe stretcheth forth his armes thy Beta to embrace. The Syrens sing sweet Layes, The Trytons sound her praise, Goe passe on Thames, and hie thee fast vnto the Ocean Sea: And let thy billowes there proclaime thy Betas holy-day.

And water thou the blessed roote of that greene Oliue tree, With whose sweet shadow all thy bankes with peace preserued be. Laurell for Poets and Conquerours: And Mirtle for Loues Paramours. That fame may be thy fruit, the boughs preseru'd by peace, And let the mournfull Cypres die, now stormes and tempest cease

Weele strew the shoare with pearle, where Beta walkes alone, And we will paue her Princely Bower with richest Indian stone. Perfume the ayre, and make it sweete, For such a Goddesse it is meete. For if her eyes for purity contend with Titans light: No meruaile then, although they so doe dazell humane sight.

Sound out your Trumpets then from Londons stately Towers, To beat the stormie winds a-backe, and calme the raging showers. Set to the Cornet and the Flute, The Orpharion and the Lute: And tune the Taber and the Pipe to the sweet Violons: And moue the thunder in the ayre with lowdest Clarions.

Beta, long may thine Altars smoake with yeerely sacrifice, And long thy sacred Temples may their Sabbaths solemnise, Thy Shepheards watch by day and night, Thy Maides attend the holy light, And thy large Empire stretch her armes from East vnto the West: And Albion on the Appenines aduance her conquering crest.

FINIS.

Mich. Drayton.

¶The Barginet of Antimachus.

IN pride of youth, in midst of May, When birds with many a merry Lay, salute the Sunnes vp-rising: I sate me downe fast by a Spring, And while these merry Chaunters sing, I fell vpon surmizing.

Amidst my doubt and minds debate, Of change of time, of worlds estate, I spyed a boy attired In siluer plumes, yet naked quite, Saue pretty feathers fit for flight, wherewith he still aspired. A bowe he bare to worke mens wrack, A little Quiuer at his back, with many arrowes filled: And in his soft and pretty hand, He held a liuely burning brand, where-with he Louers killed. Fast by his side, in rich aray, There sate a louely Lady gay, his mother as I guessed: That set the Lad vpon her knee, And trimd his bow and taught him flee, and mickle Loue professed. Oft from her lap at sundry stowres, He leapt, and gathered Sommer flowres, both Violets and Roses: But see the chaunce that followed fast, As he the pompe of prime doth wast, before that he supposes: A Bee that harbour'd hard thereby, Did sting his hand, and made him cry Oh Mother, I am wounded: Faire Venus that beheld her Sonne, Cryed out alas, I am vndone, and there-vpon she swounded, My little Lad the Goddesse sayd, Who hath my Cupid so dismayd?

he answered: Gentle Mother The hony-worker in the Hiue, My griefe and mischiefe doth contriue, alas it is none other. Shee kist the Lad: Now marke the chaunce, And strait she fell into a traunce, and crying, thus concluded: Ah wanton boy, like to the Bee, Thou with a kisse hast wounded mee, and haplesse Loue included. A little Bee doth thee affright, But ah, my wounds are full of spright, and cannot be recured: The boy that kist his Mothers paine, Gan smile, and kist her whole againe, and made her hope assured. She suckt the wound, and swag'd the sting, And little Loue ycurde did sing, then let no Louers sorrow: To day though griefe attaint his hart, Let him with courage bide the smart, amends will come to morrow.

FINIS.

Thom. Lodge.

¶Menaphons Roundelay.

VVHen tender Ewes brought home with euening Sunne, Wend to their Folds, And to their holds The Shepheards trudge when light of day is done:

Vpon a tree, The Eagle, Ioues faire bird did pearch, There resteth hee. A little Fly his harbour then did search, And did presume, (though others laugh'd thereat.) To pearch whereas the Princely Eagle sat.

The Eagle Frown'd, and shooke his royall wings, And charg'd the Flie From thence to hie. Afraide, in hast the little creature flings, Yet seekes againe, Fearefull to pearke him by the Eagles side. With moodie vaine The speedie poast of Ganimede replide: Vassaile auaunt, or with my wings you die. Is't fit an Eagle seate him with a Flie?

The Flie crau'd pittie, still the Eagle frownd. The silly Flie Ready to die: Disgrac'd, displac'd, fell groueling to the ground. The Eagle sawe: And with a royall minde said to the Flie, Be not in awe, I scorne by me the meanest creature die. Then seate thee here: The ioyfull Flie vp-flings, And sate safe shadowed with the Eagles wings.

FINIS.

Ro. Greene.

¶A Pastorall of Phillis and Coridon.

ON a Hill there growes a flower, faire befall the daintie sweet: By that flower there is a Bower, Where the heauenly Muses meet.

In that Bower there is a chaire, fringed all about with gold: Where doth sit the fairest faire, that euer eye did yet behold.

It is Phillis faire and bright, shee that is the Shepheards ioy: Shee that Venus did despight, and did blinde her little boy.

This is shee, the wise, the rich, that the world desires to see: This is ipsa quae the which, there is none but onely shee.

Who would not this face admire? who would not this Saint adore? Who would not this sight desire, though he thought to see no more?

Oh faire eyes, yet let mee see, one good looke, and I am gone: Looke on me for I am hee, thy poore silly Coridon.

Thou that art the Shepheards Queene, looke vpon thy silly Swaine: By thy comfort haue beene seene dead men brought to life againe.

FINIS.

N. Breton.

¶Coridon and Melampus Song.

Cor.

MElampus, when will Loue be void of feares?

Mel.

When Ielousie hath neither eyes nor eares.

Cor.

Melampus, when will Loue be throughly shrieued?

Mel.

When it is hard to speake, and not belieued.

Cor.

Melampus, when is Loue most male content?

Mel.

When Louers range, and beare their bowes vnbent.

Cor.

Melampus, tell me, when takes Loue least harme?

Mel.

When Swaines sweet pipes are puft, and Truls are warme.

Cor.

Melampus, tell me, when is Loue best fed?

Mel.

When it hath suck'd the sweet that ease hath bred.

Cor.

Melampus, when is time in Loue ill spent?

Mel.

When it earnes meed, and yet receaues no rent.

Cor.

Melampus, when is time well spent in Loue?

Mel.

When deeds win meeds, and words Loue workes doe proue.

FINIS.

Geor. Peele.

¶Tityrus to his faire Phillis.

THE silly Swaine whose loue breeds discontent, Thinkes death a trifle, life a loathsome thing, Sad he lookes, sad he lyes: But when his fortunes mallice doth relent, Then of loues sweetnes he will sweetly sing, thus he liues, thus he dies. Then Tityrus whom Loue hath happy made, Will rest thrice happy in this Mirtle shade. For though Loue at first did greeue him: yet did Loue at last releeue him.

FINIS.

I. D.

¶Shepheard.

SWeet thrall, first step to Loues felicitie,

Shepheardesse.

Sweet thrall, no stop to perfect libertie.

Hee.

O life.

Shee.

what life?

Hee.

Sweet life.

Shee.

No life more sweet:

Hee.

O Loue.

Shee.

What loue?

Hee.

Sweet loue.

Shee.

No loue more meet.

FINIS.

I. M.

Another of the same Authour.

FIelds were ouer-spread with flowers, Fairest choise of Floraes treasure: Shepheards there had shady Bowers, Where they oft repos'd with pleasure. Meadowes flourish'd fresh and gay, where the wanton Heards did play.

Springs more cleare then Christall streames. Seated were the Groues among: Thus nor Titans scorching beames, Nor earths drouth could Shepheards wrong. Faire Pomonaes fruitfull pride: did the budding branches hide.

Flockes of sheepe fed on the Plaines, Harmelesse sheepe that roamd at large: Heere and there sate pensiue Swaines, Wayting on their wandring charge. Pensiue while their Lasses smil'd: Lasses which had them beguil'd.

Hills with trees were richly dight, Vallies stor'd with Vestaes wealth: Both did harbour sweet delight, Nought was there to hinder health. Thus did Heauen grace the soyle: Not deform'd with work-mens toile.

Purest plot of earthly mold, Might that Land be iustly named:

Art by Nature was controld, Art, which no such pleasures framed. Fayrer place was neuer seene: Fittest place for Beauties Queene.

FINIS.

I. M.

¶Menaphon to Pesana.

FAire fields proud Floraes vaunt, why i'st you smile, when as I languish? You golden Meades, why striue you to beguile my weeping anguish? I liue to sorrow, you to pleasure spring, why doe ye spring thus? What, will not Boreas tempests wrathfull King, take some pitty on vs? And send forth Winter in her rustie weede, to waile my bemoanings: While I distrest doe tune my Country Reede vnto my groanings. But Heauen and Earth, time, place, and euery power, haue with her conspired: To turne my blisfull sweet to balefull sower, since I this desired. The Heauen whereto my thoughts may not aspire, aye me vnhappy: It was my fault t'imbrace my bane the fire that forceth me die. Mine be the paine, but hers the cruell cause, of this strange torment:

Wherefore no time my banning prayers shall pause, till proud she repent.

FINIS.

Ro. Greene.

¶A sweet Pastorall.

GOod Muse rocke me a sleepe with some sweet Harmonie: This weary eye is not to keepe thy wary companie.

Sweet Loue be gone a while, thou knowest my heauines: Beautie is borne but to beguile my hart of happines.

See how my little flocke that lou'd to feede on hie: Doe headlong tumble downe the Rocke, and in the Vallie die.

The bushes and the trees that were so fresh and greene: Doe all their daintie colour leese, and not a leafe is seene.

The Blacke-bird and the Thrush, that made the woods to ring: With all the rest, are now at hush, and not a note they sing.

Sweet Philomele the bird, that hath the heauenly throat, Doth now alas not once affoord recording of a noate.

The flowers haue had a frost each hearbe hath lost her fauour: And Phillida the faire hath lost the comfort of her fauour.

Now all these carefull sights, so kill me in conceit: That how to hope vpon delights it is but meere deceite.

And therefore my sweet Muse that knowest what helpe is best: Doe now thy heauenly cunning vse, to set my heart at rest.

And in a dreame bewray what fate shall be my friend: Whether my life shall still decay, or when my sorrow end.

FINIS

N. Breton.

¶Harpalus complaint on Phillidaes loue bestowed or Corin, who loued her not, and denyed him that loued her.

PHillida was a faire maide, as fresh as any flower: Whom Harpalus the Heards-man praide to be his Paramour, Harpalus and eke Corin, were Heards-men both yfere: And Phillida could twist and spinne, and thereto sing full cleere. But Phillida was all too coy, for Harpalus to winne: For Corin was her onely ioy, who forc'd her not a pinne. How often would she flowers twine? how often Garlands make: Of Cowslips and of Cullumbine, and all for Corins sake? But Corin he had Hawkes to lure, and forced more the field: Of Louers law hee tooke no cure, for once hee was beguild. Harpalus preuailed naught, his labour all was lost: For he was furthest from her thought, and yet he lou'd her most. Therefore woxe he both pale and leane, and dry as clod of clay: His flesh it was consumed cleane, his colour gone away.

His beard it had not long beene shaue, his haire hung all vnkempt: A man most fit euen for the graue, whom spitefull Loue had spent. His eyes were red and all fore-watcht, his face besprent with teares: It seem'd vnhap had him long hatcht, in midst of his dispaires. His cloathes were blacke and also bare, as one forlorne was hee: Vpon his head he alwayes ware a wreath of Willow-tree. His beasts he kept vpon the hill, and he sate in the Dale: And thus with sighs and sorrowes shrill, he gan to tell his tale. Oh Harpalus, thus would he say, vnhappiest vnder Sunne: The cause of thine vnhappy day, by loue was first begun. For thou went'st first by sute to seeke, a Tyger to make tame: That sets not by thy loue a Leeke, but makes thy griefe a game. As easie were it to conuert the frost into a flame: As for to turne a froward hart whom thou so faine wouldst frame. Corin, he liueth carelesse, he leapes among the leaues: He eates the fruites of thy redresse, thou reap'st, he takes the sheaues.

My beasts a-while your foode refraine, and harke your Heard-mans sound: Whom spightfull Loue alas hath slaine, through-girt with many a wound. Oh happy be ye beasts wild, that here your Pasture takes: I see that ye be not beguild, of these your faithfull makes. The Hart he feedeth by the Hinde, the Bucke hard by the Doe: The Turtle-Doue is not vnkinde to him that loues her so. The Eweshe hath by her the Ram, the young Cowe hath the Bull: The Calfe with many a lusty Lamb, doe feede their hunger full. But well-away that Nature wrought, thee Phillida so faire: For I may say that I haue bought thy beauty all too deere. What reason is't that cruelty with beauty should haue part? Or else that such great tirannie, should dwell in womans hart? I see therefore to shape my death, she cruelly is prest: To th'end that I may want my breath, my dayes beene at the best. Oh Cupid grant this my request, and doe not stop thine eares: That she may feele within her brest, the paine of my despaires.

Of Corin that is carelesse, that she may craue her fee: As I haue done in great distresse, that lou'd her faithfully. But since that I shall die her slaue, her slaue and eke her thrall: Write you my friends vpon my graue, this chance that is befall. Here lyeth vnhappy Harpalus, by cruell Loue now slaine: Whom Phillida vniustly thus, hath murdred with disdaine.

FINIS.

L.T. Haward, Earle of Surrie.

¶Another of the same subiect, but made as it were in answere.

ON a goodly Summers day, Harpalus and Phillida, He a true harted Swaine, She full of coy disdaine, droue their Flocks to field: He to see his Shepheardesse, She did dreame on nothing lesse, Then his continuall care, Which to grim-fac'd Dispaire, wholely did him yeeld. Corin she affected still, All the more thy heart to kill.

Thy case doth make me rue, That thou should'st loue so true, and be thus disdain'd: While their Flocks a feeding were, They did meete together there. Then with a curtsie lowe, And sighs that told his woe, thus to her he plain'd.

Bide a while faire Phillida, List what Harpalus will say Onely in loue to thee, Though thou respect not mee, yet vouchsafe an eare: To preuent ensuing ill, Which no doubt betide thee will, If thou doe not fore-see, To shunne it presently, then thy harme I feare. Firme thy loue is, well I wot, To the man that loues thee not. Louely and gentle Mayde, Thy hope is quite betrayde, which my heart doth greeue: Corin is vnkinde to thee, Though thou thinke contrarie. His loue is growne as light, As is his Faulcons flight, this sweet Nimph beleeue.

Mopsus daughter, that young mayde, Her bright eyes his heart hath strayde

From his affecting thee, Now there is none but shee that is Corins blisse: Phillis, men the Virgin call, She is Buxome, faire and tall, Yet not like Phillida: If I my minde might say, eyes oft deeme amisse. He commends her beauty rare, Which with thine may not compare. He doth extoll her eye, Silly thing, if thine were by, thus conceit can erre: He is rauish'd with her breath, Thine can quicken life in death. He praiseth all her parts; Thine, winnes a world of harts, more, if more there were.

Looke sweet Nimph vpon thy Flock, They stand still, and now feede not, As if they shar'd with thee: Griefe for this iniurie, offred to true loue. Pretty Lambkins, how they moane, And in bleating seeme to groane, That any Shepheards Swaine, Should cause their Mistresse paine: by affects remoue. If you looke but on the grasse, It's not halfe so greene as 'twas: When I began my tale,

But is as witherd pale, all in meere remorce. Marke the Trees that bragd euen now, Of each goodly greene-leau'd bow, They seeme as blasted all, Ready for Winters fall, such is true loues force.

The gentle murmur of the Springs, Are become contrary things, They haue forgot their pride, And quite forsake their glide, as if charm'd they stand. And the flowers growing by, Late so fresh in euery eye, See how they hang the head, As on a suddaine dead, dropping on the sand. The birds that chaunted it yer-while, Ere they heard of Corins guile, Sit as they were afraide, Or by some hap dismaide, for this wrong to thee: Harke sweet Phil, how Philomell, That was wont to sing so well, Iargles now in yonder bush, Worser then the rudest Thrush, as it were not shee.

Phillida, who all this while Neither gaue a sigh or smile: Round about the field did gaze,

As her wits were in a maze, poore despised Mayd. And reuiued at the last, After streames of teares were past, Leaning on her Shepheards hooke, With a sad and heauie looke, thus poore soule she sayd. Harpalus, I thanke not thee, For this sorry tale to mee. Meete me here againe to morrow, Then I will conclude my sorrow mildly, if may be: With their Flocks they home doe fare, Eithers heart too full of care, If they doe meete againe, Then what they furder sayne, you shall here from me.

FINIS.

Shep. Tonic.

¶The Nimphes meeting their May Queene, entertaine her with this Dittie,

VVIth fragrant flowers we strew the way, And make this our chiefe holy-day. For though this clime were blest of yore: Yet was it neuer proud before. O beauteous Queene of second Troy: Accept of our vnfained ioy.

Now th'Ayre is sweeter then sweet Balme, And Satyres dance about the Palme, Now earth with verdure newly dight, Giues perfect signes of her delight. O beauteous Queene, &c.

Now birds record new harmonie, And trees doe whistle melodie, Now euery thing that Nature breedes, Doth clad it selfe in pleasant weedes. O beauteous Queene, &c.

FINIS.

Tho. Watson.

¶Colin Clouts mournfull Dittie for the death of Astrophell.

SHepheards that wont on pipes of Oaten Reede Oft-times to plaine your Loues concealed smart; And with your pitteous Layes haue learn'd to breede Compassion in a Country-Lasses hart: Harken ye gentle Shepheards to my Song, And place my dolefull plaint your plaints among.

To you alone I sing this mournfull verse, The mournfulst verse that euer man heard tell: To you whose softned hearts it may impierce With dolours dart for death of Astrophell. To you I sing, and to none other wight: For well I wot, my rimes beene rudely dight.

Yet as they beene, if any nicer wit Shall hap to heare, or couet them to reade: Thinke he, that such are for such ones most fit, Made not to please the liuing, but the dead. And if in him found pitty euer place: Let him be mou'd to pitty such a case.

FINIS.

Edm. Spencer.

¶Damaetas Iigge in praise of his Loue.

IOlly Shepheard, Shepheard on a hill on a hill so merrily, on a hill so cherily, Feare not Shepheard there to pipe thy fill, Fill euery Dale, fill euery Plaine: both sing and say; Loue feeles no paine.

Iolly Shepheard, Shepheard on a greene, on a greene so merrily, on a greene so cherily, Be thy voyce shrill, be thy mirth seene, Heard to each Swaine, seene to each Trull: Both sing and say; Loues ioy is full.

Iolly Shepheard, Shepheard in the Sunne, in the Sunne so merrily, in the Sunne so cherily, Sing forth thy Songs, and let thy rimes runne Downe to the Dales, to the hills aboue: both sing and say; No life to loue.

Iolly Shepheard, Shepheard in the shade, in the shade so merrily, in the shade so cherily, Ioy in thy life, life of Shepheards trade, Ioy in thy loue, loue full of glee: both sing and say; Sweet Loue forme.

Iolly Shepheard, Shepheard here or there, here or there so merrily, here or there so cherily, Or in thy chat, either at thy cheere, In euery ligge, in euery Lay: both sing and say; Loue lasts for aye.

Iolly Shepheard, Shepheard Daphnis Loue, Daphnis loue so merrily, Daphnis loue so cherily, Let thy fancie neuer more remoue, Fancie be fixt, fixt not to fleete, still sing and say; Loues yoake is sweet.

FINIS.

Iohn Wootton.

¶Montanus praise of his faire Phaebe.

PHaebe sate, Sweet she sate, sweet sate Phaebe when I saw her, White her brow Coy her eye, brow and eye, how much you please me?

Words I spent, Sighs I sent, sighs and words could neuer draw her, Oh my Loue, Thou art lost, since no sight could euer ease thee. Phaebe sate By a Fount, sitting by a Fount I spide her, Sweet her touch, Rare her voyce, touch and voyce, what may distaine you? As she sung, I did sigh, And by sighs whilst that I tride her, Oh mine eyes You did loose, her first sight whose want did paine you. Phaebes Flocks White as wooll, yet were Phoebes lookes more whiter, Phaebes eyes Doue-like mild, Doue-like eyes both mild and cruell, Montane sweares In your Lamps, he will die for to delight her, Phaebe yeeld Or I die, shall true hearts be fancies fuell?

FINIS.

Thom. Lodge.

¶The complaint of Thestilis the forsaken Shepheard.

THestilis a silly Swaine, when Loue did him forsake, In mournfull wise amid the Woods, thus gan his plaint to make, Ah wofull man (quoth he) falne is thy lot to mone, And pine away with carefull thoughts, vnto thy Loue vnknowne. Thy Nimph forsakes thee quite, whom thou didst honour so: That aye to her thou wert a friend, but to thy selfe a foe. Ye Louers that haue lost your hearts-desired choyce: Lament with me my cruell hap, and helpe my trembling voyce Was neuer man that stood so great in Fortunes grace, Nor with his sweat (alas too deere) possest so high a place: As I whose simple heart, aye thought himselfe still sure, But now I see high springing tides, they may not aye endure. She knowes my guiltlesse heart, and yet she lets it pine: Of her vntrue professed loue, so feeble is the twine. What wonder is it then, if I berent my haires: And crauing death continually, doe bathe my selfe in teares? When Craesus King of Lide, was cast in cruell hands, And yeelded goods and life into his enemies hands: What tongue could tell his woe? yet was his griefe much lesse Then mine for I haue lost my Loue, which might my woe redresse. Ye Woods that shroud my limbs, giue now your hollow sound: That ye may helpe me to bewaile, the cares that me confound. Ye Riuers rest a while, and stay your streames that runne: Rue Thestilis, the wofulst man that rests vnder the Sunne. Transport my sighs ye winds, vnto my pleasant soe: My trickling teares shall witnes beare, of this my cruell woe: Oh happy man were I, if all the Gods agreed: That now the Sisters three should cut in twaine my fatall threed Till life with loue shall end, I here resigne allioy, Thy pleasant sweet I now lament, whose lacke breeds mine annoy.

Farewell my deere therefore, farewell to me well knowne, If that I die, it shall be said: that thou hast slaine thine owne.

FINIS.

L.T. Howard, E. of Surrie.

¶To Phillis the faire Shepheardesse.

MY Phillis hath the morning Sunne, at first to looke vpon her: And Phillis hath morne-waking birds, her risings still to honour. My Phillis hath prime-featherd flowres, that smile when she treads on them: And Phillis hath a gallant Flocke, that leapes since she doth owne them. But Phillis hath too hard a hart, alas that she should haue it: It yeelds no mercie to desert, nor grace to those that craue it. Sweet Sunne, when thou look'st on, pray her regard my moane. Sweet birds, when you sing to her, to yeeld some pitty, woo her, Sweet flowers that she treads on, tell her, her beauty deads one. And if in life her loue she nill agree me: Pray her before I die, she will come see me.

FINIS.

S. E. D.

¶The Shepheard Dorons Iigge.

THrough the shrubs as I can crack, for my Lambs pretty ones, mongst many little ones, Nimphs I meane, whose haire was black As the Crow. Like as the Snow Her face and browes shin'd I weene, I saw a little one, a bonny pretty one, As bright, buxome, and as sheene: As was shee On her knee That lull'd the God, whose arrowes warmes such merry little ones, such faire-fac'd pretty ones, As dally in Loues chiefest harmes. Such was mine, Whose gray eyne Made me loue: I gan to wooe this sweet little one, this bonny pretty one. I wooed hard a day or two, Till she bad, Be not sad, Wooe no more, I am thine owne, thy dearest little one, thy truest pretty one. Thus was faith and firme loue showne, As behooues Shepheards Loues.

FINIS.

Ro. Greene.

¶Astrophell his Song of Phillida and Coridon.

FAire in a morne, (O fairest morne) was neuer morne so faire: There shone a Sunne, though not the Sunne, that shineth in the ayre. For the earth, and from the earth, (was neuer such a creature:) Did come this face, (was neuer face,) that carried such a feature. Vpon a hill, (O blessed hill, was neuer hill so blessed) There stoode a man, (was neuer man for woman so distressed.) This man beheld a heauenly view, which did such vertue giue: As cleares the blinde, and helps the lame, and makes the dead man liue. This man had hap, (O happy man more happy none then hee;) For he had hap to see the hap, that none had hap to see. This silly Swaine, (and silly Swaines are men of meanest grace:) Had yet the grace, (O gracious guest) to hap on such a face. He pitty cried, and pitty came, and pittied so his paine: As dying, would not let him die, but gaue him life againe. For ioy whereof he made such mirth, as all the Woods did ring:

And Pan with all his Swaines came forth, to heare the Shepheards sing. But such a Song sung neuer was, nor shall be sung againe: Of Phillida the Shepheards Queene, and Coridon the Swaine. Faire Phillis is the Shepheards Queene, (was neuer such a Queene as shee,) And Coridon her onely Swaine, (was neuer such a Swaine as he.) Faire Phillis hath the fairest face, that euer eye did yet behold: And Coridon the constant'st faith, that euer yet kept Flock in fold. Sweet Phillis is the sweetest sweet, that euer yet the earth did yeeld: And Coridon the kindest Swaine, that euer yet kept Lambs in field. Sweet Philomell is Phillis bird, though Coridon be he that caught her: And Coridon doth heare her sing, though Phillida be she that taught her. Poore Coridon doth keepe the fields, though Phillida be she that owes them: And Phillida doth walke the Meades, though Coridon be he that mowes them. The little Lambs are Phillis Loue, though Coridon is he that feedes them: The Gardens faire are Phillis ground, though Coridon be he that weedes them. Since then that Phillis onely is, the onely Shepheards onely Queene:

And Coridon the onely Swaine, that onely hath her Shepheard beene. Though Phillis keepe her bower of state, shall Coridon consume away? No Shepheard no, worke out the weeke, and Sunday shall be holy-day

FINIS.

N. Breton.

¶The passionate Shepheards Song.

ON a day, (alack the day,) Loue whose moneth was euer May: Spied a blossome passing faire, Playing in the wanton ayre. Through the veluet leaues the winde, All vnseene gan passage finde: That the Shepheard (sicke to death,) Wish'd himselfe the Heauens breath. Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blow: Ayre, would I might triumph so. But alas, my hand hath sworne, Nere to plucke thee from thy thorne. Vow (alack) for youth vnmeet, Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Thou for whom Ioue would sweare, Iuno but an Aethiope were, And deny himselfe for Ioue, Turning mortall for my Loue.

FINIS.

W. Shakespeare.

¶The vnknowne Shepheards complaint.

MY Flocks feed not, my Ewes breed not, My Ramines speed not, all is amisse: Loue is denying, Faith is defying, Harts renying, causer of this. All my merry ligges are quite forgot, All my Ladies loue is lost God wot, Where her faith was firmely fixt in loue, There a nay is plac'd without remoue. One silly crosse, wrought all my losse; O frowning Fortune, cursed fickle Dame. For now I see, inconstancie More in women then in men remaine.

In blacke mourne I, all feares scorne I, Loue hath forlorne me, liuing in thrall: Hart is bleeding, all helpe needing, O cruell speeding, fraughted with gall. My Shepheards pipe can sound no deale, My Weathers bell rings dolefull knell. My curtaile dogge that wont to haue plaide, Playes not at all, but seemes afraide. With sighs so deepe, procures to weepe, In howling-wise, to see my dolefull plight: How sighs resound, through hartlesse ground. Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight.

Cleare Wels spring not, sweet birds sing not, Greene plants bring not forth their die: Heards stand weeping, Flocks all sleeping,

Nimphs backe peeping fearefully. All our pleasure knowne to vs, poore Swaines, All our merry meeting on the Plaines. All our euening sports from vs are fled, All our loue is lost, for Loue is dead. Farewell sweet Loue, thy like nere was, For sweet content, the cause of all my moane: Poore Coridon must liue alone, Other helpe for him, I see that there is none.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶Another of the same Shepheards.

AS it fell vpon a day, In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade, Which a groue of Mirtles made. Beasts did leape, and Birds did sing, Trees did grow, and plants did spring. Euery thing did banish moane, Saue the Nightingale alone. She poore Bird, as all forlorne, Lean'd her breast against a thorne, And there sung the dolefull'st Ditty, That to heare it was great pitty. Fie, fie, fie, now would she crie Teru, Teru, by and by. That to heare her so complaine, Scarse I could from teares refraine.

For her griefes so liuely showne, Made me thinke vpon mine owne. Ah (thought I) thou mourn'st in vaine, None takes pitty on thy paine. Sencelesse trees, they cannot heare thee, Ruthlesse beasts, they will not cheare thee. King Pandion he is dead, All thy friends are lapt in Lead. All thy fellow birds doe sing, Carelesse of thy sorrowing. Euen so poore bird like thee, None a-liue will pitty mee.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶The Shepheards allusion of his owne amorous infelicitie, to the offence of Actaeon.

ACtaeon lost in middle of his sport Both shape and life, for looking but awry: Diana was afraid he would report What secrets he had seene in passing by. To tell but truth, the selfe same hurt haue I: By viewing her for whom I daily die.

I leese my wonted shape, in that my minde Doth suffer wracke vpon the stonie rock Of her disdaine, who contrary to kinde Doth beare a breast more hard then any stock; And former forme of limbes is changed quite: By cares in loue, and want of due delight.

I leese my life, in that each secret thought, Which I conceaue through wanton fond regard, Doth make me say, that life auaileth nought, Where seruice cannot haue a due reward. I dare not name the Nimph that workes my smart, Though Loue hath grau'n her name within my hart.

FINIS.

T. Watson.

¶Montanus Sonnet to his faire Phaebe.

A Turtle sate vpon a leauelesse tree, Mourning her absent pheare, With sad and sorrie cheare. About her wondring stood, The Citizens of wood. And whilest her plumes she rents, And for her Loue laments: The stately trees complaine them, The birds with sorrow paine them. Each one that doth her view, Her paines and sorrowes rue. But were the sorrowes knowne, That me hath ouer-throwne: Oh how would Phaebe sigh, if she did looke on mee?

The loue-sicke Polipheme that could not see, Who on the barren shoare, His fortunes did deplore: And melteth all in mone, For Galatea gone, And with his cries

Afflicts both earth and skies, And to his woe betooke, Doth breake both pipe and hooke. For whom complaines the morne. For whom the Sea-Nimphs mourne. Alas his paine is nought, For were my woe but thought: Oh how would Phaebe sigh, if she did looke on me?

Beyond compare my paine, yet glad am I: If gentle Phaebe daine, to see her Montane die.

FINIS.

Thom. Lodge.

¶Phaebes Sonnet, a reply to Montanus passion.

DOwne a downe, Thus Phillis sung, By fancy once distressed: Who so by foolish Loue are stung are worthily oppressed. And so sing I, with downe a downe, &c.

When Loue was first begot, And by the mothers will: Did fall to humane lot, His solace to fulfill, Deuoid of all deceit, A chaste and holy fire:

Did quicken mans conceit, And womens brests inspire. The Gods that saw the good, That mortals did approue: With kinde and holy moode, Began to talke of Loue. Downe a downe, Thus Phillis sung By fancie once distressed, &c.

But during this accord, A wonder strange to heare: Whilest Loue in deed and word, Most faithfull did appeare; False semblance came in place, By Iealousie attended: And with a double face, Both loue and fancie blended. Which made the Gods forsake, And men from fancie flie: And Maydens scorne a make, Forsooth and so will I. Downe a downe, Thus Phillis sung, By fancie once distressed: Who so by foolish Loue are stung, Are worthily oppressed. And so sing I, with downe a downe, &c.

FINIS.

Thom. Lodge.

¶Coridons supplication to Phillis.

SWeet Phillis, if a silly Swaine, may sue to thee for grace: See not thy louing Shepheard slaine, with looking on thy face. But thinke what power thou hast got, vpon my Flocke and mee: Thou seest they now regard me not, but all doe follow thee. And if I haue so farre presum'd, with prying in thine eyes: Yet let not comfort be consum'd, that in thy pitty lyes. But as thou art that Phillis faire, that Fortune fauour giues: So let not Loue dye in despaire, that in thy fauour liues. The Deere doe brouse vpon the bryer, the Birds doe picke the Cherries: And will not Beautie graunt Desire, one handfull of her berries? If it be so that thou hast sworne, that none shall looke on thee: Yet let me know thou dost not scorne, to cast a looke on mee. But if thy beautie make thee proud, thinke then what is ordain'd. The heauens haue neuer yet alow'd, that Loue should be disdain'd. Then lest the Fates that fauour Loue, should curse thee for vnkinde:

Let me report for thy behooue, the honour of thy minde, Let Coridon with full consent, set downe what he hath seene: That Phillida with Loues content, is sworne the Shepheards Queene.

FINIS.

N. Breton.

¶Damaetas Madrigall in praise of his Daphnis.

TVne on my pipe the praises of my Loue, Loue faire and bright: Fill earth with sound, and ayrie heauens aboue, heauen's Ioues delight, with Daphnis prayse.

To pleasant Tempe Groues and Plaines about, Plaines, Shepheards pride: Resounding Ecchoes of her praise ring out, ring farre and wide my Daphnis praise,

When I begin to sing, begin to sound, sounds loud and shrill: Doe make each note vnto the skies rebound, skies calme and still, with Daphnis praise.

Her tresses are like wiers of beaten gold, Gold bright and sheene: Like Nisus golden haire that Scilla pold, Scill, ore-seene through Minos loue.

Her eyes like shining Lamps in midst of night, Night darke and dead: Or as the Starres that giue the Sea-men light, Light for to lead their wandring Ships.

Amidst her cheeks the Rose and Lilly striue, Lilly, snow white: When their contend doth make their colour thriue. Colour too bright for Shepheards eyes.

Her lips like Scarlet of the finest die, Scarlet blood-red: Teeth white as Snow, which on the hils doth lie. Hils ouer-spread by Winters force.

Her skinne as soft as is the finest silke, Silke soft and fine: Of colour like vnto the whitest milke, Milke of the Kine of Daphnis Heard.

As swift of foote as is the pretty Roe, Roe swift of pace:

When yelping Hounds pursue her to and fro, Hounds fierce in chase, to reaue her life.

Cease tongue to tell of any more compares, Compares too rude: Daphnis deserts and beautie are too rare, Then heere conclude faire Daphnis praise.

FINIS.

I. Wootton.

¶Dorons description of his faire Shepheardesse Samela.

LIke to Diana in her Sommer weede, Girt with a Crimson roabe of brightest die: goes faire Samela. Whiter then be the flocks that stragling feed, When wash'd by Arethusa, faint they lie. is faire Samela. As faire Aurora in her morning gray, Deckt with the ruddy glister of her loue: is faire Samela. Like louely Thetis on a calmed day, When as her brightnes Neptunes fancies moue. shines faire Samela. Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassie streames, Her teeth are pearle, the brests are Iuorie: of faire Samela. Her cheekes like Rose and Lilly yeeld forth gleames,

Her browes bright arches fram'd of Ebonie, thus faire Samela Passeth faire Venus in her brightest hew, And Iuno in the shew of Maiestie: for she's Samela. Pallas in wit, all three if you well view, For beauty, wit, and matchlesse dignitie, yeeld to Samela.

FINIS.

Ro. Greene.

¶Wodenfrides Song in praise of Amargana.

THe Sunne the season in each thing Reuiues new pleasures, the sweet Spring Hath put to flight the Winter keene: To glad our louely Sommer Queene.

The pathes where Amargana treads, With flowrie tap'stries Flora spreads. And nature cloathes the ground in greene: To glad our louely Sommer Queene.

The Groaues put on their rich aray, With Hawthorne bloomes imbroydered gay, And sweet perfum'd with Eglantine: To glad our louely Sommer Queene.

The silent Riuer stayes his course, Whilst playing on the christall sourse,

The siluer scaled fish are seene, To glad our louely Sommer Queene.

The Woods at her faire sight reioyces, The little Birds with their loud voyces, In consort on the bryers beene, To glad our louely Sommer Queene.

The fleecie Flockes doe scud and skip, The wood-Nimphs, Fawnes, and Satires trip, And daunce the Mirtle trees betweene: To glad our louely Sommer Queene.

Great Pan (our God) for her deere sake, This feast and meeting bids vs make, Of Shepheards, Lads, and Lasses sheene: To glad our louely Sommer Queene.

And euery Swaine his chaunce doth proue, To winne faire Amarganaes loue, In sporring strifes quite voide of spleene: To glad our louely Sommer Queene.

All happines let Heauen her lend, And all the Graces her attend. Thus bid me pray the Muses nine, Long liue our louely Sommer Queene.

FINIS.

W. H.

Another of the same.

HAppy Shepheards sit and see, with ioy, The peerelesse wight: For whose sake Pan keepes from ye annoy, And giues delight, Blessing this pleasant Spring, Her praises must I sing. List you Swaines, list to me: The whiles your Flocks feeding be.

First her brow a beauteous Globe I deeme, And golden haire; And her cheeke Auroraes roabe doth seeme. But farre more faire. Her eyes like starres are bright. And dazle with their light, Rubies her lips to see, But to taste, Nectar they be.

Orient pearles her teeth, her smile doth linke The Graces three: Her white necke doth eyes beguile to thinke it Iuorie. Alas her Lilly hand, How it doth me commaund?

Softer silke none can be: And whiter milke none can see.

Circes wand is not so straite, as is Her body small: But two pillers beare the waight of this maiesticke Hall. Those be I you assure, Of Alabaster pure, Polish'd fine in each part: Ne're Nature yet shewed like Art.

How shall I her pretty tread expresse when she doth walke? Scarse she doth the Primerose head depresse, or tender stalke Of blew-veind Violets, Whereon her foote she sets. Vertuous she is, for we finde, In body faire, a beaut'ous minde.

Liue faire Amargana still extold In all my rime: Hand want Art, when I want will t'vnsold her worth diuine. But now my Muse doth rest, Despaire clos'd in my brest,

Of the valour I sing: Weake faith that no hope doth bring.

FINIS.

W. H.

¶An excellent Pastorall Dittie.

A Carefull Nimph, with carelesse greefe opprest, Vnder the shaddow of an Ashen tree: With Lute in hand did paint out her vnrest, vnto a Nimph that bare her company. No sooner had she tuned euery string: But sob'd and sigh'd, and thus began to sing.

Ladies and Nimphs, come listen to my plaint, on whom the cheerefull Sunne did neuer rise: If pitties stroakes your tender breasts may taint, come learne of me to wet your wanton eyes. For Loue in vaine the name of pleasure beares: His sweet delights are turned into feares.

The trustlesse shewes, the frights, the feeble ioyes, the freezing doubts, the guilefull promises: The feigned lookes, the shifts, the subtill toyes, the brittle hope, the stedfast heauines. The wished warre in such vncertaine peace: These with my woe, my woes with these increase.

Thou dreadfull God, that in thy Mothers lap do'st lye, and heare the crie of my complaint,

And seest, and smilest at my sore mishap, that lacke but skill my sorrowes here to paint: Thy fire from heauen before the hurt I spide, Quite through mine eyes into my brest did glide.

My life was light, my blood did spirt and spring, my body quicke, my heart began to leape: And euery thornie thought did prick and sting, the fruit of my desired ioyes to reape. But he on whom to thinke, my soule still tyers: In bale forsooke, and lest me in the bryers.

Thus Fancie strung my Lute to layes of Loue, and Loue hath rock'd my wearie Muse a-sleepe: And sleepe is broken by the paines I proue, and euery paine I feele doth force me weepe. Then farewell fancie, loue, sleepe, paine, and sore. And farewell weeping, I can waile no more.

FINIS.

Shep. Tonie.

¶Phillidaes Loue-call to her Coridon, and his replying.

Phil.

COridon, arise my Coridon, Titan shineth cleare:

Cor.

Who is it that calleth Coridon, who is it that I heare?

Phil.

Phillida thy true-Loue calleth thee, arise then, arise then;

arise and keepe thy Flock with me:

Cor.

Phillida my true-Loue, is it she? I come then, I come then, I come and keepe my flocke with thee.

Phil.

Here are cherries ripe my Coridon, eate them for my sake:

Cor.

Here's my Oaten pipe my louely one, sport for thee to make.

Phil.

Here are threeds my true-Loue, fine as silke, to knit thee, to knit thee a paire of stockings white as milke.

Cor.

Here are Reedes my true-Loue, fine and neate, to make thee, to make thee a Bonnet to with-stand the heate.

Phil.

I will gather flowers my Coridon, to set in thy Cap:

Cor.

I will gather Peares my louely one, to put in thy lap.

Phil.

I will buy my true-Loue Garters gay, for Sundayes, for Sundayes, to weare about his legges so tall.

Cor.

I will buy my true-Loue yellow Say, for Sundayes, for Sundayes, to weare about her middle small.

Phil.

When my Coridon sits on a hill, making melodie:

Cor.

When my louely one goes to her wheele singing cherily.

Phil.

Sure me thinks my true-Loue doth excell

for sweetnesse, for sweetnesse, our Pan that old Arcadian Knight:

Cor.

And me thinks my true-Loue beares the bell for clearenesse, for clearenesse, beyond the Nimphs that be so bright.

Phil.

Had my Coridon, my Coridon, beene (alack) my Swaine:

Cor.

Had my louely one, my louely one, beene in Ida plaine.

Phil.

Cinthia Endimion had refus'd, preferring, preferring my Coridon to play with-all:

Cor.

The Queene of Loue had beene excus'd, bequeathing, bequeathing, my Phillida the golden ball.

Phil.

Yonder comes my Mother, Coridon, whether shall I flie?

Cor.

Vnder yonder Beech my louely one, while she passeth by.

Phil.

Say to her thy true-Loue was not here, remember, remember, to morrow is another day:

Cor.

Doubt me not, my true-Loue, doe not feare, farewell then, farewell then, heauen keepe our loues alway.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶The Shepheards solace.

PHoebus delights to view his Laurell tree, The Poplar pleaseth Hercules alone: Melissa mother is and sautrixe to the Bee, Pallas will weare the Oliue branch alone. Of Shepheards and their Flocks Pales is Queene: And Ceres ripes the Corne was lately greene. To Chloris euery flower belongs of right, The Dryade Nimphs of Woods make chiefe account: Orcades in hills haue their delight, Diana doth protect each bubling Fount. To Hebe louely kissing is assign'd: To Zephire euery gentle-breathing wind. But what is Loues delight? To hurt each where He cares not whom, with Darts of deepe desire: With watchfull iealousie, with hope, with feare, With nipping cold, and secret flames of fire. O happy houre, wherein I did forgoe: This little God, so great a cause of woe.

FINIS.

Tho. Watson.

¶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.

¶The Shepheards Arsileus reply to Syrenus Song.

O Let that time a thousand moneths endure, Which brings from heauen the sweet & siluer show∣ers, And ioyes the earth (of comfort late depriued,) With grasse and leaues, fine buds, and painted flowers, Ecchoe, returne vnto the woods obscure, Ring forth the Shepheards Songs in loue contriued. Let old Loues be reuiued, Which angry Winter buried but of late, And that in such a state

My soule may haue the full accomplishment Of ioy and sweet content. And since fierce paines and griefes thou do'st controule: Good Loue, doe not forsake my inward soule.

Presume not (Shepheards) once to make you merrie, With springs, and flowers, or any pleasant Song, (Vnlesse mild Loue possesse your amorous breasts) If you sing not to him, your Songs doe wearie, Crown him with flowers, or else ye do him wrong, And consecrate your Springs to his behests. I to my Shepheardesse My happy Loues with great content doe sing, And flowers to her doe bring. And sitting neere her by the Riuer side, Enioy the braue Spring-tide. Since then thy ioyes such sweetnesse doth enroule: Good Loue, doe not forsake my inward soule.

The wise (in ancient time) a God thee nam'd, Seeing that with thy power and supreame might, Thou didst such rare and mighty wonders make: For thee a heart is frozen and enflam'd, A foole thou mak'st a wise man with thy light, The coward turnes couragious for thy sake. The mighty Gods did quake At thy command: To birds & beasts transformed, Great Monarchs haue not scorned To yeeld vnto the force of beauties lure: Such spoiles thou do'st procure With thy braue force, which neuer may be tould: With which (sweet loue) thou cōquer'st euery soule

In other times obscurely I did liue But with a drowsie, base, and simple kinde Of life, and onely to my profit bend me: To thinke of Loue my selfe I did not giue, Or for good grace, good parts, and gentle minde, Neuer did any Shepheardesse commend me. But crowned now they send me A thousand Garlands, that I wone with praise, In wrastling dayes by dayes, In pitching of the Barre with arme most strong, And singing many a Song. After that thou didst honour, and take hould Of my (sweet Loue) and of my happy soule.

What greater ioy can any man desire, Then to remaine a Captiue vnto Loue: And haue his heart subiected to his power? And though sometimes he tast a little sower By suffering it, as mild as gentle Doue Yet must he be, in hew of that great hire Whereto be doth aspire: If Louers liue afflicted and in paine, Let them with cause complaine Of cruell fortune, and of times a••…••… And let not them accuse Thee (gentle-Loue) that doth with 〈…〉〈…〉 Within thy sweetest ioyes each la•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉

Behold a faire sweet face, and shining eye•• Resembling two most bright and twinkling Sending vnto the soule a perfect light: Behold the rare perfections of those w••••••••

And Iuorie hands, from griefes most surest barres That minde wherein all life and glory lyes, That ioy that neuer dyes, That he doth feele, that loues and is beloued, And my delights approued, To see her pleas'd, whose loue maintaines me here, All those I count so deere, That though sometimes Loue doth my ioyes controule: Yet am I glad he dwels within my soule.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶A Shepheards dreame.

A Silly Shepheard lately sate among a Flock of Sheepe: Where musing long on this and that, at last he fell a sleepe. And in the slumber as he lay, he gaue a pitteous groane: He thought his sheepe were runne away, and he was left alone. He whoopt, he whistled, and he call'd, but not a sheepe came neere him: Which made the Shepheard sore appall'd, to see that none would heare him. But as the Swaine amazed stood, in this most solemne vaine: Came Phillida forth of the Wood, and stood before the Swaine.

Whom when the Shepheard did behold, he straight began to weepe: And at the heart he grew a cold, to thinke vpon his sheepe. For well he knew, where came the Queene, the Shepheard durst not stay: And where that he durst not be seene, the sheepe must needes away. To aske her if she saw his Flock, might happen patience moue: And haue an answere with a mock, that such demanders proue. Yet for because he saw her come alone out of the Wood: He thought he would not stand as dombe, when speech might doe him good, And therefore falling on his knees, to aske but for his sheepe: He did awake, and so did leese the honour of his sleepe.

FINIS.

N. Breton.

¶The Shepheards Ode.

NIghts were short, and dayes were long, Blossomes on the Hawthorne hong, Philomell (Night-Musiques King,) Told the comming of the Spring:

Whose sweet-siluer-sounding-voyce, Made the little birds reioyce, Skipping light from spray to spray, Till Aurora shew'd the day. Scarse might one see, when I might see (For such chances sudden be.) By a Well of Marble-stone, A Shepheard lying all alone. Weepe he did, and his weeping Made the fading flowers spring. Daphnis was his name I weene, Youngest Swaine of Summers Queene. When Aurora saw t'was he Weepe she did for companie: Weepe she did for her sweet Sonne, That (when antique Troy was wonne) Suffer'd death by lucklesse Fate, Whom she now laments too late: And each morning (by Cocks crewe) Showers downe her siluer dewe, Whose teares falling from their spring, Giue moisture to each liuing thing That on earth encrease and grow, Through power of their friendly foe. Whose effect when Flora felt, Teares, that did her bosome melt, (For who can resist teares often, But she whom no teares can soften?) Peering straite aboue the banks, Shew'd her selfe to giue her thanks. Wondring thus at Natures worke (Wherein many meruailes lurke)

Me thought I heard a dolefull noyse, Consorted with a mournfull voyce, Drawing neere, to heare more plaine, Heare I did, vnto my paine, (For who is not pain'd to heare Him in griefe whom heart holds deere? Silly Swaine with griefe ore-gone Thus to make his pitteous mone. Loue I did, alas the while, Loue I did, but did beguile My deere Loue with louing so, Whom as then I did not know. Loue I did the fairest Boy That these fields did ere enioy. Loue I did faire Ganimede, Ʋenus darling, beauties bed: Him I thought the fairest creature, Him the quintessence of Nature. But yet (alas) I was deceau'd, (Loue of reason is bereau'd.) For since then I saw a Lasse, Lasse that did in beauty passe, Passe faire Ganimede as farre As Phaebus doth the smallest starre. Loue commanded me to loue, Fancie bad me not remoue My affection from the Swaine Whom I neuer could obtaine: (For who can obtaine that fauour Which he cannot grant the crauer?) Loue at last (though loth) preuail'd, Loue that so my heart assail'd,

Wounding me with her faire eyes, Ah how Loue can subtillize? And deuise a thousand shifts How to worke men to his drifts, Her it is, for whom I mourne, Her, for whom my life I scorne. Her, for whom I weepe all day, Her, for whom I sigh, and say Either she, or else no creature Shall enioy my loue: whose feature Though I neuer can obtaine, Yet shall my true-loue remaine: Till (my body turn'd to clay) My poore soule must passe away, To the heauens; where I hope It shall finde a resting scope: Then since I loued thee alone, Remember me when I am gone. Scarse had he these last words spoken, But me thought his heart was broken, With great griefe that did abound, (Cares and griefe the heart confound,) In whose heart thus riu'd in three, Eliza written I might see In Caracters of crimson blood, Whose meaning well I vnderstood. Which, for my heart might not behold: I hied me home my Sheepe to fold.

FINIS.

Rich. Barnefielde.

¶The Shepheards commendation of his Nimph.

VVHat Shepheard can expresse The fauour of her face? To whom in this distresse I doe appeale for grace. A thousand Cupids flye About her gentle eye.

From which each throwes a Dart That kindleth soft sweet fire Within my sighing hart, Possessed by desire. No sweeter life I trie Then in her loue to die.

The Lilly in the field, That glories in his white: For purenesse now must yeeld And render vp his right. Heauen pictur'd in her face, Doth promise ioy and grace.

Faire Cynthiaes siluer light, That beates on running streames: Compares not with her white, Whose haires are all Sun-beames. So bright my Nimph doth shine As day vnto my eyne.

With this there is a red, Exceedes the Damaske-Rose:

Which in her cheekes is spred, Whence euery fauour growes. In Skie there is no starre, But she surmounts it farre.

When Phaebus from the bed Of Thetis doth arise: The morning blushing red, In faire Carnation wise: He shewes in my Nimphs face, As Queene of euery grace.

This pleasant Lilly white, This taint of Roseate red: This Cynthiaes siluer light, This sweet faire Dea spred, These Sun-beames in mine eye, These beauties make me die.

FINIS.

Earle of Oxenford.

¶Coridon to his Phillis.

ALas my heart, mine eye hath wronged thee, Presumptuous eye, to gaze on Phillis face: Whose heauenly eye no mortall man may see, But he must die, or purchase Phillis grace. Poore Coridon, the Nimph whose eye doth moue thee: Doth loue to draw, but is not drawne to loue thee.

Her beautie, Natures pride, and Shepheards praise, Her eye, the heauenly Planet of my life: Her matchlesse wit and grace, her fame displaies, As if that Ioue had made her for his wise. Onely her eyes shoot fierie darts to kill: Yet is her hart as cold as Caucase hill.

My wings too weake to flye against the Sunne, Mine eyes vnable to sustaine her light: My hart doth yeeld that I am quite vndone, Thus hath faire Phillis slaine me with her sight. My bud is blasted, withred is my leafe: And all my Corne is rotted in the sheafe. Phillis, the golden fetter of my minde, My fancies Idoll, and my vitall power: Goddesse of Nimphs, and honour of thy kinde, This ages Phoenix, beauties richest bower. Poore Coridon for loue of thee must die: Thy beauties thrall, and conquest of thine eye.

Leaue Coridon to plough the barren field, Thy buds of hope are blasted with disgrace: For Phillis lookes no harty loue doe yeeld, Nor can she loue, for all her louely face. Die Coridon, the spoile of Phillis eye: She cannot loue, and therefore thou must die.

FINIS.

S. E. Dyer.

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¶The Shepheards description of Loue.

Melibeus.

SHepheard, what's Loue, I pray thee tell?

Faustus.

It is that Fountaine, and that Well, Where pleasure and repentance dwell, It is perhaps that sauncing bell, That toules all into heauen or hell, And this is loue as I heard tell,

Meli.

Yet what is Loue, I pre-thee say?

Faust.

It is a worke on holy-day, It is December match'd with May, When lustie-bloods in fresh aray, Heare ten months after of the play, And this Loue, as I heare say.

Meli.

Yet what is Loue, good Shepheard saine?

Faust.

It is a Sun-shine mixt with raine, It is a tooth-ach, or like paine, It is a game, where none doth gaine, The Lasse saith no, and would full faine: And is Loue, as I heare saine.

Meli.

Yet Shepheard, what is Loue, I pray?

Faust.

It is a yea, it is a nay, A pretty kind of sporting fray, It is a thing will soone away, Then Nimphs take vantage while ye may: And this is Loue as I heare say.

Meli.

Yet what is Loue, good Shepheard show?

Faust.

A thing that creepes, it cannot goe, A prize that passeth to and fro, A thing for one, a thing for moe, And he that prooues shall finde it so; And Shepheard this is loue I trow.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶To his Flockes.

FEede on my Flockes securely, Your Shepheard watched surely, Runne about my little Lambs, Skip and wanton with your Dammes, Your louing Heard with care will tend ye:

Sport on faire flocks at pleasure, Nip Ʋaestaes flowring treasure, I my selfe will duely harke, When my watchfull dogge doth barke, From Woolfe and Foxe I will defend ye.

FINIS.

H.C.

¶A Roundelay betweene two Shepheards.

1. Shep.

TEll me thou gentle Shepheards Swaine, Who is younder in the Vale is set?

2. Shep.

Oh it is she, whose sweetes doe staine The Lilly, Rose, the Violet.

1. Shep.

Why doth the Sunne against his kind, Fixe his bright Chariot in the skies?

2. Shep.

Because the Sunne is strooken blinde, With looking on her heauenly eyes.

1. Shep.

Why doe thy flockes forbeare their food, Which sometime were thy chiefe delight?

2. Shep.

Because they need no other good, That liue in presence of her light.

1. Shep.

Why looke these flowers so pale and ill, That once attir'd this goodly Heath?

2. Shep.

She hath rob'd Nature of her skill, And sweetens all things with her breath.

1. Shep.

Why slide these brookes so slow away, Whose bubling murmur pleas'd thine eare?

2. Shep.

Oh meruaile not although they stay, When they her heauenly voyce doe heare.

1. Shep.

From whence come al these Shepheards Swains, And louely Nimphs attir'd in greene?

2. Shep.

From gathering Garlands on the Plaines, To crowne our faire the Shepheards Queene.

Both.

The Sunne that lights this world below, Flocks, flowers, and brookes will witnesse beare: These Nimphs and Shepheards all doe know, That it is she is onely faire.

FINIS.

Michaell Drayton.

¶The solitarie Shepheards Song.

O Shadie Vale, O faire enriched Meades, O sacred woods, sweet fields, & rising mountaines

O painted flowers, greene hearbs where Flora treads, Refresht by wanton winds and watry fountaines.

O all you winged Queristers of wood, that pearcht aloft, your former paines report: And straite againe recount with pleasant moode, your present ioyes in sweet and seemely sort.

O all you creatures whosoeuer thriue on mother Earth, in Seas, by Ayre, by Fire: More blest are you then I heere vnder Sunne, loue dies in me, when as hee doth reuiue In you, I perish vnder beauties ire, where after stormes, winds, frosts, your life is wun.

FINIS.

Thom. Lodge.

¶The Shepheards resolution in loue.

IF Ioue him-selfe be subiect vnto Loue. And range the woods to finde a mortall pray. If Neptune from the Seas him-selfe remoue, And seeke on sands with earthly wights to play: Then may I loue my Shepheardesse by right, Who farre excels each other mortall wight?

If Pluto could by Loue be drawne from hell. To yeeld him-selfe a silly virgins thrall. If Phaebus could vouchsafe on earth to dwell, To winne a rusticke Mayde vnto his call: Then how much more should I adore the sight, Of her in whom the heauens them-selues delight?

If Countrie Pan might follow Nimphs in chase, And yet through loue remaine deuoide of blame, If Satires were excus'd for seeking grace, To ioy the fruits of any mortall Dame: My Shepheardesse, why should not I loue still. On whom nor Gods nor men can gaze their fill?

FINIS.

Thom. Watson.

¶Coridons Hymne in praise of Amarillis.

VVOuld mine eyes were christall Fountaines, Where you might the shadow view Of my greefes, like to these mountaines Swelling for the losse of you. Cares which curelesse are alas, Helpelesse, haplesse for they grow: Cares like tares in number passe, All the seedes that loue doth sow. Who but could remember all Twinckling eyes still representing Starres which pierce me to the gall? Cause they lend no more contenting. And you Nectar-lips, alluring Humane sence to taste of heauen: For no Art of mans manuring, Finer silke hath euer weauen. Who but could remember this, The sweet odours of your fauour? When I smeld I was in blisse.

Neuer felt I sweeter sauour. And your harmelesse hart annointed, As the custome was of Kings: Shewes your sacred soule appointed, To be prime of earthly things. Ending thus remember all, Cloathed in a mantle greene: 'Tis enough I am your thrall, Leaue to thinke what eye hath seene. Yet the eye may not so leaue, Though the thought doe still repine: But must gaze till death bequeath, Eyes and thoughts vnto her shrine, Which if Amarillis chaunce, Hearing to make haste to see: To life death she may aduance. Therefore eyes and thoughts goe free.

FINIS.

T. B.

¶The Shepheard Carillo his Song.

Guarda mi las Vaccas Carillo, por tu fe, Besa mi Primero, Yo te las guardare.

I Pre-thee keepe my Kine for me Carillo, wilt thou? Tell. First let me haue a kisse of thee. And I will keepe them well.

If to my charge or them to keepe, Thou doest commend thy Kine or Sheepe, for thee I doe suffise: Because in this I haue beene bred, But for so much as I haue fed By viewing thee, mine eyes; Command not me to keepe thy beast: Because my selfe I can keepe least.

How can I keepe, I pre-thee tell, Thy Kie, my selfe that cannot well defend, nor please thy kinde As long as I haue serued thee? But if thou wilt giue vnto me a kisse to please my minde: I aske no more for all my paine, and I will keepe them very faine.

For thee, the gift is not so great That I doe aske, to keepe thy Neate, but vnto me it is A guerdon, that shall make me liue. Disdaine not then to lend, or giue so small a gift as this, But if to it thou canst not frame: Then giue me leaue to take the same.

But if thou dost (my sweet) denie To recompence me by and by, thy promise shall relent me: Here-after some reward to finde, Behold how I doe please my minde, and fauours doe content me, That though thou speak'st it but in iest, I meane to take it at the best.

Behold how much loue workes in me, And how ill recompenc'd of thee that with the shadow of Thy happy fauours (though delay'd) I thinke my selfe right well appay'd, although they proue a scoffe. Then pitty me, that haue forgot, My selfe for thee that carest not.

O in extreame thou art most faire, And in extreame vniust despaire thy crueltie maintaines: Oh that thou wert so pittifull Vnto these torments that doe pull my soule with sencelesse paines, As thou shew'st in that face of thine: Where pitty and mild grace should shine.

If that thy faire and sweetest face Assureth me both peace and grace, thy hard and cruell hart: Which in that white breast thou do'st beare, Doth make me tremble yet for feare thou wilt not end my smart.

In contraries of such a kinde: Tell me what succour shall I finde?

If then yong Shepheardesse thou craue A Heards-man for thy beast to haue, with grace thou maist restore Thy Shepheard from his barren loue, For neuer other shalt thou proue, that seekes to please thee more: And who to serue thy turne, will neuer shun, The nipping frost, and beames of parching Sun.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Corins dreame of his faire Chloris.

VVHat time bright Titan in the Zenith sat, And equally the fixed poales did heate: When to my flocke my daily woes I chat, And vnderneath a broad Beech tooke my seate. The dreaming God which Morpheus Poets call Augmenting fuell to my Aetnaes fire, With sleepe possessing my weake sences all, In apparitions makes my hopes aspire. Me thought I saw the Nimph I would embrace, With armes abroad comming to me for helpe: A lust-led Satire hauing her in chase, Which after her about the fields did yelpe, I seeing my Loue in such perplexed plight,

A sturdie bat from off an Oake I reft: And with the Rauisher continued fight, Till breathlesse I vpon the earth him left. Then when my coy Nimph saw her breathlesse foe, With kisses kinde she gratifies my paine: Protesting rigour neuer more to show, Happy was I this good hap to obtaine. But drowsie slumbers flying to their Cell, My sudden ioy conuerted was to bale: My wonted sorrowes still with me doe dwell, I looked round about on H•…•…and Dale: But I could neither my faire Chloris view, Nor yet the Satire which yer-while I slew.

FINIS.

W.S.

¶The Shepheard Damons passion.

AH trees, why fall your leaues so fast? Ah Rockes, where are your roabes of mosse? Ah Flocks, why stand you all agast? Trees, Rocks, and Flocks, what, are ye pensiue for my losse?

The birds me thinkes tune naught but moane, The windes breath naught but bitter plaint: The beasts forsake their dennes to groane, Birds, Windes, and Beastes, what, doth my losse your powers attaint?

Floods weepe their springs aboue their bounds, And Eccho wailes to see my woe: The roabe of ruthe doth cloath the grounds, Floods, Eccho, grounds, why doe ye all these teares bestow?

The Trees, the Rocks and Flocks replie, The Birds, the Windes, the Beasts report: Floods, Eccho, grounds for sorrow crie, Wee greeue since Phillis nill kinde Damons loue consort.

FINIS.

Thom. Lodge.

¶The Shepheard Musidorus his complaint.

COme Shepheards weeds, become your Masters mind, Yeeld outward shew, what inward change hee tries: Nor be abash'd, since such a guest you finde, Whose strongest hope in your weake comfort lies. Come Shepheards weedes, attend my wofull cries, Disuse your selues from sweet Menalcas voyce: For other be those tunes which sorrow ties, From those cleare notes which freely may reioice. Then poure out plaint, and in one word say this: Helplesse his plaints, who spoiles him selfe of blisse.

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

¶The Shepheards braule, one halfe answering the other.

1.

VVE loue, and haue our loues rewarded?

2.

We loue, and are no whit regarded.

1.

We finde most sweet affections snare:

2.

That sweet but sower dispairefull care.

1.

Who can dispaire, whom hope doth beare?

2.

And who can hope, that feeles despaire?

All.

As without breath no pipe doth moue, No Musique kindly without loue.

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

¶Dorus his comparisons.

MY Sheepe are thoughts, which I both guide & serue, Their pasture is faire hils of fruitlesse loue: On barren sweetes they feede, and feeding sterue, I waile their lot, but will not other proue. My Sheepe-hooke is wanne hope, which all vpholds: My weedes, desires, cut out in endlesse folds, What wooll my Sheepe shall beare, while thus they liue: In you it is, you must the iudgement giue.

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

¶The Shepheard Faustus his Song.

A fayre Maid wed to prying Jelousie. One of the fairest as euer J did see: If that thou wilt a secret Louer take, (Sweet life) do not my secret loue forsak.

ECclipsed was our Sunne, And faire Aurora darkened to vs quite, Our morning starre was done, And Shepheards star lost cleane out of our sight, When that thou didst thy faith in wedlock plight. Dame Nature made thee faire, And ill did carelesse Fortune marry thee, And pitty with despaire It was, that this thy haplesse hap should be, A fayre Maid wed to prying Iealousie.

Our eyes are not so bold To view the Sun, that flies with radiant wing: Vnlesse that we doe hold A glasse before them, or some other thing. Then wisely this to passe did Fortune bring To couer thee with such a vaile: For heretofore, when any viewed thee, Thy sight made his to faile, For (sooth) thou art: thy beautie telleth me, One of the fairest as euer I did see.

Thy graces to obscure, With such a froward husband, and so base She meant thereby most sure That Cupids force, & loue thou should'st embrace, For 'tis a force to loue, no wondrous case. Then care no more for kin, And doubt no more, for feare thou must forsake, To loue thou must begin, And from hence-forth this question neuer make, If that thou should'st a secret Louer take.

Of force it doth behooue That thou should'st be belou'd, and that againe (Faire Mistresse) thou should'st loue, For to what end, what purpose, and what gaine, Should such perfections serue? as now in vaine My loue is of such art, That (of it selfe) it well deserues to take In thy sweet loue a part: Then for no Shepheard, that his loue doth make, (Sweet life) doe not my secret loue forsake.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

Another of the same, by Firmius the Shepheard.

IF that the gentle winde doth moue the leaues with pleasant sound, If that the Kid behinde Is left, that cannot finde her Dam, runnes bleating vp and downe:

The Bagpipe, Reede, or Flute, onely with ayre if that they touched be, With pitty all salute, And full of loue do•• brute thy name, and sound Diana, seeing thee: A faire Mayd wed to prying Ielousie.

The fierce and sauage beasts (beyond their kinde and nature yet) With pitteous voyce and brest, In mountaines without rest the selfe same Song doe not forget. If that they stay'd at (Faire) and had not passed to prying Iealousie, With plaints of such despaire As moou'd the gentle ayre to teares: The Song that they did sing, should bee One of the fairest as euer I did see.

Mishap, and fortunes play, ill did they place in Beauties brest: For since so much to say, There was of beautie sway, they had done well to leaue the rest. They had enough to doe, if in her praise their wits they did awake: But yet so must they too, And all thy loue that woe, thee not too coy, nor too too proud to make, If that thou wilt a secret Louer take.

For if thou hadst but knowne

the beautie, that they heere doe touch, Thou would'st then loue alone Thy selfe, nor any one, onely thy selfe accounting much. But if thou do'st conceaue this beauty, that I will not publique make, And mean'st not to bereaue The world of it, but leaue the same to some (which neuer peere did take,) (Sweet life) doe not my secret loue forsake.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Damelus Song to his Diaphenia.

DIaphenia like the Daffa-down-dilly, White as the Sunne, faire as the Lilly, heigh hoe, how I doe loue thee? I doe loue thee as my Lambs Are beloued of their Dams, how blest were I if thou would'st proue me?

Diaphenia like the spreading Roses, That in thy sweetes all sweetes incloses, faire sweet how I doe loue thee? I doe loue thee as each flower, Loues the Sunnes life-giuing power, for dead, thy breath to life might moue me.

Diaphenia like to all things blessed, When all thy praises are expressed,

deare Ioy, how I doe loue thee? As the birds doe loue the Spring: Or the Bees their carefull King, then in requite, sweet Virgin loue me.

FINIS.

H. C.

¶The Shepheard Eurymachus to his faire Shep∣heardesse Mirimida.

VVHen Flora proud in pompe of all her flowers sate bright and gay: And gloried in the dewe of Iris showers, and did display Her mantle checquer'd all with gaudie greene, Then I alone A mournfull man in Ericine was seene.

With folded armes I trampled through the grasse, Tracing as he That held the Throne of Fortune brittle glasse, And loue to be Like Fortune fleeting, as the restlesse winde Mixed with mists Whose dampe doth make the clearest eyes grow blinde.

Thus in a maze, I spied a hideous flame, I cast my sight, And sawe where blithely bathing in the same With great delight

A worme did lie, wrapt in a smoakie sweate: And yet twas strange, It carelesse lay, and shrunk not at the heate.

I stood amaz'd, and wondring at the sight, while that a dame, That shone like to the heauens rich sparkling light, Discourst the same, And said, My friend, this worme within the fire: Which lyes content, Is Ʋenus worme, and represents desire.

A Salamander is this princely beast, Deck'd with a Crowne, Giuen him by Cupid as a gorgeous creast, Gainst Fortunes frowne. Content he lyes, and bathes him in the flame, And goes not forth, For why, he cannot liue without the same.

As he, so Louers liue within the fire Of feruent loue: And shrinke not from the flame of hote desire, Nor will not moue From any heate that Ʋenus force imparts: But lie content, Within a fire, and waste away their harts.

Vp flew the Dame, and vanish'd in a cloud, But there stood I, And many thoughts within my minde did shroud My loue: for why I felt within my heart a scorching fire, And yet as did The Salamander, twas my whole desire.

FINIS.

Ro. Greene.

¶The Shepheard Firmius his Song.

SHepheards giue eare, and now be still, Vnto my passions, and their cause, and what they be: Since that with such an earnest will, And such great signes of friendships lawes, you aske it me.

It is not long since I was whole, Nor since I did in euery part free-will resigne: It is not long since in my sole Possession, I did know my hart, and to be mine.

It is not long, since euen and morrow, All pleasure that my heart could finde, was in my power:

It is not long, since griefe and sorrow, My louing heart began to binde, and to deuoure.

It is not long, since companie I did esteeme a ioy indeede still to frequent: Nor long, since solitarilie I liu'd, and that this life did breede my sole content.

Desirous I (wretched) to see, But thinking not to see so much as then I saw: Loue made me know in what degree, His valour and braue force did touch me with his law.

First he did put no more nor lesse Into my heart, then he did view that there did want: But when my breast in such excesse Of liuely flames to burne I knew, then were so scant.

My ioyes, that now did so abate, (My selfe estranged euery way from former rest:) That I did know, that my estate, And that my life was euery day, in Deaths arrest.

I put my hand into my side, To see what was the cause of this vnwonted vaine: Where I did finde, that torments hied By endlesse death to preiudice my life with paine.

Because I saw that there did want My heart, wherein I did delight, my dearest hart: And he that did the same supplant, No iurisdiction had of right to play that part.

The Iudge and Robber, that remaine Within my soule, their cause to trie, are there all one: And so the giuer of the paine, And he that is condemn'd to die or I, or none.

To die I care not any way, Though without why, to die I greeue, as I doe see: But for because I heard her say, None die for loue, for I beleeue none such there be.

Then this thou shalt beleeue by me Too late, and without remedie as did in briefe: Anaxerete, and thou shalt see,

The little she did satisfie with after griefe.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶The Shepheards praise of his sacred Diana.

PRaised be Dianaes faire and harmelesse light, Praised be the dewes, wherwith she moists the ground: Praised be her beames, the glory of the night, Prais'd be her power, by which all powers abound.

Prais'd be her Nimphs, with whom she decks the Woods, Prais'd be her Knights, in whom true honour liues: Prais'd be that force, by which she moues the floods, Let that Diana shine which all these giues.

In heauen Queene she is among the Spheares, She Mistresse-like makes all things to be pure. Eternity in her oft change she beares, She beauty is, by her the faire endure.

Time weares her not, she doth his Chariot guide, Mortality below her Orbe is plast: By her the vertue of the starres downe slide. In her is Vertues perfect Image cast.

A knowledge pure it is her woorth to know: With Circes let them dwell, that thinke not so.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶The Shepheards dumpe.

LIke desart Woods, with darksome shades obscured, Where dreadful beasts, where hatefull horror raigneth, Such is my wounded heart, whom sorrow paineth.

The Trees are fatall shafts, to death inured, That cruell loue within my heart maintaineth, To whet my griefe, when as my sorrow waineth.

The ghastly beasts, my thoughts in cares assured, Which wadge me warre, whilst heart no succour gaineth, With false suspect, and feare that still remaineth.

The horrors, burning sighs, by cares procured, Which forth I send, whilst weeping eye complaineth, To coole the heate the helplesse heart containeth.

But shafts, but cares, sighs, horrors vnrecured, Were nought esteem'd, if for their paines awarded, Your Shepheards loue might be by you regarded.

FINIS.

S. E. D.

¶The Nimph Dianaes Song.

VVHen that I poore soule was borne, I was borne vnfortunate: Presently the Fates had sworne, To fore-tell my haplesse state.

Titan his faire beames did hide, Phaebe' clips'd her siluer light: In my birth my Mother died, Young and faire in heauie plight.

And the Nurse that gaue me suck, Haplesse was in all her life: And I neuer had good luck, Being mayde or married wife.

I lou'd well, and was belou'd, And forgetting, was forgot: This a haplesse marriage mou'd, Greeuing that it kills me not.

With the earth would I were wed, Then in such a graue of woes Daily to be buried, Which no end nor number knowes.

Young my Father married me, Forc'd by my obedience: Syrenus, thy faith, and thee I forgot without offence.

Which contempt I pay so farre, Neuer like was paid so much: Iealousies doe make me warre, But without a cause of such.

I doe goe with iealous eyes, To my Folds, and to my Sheepe:

And with iealousie I rise, When the day begins to peepe.

At his Table I doe eate, In his bed with him I lie: But I take no rest, nor meate, Without cruell iealousie.

If I aske him what he ayles, And whereof he iealous is? In his answere then he failes, Nothing can he say to this.

In his face there is no cheere, But he euer hangs the head: In each corner he doth peere, And his speech is sad and dead.

Ill the poore soule liues ywis: That so hardly married is.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Rowlands Madrigall.

FAire Loue rest thee heere, Neuer yet was morne so cloere, Sweet be not vnkinde, Let me thy fauour finde, Or else for loue I die.

Harke this pretty bubling spring, How it makes the Meadowes ring, Loue now stand my friend, Here let all sorrow end, And I will honour thee. See where little Cupid lyes, Looking babies in her eyes. Cupid help me now, Lend to me thy bowe, to wound her that wounded me. Here is none to see or tell, All our Flocks are feeding by, This banke with Roses spred, Oh it is a dainty bed, fit for my Loue and me.

Harke the birds in yonder Groaue, How they chaunt vnto my Loue, Loue be kinde to me, As I haue beene to thee, for thou hast wonne my hart. Calme windes blow you faire, Rock her thou sweet gentle ayre, O the morne is noone, The euening comes too soone, to part my Loue and me. The Roses and thy lips doe meete, Oh that life were halfe so sweet, Who would respect his breath, That might die such a death, oh that life thus might die. All the bushes that be neere,

With sweet Nightingales beset, Hush sweet and be still, Let them sing their fill, there's none our ioyes to let.

Sunne why do'st thou goe so fast? Oh why do'st thou make such hast? It is too earely yet, So soone from ioyes to flit, why art thou so vnkinde? See my little Lambkins runne, Looke on them till I haue done, Hast not on the night, To rob me of her sight, that liue but by her eyes. Alas, sweet Loue, we must depart, Harke, my dogge begins to barke, Some bodie's comming neere, They shall not finde vs heere, for feare of being chid. Take my Garland and my Gloue, Weare it for my sake my Loue, Tomorrow on the greene, Thou shalt be our Shepheards Queene, crowned with Roses gay.

FINIS.

Michaell Drayton.

¶Alanius the Shepheard, his dolefull Song, complaining of Ismeniaes crueltie.

NO more (O cruell Nimph,) now hast thou prayed Enough in thy reuenge, proue not thine ire On him that yeelds, the fault is now appayed Vnto my cost: Now mollifie thy dire Hardnes, and brest of thine so much obdured: And now raise vp (though lately it hath erred,) A poore repenting soule, that in the obscured Darknes of thy obliuion lyes enterred. For it falls not in that, that should commend thee: That such a Swaine as I may once offend thee.

If that the little Sheepe with speed is flying From angry Shepheard (with his words afrayed) And runneth here and there with fearefull crying, And with great griefe is from the Flock estrayed: But when it now perceiues that none doth follow, And all alone, so farre estraying mourneth, Knowing what danger it is in, with hollow And fainting bleates, then fearefull it returneth Vnto the Flock, meaning no more to leaue it: Should it not be a iust thing to receaue it?

Lift vp those eyes (Ismenia) which so stately To view me, thou hast lifted vp before me, That liberty, which was mine owne but lately, Giue me againe, and to the same restore me: And that mild heart, so full of loue and pittie, Which thou didst yeeld to me, and euer owe me;

Behold (my Nimph) I was not then so wittie To know that sincere loue that thou didst shew me: Now wofull man, full well I know and rue it, Although it was too late before I knew it.

How could it be (my enemie?) say, tell me, How thou (in greater fault and errour being Then euer I was thought) should'st thus repell me? And with new league and cruell title seeing Thy faith so pure and worthy to be changed? And what is that Ismenia, that doth bind it To loue, whereas the same is most estranged, And where it is impossible to finde it? But pardon me, if herein I abuse thee: Since that the cause thou gau'st me doth excuse me.

But tell me now, what honour hast thou gayned, Auenging such a fault by thee committed, And there-vnto by thy occasion trayned? What haue I done, that I haue not acquitted? Or what excesse that is not amply payed, Or suffer more, that I haue not endured? What cruell minde, what angry breast displayed, With sauage heart, to fiercenesse so adiured? Would not such mortall griefe make milde & tender: But that, which my fell Shepheardesse doth render?

Now as I haue perceiued well thy reasons, Which thou hast had, or hast yet to forget me, The paines, the griefes, the guilts of forced treasons, That I haue done, wherein thou first didst set me: The passions, and thine eares and eyes refusing

To peare and see me, meaning to vndoe me: Cam'st thou to know, or be but once perusing Th'vn sought occasions, which thou gau'st vnto me: Thou should'st not haue where-with to more torment me: Nor I to pay the fault my rashnesse lent me.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Montana the Shepheard, his loue to Aminta.

I Serue Aminta, whiter then the snowe, Straighter then Cedar, brighter then the glasse: More fine in trip, then foote of running Roe, More pleasant then the field of flowring grasse. More gladsome to my withering ioyes that fade: Then Winters Sunne, or Summers cooling shade,

Sweeter then swelling Grape of ripest wine, Softer then feathers of the fairest Swan: Smoother then let, more stately then the Pine, Fresher then Poplat, smaller then my span. Clearer then Phaebus fierie pointed beame: Or Icie crust of Christals frozen streame.

Yet is she curster then the Beare by kinde, And harder harted then the aged Oake: More glib then Oyle, more fickle then the winde, More stiffe then steele, no sooner bent but broake. Loe thus my seruice is a lasting sore: Yet will I serue, although I die therefore.

FINIS.

Shep. Tonie.

¶The Shepheards sorrow for his Phaebes disdaine.

OH Woods vnto your walkes my body hies, To loose the trayterous bonds of tyring Loue, Where trees, where hearbs, where flowers, Their natiue moisture poures From forth their tender stalkes, to helpe mine eyes, Yet their vnited teares may nothing moue.

When I behold the faire adorned tree, Which lightnings force and Winters frost resists, Then Daphnes ill betide, And Phaebus lawlesse pride Enforce me say, euen such my sorrowes be: For selfe-disdaine in Phaebes heart consists.

If I behold the flowers by morning teares Looke louely sweet: Ah then forlorne I crie Sweet showers for Memnon shed, All flowers by you are fed. Whereas my pitteous plaint that still appeares, Yeelds vigour to her scornes, and makes me die.

When I regard the pretty glee-full bird, With teare-full (yet delightfull) notes complaine: I yeeld a terror with my teares, And while her musicke wounds mine eares, Alas say I, when will my notes afford Such like remorce, who still be-weepe my paine?

When I behold vpon the leafelesse bough The haplesse bird lament her Loues depart:

I draw her biding nigh, And sitting downe I sigh, And sighing say: Alas, that birds auow A setled faith, yet Phaebe scornes my smart.

Thus wearie in my walke, and wofull too, I spend the day, fore-spent with daily griefe: Each obiect of distresse My sorrow doth expresse. I doate on that which doth my hart vndoe: And honour her that scornes-to yeeld reliefe.

FINIS.

I. F.

¶Espilus and Therion, their contention in Song for the May-Lady.

Espilus.

TVne vp my voyce, a higher note I yeeld, To high conceit, the Song must needs be hie: More high then stars, more firme then flintie field Are all my thoughts, in which I liue and die. Sweet soule to whom I vowed am a slaue: Let not wild woods so great a treasure haue.

Therion.

The highest note comes oft from basest minde, As shallow Brookes doe yeeld the greatest sound: Seeke other thoughts thy life or death to finde, Thy starres be falne, plowed is thy flinty ground. Sweet soule, let not a wretch that serueth sheep Among his Flock so sweet a treasure keep.

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Espilus.

Two thousand Sheepe I haue as white as milke, Though not so white as is thy louely face: The pasture rich, the wooll as soft as silke, All this I giue, let me possesse thy grace. But still take heed, lest thou thy selfe submit: To one that hath no wealth, & wants his wit.

Therion.

Two thousand Deere in wildest woods I haue, Them can I take, but you I cannot hold: He is not poore who can his freedome saue, Bound but to you, no wealth but you I would. But take this beast, if beasts you feare to misse: For of his beasts the greatest beast he is.

Both kneeling to her Maiestie.

Espilus.

Iudge you, to whom all beauties force is lent:

Therion.

Iudge you of loue, to whom all loue is bent.

This Song was sung before the Queenes most ex∣cellent Maiestie, in Wansted Garden: as a conten∣tion betweene a Forrester and a Shepheard for the May-Ladie.

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

¶Olde Melibeus Song, courting his Nimph.

LOues Queene long waiting for her true-Loue, Slaine by a Boare which he had chased, Left off her teares, and me embraced,

She kist me sweet, and call'd me new-Loue, With my siluer haire she toyed, In my stayed lookes she ioyed. Boyes (shee sayd) breede beauties sorrow: Olde men cheere it euen and morrow. My face she nam'd the seate of fauour, All my defects her tongue defended, My shape she prais'd, but most commended My breath, more sweete then Balme in sauour. Be old man with me delighted, Loue for loue shall be requited. With her toyes at last she wone me: Now she coyes that hath vndone me.

¶The Shepheard Syluanus his Song.

MY life (young Shepheardesse) for thee Of needes to death must post: But yet my griefe must stay with me, After my life is lost.

The grieuous ill, by death that cured is, Continually hath remedy at hand: But not that torment that is like to this, That in slow time, and Fortunes meanes doth stand.

And if this sorrow cannot be Ended with life (at most:)

What then doth this thing profit me) A sorrow wonne or lost?

Yet all is one to me, as now I trie a flattering hope, or that that had not beene yet: For if to day for want of it I die, Next day I doe no lesse for hauing seene it.

Faine would I die, to end and free This grieefe, that kills me most: If that it might be lost with me, Or die when life is lost.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Coridons Song.

A Blithe and bonny Country-Lasse, heigh hoe bonny-Lasse, Sate sighing on the tender grasse, and weeping said: will none come wooe me? A smicker Boy, a lither Swaine: heigh hoe a smicker Swaine: That in his loue was wanton faine, with smiling lookes straight came vnto her.

When as the wanton Wench espied, heigh hoe when she espied, The meanes to make her selfe a Bride, she simpred smooth like bonnie-bell:

The Swaine that saw her squint-eyed kinde, heigh hoe squint-eyed kinde, His armes about her body twin'd and said, Faire Lasse, how fare ye, well?

The Countrie-Kit said, well forsooth, heigh hoe well forsooth, But that I haue a longing tooth, a longing tooth that makes me crie: Alas (said he) what garres thy griefe, heigh hoe what garres thy griefe? A wound (quoth she) without reliefe, I feare a mayd that I shall die.

If that be all, the Shepheard sayd, heigh hoe the Shepheard sayd, He make thee wiue it gentle Mayde, and so recure thy maladie: Hereon they kist with many an oath, heigh hoe many an oath, And fore God Pan did plight their troath, so to the Church apace they hie.

And God send euery pretty peate, heigh hoe the pretty peate, That feares to die of this conceit, so kinde a friend to helpe at last: Then Maydes shall neuer long againe, heigh hoe to long againe. When they finde ease for such a paine. thus my Roundelay is past.

FINIS.

Thom. Lodge.

¶The Shepheards Sonnet.

MY fairest Ganimede disdaine me not, Though silly Shepheard I, presume to loue thee, Though my harsh Songs and Sonnets cannot moue thee: Yet to thy beauty is my loue no blot: Apollo, Ioue, and many Gods beside S'dain'd not the name of Country Shepheard Swaines, Nor want we pleasures, though we take some paines. We liue contentedly: A thing call'd pride Which so corrupts the Court and euery place, (Each place I meane where learning is neglected, And yet of late, euen learnings selfe's infected,) I know not what it meanes in any case. We onely (when Molorchus gins to peepe,) Learne for to fold, and to vnfold our Sheepe.

FINIS.

Rich. Barnefield.

¶Seluagia and Siluanus, their Songs to Diana.

Sel.

I See thee iolly Shepheard merrie, And firme thy faith, and sound as a berry.

Sil.

Loue gaue me ioy, and Fortune gaue it, As my desire could wish to haue it.

Sel.

What didst thou wish, tell me (sweet Louer,) Whereby thou might'st such ioy recouer?

Sil.

To loue where loue should be inspired: Since there's no more to be desired.

Sel.

In this great glory, and great gladnes, T'hinkst thou to haue no touch of sadnes?

Sil.

Good Fortune gaue me not such glory: To mock my Loue, or make me sorrie.

Sel.

If my firme loue I were denying, Tell me, with sighs would'st thou be dying?

Sil.

Those words (in ieast) to heare thee speaking: For very griefe this hart is breaking.

Sel.

Yet would'st thou change, I pre-thee tell me, In seeing one that did excell me?

Sil.

O no, for how can I aspire, To more, then to mine owne desire?

Sel.

Such great affection do'st thou beare me: As by thy words thou seem'st to sweare me?

Sil.

Of thy deserts, to which a debter I am, thou maist demaund this better.

Sel.

Sometimes me thinks, that I should sweare it, Sometimes me thinks, thou should'st not beare it.

Sil.

Onely in this my hap doth grieue me, And my desire, not to beleeue me.

Sel.

Imagine that thou do'st not loue mine, But some braue beautie that's aboue mine.

Sil.

To such a thing (sweet) doe not will me, Where fayning of the same doth kill me.

Sel.

I see thy firmenesse gentle Louer, More then my beautie can discouer.

Sil.

And my good fortune to be higher Then my desert, but not desire.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Montanus his Madrigall.

IT was a Vallie gawdie greene, Where Dian at the Fount was seene, Greene it was, And did passe All other of Dianaes bowers, In the pride of Floraes flowers.

A Fount it was that no Sunne sees, Cirkled in with Cipres trees, Set so nie, As Phaebus eye Could not doe the Virgins scathe, To see them naked when they bathe.

She sate there all in white, Colour fitting her delight, Virgins so Ought to goe: For white in Armorie is plaste. To be the colour that is chaste.

Her taffata Cassock you might see, Tucked vp aboue her knee,

Which did show There below Legges as white as Whales bone, So white and chaste was neuer none.

Hard by her vpon the ground, Sate her Virgins in a round, Bathing their Golden haire, And singing all in notes hie: Fie on Ʋenus flattering eye.

Fie on Loue, it is a toy, Cupid witlesse, and a boy, All his fires, And desires, Are plagues that God sent from on hie: To pester men with miserie.

As thus the Virgins did disdaine Louers ioy and Louers paine, Cupid nie Did espie Greeuing at Dianaes Song, Slily stole these Maides among.

His bow of steele, darts of fire, He shot amongst them sweet desire, Which straite flies In their eyes, And at the entrance made them start, For it ranne from eye to hart.

Calisto straite supposed Ioue, Was faire and frolique for to loue, Dian she, Scap'd not free, For well I wote heere vpon, She lou'd the Swaine Endimion.

Clitia, Phaebus, and Chloris eye Thought none so faire as Mercurie. Ʋenus thus Did discusse By her Sonne in darts of fire: None so chaste to check desire.

Dian rose with all her Maydes, Blushing thus at Loues braides, With sighs all Shew their thrall, And flinging thence, pronounc'd this saw: What so strong as Loues sweet law?

FINIS.

Ro. Greene.

¶Astrophell to Stella, his third Song.

IF Orpheus voyce had force to breathe such musiques loue Through pores of sencelesse trees, as it could make them moue: If stones good measure daunc'd, the Thebane walls to build To cadence of the times, which Amphyons Lyre did yeeld: More cause a like effect at least-wise bringeth, O stones, O trees, learne hearing, Stella singeth.

If Loue might sweet'n so a boy of Shepheards broode, To make a Lyzard dull to taste Loues daintie food: If Eagle fierce could so in Grecian Mayde delight, As his light was her eyes, her death his endlesse night: Earth gaue that Loue, heau'n I trow Loue defineth, O Beasts, O Birds, looke, Loue, loe, Stella shineth.

The birds, stones, and trees, feele this, and feeling Loue, And if the trees, nor stones stirre not the same to proue: Nor beasts, nor birds doe come vnto this blessed gaze, Know, that small Loue is quicke, and great Loue doth amaze, They are amaz'd, but you with reason armed, O eyes, O eares of men, how are you charmed?

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

¶A Song betweene Syrenus and Syluanus.

Syrenus.

VVHo hath of Cupids cates & dainties praied, May feed his stomach with them at his pleasure: If in his drinke some ease he hath assayed, Then let him quench his thirsting without measure: And if his weapons pleasant in their manner, Let him embrace his standard and his banner. For being free from him, and quite exempted: Ioyfull I am, and proud, and well contented.

Syluanus.

Of Cupids daintie cates who hath not prayed, May be depriued of them at his pleasure: If wormewood in his drinke he hath assayed,

Let him not quench his thirsting without measure: And if his weapons in their cruell manner, Let him abiure his standard and his banner: For I not free from him, and not exempted, Ioyfull I am, and proud, and well contented.

Syrenus.

Loue's so expert in giuing many a trouble, That now I know not why he should be praised: He is so false, so changing, and so double, That with great reason he must be dispraised. Loue in the end is such aiarring passion, That none should trust vnto his peeuish fashion, For of all mischiefe he's the onely Master: And to my good a torment and disaster.

Syluanus.

Loue's so expert in giuing ioy, not trouble, That now I know not but he should be praised: He is so true, so constant, neuer double, That in my minde he should not be dispraised. Loue in the end is such a pleasing passion, That euery one may trust vnto his fashion. For of all good he is the onely Master: And foe vnto my harmes, and my disaster.

Syrenus.

Not in these sayings to be proou'd a lyer, He knowes that doth not loue, nor is beloued: Now nights and dayes I rest, as I desire, After I had such griefe from me remoued. And cannot I be glad, since thus estranged, My selfe from false Diana I haue changed? Hence, hence, false Loue, I wil not entertaine their Since to thy torments thou do'st seeke to traine me.

Syluanus.

Not in these sayings to be prou'd a lyer, He knowes that loues, and is againe beloued: Now nights and dayes I rest in sweet desire, After I had such happy fortune proued And cannot I be glad, since not estranged, My selfe into Seluagia I haue changed? Come, come, good Loue, and I will entertaine thee. Since to thy sweet content thou seek'st to traine me.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Ceres Song in emulation of Cinthia.

SWell Ceres now, for other Gods are shrinking, Pomona pineth, Fruitlesse her tree: Faire Phaebus shineth Onely on me. Conceit doth make me smile whilst I am thinking, How euery one doth read my storie, How euery bough on Ceres lowreth, Cause heauen plenty on me powreth, And they in leaues doe onely glory, All other Gods of power bereauen, Ceres onely Queene of heauen.

With roabes and flowers let me be dressed, Cinthia that shineth Is not so cleare: Cinthia declineth When I appeare.

Yet in this Isle she raignes as blessed, And euery one at her doth wonder, And in my eares still fond fame whispers Cinthia shall be Ceres Mistres, But first my Carre shall riue in sunder. Helpe Phaebus helpe, my fall is suddaine: Cinthia, Cinthia must be Soueraigne.

This Song was sung before her Maiestie, at Bissam, the Lady Russels, in prograce, The Authors name vnknowne to me.

¶A Pastorall Ode to an honourable friend.

AS to the blooming prime, Bleake Winter being fled: From compasse of the clime, Where Nature lay as dead, The Riuers dull'd with time, The greene leaues withered. Fresh Zephyri (the Westerne brethren) be: So th'honour of your fauour is to me.

For as the Plaines reuiue, And put on youthfull greene: As plants begin to thriue, That disattir'd had beene: And Arbours now aliue, In former pompe are seene,

So if my Spring had any flowers before: Your breath Fauonius hath encreast the store.

FINIS.

E. B.

¶A Nimphs disdaine of Loue.

HEy downe a downe did Dian sing, amongst her Virgins sitting: Then loue there is no vainer thing, for Maydens most vnfitting, And so thinke I, with a downe downe derrie.

When women knew no woe, but liu'd them-selues to please: Mens fayning guiles they did not know, the ground of their disease. Vnborne was false suspect, no thought of iealousie: From wanton toyes and fond affect, the Virgins life was free. Hey down a down did Dian sing, &c

At length men vsed charmes, to which what Maides gaue eare: Embracing gladly endlesse harmes: anone enthralled were. Thus women welcom'd woe, disguis'd in name of loue: A iealous hell, a painted show, so shall they finde that proue

Hey downe a downe did Dian sing, amongst her Virgins sitting: Then loue there is no vainer thing, for Maidens most vnfitting. And so thinke I, with a downe downe derrie.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶Apollos Loue-Song for faire Daphne.

MY heart and tongue were twins, at once conceaued, The eldest was my heart, borne dumbe by destinie: The last my tongue, of all sweet thoughts bereaued, Yet strung and tun'd, to play harts harmonie. Both knit in one, and yet a-sunder placed. What hart would speake, the tongue doth still discouer: What tongue doth speake, is of the heart embraced, And both are one, to make a new-found Louer. New-found, and onely found in Gods and Kings, Whose words are deeds, but deeds not words regarded: Chaste thoughts doe mount, and flie with swiftest wings, My loue with paine, my paine with losse rewarded. Engraue vpon this tree Daphnes perfection: That neither men nor Gods can force affection.

This Dittie was sung before her Maiestie, at the right honourable the Lord Chandos, at Sudley Castell, at her last being there in prograce. The Author thereof vnknowne.

¶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.

¶Amintas for his Phillis.

AVrora now began to rise againe, From watry couch, and from old Tithons side: In hope to kisse vpon Acteian plaine Young Cephalus, and through the golden glide On Easterne coast he cast so great a light, That Phaebus thought it time to make retire From Thetis bower, wherein he spent the night, To light the world againe with heauenly fire.

No sooner gan his winged Steedes to chase The Stigian night, mantled with duskie vale: But poore Amintas hasteth him a pace, In deserts thus, to weepe a wofull tale. You silent shades, and all that dwell therein, As birds, or beasts, or wormes that creepe on ground: Dispose your selues to teares, while I begin To rue the griefe of mine eternall wound.

And dolefull ghosts, whose nature flies the light, Come seate your selues with me on eu'ry side: And while I die for want of my delight,

Lament the woes through fancie me betide. Phillis is dead, the marke of my desire, My cause of loue, and shipwrack of my ioyes, Phillis is gone that set my heart on fire, That clad my thoughts with ruinous annoyes.

Phillis is fled, and bides I wote not where, Phillis (alas) the praise of woman-kinde: Phillis the Sunne of this our Hemisphere, Whose beames made me, and many others blinde. But blinded me (poore Swaine) aboue the rest, That like olde Oedipus I liue in thrall: Still feele the woorst, and neuer hope the best, My mirth in moane, and honey drown'd in gall.

Her faire, but cruell eyes, bewitcht my sight, Her sweet, but fading speech enthrall'd my thought: And in her deedes I reaped such delight, As brought both will and libertie to nought. Therefore all hope of happinesse adiew, Adiew desire, the source of all my care: Despaire tells me, my weale will nere renue, Till thus my soule doth passe in Charons Crare.

Meane time my minde must suffer Fortunes scorne, My thoughts still wound, like wounds that still are greene: My weakened limbs be layd on beds of thorne, My life decayes, although my death's fore-seene. Mine eyes, now eyes no more, but Seas of teares, Weepe on your fill, to coole my burning brest: Where loue did place desire, twixt hope and feares, (I say) desire, the Authour of vnrest.

And would to God, Phillis where ere thou be, Thy soule did see the sower of mine estate: My ioyes ecclips'd, for onely want of thee My being with my selfe at foule debate. My humble vowes, my sufferance of woe, My sobs and sighs, and euer-watching eyes: My plaintiue teares, my wandring to and fro, My will to die, my neuer-ceasing cries.

No doubt but then these sorrowes would perswade, The doome of death, to cut my vitall twist: That I with thee amidst th'infernall shade, And thou with me might sport vs as we list. Oh if thou waite on faire Proserpines traine, And hearest Orpheus neere th'Elizian springs: Entreate thy Queene to free thee thence againe, And let the Thracian guide thee with his strings.

FINIS.

Tho. Watson.

¶Faustus and Firmius sing to their Nimph by turnes.

Firmius.

OF mine owne selfe I doe complaine, And not for louing thee so much, But that in deede thy power is such That my true loue it doth restraine, And onely this doth giue me paine, For faine I would Loue her more, if that I could.

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Tell me O haire of gold, If I then faultie be: That trust those killing eyes I would, Since they did warrant me? Haue you not seene her moode, What streames of teares she spent: Till that I sware my faith so stood, As her words had it bent?

Who hath such beautie seene, In one that changeth so? Or where one loues, so constant beene, Who euer saw such woe? Ah haires, you are not grieu'd, To come from whence you be: Seeing how once you saw I liu'd, To see me as you see.

On sandie banke of late, I saw this woman sit: Where, Sooner die then change my state, She with her finger writ. Thus my beliefe was stay'd, Behold Loues mighty hand On things, were by a woman say'd, And written in the sand.

Translated by S. Phil. Sidney, out of Diana of Montmaior.

¶A Song betweene Taurisius and Diana, answering verse for verse.

Taurisius.

THe cause why that thou do'st denie To looke on me, sweet foe impart?

Diana.

Because that doth not please the eye. Which doth offend and grieue the hart.

Taurisius.

What woman is, or euer was, That when she looketh, could be mou'd?

Diana.

She that resolues her life to passe, Neither to loue, nor to be lou'd.

Taurisius.

There is no heart so fierce and hard That can so much torment a soule:

Diana.

Nor Shepheard of so small regard, That reason will so much controule.

Taurisius.

How falls it out Loue doth not kill Thy crueltie with some remorce?

Diana.

Because that Loue is but a will, And free-will doth admit no force.

Taurisius.

Behold what reason now thou hast, To remedie my louing smart:

Diana.

The very same bindes me as fast, To keepe such danger from my hart.

Taurisius.

Why do'st thou thus torment my minde, And to what end thy beautie keepe?

Diana.

Because thou call'st me still vnkinde, And pittilesse when thou do'st weepe.

Taurisius.

Is it because thy crueltie In killing me doth neuer end?

Diana.

Nay, for because I meane thereby, My heart from sorrow to defend.

Taurisius.

Be bold so foule I am no way As thou do'st thinke, faire Shepheardesse:

Diana.

With this content thee, that I say, That I beleeue the same no lesse.

Taurisius.

What, after giuing me such store Of passions, do'st thou mock me too?

Diana.

If answeres thou wilt any more, Goe seeke them without more adoo.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Another Song before her Maiestie at Oxford, sung by a comely Shepheard, attended on by sundry other Shepheards and Nimphs.

HEarbs, words, and stones, all maladies haue cured, Hearbs, words, and stones, I vsed when I loued: Hearbs smells, words winde, stones hardnes haue procured, By stones, nor words, nor hearbs her minde was moued. I ask'd the cause: this was a womans reason, Mongst hearbs are weedes, and thereby are refused: Deceite as well as truth speakes words in season, False stones by foiles haue many one abused. I sigh'd, and then she said, my fancie smoaked, I gaz'd, she said, my lookes were follies glancing: I sounded dead, she said, my loue was choaked, I started vp, she said, my thoughts were dancing. Oh sacred Loue, if thou haue any Godhead: Teach other rules to winne a maydenhead:

FINIS.

Anonimus.

¶The Shepheards Song: a Caroll or Himne for Christmas.

SWeet Musicke, sweeter sarre Then any Song is sweet: Sweet Musicke heauenly rare, Mine eares (O peeres) doth greete. You gentle Flocks, whose fleeces pearl'd with dewe, Resemble heauen, whom golden drops make bright: Listen, O listen, now, O not to you Our pipes make sport to shorten wearie night. But voyces most diuine, Make blisfull Harmonie: Voyces that seeme to shine, For what else cleares the skie? Tunes can we heare, but not the Singers see: The tunes diuine, and so the Singers be.

Loe how the firmament, Within an azure fold: The flock of starres hath pent, That we might them behold. Yet from their beames proceedeth not this light, Nor can their Christals such reflection giue: What then doth make the Element so bright? The heauens are come downe vpon earth to liue. But harken to the Song, Glory to glories King: And peace all men among, These Queristers doe sing. Angels they are, as also (Shepheards) hee, Whom in our feare we doe admire to see.

Let not amazement blinde Your soules (said he) annoy: To you and all mankinde, My message bringeth ioy. For loe the worlds great Shepheard now is borne A blessed Babe, an Infant full of power: After long night, vp-risen is the morne, Renowning Bethlem in the Sauiour. Sprung is the perfect day, By Prophets seene a farre: Sprung is the mirthfull May, Which Winter cannot marre. In Dauids Citie doth this Sunne appeare: Clouded in flesh, yet Shepheards sit we here.

FINIS.

E. B.

¶Arsileus his Caroll, for ioy of the new mariage, betweene Syrenus and Diana.

LEt now each Meade with flowers be depainted, Of sundry colours sweetest odours glowing: Roses yeeld forth your smels so finely tainted, Calme windes the greene leaues moue with gentle blowing, The Christall Riuers flowing With waters be encreased: And since each one from sorrow now hath ceased gladnes From mournfull plaints and sadnes. Ring forth faire Nimphs your ioyfull Songs for

Let Springs and Meades all kinde of sorrow banish, And mournfull harts the teares that they are bleeding: Let gloomie cloudes with shining morning vanish, Let euery bird reioyce that now is breeding. And since by new proceeding, With mariage now obtained, A great content by great contempt is gained, gladnes. And you deuoyd of sadnes, Ring forth faire Nimphs your ioyfull Songs for

Who can make vs to change our firme desires, And soule to leaue her strong determination, And make vs freeze in Ice, and melt in fires, And nicest hearts to loue with emulation, Who rids vs from vexation, And all our minds commandeth? But great Felicia, that his might withstandeth gladnes. That fill'd our hearts with sadnes, Ring forth faire Nimphs your ioyfull Songs for

Your fields with their distilling fauours cumber (Bridegroome and happy Bride) each heauenly power Your Flocks, with double Lambs encreas'd in number, May neuer tast vnsauorie grasse and sower. The Winters frost and shower Your Kids (your pretie pleasure) May neuer hurt, and blest with so much treasure, To driue away all sadnes: Ring forth faire Nimphs your ioyfull Songs for gladnes.

Of that sweet ioy delight you with such measure, Betweene you both fai••e issue to ingender:

Longer then Nestor may you liue in pleasure, The Gods to you such sweet content surrender, That may make mild and tender The beasts in euery mountaine, And glad the fields, and Woods, and euery Fountaine, Abiuring former sadnes, Ring forth faire Nimphs, your ioyfull Songs for gladnes. Let amorous birds with sweetest notes delight you, Let gentle windes refresh you with their blowing: Let fields and Forrests with their good requite you, And Flora decke the ground where you are going. Roses and Violets strowing, The Iasmine and the Gilliflower, With many more, and neuer in your bower, To tast of houshold sadnes: Ring forth faire Nimphs your ioyfull Songs for gladnes. Concord and peace hold you for aye contented, And in your ioyfull state liue you so quiet: That with the plague of iealousie tormented You may not be, nor fed with Fortunes diet. And that your names may flie yet, To hills vnknowne with glorie. But now because my breast so hoarce, and sorrie. It faints, may rest from singing: End Nimphs your Songs, that in the clouds are ringing.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Philistus farewell to false Clorinda.

CLorinda false adiew, thy loue torments me: Let Thirsis haue thy heart, since he contents thee. Oh griefe and bitter anguish, For thee I languish, Faine I (alas) would hide it, Oh, but who can abide it? I can, I cannot I abide it. Adiew, adiew then, Farewell, Leaue my death now desiring: For thou hast thy requiring. Thus spake Philistus, on his hooke relying: And sweetly fell a dying.

FINIS.

Out of M. Morleys Madrigalls.

¶Rosalindes Madrigall.

LOue in my bosome like a Bee, doth sucke his sweet: Now with his wings, he playes with me, now with his feete. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender brest, My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah wanton will ye?

And if I sleepe, then pierceth he, with prettie slight: And makes his pillow of my knee, the liue-long night. Strike I my Lute, he tunes the string, He musicke playes if I but sing, He lends me euery lonely thing, Yet cruell he my heart doth sting. Whilst wanton, still ye.

Else I with Roses euery day will whip ye hence: And binde ye when ye long to play, for your offence. Ile shut mine eyes to keepe ye in, Ile make you fast it for your sinne, He count your power not woorth a pin. Alas, what hereby shall I winne If he gaine-say me?

What if I beate the wanton Boy with many a rod? He will repay me with annoy because a God. Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosome be: Lurke in mine eyes, I like of thee. O Cupid, so thou pitty me, Spare not, but play thee.

FINIS.

Thom. Lodge.

¶A Dialogue Song betweene Syluanus and Arsilius.

Syl.

SHepheard, why do'st thou holde thy peace? Sing, and thy ioy to vs report:

Arsil.

My ioy (good Shepheard) should be lesse, If it were tolde in any sort.

Syl.

Though such great fauours thou do'st winne, Yet daigne thereof to tell some part:

Arsil.

The hardest thing is to begin, In enterprizes of such Art.

Syl.

Come make an end, no cause omit, Of all the ioyes that thou art in:

Arsil.

How should I make an end of it, That am not able to begin?

Syl.

It is not iust, we should consent, That thou shoul'dst not thy ioyes recite:

Arsil.

The soule that felt the punishment, Doth onely feele this great delight.

Syl.

That ioy is small, and nothing fine, That is not tolde abroad to many:

Arsil.

If it be such a ioy as mine, It neuer can be tolde to any.

Syl.

How can this hart of thine containe A ioy, that is of such great force?

Arsil.

I haue it, where I did retaine My passions of so great remorse.

Syl.

So great and rare a ioy is this, No man is able to with-hold:

Arsil.

But greater that a pleasure is, The lesse it may with words be told.

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Syl.

Yet haue I heard thee heretofore, Thy ioyes in open Songs report:

Arsil.

I said, I had of ioy some store, But not how much, nor in what sort.

Syl.

Yet when a ioy is in excesse, It selfe it will oft-times vnfolde:

Arsil.

Nay such a ioy would be the lesse, If but a word thereof were tolde.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Montanus Sonnet.

VVHen the dogge Full of rage With his irefull eyes Frownes amidst the skies: The Shepheard to asswage The furie of the heate, Himselfe doth safely seate By a Fount Full of faire, Where a gentle breath Mounting from beneath, tempereth the ayre. There his flocks Drinke their fill,

And with ease repose, While sweet sleepe doth close Eyes from toyling ill, But I burne, Without rest, No defensiue power Shields from Phoebus lower, sorrow is my best. Gentle Loue Lower no more, If thou wilt inuade In the secret shade, Labour not so sore, I my selfe And my flocks, They their Loue to please, I my selfe to ease, Both leaue the shadie Oakes, Content to burne in fire, Sith Loue doth so desire.

FINIS.

S. E. D.

¶The Nimph Seluagia her Song.

SHepheard, who can passe such wrong, And a life in woes so deepe,

Which to liue is too long, As it is too short to weepe,

Grieuous sighs in vaine I waste, Leesing my affiance, and I perceaue my hope at last, with a candle in the hand.

What time then to hope among bitter hopes that neuer sleepe? When this life is too too long, as it is too short to weepe.

This griefe which I feele so rife, (wretch) I doe deserue as hire: Since I came to put my life in the hands of my desire.

Then cease not my complaints so strong, for (though life her course doth keepe:) It is not to liue so long, as it is too short to weepe.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶The Heard-mans happie life.

VVHat pleasure haue great Princes, more daintie to their choice,

Then Heardmen wilde, who carelesse, in quiet life reioyce? And Fortunes Fate not fearing, Sing sweet in Sommer morning.

Their dealings plaine and rightfull are voyd of all deceit: They neuer know how spightfull, it is to kneele and waite; On fauourite presumptuous, Whose pride is vaine and sumptuous.

All day their flocks each tendeth, at night they take their rest: More quiet then who sendeth his ship into the East; Where Gold and Pearle are plentie, But getting very daintie.

For Lawyers and their pleading, they 'steeme it not a straw: They thinke that honest meaning, is of it selfe a law; Where conscience iudgeth plainely, They spend no money vainely.

Oh happy who thus liueth, not caring much for gold: With cloathing which sufficeth, to keepe him from the cold.

Though poore and plaine his diet: Yet merry it is and quiet.

FINIS.

Out of M. Birds set Songs.

¶Cinthia the Nimph, her Song to faire Polydora.

NEere to the Riuer bankes, with greene And pleasant trees on euery side, Where freest minds would most haue beene, That neuer felt braue Cupids pride, To passe the day and tedious howers: Amongst those painted meades and flowers.

A certaine Shepheard full of woe, Syrenus call'd, his flocks did feede: Not sorrowfull in outward show, But troubled with such griefe indeed As cruell Loue is wont t'impart. Vnto a painefull louing hart.

This Shepheard euery day did die, For loue he to Diana bare: A Shepheardesse so fine perdie, So liuely, young, and passing faire, Excelling more in beauties feature: Then any other humane creature.

Who had not any thing, of all She had, but was extreame in her, For meanely wise none might her call, Nor meanely faire, for he did erre If so he did: but should deuise Her name of passing faire and wise.

Fauours on him she did bestow, Which if she had not, then be sure He might haue suffered all that woe Which afterward he did endure When he was gone, with lesser paine, And at his comming home againe.

For when indeed the hart is free From suffering paine or torment smart: If wisedome doth not ouer-see And beareth not the greatest part; The smallest griefe and care of minde: Doth make it captiue to their kinde.

Neere to a Riuer swift and great, That famous Ezla had to name: The carefull Shepheard did repeate The feares he had by absence blame, Which he suspect where he did keepe: And feede his gentle Lambs and Sheepe.

And now sometimes he did behold His Shepheardesse, that there about Was on the mountaines of that old And auncient Leon, seeking out.

From place to place the pastures best. Her Lambes to feede, her selfe to rest.

And sometime musing, as he lay When on those hils shee was not seene: Was thinking of that happy day, When Cupid gaue him such a Queene Of beautie, and such cause of ioy: Wherein his minde he did imploy.

Yet said (poore man) when he did see Himselfe so sunke in sorrowes pit: The good that Loue hath giuen me, I onely doe imagine it, Because this neerest harme and trouble: Hereafter I should suffer double.

The Sunne for that it did decline, The carelesse man did not offend With fierie beames, which scarce did shine But that which did of loue depend, And in his hart did kindle fire: Of greater flames and hote desire.

Him did his passions all inuite, The greene leaues blowne with gentle winde: Christaline streames with their delight, And Nightingales were not behinde, To helpe him in his louing verse: Which to himselfe he did rehearse.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶The Shepheard to the Flowers.

SWeet Ʋiolets (Loues Paradise) that spread Your gracious odours, which you couched beare Within your palie faces: Ʋpon the gentle wing of some calme-breathing-winde That playes amidst the Plaine, If by the fauour of propitious starres you gaine Such grace as in my Ladies bosome place to finde: Be proud to touch those places. And when her warmth your moysture forth doth weare, Whereby her daintie parts are sweetly fed: Your honours of the flowrie Meades I pray. You pretty daughters of the Earth and Sunne: With milde and seemely breathing straite display My bitter sighs, that haue my hart vndone.

Ʋermillion Roses, that with new dayes rise Display your crimson solds fresh locking faire, Whose radiant bright, disgraces The rich adorned rayes of roseate rising morne, Ah if her Virgins hand Doe pluck your pure, ere Phoebus view the land, And vaile your gracious pompe in louely Natures scorne. If chaunce my Mistresse traces Fast by your flowers to take the Sommers ayre: Then wofull blushing tempt her glorious eyes, To spread their teares, Adonis death reporting,

And tell Loues torment, sorrowing for her friend: Whose drops of bloud within your leaues consorting, Report faire Venus moanes to haue no end. Then may remorse, in pittying of my smart: Drie vp my teares, and dwell within her hart.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶The Shepheard Arsilius his Song to his Rebeck.

NOw Loue and Fortune turne to me againe, And now each one enforceth and assures A hope, that was dismayed, dead, and vaine: And from the harbour of mishaps assures A hart that is consum'd in burning fire, With vnexpected gladnesse, that admires My soule to lay a-side her mourning tire, And senses to prepare a place for ioy, Care in obliuion endlesse shall expire. For euery griefe of that extreame annoy Which when my torment raign'd, my soule (alas) Did feele, the which long absence did destroy, Fortune so well appayes, that neuer was So great the torment of my passed ill, As is the ioy of this same good I passe. Returne my hart, sursaulted with the fill Of thousand great vnrests, & thousand feares: Enioy thy good estate, if that thou will.

And wearied eyes, leaue off your burning teares, For soone you shall behold her with delight, For whom my spoiles with glory Cupid beares. Senses which seeke my starre so cleare and bright, By making here & there your thoughts estray: Tell me, what will you feele before her sight? Hence solitarinesse, torments away, Felt for her sake, and wearied members cast Off all your paine, redeem'd this happy day. O stay not time, but passe with speedy hast, And Fortune hinder not her comming now. O God, betides me yet this griefe at last? Come my sweet Shepheardesse, the life which thou (Perhaps) didst thinke was ended long agoe, At thy commaund is readie still to bow. Comes not my Shepheardesse desired so? O God, what if she's lost, or if she stray Within this wood, where trees so thicke doe grow? Or if this Nimph that lately went away, Perhaps forgot to goe and seeke her out: No, no, in (her) obliuion neuer lay. Thou onely art my Shepheardesse, about Whose thoughts my soule shall finde her ioy and rest: Why comm'st not then to assure it frō doubt? O seest thou not the Sunne passe to the West? And if it passe, and I behold thee not: Then I my wonted torments will request, And thou shalt waile my hard and heauie lot.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Another of Astrophell to his Stella.

IN a Groue most rich of shade, Where Birds wanton musique made; May, then young, his pyed weedes showing, New perfum'd, with flowers fresh growing. Astrophell with Stella sweet, Did for mutuall comfort meet Both within them-selues oppressed, But each in the other blessed.

Him great harmes had taught much care, Her faire necke a foule yoake bare: But her sight his cares did banish, In his sight her yoake did vanish. Wept they had, alas the while, But now teares them-selues did smile. While their eyes by Loue directed, Enterchangeably reflected.

Sigh they did, but now betwixt Sighs of woes, were glad sighs mixt, With armes crost, yet testifying Restlesse rest, and liuing dying. Their eares hungry of each word, Which the deare tongue would afford, But their tongues restrain'd from walking, Till their hearts had ended talking.

But when their tongues could not speake, Loue it selfe did silence breake, Loue did set his lips a-sunder, Thus to speake in loue and wonder.

Stella Soueraigne of my ioy, Faire triumpher of annoy, Stella, starre of heauenly fire, Stella, Loadstarre of desire.

Stella, in whose shining eyes, Are the lights of Cupids skies, Whose beames where they once are darted, Loue there-with is strait imparted. Stella, whose voyce when it speakes, Sences all asunder breakes, Stella, whose voyce when it singeth, Angels to acquaintance bringeth.

Stella, in whose body is Writ each Character of blisse, Whose face all, all beautie passeth, Saue thy minde, which it surpasseth. Graunt, O graunt: but speech alas Failes me, fearing on to passe. Graunt, O me, what am I saying? But no fault there is in praying.

Graunt (O deere) on knees I pray, (Knees on ground he then did stay) That not I, but since I loue you, Time and place for me may moue you. Neuer season was more fit, Neuer roome more apt for it. Smiling ayre alowes my reason, The birds sing, now vse the season.

This small winde, which so sweet is, See how it the leaues doth kisse, Each tree in his best attyring

Sence of loue to loue inspiring. Loue makes earth the water drinke, Loue to earth makes water sinke: And if dumbe things be so wittie, Shall a heauenly grace want pittie?

There his hands in their speech, faine Would haue made tongues language plaine. But her hands, his hands repelling: Gaue repulse, all grace excelling. Then she spake; her speech was such, As not eares, but hart did touch: While such wise she loue denied, As yet loue she signified.

Astrophell, said she, my Loue, Cease in these effects to proue. Now be still, yet still beleeue me, Thy griefe more then death doth grieue mee. If that any thought in me, Can taste comfort but of thee, Let me feede with hellish anguish, Ioylesse, helplesse, endlesse languish.

If those eyes you praised, be Halfe so deere as you to me: Let me home returne starke blinded Of those eyes, and blinder minded. If to secret of my hart I doe any wish impart: Where thou art not formost placed; Be both wish and I defaced.

If more may be said, I say All my blisse on thee I lay.

If thou loue, my loue content thee, For all loue, all faith is meant thee. Trust me, while I thee denie, In my selfe the smart I trie. Tirant, honour doth thus vse thee, Stellaes selfe might not refuse thee.

Therefore (deere) this no more moue, Least, though I leaue not thy loue, Which too deepe in me is framed: I should blush when thou art named. There-with-all, away she went, Leauing him to passion rent: With what she had done and spoken, That there-with my Song is broken.

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

¶Syrenus his Song to Dianaes Flockes.

PAssed contents, Oh what meane ye? Forsake me now, and doe not wearie me. Wilt thou heare mee O memorie? My pleasant dayes, and nights againe, I haue appai'd with seauen-fold paine. Thou hast no more to aske me why, For when I went, they all did die, As thou do'st see: O leaue me then, and doe not wearie me. Greene field, and shadowed valley, where

Sometime my chiefest pleasure was, Behold what I did after passe. Then let me rest, and if I beare Not with good cause continuall feare: Now doe you see, O leaue me then, and doe not trouble mee.

I saw a hart changed of late, And wearied to assure mine: Then I was forced to recure mine By good occasion, time and fate, My thoughts that now such passion hate, O what meane ye? Forsake me now, and doe not wearie mee. You Lambes and Sheepe that in these Layes, Did sometime follow me so glad: The merry houres, and the sad Are passed now, with all those dayes. Make not such mirth and wonted playes As once did ye. For now no more, you haue deceaued me.

If that to trouble me you come, Or come to comfort me indeed: I haue no ill for comforts need. But if to kill me: Then (in some) Now my ioyes are dead and dombe, Full well may ye Kill me, and you shall make an end of me.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶To Amarillis.

THough Amarillis dance in greene, Like Fairie Queene, And sing full cleere, With smiling cheere. Yet since her eyes make heart so sore, hey hoe, chill loue no more.

My Sheepe are lost for want of foode And I so wood That all the day: I sit and watch a Heard-mayde gay, Who laughs to see me sigh so sore: hey hoe, chill loue no more.

Her louing lookes, her beautie bright, Is such delight, That all in vaine: I loue to like, and loose my gaine, For her that thanks me not therefore, hey hoe, chill loue no more,

Ah wanton eyes, my friendly foes, And cause of woes, Your sweet desire Breedes flames of Ice, and freeze in fire. You scorne to see me weepe so sore: hey hoe, chill loue no more.

Loue ye who list, I force him not, Sith God it wot The more I waile: The lesse my sighs and teares preuaile. What shall I doe, but say therefore, hey hoe, chill loue no more?

FINIS.

Out of M. Birds set Songs.

¶Cardenia the Nimph, to her false Shep∣heard Faustus.

FAustus, if thou wilt reade from me These few and simple lines, By them most clearely thou shalt see, How little should accounted be Thy faigned words and signes. For noting well thy deedes vnkinde, Shepheard, thou must not scan: That euer it came to my minde, To praise thy faith like to the winde, Or for a constant man.

For this in thee shall so be sound, As smoake blowne in the aire: Or like Quick-siluer turning round, Or as a house built on the ground Of sands that doe impaire. To firmenesse thou art contrarie,

More slipp'rie then the Eele: Changing as Weather-cocke on hie, Or the Camelion on the die, Or Fortunes turning wheele.

Who would beleeue thou wert so free, To blaze me thus each houre? My Shepheardesse, thou liu'st in me, My soule doth onely dwell in thee, And euery vitall power. Pale Atropos my vitall string Shall cut, and life offend: The streames shall first turne to their spring. The world shall end, and euery thing, Before my loue shall end.

This loue that thou didst promise me, Shepheard, where is it found? The word and faith I had of thee, O tell me now, where may they be, Or where may they resound? Too soone thou did'st the title gaine Of giuer of vaine words: Too soone my loue thou did'st obtaine, Too soone thou lou'dst Diana in vaine, That nought but scornes affords.

But one thing now I will thee tell, That much thy patience moues: That though Diana doth excell In beautie, yet she keepes not well

Her faith, not loyall proues, Thou then hast chosen, each one saith, Thine equall, and a shrow: For if thou hast vndone thy faith, Her Loue and Louer she betrayeth, So like to like may goe.

If now this Sonnet which I send Will anger thee: Before Remember Faustus (yet my friend,) That if these speeches doe offend, Thy deedes doe hurt me more. Thus let each one of vs amend, Thou deedes, I words so spent: For I confesse I blame my pen, Doe thou as much, so in the end, Thy deedes thou doe repent.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Of Phillida.

AS I beheld, I saw a Heardman wilde, with his sheepe-hooke a picture fine deface: Which he sometime his fancie to beguile, had caru'd on bark of Beech in secret place. And with despight of most afflicted minde, through deepe dispaire of heart, for loue dismaid: He pull'd euen from the tree the carued rinde, and weeping sore, these wofull words he said. Ah Phillida would God thy picture faire, I could as lightly blot out of my brest: Then should I not thus rage in deepe dispaire, and teare the thing sometime I liked best. But all in vaine, it booteth not God wot: What printed is in heart, on tree to blot.

FINIS.

Out of M. Birds set Songs.

Melisea her Song, in scorne of her Shep∣heard Narcissus.

YOung Shepheard turne a-side, and moue Me not to follow thee: For I will neither kill with loue, Nor loue shall not kill me

Since I will liue, and neuer show, Then die not, for my loue I will not giue For I will neuer haue thee loue me so, As I doe meane to hate thee while I liue.

That since the Louer so doth proue His death, as thou do'st see: Be bold I will not kill with loue, Nor loue shall not kill me.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶His answere to the Nimphs Song.

IF to be lou'd it thee offend, I cannot choose but loue thee still: And so thy griefe shall haue no end, Whiles that my life maintaines my will.

O let me yet with griefe complaine, since such a torment I endure: Or else fulfill thy great disdaine, to end my life with death most sure. For as no credite thou wilt lend, and as my loue offends thee still: So shall thy sorrowes haue no end, whiles that my life maintaines my will.

If that by knowing thee, I could leaue off to loue thee as I doe: Not to offend thee, then I would leaue off to like and loue thee too. But since all loue to thee doth tend, and I of force must loue thee still: Thy griefe shall neuer haue an end, whiles that my life maintaines my will.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Her present answere againe to him.

ME thinkes thou tak'st the worser way, (Enamour'd Shepheard) and in vaine That thou wilt seeke thine owne decay, To loue her, that doth thee disdaine.

For thine owne selfe, thy wofull hart Keepe still, else art thou much to blame: For she to whom thou gau'st each part Of it, disdaines to take the same.

Follow not her that makes a play, And lest of all thy griefe and paines: And seeke not (Shepheard) thy decay. To loue her that thy loue disdaines.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶His last replie.

SInce thou to me wert so vnkinde, My selfe I neuer loued, for I could not loue him in my minde, Whom thou (faire Mistresse) do'st abhorre.

If viewing thee, I saw thee not, And seeing thee, I could not loue thee: Dying, I should not liue (God wot) Nor liuing, should to anger moue thee.

But it is well that I doe finde My life so full of torments, for All kinde of ills doe fit his minde Whom thou (faire Mistresse) do'st abhorre.

In thy obliuion buried now My death I haue before mine eyes: And here to hate my selfe I vow, As (cruell) thou do'st me despise.

Contented euer thou didst finde Me with thy scornes, though neuer (for To say the truth) I ioyed in minde, After thou didst my loue abhorre.

FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

¶Philon the Shepheard, his Song.

VVHile that the Sunne with his beames hot, Scorched the fruites in vale and mountaine: Philon the Shepheard late forgot, Sitting besides a Christall Fountaine: In shaddow of a greene Oake-tree, Vpon his Pipe this Song plaid hee. Adiew Loue, adiew Loue, vntrue Loue, Vntrue Loue, vntrue Loue, adiew Loue: Your minde is light, soone lost for new loue.

So long as I was in your sight, I was your heart, your soule, and treasure: And euermore you sob'd and sigh'd, Burning in flames beyond all measure. Three dayes endur'd your loue to me: And it was lost in other three. Adiew Loue, adiew Loue, vntrue Loue, &c.

Another Shepheard you did see, To whom your heart was soone enchained: Full soone your loue was leapt from me, Full soone my place he had obtained. Soone came a third, your loue to win: And we were out, and he was in. Adiew Loue, &c.

Sure you haue made me passing glad, That you your minde so soone remoued:

Before that I the leasure had, To choose you for my best beloued. For all your loue was past and done: Two dayes before it was begun. Adiew Loue, &c.

FINIS.

Out of M. Birds set Songs.

¶Lycoris the Nimph, her sad Song.

IN dewe of Roses, steeping her louely cheekes, Lycoris thus sate weeping. Ah Dorus false, that hast my heart bereft me, And now vnkinde hast left me. Heare alas, oh heare me, Aye me, aye me, Cannot my beautie moue thee? Pitty, yet pitty me, Because I loue thee. Aye me, thou scorn'st, the more I pray thee: And this thou do'st, and all to slay me. Why doe then, Kill me, and vaunt thee: Yet my Ghost Still shall haunt thee.

FINIS.

Out of M. Morleyes Madrigalis.

¶To his Flockes.

BƲrst forth my teares, assist my forward griefe, And shew what paine imperious Loue prouokes Kinde tender Lambs lament Loues scant reliefe, And pine, since pensiue care my freedome yoakes, Oh pine, to see me pine, my tender Flockes.

Sad pining care, that neuer may haue peace, At Beauties gate, in hope of pittie knocks: But mercie sleepes, while deepe disdaines encrease, And Beautie hope is her faire bosome yoakes: Oh grieue to heare my griefe, my tender Flockes.

Like to the windes my sighs haue winged beene. Yet are my sighs and sutes repaide with mockes: I pleade, yet she repineth at my teene, O ruthlesse rigour, harder then the Rockes, That both the Shepheard kills, and his poore Flockes.

FINIS.

¶To his Loue.

COme away, come sweet Loue, The golden morning breakes: All the earth, all the ayre, Of loue and pleasure speakes.

Teach thine armes then to embrace, And sweet Rosie lips to kisse: And mixe our soules in mutuall blisse. Eyes were made for beauties grace, Viewing, ruing Loues long paine: Procur'd by beauties rude disdaine.

Come away, come sweet Loue, The golden morning wasts: While the Sunne from his Sphere His fierie arrowes casts, Making all the shadowes flie, Playing, staying in the Groaue: To entertaine the stealth of loue. Thither sweet Loue let vs hie Flying, dying in desire: Wing'd with sweet hopes and heauenly fire.

Come away, come sweet Loue, Doe not in vaine adiorne Beauties grace that should rise Like to the naked morne. Lillies on the Riuers side, And faire Cyprian flowers new blowne, Desire no beauties but their owne. Ornament is Nurse of pride, Pleasure, measure, Loues delight: Hast then sweet Loue our wished flight.

FINIS.

¶Another of his Cynthia.

AWay with these selfe-louing-Lads, Whom Cupids arrowe neuer glads. Away poore soules that sigh and weepe, In loue of them that lie and sleepe, For Cupid is a Meadow God: And forceth none to kisse the rod.

God Cupids shaft like destinie, Doth either good or ill decree. Desert is borne out of his bowe, Reward vpon his feete doth goe. What fooles are they that haue not knowne, That Loue likes no lawes but his owne?

My Songs they be of Cynthias praise, I weare her Rings on Holy-dayes, On euery Tree I write her name, And euery day I reade the same. Where Honour, Cupids riuall is: There miracles are seene of his.

If Cynthia craue her Ring of mee, I blot her name out of the tree. If doubt doe darken things held deere: Then wel-fare nothing once a yeere. For many runne, but one must win: Fooles onely hedge the Cuckoe in.

The worth that worthinesse should moue, Is loue, which is the due of loue. And loue as well the Shepheard can, As can the mightie Noble man. Sweet Nimph tis true, you worthy be, Yet without loue, nought worth to me.

FINIS.

¶Another to his Cynthia.

MY thoughts are wing'd with hopes, my hopes with loue, Mount loue vnto the Moon in clearest night: And say, as she doth in the heauens moue, On earth so waines and wexeth my delight. And whisper this but softly in her eares: Hope oft doth hang the head, and trust shed teares

And you my thoughts that some mistrust doe carrie, If for mistrust my Mistresse doe you blame: Say, though you alter, yet you doe not varie. As she doth change, and yet remaine the same. Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect, And loue is sweetest, seasoned with suspect.

If she for this, with cloudes doe maske her eyes, And make the heauens darke with her disdaine: With windie sighs dispierce them in the skies, Or with thy teares dissolue them into raine.

Thoughts, hopes, and loue, returne to me no more, Till Cynthia shine, as she hath done before,

FINIS.

¶These three Ditties were taken out of Maister Iohn Dowlands Booke of Tableture for the Lute, the Authours names not there set downe, and therefore left to their owners.

Montanus Sonnet in the Woods.

ALas, how wander I amidst these Woods, Whereas no day bright shine doth finde accesse? But where the melancholy fleeting floods, (Darke as the night) my night of woes expresse, Disarm'd of reason, spoyl'd of Natures goods, Without redresse to salue my heauinesse I walke, whilst thought (too cruell to my harmes,) with endlesse griefe my heedlesse iudgement charmes.

My silent tongue assail'd by secret feare, My trayterous eyes imprison'd in their ioy: My fatall peace deuour'd in fained cheere, My heart enforc'd to harbour in annoy. My reason rob'd of power by yeelding care, My fond opinions, slaue to euery ioy. Oh Loue, thou guide in my vncertaine way: Woe to thy bowe, thy fire, the cause of my decay.

FINIS.

S. E. D.

¶The Shepheards sorrow, being disdai∣ned in loue.

MVses help me, sorrow swarmeth, Eyes are fraught with Seas of languish: Haplesse hope my solace harmeth, Mindes repast is bitter anguish.

Eye of day regarded neuer, Certaine trust in world vntrustie: Flattering hope beguileth euer, Wearie old, and wanton lustie.

Dawne of day beholds enthroned, Fortunes darling proud and dreadlesse: Darksome night doth heare him moaned, Who before was rich and needlesse.

Rob the Spheare of lines vnited, Make a suddaine voide in nature: Force the day to be benighted, Reaue the cause of time and creature.

Ere the world will cease to varie, This I weepe for, this I sorrow: Muses, if you please to tarie, Further help I meane to borrow.

Courted once by Fortunes fauour, Compast now with Enuies curses:

All my thoughts of sorrowes sauour, Hopes runne fleeting like the Sourses.

Aye me, wanton scorne hath maimed All the ioyes my heart enioyed: Thoughts their thinking haue disclaimed, Hate my hopes haue quite annoyed.

Scant regard my weale hath scanted, Looking coy, hath forc'd my lowring; Nothing lik'd, where nothing wanted, Weds mine eyes to ceaselesse showring.

Former loue was once admired, Present fauour is estraunged: Loath'd the pleasure long desired, Thus both men and thoughts are changed.

Louely Swaine with luckie speeding, Once, but now no more so friended: You my Flocks haue had in feeding, From the morne, till day was ended.

Drinke and fodder, foode and folding Had my Lambs and Ewes together: I with them was still beholding, Both in warmth and Winter weather.

Now they languish, since refused, Ewes and Lambes are pain'd with pining:

I with Ewes and Lambs confused, All vnto our deaths declining.

Silence, leaue thy Caue obscured, Daigne a dolefull Swaine to tender: Though disdaines I haue endured. Yet I am no deepe offender.

Phillips Sonne can with his finger Hide his scarre, it is so little: Little sinne a day to linger, Wise men wander in a tittle.

Trifles yet my Swaine haue turned, Though my Sunne he neuer showeth: Though I weepe, I am not mourned, Though I want, no pittie groweth.

Yet for pittie, loue my Muses, Gentle silence be their couer: They must leaue their wonted vses, Since I leaue to be a Louer.

They shall liue with thee enclosed, I will loath my Pen and Paper: Art shall neuer be supposed, Sloth shall quench the watching Taper.

Kisse them silence, kisse them kindly, Though I leaue them, yet I loue them: Though my wit haue led them blindly, Yet a Swaine did once approue them.

I will trauaile soiles remoued, Night and morning neuer merrie: Thou shalt harbour that I loued, I will loue that makes me wearie.

If perchaunce the Shepheard strayeth, In thy walkes and shades vnhaunted: Tell the teene my hart betrayeth, How neglect my ioyes haue daunted.

FINIS.

Thom. Lodge.

¶A Pastorall Song betweene Phillis and Amarillis, two Nimphs, each answering other line for line.

FIe on the sleights that men deuise, heigh hoe silly sleights: When simple Maides they would entice, Maides are yong mens chiefe delights. Nay, women they witch with their eyes, eyes like beames of burning Sunne: And men once caught, they soone despise, so are Shepheards oft vndone.

If any young man win a maide, happy man is hec: By trusting him she is betraide, fie vpon such treacherie.

If Maides win young men with their guiles, heigh hoe guilefull greefe: They deale like weeping Crocodiles, that murder men without releefe.

I know a simple Countrie Hinde, heigh hoe sillie Swaine: To whom faire Daphne proued kinde, was he not kinde to her againe? He vowed by Pan with many an oath, heigh hoe Shepheards God is he: Yet since hath chang'd, and broke his troath, troth-plight broke, will plagued be.

She had deceiued many a Swaine, fie on false deceit: And plighted troth to them in vaine, there can bee no griefe more great. Her measure was with measure paide, heigh hoe, heigh hoe equall meede: She was begui'ld that had betraide, so shall all deceiuers speede.

If euery Maide were like to mee, heigh hoe hard of hart: Both loue and louers scorn'd should be, scorners shall be sure of smart. If euery Maide were of my minde, heigh hoe, heigh hoe louely sweet: They to their Louers should proue kinde, kindnes is for Maiden's meet.

Me thinkes loue is an idle toy, heigh hoe busie paine: Both wit and sense it doth annoy, both sense and wit thereby we gaine. Tush Phillis cease, be not so coy, heigh hoe, heigh hoe coy disdaine: I know you loue a Shepheards boy, fie that Maydens so should fame. Well Amarillis, now I yeeld, Shepheards pipe aloude: Loue conquers both in towne and field, like a Tirant, fierce and proude. The euening starre is vp yee see, Ʋesper shines, we must away: Would euery Louer might agree, so we end our Roundelay.

FINIS.

H. C.

¶The Shepheards Antheme.

NEere to a banke with Roses set about, Where prettie Turtles ioyning bill to bill: And gentle springs steale softly murmuring out, Washing the foote of pleasures sacred hill. There little Loue sore wounded lyes, his bow and arrowes broken: Bedewde with teares from Venus eyes. Oh that it should be spoken.

Beare him my hart, slaine with her scornefull eye, Where sticks the arrow that poore hart did kill: With whose sharpe pyle, yet will him ere hee die, About my hart to write his latest will. And bid him send it backe to mee, at instant of his dying: That cruell, cruell she may see, my faith and her denying.

His Hearse shall be a mournefull Cypres shade, And for a Chauntrie, Philomels sweet lay: Where prayer shall continually be made, By Pilgrime louers, passing, by that way. With Nimphs and Shepheards yeerely mone, his timelesse death beweeping: And telling that my hart alone, hath his last will in keeping.

FINIS.

Mich. Drayton.

¶The Countesse of Pembrokes Pastorall.

A Shepheard and a Shepheardesse, sate keeping sheepe vpon the downes: His lookes did gentle blood expresse, her beautie was no foode for clownes. Sweet louely twaine, what might you be?

Two fronting hills bedeckt with flowers, they chose to be each other seate: And there they stole their amorous houres, with sighs and teares, poore louers meate. Fond Loue that feed'st thy seruants so.

Faire friend, quoth he, when shall I liue, That am halfe dead, yet cannot die? Can beautie such sharpe guerdon giue, to him whose life hangs in your eye? Beautie is milde, and will not kill.

Sweet Swaine, quoth shee, accuse not mee, that long haue beene thy humble thrall: But blame the angry destinie, whose kinde consent might finish all. Vngentle Fate, to crosse true Loue.

Quoth hee, let not our Parents hate, disioyne what heauen hath linckt in one: They may repent, and all too late if childlesse they be left alone, Father nor friend, should wrong true loue.

The Parents frowne, said shee, is death, to children that are held in awe: From them we drew our vitall breath. they challenge dutie then by law, Such dutie as kills not true Loue,

They haue, quoth hee, a kinde of sway,

on these our earthly bodies here: But with our soules deale not they may, the God of loue doth hold them deere. He is most meet to rule true loue.

I know, said she, tis worse then hell, when Parents choise must please our eyes: Great hurt comes thereby, I can tell, forc'd loue in desperate danger dies. Faire Maid, then fancie thy true loue.

If wee, quoth he, might see the houre, of that sweet state which neuer ends. Our heauenly gree might haue the power, to make our Parents as deere friends. All ranck our yeelds to soueraigne loue.

Then God of loue, said she, consent, and shew some wonder of thy power: Our Parents, and our owne content, may be confirmde by such an houre, Graunt greatest God to further loue.

The Fathers, who did alwaies tend, when thus they got their priuate walke, As happy fortune chaunc'd to send. vnknowne to each, heard all this talke. Poore soules to be so crost in loue.

Behinde the hills whereon they sate, they lay this while and listned all:

And were so mooued both thereat, that hate in each began to fall. Such is the power of sacred loue.

They shewed themselues in open sight, poore Louers, Lord how they were mazde? And hand in hand the Fathers plight, whereat (poore harts) they gladly gazde. Hope now begins to further loue.

And to confirme a mutuall band, of loue, that at no time should cease: They likewise ioyned hand in hand, the Shepheard and the Shepheardesse. Like fortune still befall true loue.

FINIS.

Shep. Ionie.

Another of Astrophell.

THE Nightingale so soone as Aprill bringeth Vnto her rested sense a perfect waking: While late bare earth, proud of new clothing springeth, Sings out her woes, a thorne her Song-booke making. And mournefully bewailing Her throate in tunes expresseth, What griefe her breast oppresseth, For Tereus force, on her chast will preuailing.

Oh Philomela faire, oh take some gladnes, That here is iuster cause of plaintfull sadnes. Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth: Thy throne without, my thorne my hart inuadeth.

Alas, she hath no other cause of languish But Tereus loue, on her by strong hand wroken: Wherein she suffering all her spirits languish, Full woman-like complaines, her will was broken. But I, who daily crauing, Cannot haue to content me: Haue more cause to lament me, Sith wanting is more woe, then too much hauing. Oh Philomela faire, oh take some gladnes, That heere is iuster cause of plaintfull sadnes, Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth: Thy thorne without, my thorne my hart inuadeth.

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

An Inuectiue against Loue.

ALL is not golde that shineth bright in show, Not euery flowre so good, as faire, to sight, The deepest streames, aboue doe calmest flow, And strongest poisons oft the taste delight, The pleasant baite doth hide the harmfull hooke, And false deceit can lend a friendly looke.

Loue is the gold whose outward hew doth passe, Whose first beginnings goodly promise make Of pleasures faire, and fresh as Sommers grasse, Which neither Sunne can parch, nor winde can shake: But when the mould should in the fire be tride, The gold is gone, the drosse doth still abide.

Beautie the flowre, so fresh, so faire, so gay, So sweet to smell, so soft to touch and tast: As seemes it should endure, by right, for aye, And neuer be with any storme defast, But when the baleful Southerne wind doth blow, Gone is the glory which it erst did shew.

Loue is the streame, whose waues so calmely flow As might intice mens minds to wade therein: Loue is the poison mixt with sugar so, As might by outward sweetnesse liking win, But as the deepe ore'flowing stops thy breath, So poyson once receiu'd brings certaine death.

Loue is the baite, whose taste the fish deceiues, And makes them swallow downe the choking hooke, Loue is the face whose fairenesse iudgement reaues, And makes thee trust a false and fained looke. But as the hooke the foolish fish doth kill, So flatt'ring lookes, the louers life doth spill.

FINIS.

¶Faire Phillis and her Shepheard.

SHepheard, saw you not my faire louely Phillis, Walking on this Mountaine, or on yonder plaine? She is gone this way to Dianaes Fountaine, and hath left me wounded, with her high disdaine. Aye me, she is faire, And without compare. Sorrow come and sit with me: Loue is full of feares, Loue is full of teares, Loue without these cannot be. Thus my passions paine me, For my loue hath slaine me, Gentle Shepheard beare a part: Pray to Cupids mother, For I know no other that can helpe to ease my smart.

Shepheard, I haue seene thy faire louely Phillis Where her flocks are feeding, by the Riuers side: Oh, I much admire she so farre exceeding In surpassing beautie, should surpasse in pride.

But alas I finde, They are all vnkinde Beautie knowes her power too well: When they list they loue, When they please they moue, thus they turne our heauen to hell. For their faire eyes glauncing, Like to Cupids dauncing, roule about still to deceaue vs: With vaine hopes deluding, Still dispraise concluding, Now they loue, and now they leaue vs.

Thus I doe despaire, haue her I shall neuer, If shee be so coy, lost is all my loue: But she is so faire I must loue her euer, All my paine is ioy, which for her I proue. If I should her trie, And she should denie heauie hart with woe will breake: Though against my will, Tongue thou must be still, for she will not heare thee speake. Then with sighs goe proue her, Let them shew I loue her, gracious Ʋenus be my guide: But though I complaine me,

She will still disdaine mee, beautie is so full of pride.

What though she be faire? speake, and feare not speeding, Be shee nere so coy, yet she may be wunne: Vnto her repaire, where her Flocks are feeding, Sit and tick and toy till set be the Sunne. Sunne then being set, Feare not Vulcanes net, though that Mars therein was caught: If she doe denie Thus to her replie Venus lawes she must be taught. Then with kisses mooue her, That's the way to proue her, thus thy Phillis must be wone: She will not forsake thee, But her Loue will make thee, When Loues dutie once is done.

Happie shall I be, If she graunt me fauour, Else for loue I die Phillis is so faire: Boldly then goe see, thou maist quickly haue her, Though she could denie,

yet doe not despaire. She is full of pride, Venus be my guide, helpe a silly Shepheards speed, Vse no such delay, Shepheard, goe thy way, venture man and doe the deed. I will sore complaine me, Say that loue hath slaine thee, if her fauours doe not feede: But take no deniall, Stand vpon thy triall, spare to speake, and want of speede.

FINIS.

I. G.

¶The Shepheards Song of Venus and Adonis.

VEnus faire did ride, siluer Doues they drew her, By the pleasant lawnds ere the Sunne did rise: Ʋestaes beautie rich opened wide to view her, Philomel records pleasing Harmonies. Euery bird of spring cheerefully did sing, Paphos Goddesse they salute: 〈2 pages missing〉〈2 pages missing〉

Birds and beasts my lawes effect: Mirrha thy faire mother, most of any other, did my louely hests respect. Be with me delighted, Thou shalt be requited, euery Nimph on thee shall tend: All the Gods shall loue thee, Man shall not reproue thee, Loue himselfe shall be thy friend.

Wend thee from me Venus, I am not disposed, Thou wring'st me too hard, pre-thee let me goe: Fie, what a paine it is thus to be enclosed. If loue begin with labour, it will end in woe. kisse me, I will leaue, here a kisse receiue, a short kisse I doe it finde: Wilt thou leaue me so? yet thou shalt not goe, breathe once more thy balmie wind. It smelleth of the Mirth-tree, That to the world did bring thee, neuer was perfume so sweet: When she had thus spoken, She gaue him a token, and their naked bosomes meet.

Now he said, let's goe, harke, the Hounds are crying, Grisly Boare is vp, Hunts-men follow fast: At the name of Boare, Venus seemed dying, Deadly coloured pale, Roses ouer-cast. Speake said she, no more, of following the Boare, thou vnfit for such a chase: Course the fearefull Hare, Venson doe not spare, if thou wilt yeeld Ʋenus grace. Shun the Boare I pray thee, Else I still will stay thee, herein he vow'd to please her mind, Then her armes enlarged, Loth she him discharged, forth he went as swift as wind.

Thetis Phoebus Steedes in the West retained, Hunting sport was past, Loue her loue did seeke: Sight of him too soone gentle Queene she gained, On the ground he lay blood had left his cheeke. For an orped Swine, smit him in the groyne,

deadly wound his death did bring: Which when Ʋenus found, she fell in a swound, and awak'd, her hands did wring. Nimphs and Satyres skipping, Came together tripping, Eccho euery crie exprest: Venus by her power, Turn'd him to a flower, which she weareth in her creast.

FINIS.

H. C.

¶Thirsis the Shepheard his deaths Song.

THirsis to die desired, marking her eyes that to his heart was neerest: And she that with his flame no lesse was fired, said to him: Oh heart's loue deerest: Alas, forbeare to die now, By thee I liue, by thee I wish to die to.

Thirsis that heate refrained, wherewith to die poore Louer then he hasted, Thinking it death while he his lookes maintained, full fixed on her eyes, full of pleasure, and louely Nectar sweet from them he tasted. His daintie Nimph, that now at hand espied the haruest of Loues treasure,

Said thus, with eyes all trembling, faint and wasted: I die now, The Shepheard then replied, and I sweet life doe die to.

Thus these two Louers fortunately died, Of death so sweet, so happy, and so desired: That to die so againe their life retired.

FINIS.

Out of Maister N. Young his Musica Transalpina.

¶Another Stanza added after.

THirsis enioyed the graces, Of Chloris sweet embraces, Yet both their ioyes were scanted: For darke it was, and candle-light they wanted. Wherewith kinde Cynthia in the heauen that shined, her nightly vaile resigned, and her faire face disclosed. Then each from others lookes such ioy deriued: That both with meere delight died, and reuiued.

FINIS.

Out of the same.

¶Another Sonnet thence taken.

ZEphirus brings the time that sweetly senteth with flowers and hearbs, which Winters frost exileth: Progne now chirpeth, Philomel lamenteth, Flora the Garlands white and red compileth: Fields doe reioyce, the frowning skie relenteth, Ioue to behold his dearest daughter smileth: The ayre, the water, the earth to ioy consenteth, each creature now to loue him reconcileth, But with me wretch, the stormes of woe perseuer, and heauie sighs which from my heart she straineth That tooke the key thereof to heauen for euer, so that singing of birds, and spring-times flowring: And Ladies loue that mens affection gaineth, are like a Desert, and cruell beasts deuouring.

FINIS.

¶The Shepheards slumber.

IN Pescod time, when Hound to horne giues eare till Buck be kild: And little Lads with Pipes of corne, sate keeping beasts a field. I went to gather Strawberies tho, by Woods and Groaues full faire:

And parcht my face with Phoebus so, in walking in the ayre That downe I layde me by a streame, with boughs all ouer-clad: And there I met the strangest dreame, that euer Shepheard had. Me thought I saw each Christmas game, each reuell all and some: And euery thing that I can name, or may in fancie come. The substance of the sights I saw, in silence passe they shall: Because I lacke the skill to draw, the order of them all. But Venus shall not passe my pen, whose maydens in disdaine: Did feed vpon the hearts of men, that Cupids bowe had slaine. And that blinde Boy was all in blood, be-bath'd vp to the eares: And like a Conquerour he stood, and scorned Louers teares. I haue (quoth he) more hearts at call, then Caesar could command: And like the Deare I make them fall, that runneth o're the lawnd. One drops downe here, another there, in bushes as they groane; I bend a scornfull carelesse eare, to heare them make their moane. Ah Sir (quoth Honest Meaning) then,

thy boy-like brags I heare: When thou hast wounded many a man, as Hunts-man doth the Deare. Becomes it thee to triumph so? thy Mother wills it not: For she had rather breake thy bowe, then thou should'st play the sot. What saucie merchant speaketh now, said Ʋenus in her rage: Art thou so blinde thou knowest not how I gouerne euery age? My Sonne doth shoote no shaft in wast, to me the Boy is bound: He neuer found a heart so chast, but he had power to wound, Not so faire Goddesse (quoth Free-will,) in me there is a choise: And cause I am of mine owne ill, if I in thee reioyce. And when I yeeld my selfe a slaue, to thee, or to thy Sonne: Such recompence I ought not haue, if things be rightly done. Why foole, stept forth Delight, and said, when thou art conquer'd thus: Then loe dame Lust, that wanton Maid, thy Mistresse is iwus. And Lust is Cupids darling deere, behold her where she goes: She creepes the milk-warme flesh so neere, she hides her vnder close.

Where many priuie thoughts doe dwell, a heauen here on earth: For they haue neuer minde of hell, they thinke so much on mirth. Be still Good Meaning, quoth Good Sport, let Cupid triumph make: For sure his Kingdome shall be short if we no pleasure take. Faire Beautie, and her play-feares gay, the virgins Ʋestalles to: Shall sit and with their fingers play, as idle people doe. If Honest Meaning fall to frowne, and I Good Sport decay: Then Venus glory will come downe, and they will pine away. Indeede (quoth Wit) this your deuice, with strangenesse must be wrought, And where you see these women nice, and looking to be sought: With scowling browes their follies check, and so giue them the Fig: Let Fancie be no more at beck, when Beautie lookes so big. When Venus heard how they conspir'd, to murther women so: Me thought indeede the house was fier'd, with stormes and lightning tho. The thunder-bolt through windowes burst. and in their steps a wight: Which seem'd some soule or sprite accurst,

so vgly was the sight. I charge you Ladies all (quoth he) looke to your selues in hast: For if that men so wilfull be, and haue their thoughts so chast; That they can tread on Cupids brest, and martch on Ʋenus face: Then they shall sleepe in quiet rest, when you shall waile your case. With that had Venus all in spight stir'd vp the Dames to ire: And Lust fell cold, and Beautie white sate babling with Desire. Whose mutt'ring words I might not marke, much whispering there arose: The day did lower, the Sunne wext darke, away each Lady goes. But whether went this angry flock? our Lord himselfe doth know: Wherewith full lowdly crew the Cock, and I awaked so. A dreame (quoth I?) a dogge it is, I take thereon no keepe: I gage my head, such toyes as this, doth spring from lacke of sleepe.

FINIS.

¶Dispraise of Loue, and Louers follies.

IF Loue be life, I long to die, Liue they that lift forme: And he that gaines the most thereby, A foole at least shall be. But he that feeles the sorest fits, Scapes with no lesse then losse of wits, Vnhappy life they gaine, Which Loue doe entertaine.

In day by fained lookes they liue, By lying dreames in night, Each frowne a deadly wound doth giue, Each smile a false delight. If't hap their Lady pleasant seeme, It is for others loue they deeme: If voide she seeme of ioy, Disdaine doth make her coy.

Such is the peace that Louers finde, Such is the life they leade. Blowne here and there with euery winde Like flowers in the Mead. Now warre, now peace, now warre againe, Desire, despaire, delight, disdaine, Though dead in midst of life, In peace, and yet at strife.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶Another Sonet.

IN wonted walkes, since wonted fancies change, Some cause there is, which of strange cause doth rise: For in each thing whereto my minde doth range, Part of my paine me seemes engraued lies.

The Rockes which were of constant minde, the marke In climbing steepe, now hard refusall show: The shading Woods seeme now my sunne to darke, And stately hills disdaine to looke so low.

The restfull Caues, now restlesse visions giue, In dales I see each way a hard assent: Like late mowne Meades, late cut from ioy I liue, Alas, sweet Brookes, doe in my teares augment. Rocks, woods, hills, caues, dales, meades, brooks answer mee. Infected mindes infect each thing they see.

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

¶Of disdainefull Daphne.

SHall I say that I loue you, Daphne disdainfull? Sore it costs as I proue you, louing is painefull.

Shall I say what doth grieue me? Louers lament it: Daphne will not relieue me, late I repent it.

Shall I die, shall I perish, through her vnkindnesse? Loue vntaught loue to cherish, sheweth his blindnesse.

Shall the hills, shall the valleyes, the fields, the Citie, With the sound of my out-cries, moue her to pittie?

The deepe falls of faire Riuers, and the windes turning: Are the true Musicke giuers vnto my mourning.

Where my Flockes daily feeding, pining for sorrow: At their Maisters heart bleeding, shot with Loues arrow.

From her eyes to my heart-string, was the shaft launced: It made all the Woods to ring by which it glaunced.

When this Nimph had vs'd me so, then she did hide her:

Haplesse I did Daphne know, haplesse I spied her.

Thus Turtle-like I wail'd me, for my Loues loosing: Daphnes trust thus did faile me, woe worth such choosing.

FINIS.

M. N. Howell.

¶The passionate Shepheard to his Loue.

COme liue with me, and be my Loue, And we will all the pleasures proue, That Vallies, Groues, hills and fields, Woods, or steepie mountaines yeelds.

And we will sit vpon the Rockes, Seeing the Shepheards feede their Flockes, By shallow Riuers, to whose falls, Melodious birds sings Madrigalls.

And I will make thee beds of Roses, And a thousand fragrant poesies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Imbroydered all with leaues of Mirtle.

A gowne made of the finest wooll, Which from our pretty Lambs we pull,

Faire lined slippers for the cold: With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw, and Iuie buds, With Corall clasps and Amber studs, And if these pleasures may thee moue, Come liue with me and be my Loue.

The Shepheard Swaines shall dance and sing, For thy delight each May-morning, If these delights thy minde may moue; Then liue with me, and be my Loue.

FINIS.

Chr. Marlow.

¶The Nimphs reply to the Shepheard.

IF all the world and loue were young, And truth in euery Shepheards tongue, These pretty pleasures might me moue, To liue with thee, and be thy Loue.

Time driues the Flockes from field to fold, When Riuers rage, and Rockes grow cold, And Philomell becommeth dombe, The rest complaines of cares to come.

The flowers doe fade, and wanton fields, To wayward Winter reckoning yeelds, A hony tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancies spring, but sorrowes fall.

Thy gownes, thy shooes, thy beds of Roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soone breake, soone wither, soone forgotten: In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and Iuie buds, Thy Corall claspes and Amber studs, All these in me no meanes can moue, To come to thee, and be thy Loue.

But could youth last, and loue still breede, Had ioyes no date, nor age no neede, Then these delights my minde might moue, To liue with thee, and be thy Loue.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶Another of the same nature, made since.

COme liue with me, and be my deere, And we will reuell all the yeere, In plaines and groues, on hills and dales: Where fragrant ayre breedes sweetest gales.

There shall you haue the beauteous Pine, The Cedar, and the spreading Vine, And all the woods to be a Skreene: Least Phoebus kisse my Sommers Queene.

The seate for your disport shall be Ouer some Riuer in a tree, Where siluer sands, and pebbles sing, Eternall ditties with the spring.

There shall you see the Nimphs at play, And how the Satires spend the day, The fishes gliding on the sands: Offering their bellies to your hands.

The birds with heauenly tuned throtes, Possesse woods Ecchoes with sweet notes, Which to your senses will impart A musique to enflame the hart.

Vpon the bare and leafe-lesse Oake, The Ring-Doues woings will prouoke A colder blood then you possesse, To play with me and doe no lesse.

In bowers of Laurell trimly dight, We will out-weare the silent night, While Flora busie is to spread: Her richest treasure on our bed.

Ten thousand Glow-wormes shall attend, And all their sparkling lights shall spend,

All to adorne and beautifie: Your lodging with most maiestie.

Then in mine armes will I enclose Lillies faire mixture with the Rose. Whose nice perfections in loues play: Shall tune me to the highest key.

Thus as we passe the welcome night, In sportfull pleasures and delight, The nimble Fairies on the grounds, Shall daunce and sing mellodious sounds.

If these may serue for to entice, Your presence to Loues Paradice, Then come with me, and be my deare: And we will strait begin the yeare.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶Two Pastorals, vpon three friends meeting.

IOyne mates in mirth to me, Grant pleasure to our meeting: Let Pan our good God see, How gratefull is our greeting. Ioyne hearts and hands, so let it be. Make but one minde in bodies three.

Ye Hymnes and singing skill Of God Apolloes giuing, Be prest our reeds to fill, With sound of musicke liuing. Ioyne hearts and hands, &c.

Sweet Orpheus Harpe, whose sound The stedfast mountaines moued, Let here thy skill abound, To ioyne sweet friends beloued. Ioyne hearts and hands, &c.

My two and I be met, A happy blessed Trinitie, As three most ioyntly set, In firmest hand of vnitie. Ioyne hearts and hands, &c.

Welcome my two to me, E.D. F.G. P.S. The number best beloued, Within my heart you be In friendship vnremoued. Ioyne hands, &c.

Giue leaue your flocks to range, Let vs the while be playing, Within the Elmy grange, Your flocks will not be straying. Ioyne hands, &c.

Cause all the mirth you can,

Since I am now come hither, Who neuer ioy but when I am with you together. Ioyne hands, &c.

Like louers doe their loue, So ioy I in your seeing: Let nothing me remoue From alwaies with you being. Ioyne hands, &c.

And as the turtle Doue To mate with whom he liueth, Such comfort, feruent loue Of you to my heart giueth. Ioyne hands, &c.

Now ioyned be our hands, Let them be ne're asunder, But linkt in binding bands By metamorphoz'd wonder. So should our seuered bodies three As one for euer ioyned be.

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

The wood-mans walke.

THrough a faire Forrest as I went vpon a Sommers day, I met a Wood-man quaint and gent, yet in a strange aray. I maruail'd much at his disguise, whom I did know so well: But thus in tearmes both graue and wise, his minde he gan to tell. Friend, muse not at this fond aray, but list a while to me: For it hath holpe me to suruay what I shall shew to thee. Long liu'd I in this Forrest faire, till wearie of my weale Abroad in walkes I would repaire, as now I will reueale. My first dayes walke was to the Court, where beautie fed mine eyes: Yet found I that the Courtly sport, did maske in slie disguise. For falsehood sate in fairest lookes, and friend to friend was coy: Court-fauour fill'd but emptie bookes, and there I found no ioy. Desert went naked in the colde, when crouching craft was fed: Sweet words were cheaply bought and solde, but none that stood in sted.

Wit was imployed for each mans owne, plaine meaning came too short: All these deuises seene and knowne, made me forsake the Court. Vnto the Cittie next I went, in hope of better hap: Where liberally I lanch'd and spent, as set on Fortunes lap. The little stock I had in store, me thought would nere be done: Friends flockt about me more and more, as quickely lost as wone. For when I spent, then they were kinde, but when my purse did faile: The foremost man came last behinde, thus loue with wealth doth quaile. Once more for footing yet I stroue, although the world did frowne: But they before that held me vp, together troad me downe. And least once more I should arise, they sought my quite decay: Then got I into this disguise, and thence I stole away. And in my minde (me thought) I said, Lord blesse mee from the Cittie: Where simplenes is thus betraide, and no remorce or pittie. Yet would I not giue ouer so, but once more trie my fate:

And to the Country then I goe, to liue in quiet state. There did appeare no subtile showes, but yea and nay went smoothly: But Lord how Country-folkes can glose, when they speake most vntruely? More craft was in a buttond cap, and in old wiues raile: Then in my life it was my hap, to see on Downe or Dale. There was no open forgerie, but vnder-handed gleaning: Whch they call Countrie pollicie, but hath a worser meaning, Some good bold-face beares out the wrong, because he gaines thereby: The poore mans backe is crackt ere long, yet there he lets him lie. And no degree among them all, but had such close intending, That I vpon my knees did fall, and prayed for their amending. Back to the woods I got againe, in minde perplexed sore: Where I found ease of all this paine, and meane to stray no more. There, Citty, Court, nor Country to, can any way annoy me: But as a wood-man ought to doe, I freely may imploy me.

There liue I quietly alone, and none to trip my talke: Wherefore when I am dead and gone, thinke on the Wood-mans walke.

FINIS.

Shep. Tonie.

¶Thirsis the Shepheard, to his Pipe.

LIke Desert woods, with darkesome shades obscured, Where dreadfull beasts, where hatefull horror raigneth: Such is my wounded hart, whom sorrow paineth.

The trees are fatall shafts, to death inured, That cruell loue within my breast maintaineth. To whet my griefe, when as my sorrow waineth.

The ghastly beasts, my thoughts in cares assures, Which wage me warre, while hart no succour gaineth: With false suspect, and feare that still remaineth.

The horrors, burning sighs by cares procured, Which forth I send, whilest weeping eye complaineth: To coole the heate, the helpelesse hart containeth.

But shafts, but cares, but sighs, horrors vnrecured, Were nought esteem'd, if for these paines awarded: My faithfull loue by her might be regarded.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

An Heroicall Poeme.

MY wanton Muse that whilome wont to sing, Faire beauties praise and Venus sweet delight, Of late had chang'd the tenor of her string To higher tunes then serue for Cupids fight. Shrill Trumpets sound, sharpe swords and Lances strong, Warre, bloud and death, were matter of her song.

The God of Loue by chance had heard thereof, That I was prou'd a rebell to his crowne, Fit words for warre, quoth he, with angry scoffe, A likely man to write of Mars his frowne. Well are they sped whose praises he shall write, Whose wanton Pen can nought but loue indite.

This said, he whiskt his party-colour'd wings, And downe to earth he comes more swift then thought, Then to my heart in angry haste he flings, To see what change these newes of warres had wrought. He pries, and lookes, he ransacks eu'ry vaine, Yet finds he nought, saue loue, and louers paine.

Then I that now perceiu'd his needlesse feare, With heauie smile began to plead my cause: In vaine (quoth I) this endlesse griefe I beare, In vaine I striue to keepe thy grieuous Lawes, If after proofe, so often trusty found, Vniust suspect condemne me as vnsound.

Is this the guerdon of my faithfull heart? Is this the hope on which my life is staide? Is this the ease of neuer-ceasing smart? Is this the price that for my paines is paide? Yet better serue fierce Mars in bloudie field, Where death, or conquest, end or ioy doth yeeld.

Long haue I seru'd, what is my pay but paine? Oft haue I sude, what gaine I but delay? My faithfull loue is quited with disdaine, My griefe a game, my pen is made a play. Yea loue that doth in other fauour finde, In me is counted madnesse out of kinde.

And last of all, but grieuous most of all, Thy selfe, sweet loue, hath kild me with suspect: Could loue beleeue, that I from loue would fall? Is warre of force to make me loue neglect. No, Cupid knowes, my minde is faster set, Then that by warre I should my loue forget.

My Muse indeed to warre enclines her minde, The famous acts of worthy Brute to write: To whom the Gods this Ilands rule assignde,

Which long he sought by Seas through Neptunes spight, With such conceits my busie head doth swell. But in my heart nought else but loue doth dwell.

And in this warre thy part is not the least, Here shall my muse Brutes noble Loue declare: Here shalt thou see thy double loue increast, Of fairest twins that euer Lady bare: Let Mars triumph in armour shining bright, His conquerd armes shall be thy triumphs light.

As he the world, so thou shalt him subdue, And I thy glory through the world will ring, So by my paines, thou wilt vouchsafe to rue, And kill despaire. With that he whis'kt his wing. And bid me write, and promist wished rest, But sore I feare false hope will be the best.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶An excellent Sonnet of a Nimph.

VErtue, beautie, and speech, did strike, wound, charme, My heart, eyes, eares, with wonder, loue, delight: First, second, last, did binde, enforce, and arme, His works, showes, sutes, with wit, grace, and vowes-might:

Thus honour, liking, trust, much, farre, and deepe, Held, pearst, possest, my iudgement, sence, and will;

Till wrongs, contempt, deceite, did grow, steale, creepe, Bands, fauour, faith, to breake, defile, and kill.

Then griefe, vnkindnes, proofe, tooke, kindled, taught, Well grounded, noble, due, spite, rage, disdaine: But ah, alas, (in vaine) my minde, sight, thought, Doth him, his face, his words, leaue, shunne, refraine. For nothing, time, nor place, can loose, quench, ease: Mine owne, embraced, sought, knot, fire, disease.

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

¶A Report Song in a dreame, betweene a Shepheard and his Nimph.

SHall we goe daunce the hay? The hay? Neuer pipe could euer play better Shepheards Roundelay.

Shall we goe sing the Song? The Song? Neuer Loue did euer wrong: faire Maides holde hands all a-long.

Shall we goe learne to woo? To woo? Neuer thought came euer to, better deed could better doe.

Shall we goe learne to kisse? To kisse? Neuer hart could euer misse comfort, where true meaning is.

Thus at base thy run, They run, When the sport was scarse begun: but I awak't, and all was done.

FINIS.

N. Breton.

¶Another of the same.

SAy that I should say, I loue ye? would you say, tis but a saying? But if Loue in prayers moue ye? will you not be mou'd with praying?

Thinke I thinke that Loue should know ye? will you thinke, tis but a thinking? But if Loue the thought doe show ye, will ye loose your eyes with winking?

Write that I doe write you blessed, will you write, tis but a writing? But if truth and Loue confesse it: will ye doubt the true enditing?

No, I say, and thinke, and write it, write, and thinke, and say your pleasure: Loue, and truth, and I endite it, you are blessed out of measure.

FINIS.

N. Breton.

¶The Louers absence kils me, her presence kils me.

THE frozen Snake opprest with heaped snow By strugling hard gets out her tender head, And spies farre off from where she lies below The winter Sunne that from the North is fled. But all in vaine she lookes vpon the light, Where heate is wanting to restore her might.

What doth it helpe a wretch in prison pent, Long time with biting hunger ouer-prest, To see without, or smell within, the sent, Of daintie fare for others tables drest? Yet Snake and pris'ner both behold the thing, The which (but not with sight) might comfort bring.

Such is my state, or worse if worse may be, My heart opprest with heauie frost of care, Debar'd of that which is most deere to me, Kild vp with cold, and pinde with euill fare, And yet I see the thing might yeeld reliefe, And yet the sight doth breed my greater griefe.

So Thisoe saw her Louer through the wall, And saw thereby she wanted that she saw: And so I see, and seeing want withall, And wanting so, vnto my death I draw. And so my death were twenty times my friend, If with this verse my hated life might end.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

¶The Shepheards conceit of Prometheus.

PRometheus, when first from heauen hie, He brought downe fire, ere then on earth vnseene: Fond of delight, a Satyre standing by, Gaue it a kisse, as it like sweet had beene.

Feeling forth-with the other burning power, Wood with the smart, with shoutes and shrikings shrill: He sought his case in Riuer, Field, and bower, But for the time his griefe went with him still.

So silly I, with that vnwonted sight. In humane shape, an Angell from aboue: Feeding mine eyes, th'impression there did light, That since I runne, and rest as pleaseth Loue, The difference is, the Satires lips, my heart, He for a while, I euermore haue smart.

FINIS.

S. E. D.

Another of the same.

A Satyre once did runne away for dread, with sound of Horne, which he him-selfe did blow: Fearing, and feared thus, from him-selfe hee fled, deeming strange euill in that he did not know.

Such causelesse feares, when coward mindes doe take, it makes them flie that which they faine would haue: As this poore beast, who did his rest forsake, thinking not why, but how him-selfe to saue.

Euen thus mought I, for doubts which I conceaue of mine owne words, mine owne good hap betray: And thus might I, for feare of may be, leaue the sweet pursute of my desired pray. Better like I thy Satire, dearest Dyer: Who burnt his lips, to kisse faire shining fier.

FINIS.

S. Phil. Sidney.

¶The Shepheards Sunne.

FAire Nimphs, sit ye here by me, on this flowrie greene: While we this merrie day doe see, some things but sildome seene. Shepheards all, now come sit a round, on yond checkquer'd plaine: While from the Woods we here resound, some comfort for Loues paine. Euery bird sits on his bough, As brag as he that is the best: Then sweet Loue, reueale how our mindes may be at rest. Eccho thus replied to mee, Sit vnder yonder Beechen tree, And there Loue shall shew thee how all may be redrest.

Harke, harke, harke the Nightingale, in her mourning lay: She tells her stories wofull tale, to warne yee if she may. Faire Maides, take yee heede of loue, it is a perilous thing: As Philomell her selfe did proue, abused by a King. If Kings play false, beleeue no men. That make a seemely outward show:

But caught once, beware then, for then begins your woe. They will looke babies in your eyes, And speake so faire as faire may be: But trust them in no wise, example take by me.

Fie, fie, said the Threstle-cocke, you are much too blame: For one mans fault, all men to blot, impairing their good name. Admit you were vs'd amisse, by that vngentle King, It followes not that you for this, should all mens honours wring. There be good, and there be bad, And some are false, and some are true: As good choyse is still had amongst vs men, as you. Women haue faults as well as wee, Some say for our one, they haue three. Then smite not, nor bite not, when you as faultie be.

Peace, peace, quoth Madge-Howlet then, sitting out of sight: For women are as good as men, and both are good alike. Not so, said the little Wrenne, difference there may be:

The Cocke alway commands the Henne, the men shall goe for me. Then Robbin-Redbrest stepping in, Would needes take vp this tedious strife, Protesting, true louing, In either lengthened life. If I loue you, and you loue me, Can there be better harmonie? Thus ending, contending, Loue must the vmpiere be.

Faire Nimphs, Loue must be your guide, chast, vnspotted loue: To such as doe your thralls betide, resolu'd without remoue. Likewise iolly Shepheard Swaines if you doe respect, The happy issue of your paines, true loue must you direct. You heare the birds contend for loue. The bubling springs doe sing sweet loue, The Mountaines and Fountaines doe Eccho nought but loue. Take hands then Nimphes and Shepheards all And to this Riuers musickes fall Sing true loue, and chast loue begins our Festiuall.

FINIS.

Shep. Tonie.

¶Loue the onely price of loue.

THe fairest Pearles that Northerne Seas doe breed, For precious stones from Easterne coasts are sold. Nought yeelds the earth that from exchange is freed, Gold values all, and all things value Gold. Where goodnes wants an equall change to make, There greatnesse serues, or number place doth take.

No mortall thing can beare so high a price, But that with mortall thing it may be bought, The corne of Sicill buies the Westerne spice, French wine of vs, of them our cloath is sought. No pearles, no gold, no stones, no corne, no spice. No cloath, no wine, of loue can pay the price.

What thing is loue, which nought can counteruaile? Nought saue it selfe, eu'n such a thing is loue. All worldly wealth in worth as farre doth faile, As lowest earth doth yeeld to heau'n aboue. Diuine is loue, and scorneth worldly pelfe, And can be bought with nothing, but with selfe.

Such is the price my louing heart would pay, Such is the pay thy loue doth claime as due. Thy due is loue, which I (poore I) assay, In vaine assay to quite with friendship true: True is my loue, and true shall euer be, And truest loue is farre too base for thee.

Loue but thy selfe, and loue thy selfe alone, For saue thy selfe, none can thy loue require: All mine thou hast, but all as good as none, My small desart must take a lower flight. Yet if thou wilt vouchsafe my heart such blisse, Accept it for thy prisoner as it is.

FINIS

Ignoto.

¶Colin the enamoured Shepheard, singeth this passion of loue.

O Gentle Loue, vngentle for thy deede, thou makest my heart, a bloodie marke, With piercing shot to bleede.

Shoote soft sweet Loue, for feare thou shoote amisse, for feare too keene, thy arrowes beene: And hit the heart, where my beloued is.

Too faire that fortune were, nor neuer I shall be so blest, among the rest: That loue shall ceaze on her by simpathie.

Then since with Loue my prayers beare no boote, this doth remaine, to ease my paine, I take the wound, and die at Ʋenus foote.

FINIS.

Geo. Peele.

¶Oenones complaint in blanke verse.

MElpomene the Muse of tragicke Songs, With mournfull tunes in stole of dismall hue, Assist a silly Nimph to waile her woe, And leaue thy lustie company behind.

This lucklesse wreathe becomes not me to weare, The Poplar tree for triumph of my loue, Then as my ioy, my pride of loue is left; Be thou vncloathed of thy louely greene.

And in thy leaues my fortunes written be, And then some gentle winde let blow abroad, That all the world may see, how false of loue, False Paris hath to his Oenone beene.

FINIS.

Geo. Peele.

¶The Shepheards Consort.

HArke iolly Shepheards, harke yond lustie ringing: How cheerefully the Bells daunce, the whilst the Lads are springing? Goe we then, why sit we here delaying: And all yond merrie wanton Lasses playing? How gaily Flora leades it, and sweetly treads it? The Woods and Groues they ring, louely resounding: With Ecchoes sweet rebounding.

FINIS.

Out of M. Morleys Madrigals.

¶Thirsis praise of his Mistresse.

ON a hill that grac'd the plaine Thirsis sate, a comely Swaine, Comelier Swaine nere grac'd a hill: Whilst his Flocke that wandred nie Cropt the greene grasse busilie, Thus he tun'd his Oaten quill.

Ʋer hath made the pleasant field Many seu'rall odours yeeld, Odors aromaticall:

From faire Astra's cherrie lip, Sweeter smells for euer skip, They in pleasing passen all.

Leauie Groues now mainely ring, With each sweet birds sonnetting, Notes that make the Eccho's long: But when Astra tunes her voyce, All the mirthfull birds reioyce, And are list'ning to her Song.

Fairely spreads the Damaske Rose, Whose rare mixture doth disclose Beauties, pensils cannot faine: Yet if Astra passe the bush, Roses haue beene seene to blush, She doth all their beauties staine.

Phoebus shining bright in skie Gilds the floods, heates mountaines hie, With his beames all-quickning fire: Astra's eyes, (most sparkling ones) Strikes a heate in hearts of stones, And enflames them with desire.

Fields are blest with flowrie wreath, Ayre is blest when she doth breath, Birds make happy eu'ry Groue, She each Bird when she doth sing, Phoebus heate to earth doth bring, She makes Marble fall in loue.

Those, blessings of the earth, we Swaines doe call: Astra can blesse those blessings earth and all.

FINIS.

W. Browne.

A defiance to disdainefull Loue.

NOw haue I learn'd with much adoe at last, By true disdaine to kill desire, This was the marke at which I shot so fast, Vnto this height I did aspire. Proud Loue, now doe thy worst, and spare not, For thee and all thy shafts I care not.

What hast thou left wherewith to moue my minde? What life to quicken dead desire? I count thy words and oathes as light as winde, I feele no heate in all thy fire. Goe change thy bow, and get a stronger, Goe breake thy shafts, and buy thee longer.

In vaine thou bait'st thy hooke with beauties blaze, In vaine thy wanton eyes allure. These are but toyes, for them that loue to gaze, I know what harme thy lookes procure: Some strange conceit must be deuised, Or thou and all thy skill despised.

FINIS.

Ignoto.

An Epithalamium; or a Nuptiall Song, applied to the Ceremonies of Marriage.

* 1.1AVrora's Blush (the Ensigne of the Day) Hath wak't the God of Light, from Tythons bowre, Who on our Bride, and Bride-groome doth display His golden Beames, auspitious to this Howre. * 1.2Now busie Maydens strew sweet Flowres, Much like our Bride in Virgin state; Now fresh, then prest, soone dying, The death is sweet, and must be yours, Time goes on Croutches till that date, Birds sledg'd, must needes be flying. Leade on whiles Phoebus Lights, and Hymens Fires, Enflame each Heart with Zeale to Loues Desires. Chorus. Io to Hymen, Paeans sing To Hymen, and my Muses King.

* 1.3Forth honour'd Groome; behold not farre behind Your willing Bride; led by two strengthlesse Boyes; For Venus Doues, or Thred but single twin'd May draw a Virgin, light in Marriage Ioyes: Vesta growes pale, her Flame expires As yee come vnder Iunos Phane, To offer at Ioues Shrine The simpathie of Hearts desires Knitting the Knot, that doth containe Two soules, in Gordian Twine. The Rites are done; and now (as 'tis the guise) Loues Fast by Day, a Feast must solemnize.

Chorus. Io to Hymen; Paeans sing, To Hymen, and my Muses King.

The Board being spread, furnish't with various Plenties;* 1.4 The Brides faire Obiect in the Middle plac'd; While she drinkes Nectar, eates Ambrosiall dainties, And like a Goddesse is admir'd and grac'd: Bacchus and Ceres fill their veines; Each Heart begins to ope a vent; And now the Healths goe round; Their Bloods are warm'd; chear'd are their Braines All doe applaud their Loues Consent; So Loue with Cheare is crown'd. Let sensuall soules ioy in full Bowles sweet Dishes; True Hearts, and Tongues, accordin ioyfull wishes. Chorus. Io to Hymen, &c.

Now whiles slow Howres doe feede the Times delay,* 1.5 Confus'd discourse, with Musicke mixt among, Fills vp the semy-circle of the Day; Now drawes the date our Louers wish'd so long. A bounteous Hand the Board hath spred;* 1.6 Lyeus stirres their Bloods a-new; All louiall full of cheare; But Phoebus see, is gone to Bed;* 1.7 Loe Hesperus appeares in view, And twinckles in his sphere. Now ne plus vltra; end, as you begin; Yee waste good Howres; Time lost in Loue, is sin. Chorus. Io to Hymen, &c.

Breake off your Complement; Musick, be dombe, And pull your Cases o're your Fiddles cares; Cry not, a Hall, a Hall; but Chamber-roome; Dauncing is lame; Youth's, old at twentie yeares. * 1.8Matrons; yee know what followes next; Conduct the shame-fac'd Bride to Bed, (Though to her little rest) Yee well can comment on the Text, And in Loues learning deepely read, Aduise, and teach the best. Forward's the Word; y'are all so in this Arrant; Wiues giue the Word; their Husbands giue the Warrant. Chorus. Io to Hymen, &c.

* 1.9Now droopes our Bride, and in her Ʋirgin state, Seemes like Electra 'mongst the Pleyades; So shrinkes a Mayde when her Herculean Mate Must plucke the fruit in her Hesperides. As she's a Bride, she glorious shines, Like Cynthia, from the Sunnes bright Sphaere, Attracting all mens Eyes; But as she's Ʋirgin, waines, and pines, As to the Man she' approcheth neere; So Mayden glory dies. But Virgin Beames no reall brightnesse render; If they doe shine, in darke they shew their splendor. Chorus. Io to Hymen, &c.

Then let the darke Foyle of the Geniall Bed Extend her brightnesse to his inward sight, And by his sence he will be easly led

To know her vertue, by the absent light. Youth's; take his Poynts; your wonted right;* 1.10 And Maydens; take your due, her Garters; Take hence the Lights; be gone; Loue calls to Armes, Duell his Fight; Then all remoue out of his Quarters, And leaue them both alone: That with substantiall heate, they may embrace, And know Loues Essence, with his outward grace. Chorus. Io to Hymen, &c.

Hence Iealousie, Riuall to Loues delight; Sowe not thy seede of strife in these two Harts; May neuer cold affect, or spleenefull spight, Confound this Musicke of agreeing parts: But Time (that steales the virtuall heate Where Nature keepes the vitall fire) (My Heart speakes in my Tongue) Supply with Fewell Lifes chiefe seate, Through the strong feruour of Desire; Loue, liuing; and liue long. And eu'n as Thunder riseth gainst the Winde; So may yee fight with Age; and conquer Kinde Chorus. Io to Hymen; Paeans sing To Hymen, and my Muses King.

FINIS.

Christopher Brooke.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Sunne ri∣sing.
• * 1.2

  Strewing of Flow∣ers.
• * 1.3

  Going to Church. Bride Boyes.
• * 1.4

  Dinner.
• * 1.5

  After-Noone Musicke.
• * 1.6

  Supper.
• * 1.7

  Sunne set.
• * 1.8

  Going to Bed.
• * 1.9

  Modestie in the Bride.
• * 1.10

  Bride Poynts. Garters.