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•  ' 


UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


POEMS 

OK 

WILLIAM     BROWNE 
VOL.  II. 


THE   POEMS   OF 

WILLIAM  BROWNE 

OF  TAVISTOCK: 
EDITED  BY  GORDON  GOODWIN, 

WITH   AN    INTRODUCTION 
BY   A.    H.   BULLEN. 

VOL.  II. 


LONDON:  NEW  YORK: 

LAWRENCE  ft  BULLEN,       CHARLES  SCRIBNERS'  SONS, 

16  HENRIETTA  STREET,  W.C  743  &  745  BROADWAY. 

1894.  1894. 


LONDON : 

PRINTED   BY    WOODFALL   AND    KINDER, 
70   TO   76,    LONG    ACRE,    W.C. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

BRITANNIA  s  PASTORALS.  Book  III.  .  .  i 
THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE  ....  77 
THE  INNER  TEMPLE  MASQUE  .  .  .  165 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 
/. — Love  Poems. 

Love  who  will,  for  I'll  love  none  .  .  .  193 
On  a  Fair  Lady's  Yellow  Hair  powdered  with 

White 194 

Not  long  agone  a  youthful  swain  .  .  .  195 

Shall  I  love  again .196 

Deep  are  the  wounds  which  strike  a  virtuous 

name 196 

Poor  silly  fool !       .         .         .         .         .         .197 

Welcome,  welcome,  do  I  sing.         .         .         .     198 

Ye  merry  birds        .         .         .         .         .         .199 

A  Sigh  from  Oxford  .  ,  .  .  .201 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A  hapless  shepherd  on  a  day  ....  208 

Caelia  is  gone 209 

//. — Odes,  Songs,  and  Sonnets. 

An  Ode 212 

A  Round 213 

Unhappy  Muse 214 

Unhappy  I 215 

Thirsis' Praise  of  his  Mistress.         .         .         .  215 

Sonnets  to  Coelia 217 

Amour 225 

Sonnet    ........  216 

ZII.—Efittk*. 

An  Epistle 228 

An  Epistle  occasioned  by  the  most  intolerable 
Jangling  of  the  Papists'  Bells  on  All  Saints' 

Night 229 

An  Epistle  thrown  into  a  River  in  a  Ball  of 

Wax 232 

An  Epistle      .......  234 

Fido  :  an  Epistle  to  Fidelia     ....  237 

IV.— Elegies. 

An  Elegy  on  Mr.  William  Hopton  .         .         .  246 
An  Elegy  on  the  Countess  Dowager  of  Pem- 
broke         248 

On  an  Infant  unborn,  and  the  Mother  dying  in 

Travail    .......  255 


CONTENTS.  ix 

PAGB 

On    Charles   Lord    Herbert    of     Cardiff   and 

Shurland.         ......  256 

An  Epiced  on  Mr.  Fishbourne         .         .         .  258 

An  Elegy  on  Sir  Thomas  Overbury.         .         .  261 
An  Elegy  on  the  untimely  Death  of  Mr.  Thomas 

Ayleworth 263 

An  Epitaph  on  Him 266 

An  Elegy        .......  266 

On  a  Twin  at  two  Years  old  dead  of  a  Con- 
sumption         ......  270 

An   Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Henry,  Prince  of 

Wales 271 

V.  —  Visions      .         .         .279 

VI.  — Epigrams. 

It  happened  lately  at  a  Fair    ....  283 

On  an  Hour  Glass 284 

On  the  Countess  of  Somerset's  Picture    .         .  284 

On  John  Tooth       ......  284 

To  Don  Antonio,  King  of  Portugal          .         .  284 

[Man] 285 

Give  me  three  kisses,  Phillis   ....  285 

On  One  born  Blind,  and  so  Dead    .         .         .  285 

On  a  Rope-maker  hanged        ....  286 

VII.— Epitaphs. 

An  Epitaph  on  Mr.  John  Smyth      .         .         .  287 

On  Mrs.  Anne  Prideaux 287 


x  CONTENTS. 

PACK 

An  Epitaph  on  Mr.  William  Hopton       .         .  288 

An  Epitaph  on  Sir  John  Prowde      .         .         .  288 

In  Obitum  M  S,  x°  Maij,  1614        .         .         .  289 

On  Mr.  Vaux,  the  Physician   ....  289 

On  One  drowned  in  the  Snow          .         .         .  290 
On  Mr.  John  Deane,  of  New  College      .         .291 

An  Epitaph 291 

On  Mr.  Francis  Lee  of  the  Temple,  Gent.       .  292 

My  Own  Epitaph 293 

On  his  Wife,  an  Epitaph          .         .         .         .293 

On  the  Countess  Dowager  of  Pembroke  .         .  294 

On  Susan,  Countess  of  Montgomery        .         .  294 

An  Epitaph  on  Mrs.  El :  y               .         .         .  295 

On  Mr.  Turner  of  St.  Mary  Hall    .          .         .  295 

On  Goodman  Hurst         .....  296 
Here  lies  kind  Tom         .         .         .         .         .297 

VIII.— Paraphrases,  &*c: 

Tell  me,  Pyrrha 298 

The  Happy  Life 299 

In  Urbein  Romam  qualis  est  hodie  .         .         .  300 

On  Rome  as  It  is  Now 301 

IX.  — Miscellaneous  Pieces. 

On  a  Dream 302 

Lydford  Journey 305 

[On  the  Marriage  of  Charles  I.]                .         .  310 

[Devotional  Verses]         .....  3IQ 


CONTENTS.  xi 

X. — Commendatory  Verses. 

PAGE 

To  his  Worthy  and  Ingenious  Friend  the  Author     3 1 2 
To  my  Honoured  Friend  Mr.  Dray  ton     .         .     313 
Upon  this  Work  of  his    beloved  Friend  the 

Author     .......     314 

The  Author's  Friend  to  the  Reader.         .         -316 

NOTES 319 

INDEX  OF  NAMES 355 


BRITANNIA'S    PASTORALS 


BOOK   III 


VOL.    II. 


Book  III.  of  Britannia's  Pastorals  was  printed 
for  the  first  time  in  1852  by  the  Percy  Society,  under 
the  editorship  of  Mr.  T.  Crofton  Croker,  from  the 
MS.  in  the  library  of  Salisbury  Cathedral.  The  fol- 
lowing MS.  Commendatory  Poems  were  printed  by 
Beloe  m  Anecdotes  of  Literature,  vi.  58-85.  He  found 
them  inserted  in  a  copy  of  the  1625  edition  of  the 
Pastorals. 

Euterpe  to  her  dearest  Darling  W.  J3. 
THY  lines,  thy  worth,  thy  wit  to  praise, 
Were  mine  own  honour  to  upraise, 
And  those  same  gifts  commend  in  thee 
Which  thou  received  hast  of  me  ; 
Yet  may  I  boast  that  by  mine  aid 
All  ears  to  thee  are  captive  made, 
And  thy  amazed  countrymen 
Admire,  extol  thy  golden  pen. 
Hearing  such  madrigals  as  these 
Astonish'd  is  Philisides,* 
And  vanquish'd  by  thy  sweeter  lays 

Re^r^T5  his  pipe  ;  yields  thee  the  bays: 
And  Colin  Cloutb  his  oaten  reed, 
Which  did  to  us  such  pleasure  breed, 
Resigns  to  thee  ;  griev'd  because  his 
Mulla0  by  Tavy  vanquish'd  is 

»  Philuides,  Sir  Philip  Sidney. 

k  Colin  Clout,  Spenser. 

'  Mitllti,  a  poetical  name  given  by  Spenser  to  the  river 
Awbcy,  which  flowed  by  his  residence  at  Kilcolman  Castle, 
to.  Cork. 

B   2 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES. 

Marina  feigns  though  in  her  need 

The  storm  did  help  ;  yet  she  indeed 

Was  ravish'd,  but  ('tis  her  excuse) 

'Twas  only  with  thy  sweet-tongu'd  Muse  ; 

That  though  the  Robin  Redbreast  fed 

Her  body,  yet  sh'  had  suffered 

Death,  hadst  not  thou  with  lines  refin'd, 

As  with  ambrosia,  fed  her  mind. 

Doridon  weeps,  although  for  who 

He  trows  not,  if  't  be  not  for  you  ; 

Since  thee  to  write  he  could  not  move 

One  canto  more  on  his  true  love. 

See  how  each  swain  that  should  this  day 

Before  Dame  Thetis  sing  his  lay, 

Sighing  gives  back,  for  he  doth  fear 

Willy,  their  Captain,  won't  be  there. 

All  say  thou  art  the  elm  (they  know) 

Whereby  the  Muses'  vine  doth  grow, 

And  that  if  Caelia  merit  death, 

All  they  must  with  her  lose  their  breath, 

That  fairer  boughs  have  pull'd  from  thee 

Than  e'er  grew  on  Pan's  golden  tree. 

Lastly,  thy  Aletheia  says, 

That  future  times  shall  sing  thy  praise, 

And  th'  after  ages  strive  in  vain, 

As  thou  hast  done,  to  do  again. 

PHIL.  PAPILLON,  e  Coil.  Exon. 


Carmina  amo,  mi/it,  Wille,  placet  tua fistula:  fdix! 
En  resonant  laudes  ilia,  vel  ilia  tuas. 

BUT  stop,  my  Muse,  listen  to  Willy's  lays, 
Hark  whiles  the  Echo  doth  resound  his  praise  ; 
Let  others  speak,  forbid  not,  but  let  me 
Thou  charming  sweetly,  listen  unto  thee. 

P.  S.,  Coll.  Ex. 


CO  MM  END  A  TOR  Y   VERSES. 

On  the  Author  of  Britannia 's  Peerless  Pastorals. 

I'LL  take  thy  judgment,  golden  Midas,  now, 

Nor  will  of  Phoebus  harmony  allow, 

Since  Pan  hath  such  a  shepherd,  whose  sweet  lays 

May  claim  deservedly  the  Delphic  bays. 

Thrice  happy  Syrinx,  only  great  in  this, 

Thou  kissest  him  in  metamorphosis. 

Flock  hither,  satyrs,  learn  a  roundelay 

Of  him  to  grace  Sylvanus'  holiday. 

Come  hither,  shepherds,  let  your  bleating  flocks 

Of  bearded  goats  browse  on  the  mossy  rocks. 

Come  from  Arcadia,  banish'd  shepherds,  come  ; 

Let  flourishing  Britannia  be  your  home, 

Crown'd  with  your  anadems  and  chaplets  trim  ; 

And  invocate  no  other  Pan  but  him. 

"fis  he  can  keep  you  safe  from  all  your  flocks, 

From  greedy  wolf,  or  oft-beguiling  fox. 

Let  him  but  tune  his  notes,  and  you  shall  see 

The  wolf  abandon  his  rapacity. 

And  innocently  trip  and  frisk  among 

Your  wanton  lambkins  at  his  swan  I  ike  song. 

Yea,  had  the  Thracian  sung  but  half  so  well, 

He  had  not  led  Eurydice  in  hell. 

Then  rally,  swain,  astonish  human  eyes, 

And  let  thy  Tavy  high  as  Tiber  rise. 


On  the  Same. 
AN  ODE. 

FEAR  not,  Willy,  but  go  on 
With  thy  song  of  Doridon, 
Which  will  ne'er  surpassed  b« 
Hy  the  best  pipe  in  Arcady. 
What  though  Roger  of  the  plains, 
Hobinoll  and  other  swains, 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES. 

Join'd  with  Colin  of  the  glen, 

Perigot  and  other  men, 

Warble  sweetly,  thou  when  they 

Sung  on  Pan's  last  holiday, 

Won'st  the  chaplet  which  was  made 

Hard  by  Tavy  in  a  glade. 

Walla,  Marine,  Fida  too, 

Do  thy  lasting  favour  woo  ; 

The  fountain's  god  will  rising  be 

From  his  waters  to  hear  thee  ; 

Hung'ring  for  thee  makes  us  rave, 

All  shut  up  in  Limos'  cave  ; 

O  be  thou  the  Redbreast,  cherish 

Those  who  but  for  thee  would  perish, 

Or  be  Triton  who  alone 

May'st  remove  the  mighty  stone. 
Then  in  thine  honour  every  shepherd  shall 
Keep  the  day  stricter  than  Pan's  festival. 

Enw.  HALL,  e  Coll.  Exon. 


On  the  Author  of  Britannia's  Peerless  Pastorals. 

CEASK,  skilful  Orpheus,  whose  mellifluous  strains 
Have  erst  made  stones  and  trees  skip  o'er  the  plains : 
A  sweeter  harmony  invites  our  ears 
Than  e'er  was  sent  from  the  celestial  spheres. 
Clear  Tavy  now  his  silver  head  may  raise, 
A  shepherd  of  his  own  can  sing  his  praise. 
Sweet-tongu'd  Arion,  strive  not  with  such  odds, 
Thy  song  mov'd  but  the  dolphins  :  his  the  gods. 
O  hadst  thou  deign'd  to  move  thy  sweeter  tongue, 
The  wolf  had  stay'd  to  hearken  to  thy  song  ; 
Had  Pan's  ears  suck'd  the  nectar  of  thy  breath, 
For  thy  sake  Caelia  had  been  free  from  death, 
But  that  the  Fates  denied,  as  who  should  say 
By  Willy's  pen  her  fame  shall  live  for  aye. 


COMMENDATORY  VERSES, 

Walla  a  garland  will  compose  no  more 

To  crown  her  Tavy's  temples  as  before  ; 

But  as  to  them  that  best  deserve  the  praise, 

She'll  give  to  thee  the  garland  and  the  bays  ; 

And  if  a  verse  thy  glory  may  confine, 

Thou  sing'st  Britannia's  praise,  Britannia  thine. 

Jo.  DYNHAM,  e  ColL  Exon. 


Upon  the  Occasion  of  Reading  this  complete  Poem. 

TO   THE   AUTHOR   W.    BROWNE. 


CEASE,  cease  Pierian  dames, 

Be  henceforth  mute  ; 
Leave  of"  your  wanton  games ; 

Apollo's  lute 

Hath  crack'd  a  string  :  it  grates  my  ears, 
'Tis  harsh,  as  are  the  heavenly  spheres  : 
List  !  Willie  sings  and  tunes  his  oaten  reed, 
To  whom  all  hearts,  all  ears  do  yield  themselves  as  meed. 


Hark,  hark,  the  jolly  lad 

So  sweetly  sings, 
The  vales  as  proud,  as  glad 
The  murmuring  springs, 
Both  join  to  tell  the  neighbour  hills 
That  there's  no  music  like  to  Will's. 
Echo  enamour'd  on  the  piping  swain 
Recovers  (silly  wretch  !)  her  voice,  repeats  each  strain. 

*  Leave  of,  desist  from. 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES. 

3- 
The  budcsome1  shepherdess — 

Hark  !  ha  !  no  more  ? 
Ah  !  what  unhappiness 

Was  't  left  us  poor, 
Bereft  by  thy  neglected  songs 
Of  life,  of  joy  !  tell,  tell  what  wrongs, 
What  sad  disaster  (Willie)  is  betide, 
That  we  thy  lays  (not  yet  half  done)  should  be  denied  ? 

4- 
What  has  some  satyr  rude, 

Wodeb  to  those  groves 
His  wily  snares  bestrew'd 

To  catch  your  loves  ? 
To  tempt  a  cred'lous  shepherdess, 
Who,  crying  out  in  her  distress, 
Has  made  you  break  or  fling  your  pipe  away, 
Oh  no  !  your  charms  would  erst  have  made  the  monster  stay. 

5- 

Or  is  your  pipe  ybroke, 
And  'twill  not  sound  ? 
Go,  go  unto  the  oak 

By  yonder  mound  : 

Take  Colin'sc  pipe  (there  't  hangs)  in  hand, 
Or  if  not  that  you  may  command, 
The  whilom  jolly  swain's,  Philisides. 
But  ah  !  your  broken  pipe  will  sound  as  well  as  these. 

6. 
Has  subtle  Reynard  caught 

A  frisking  lamb, 
Or  the  fierce  wolf  distraught 

The  bleating  dam 

»  Bucksome,  blithe.  b  Wade,  went,  or  rather  gone. 

«  Colin,  Spenser. 


COMMENDATORY  VERSES.  9 

And  you  by  rifling  of  their  folds, 

Which  to  regain  your  sport  withholds  ? 

Or  has  your  lagging  ewe  a  lambkin  yean'd,* 

Which  makes  you  cease  your  notes,  and  midwif'ry  attend  ? 

7- 
Or  did  some  shepherd's  boy 

(Thy  lays  are  good,) 
Nod  's  head  or  pause  and  coy, 

He  understood, 

Not  that  it  which  he  did  so  taunt 
(If  there  were  such),  dull  ignorant, 
Or  else  despairing  e'er  to  rise  so  high, 
Would  work  thee,  swain,  from  thy  deserv'd  supremacy. 


Did  the  roundb  yesterday, 

Which  thou  began 'st 
So  merrily  to  play, 

Thou  them  entranc'st  ? 
O[r]  did  they  raise  thy  worth  so  high, 
And  made  thee  blush  for  modesty  ? 
Did  they  with  garlands  girt  thy  curled  locks, 
Call'd  thee  fine  piper,  while  thou  look'st  all  grief,  for  mocks  ? 

9- 
And  would  th'  had  woo'd  thee  too, 

A  second  part, 
'Cause  from  their  promis'd  vow 

They  'gan  to  start  : 

In  which  th'  hadst  bound  their  seely  swain, 
Nor  to  commend  nor  praise  thy  vein. 
Yet  when  they  did  begin  (and  who  could  spare  ?) 
Thou  cruel  tor 'at  thy  chaplets,  and  wouldst  willow  wear. 

•  Yeaned,  brought  forth.  b  Round,  dance. 


io  COMMENDATORY   VERSES. 


See,  cruel  fair,  see,  see 

Each  shepherd's  brow, 
That  wont  to  smile  with  glee, 

Is  tear-swoll'n  now ; 
And  pris'ning  up  their  pearly  wealth, 
The  straggling  drops  get  out  by  stealth  ; 
Yet  could  they  hope  to  win  thee  for  their  prize, 
To  finish  up  thy  song  they'd  bankrupt  all  their  eyes. 


The  pretty  birds  were  mute 

To  hear  thee  sing  ; 
And  see  the  shepherd  youth 

All  wantoning, 

When  having  ceas'd  thy  notes  all  fitty,» 
They  all  reserv'd  their  mournful  ditty. 
Philomel,  fearing  'tis  her  fate  denies 
Thy  sweeter  accents,  falls  into  thy  breast  and  dies. 


The  winds,  that  erst  were  whist,b 

Begin  to  roar  ; 
Each  tree,  your  songs  being  miss'd, 

Skreeks*  as  before  ; 
Each  sprouting  pansy  in  the  mead 
For  grief  begins  to  hang  a  head  ; 
The  weeping  brook  in  grumbling  tones  glide[s]  down, 
Dimples  its  once  sleek  cheeks,  and  thanks  you  with  a  frown 


Come,  come,  let's  hear  your  skill  ; 

Ne'er  say  you  can't. 
What,  are  you  angry  still  ? 

By  Pan,  you  sha'n't. 

•  Fifty,  apt,  clever.        b  Whist,  silent.          e  Skreeks,  creaks. 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES.  11 

Ne'er  let  your  modesty  deprive 

Y*  of  what  will  keep  your  name  alive, 

Whilst  o'er  the  curl'd-hair'd-Tavy's  flowery  side 

There  does  on[e]  shepherd  lodge  or  seely  sheep  abide. 

14. 

Oh  let  not  nice  conceit, 

You  are  too  young, 
That  there  are  lands  more  feat* 

I'  th'  shepherds'  throng, 
Who  better  able  are  to  distil 
Their  soul  in  sonnets  at  their  will. 
If  still  to  me  you  be  obdurate,  then 

Let  sheep,  birds,  trees,  winds,  flowers,  brooks,  teach  thee 
melt  again. 

SAM.  HARDINGE,  e  Coll.  Exon. 


To  the  now  unparalleled  Sidney  of  his  time,  VV.  B. , 
the  ingenuous  Author  of  Britannia 's  Pastorals. 

PLAY  on  thy  pipe  new  lessons  ;  Willy,  strike 

More  such  as  these  which  may  each  shepherd  like  ; 

And  if  it  chance  Thetis  do  once  again 

Visit  our  coasts,  be  thou  the  elected  swain 

To  greet  her  with  thy  lays  ;  let  her  admire 

The  varying  accents  of  thy  matchless  lyre, 

And  so  affect  thee  for  thy  poems'  sake, 

Adopt  thee  hers,  and  thee  her  usher  make. 

But  leave  us  not,  blithe  swain  ;  let  Tavy's  stream 

Leave  of  to  murmur  list'ning  to  thy  theme, 

Lest  thy  sweet  lays  so  great  effect  obtain, 

As  here  on  land,  so  there  upon  the  main, 

As  lasses  here  admir'd  thy  matchless  verse, 

»  Ftat,  clever. 


12  COMMENDATORY   VERSES. 

So  there  the  sea-nymphs  still  thy  praise  rehearse, 
"1'wixt  both  a  great  contention  it  will  breed, 
Who  hath  most  interest  in  thine  oaten  reed, 
Which  harder  will  appeased  be  than  theirs 
Who  strove  to  be  esteem'd  the  blind  bard's  heirs. 
Those  claim  thee  theirs  in  that  thou  dost  forsake 
Thy  native  cotes,1*  and  there  thy  mansion  make  ; 
The  lambkins  here  did  frisk  to  hear  thee  play, 
Less  nourish'd  by  their  grass  than  with  thy  lay  ; 
So  would  the  dolphins  then  attend  thy  song, 
And  none  left  Triton  whom  to  ride  upon, 
Which  might  incense  him  seeing  one  the  fry, 
And  vaster  shoals  pressing  to  come  most  nigh, 
To  hear  thy  melody,  and  to  refuse 
His  trumpet's  sounds,  to  which  they  still  did  use 
Before  to  throng,  to  pray  thee  do  not  come, 
Hut  sweetly  pipen  at  thy  native  home. 
Continue  still  with  us,  and  let  our  vales 
Reverberate  in  echo  thy  sweet  tales. 

CHR.  GEWEN,  e  Coll.  Exon. 


An  Ode  entreating  him  to  proceed  in  the  continuation 
of  his  Brittaunia?  s  Pastorals. 

WILLY,  see  but  how  the  swains 
Mourn  thy  silence  on  the  plains, 
And  do  sadly  pace  along, 
'Cause  they  cannot  hear  thy  song  ; 
Rogetb  grieves  :  these  notes  would  hear 
Fain  which  ravish 'd  erst  his  ear, 
And  to  hear  thy  song  alway 
In  his  prison  would  he  stay 

»  Cotet,  cottages. 

ll  Rogel,  George  Wither,  who  was  imprisoned  in  the  Mar- 
shalsea  for  his  satire  Abuses  Strif>t  and  Wltipt  (1613). 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES.  13 

With  most  willingness  than  be 

Depriv'd  thereof,  though  set  free. 

He  and  Cuddy,*  that  blithe  swain, 

Whose  flocks  feed  on  yonder  plain. 

Would  be  glad  their  skill  to  try 

At  your  opportunity, 

And  though  sent  to  be  one  tome, 

They  would  undergo  thy  doom, 

And  be  glad  to  yield  to  thee, 

To  whom  is  due  all  victory. 

'Tis  their  wish  each  place  could  tell 

Thy  conquests  like  Saint  Dunstan's  well, 

And  that  thy  pipe  would  sound  so  well, 

As  't  whilom  did  in  thick1"  same  dell. 

Doridon  mourns  'cause  his  sweet 

Guided  is  not  by  thy  feet 

To  her  haven  of  wish'd  joy, 

But  is  left  to  all  annoy 

By  thy  cruelty  ;  he  fears 

Lest  by  this  she's  drown'd  in  tears. 

Old  swains  would  die,  could  they  have 

Thee  but  write  upon  their  grave 

Sith  afford  thou  wilt  not  all 

Once  to  hear  thy  pastoral. 

Each  shepherdess  doth  lament, 

'Cause  thou  art  their  discontent, 

And  had  it  been  another  lad 

Which  their  wakes0  thus  hinder'd  had 

They'd  revenge  it,  and  with  speed 

Discard  his  silent  oaten  reed, 

But  thy  former  lays  have  got 

Thee  praises  ne'er  to  be  forgot, 

»  Cuddy,  Christopher  Brooke, 
k  Thick,  this. 

c  Wakes,  village  festivals,  properly  on  the  dedication  day 
of  the  church. 


I4  COMMENDATORY    VERSES. 

Therefore  they  forbear  to  spoil 

Thy  pipe  which  hath  given  the  foil 

To  opposers  ;  nor  would  be 

Cruel  to  thy  pipe  or  thee. 

All  the  swains  are  yonder  set 

On  the  hillock,  and  are  met 

To  celebrate  Pan's  festival 

With  some  pleasing  madrigal ; 

But  they're  dumb,  and  so  will  be, 

'Less  that  thou  augment  their  glee  ; 

For  their  custom  's  at  this  feast, 

Here  'mongst  shepherds  that  the  best 

Must  begin,  and  then  each  one 

Follows  till  they  all  have  done. 

Why  dost  then  thy  music  linger, 

And  suppress  theirs  ?  they  would  finger 

Willingly  their  pipes  ;  they  stay 

But  till  thou  thy  lesson  play. 

Hie  thee,  Willy,  hie  apace, 

With  all  speed  to  the  place 

Where  the  shepherds  are  set  round, 

Waiting  there  till  thy  pipe  sound 

At  thy  tuning  ;  when  thy  lay 

Thou  hast  ended,  they  will  play  ; 

For  which  art  brave  Thetis  shall 

Crown  with  praise  thy  madrigal, 

And  Pan  himself  shall  always  be 

A  patron  to  thy  Muse  and  thee, 
When  that  he  knows  in  this  her  matchless  lay 
Thy  Muse  keeps  his,  not  her  own  holiday. 

B.  N. 

To  the  Author,  W.  B. 

R  :VERS,  be  silent ;  peace,  you  Muses  nine  ; 
O  rpheus,  be  dumb,  for  now  no  praise  is  thine  ; 
B  end  all  your  ears  unto  Britannia's  peer, 
E  ver  be  praising,  ne'er  to  praise  him  fear. 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES.  15 

R  ight  as  the  painters  garnish  with  their  sable* 

T  heir  brighter  colours  in  a  curious  table,b 

T  ime  so  will  place  thee  in  the  shield  of  fame, 

A  s  chief  of  men  t'  immortalize  thy  name. 

Y  et  why  should  I  with  rude  rhymes  seek  to  raise  thee  ? 

I.  et  every  sonnet  in  thy  Pastorals  praise  thee. 

O  dashte  Apollo,  hide  thy  face  for  shame, 

R  ender  to  shepherds  henceforth  all  the  fame. 

e  Coll.  Exon. 


On  the  Author,  W.  B. 

SHALL  I  implore  the  Muses  nine, 

To  grace  with  sweets  my  ruder  line, 

When  all  the  arts  the  Muses  can 

Are  sweetly  sung  within  this  span  ? 

Or  shall  I  invocate  great  Pan 

To  tune  the  song  thy  pipe  best  can  ? 

Pan  swore  to  me  the  other  day 

He  broke  his  pipe,  and  ran  to  hear  thy  Jay. 

Apollo,  lend  thy  sacred  quill, 

That  I  may  chant  a  note  more  shrill. 

Alas  !  Apollo's  drown'd  in  tears, 

To  see  a  god  o'errule  his  spheres. 

Let's  see  what  golden  Spenser  can  ; 

He's  dead,  and  thou  the  living  man. 

The  god,  I  see,  can  wear  no  bays 

But  what  is  pluck'd  from  thy  bright  lays. 

If  Pan  a  song  more  smoother  sings, 

"Tis  'cause  'twas  dipp'd  in  Tavy's  springs. 

Ro.  TAYLER,  Exon.  Coll. 
Sable,  dark.        l>  Table,  picture.        "  Dasht,  abashed. 


1 6  COMMENDATORY  VERSES. 


To  the  unparalleled  Author  of  the  sequent  Poems, 
W.  B. 

HAIL,  Albion's  swain,  whose  worthy  brow  those  bays, 

G'en  to  the  victor  in  Pan's  pastoral  plays, 

Ere  since  thy  pipe's  first  birth  have  bound,  whose  tongue 

Our  loves  on  once  lov'd  Syrinx  freely  sung. 

When  mountains'  heads  and  storm-wrong'd  shrubs  did  cast 

Their  long  shades  westward,  and  when  shepherds  haste 

To  'nbed  their  pendeda  flocks,  how  oft  among 

The  various  sonnets  of  a  neighbouring  throng 

Hast  thou  enchanted  with  a  strong  desire 

To  learn  thy  accents  great  Sylvanus'  quire, 

Who,  like  young  infants  willing  to  obtain 

Their  nurses'  dialect  and  perfect  strain, 

Labour'd  a  repetition  ;  here  the  thrush 

Strove  with  his  whistle  ;  in  next  bord'ring  bush, 

Shrouded  about,  was  the  small  redbreast  set, 

With  list'ning  ears,  and  unwilling  to  let 

Nought  pass,  turn'd  echo  to  thy  tunes  ;  above, 

The  soaring  lark  did  meditating  move 

Her  gutlingb  tongue  ;  but  each  in  vain  ;  at  last, 

Though  out  of  tune,  proud  Philomel's  distaste 

To  hear  a  rival  did  dispose  the  choice 

Of  nat'ral  notes  into  an  artlike  voice. 

Thy  heavenly  harmony  sounding  below, 

Among  the  vales,  the  river  gods  did  draw 

Above  their  streams,  shaking  their  silver  hair  ; 

Then  lifted  up,  the  anthems  seem'd  more  rare  ; 

Rap'd0  with  such  music  their  cold  monarchy 

Abandon'd  straight,  they  mounted  up  on  high, 

*  fended,  penned,  or  enclosed  in  a  sheep-pen. 

b  Gulling,  greedy,  eager  :  here  used  as  an  adjective. 

«  Rap'd,  ravished. 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES.  17 

There  stood  attentive  all,  as  if  upon 

Parnassus'  top,  Apollo's  station, 

He  harping  lay,  and  with  smooth  Mercury 

Had  shar'd  the  spheres  by  better  melody. 

Thus  long  in  admiration  of  both  lays, 

They  gave  the  sentence,  thou  obtain'st  the  praise, 

And  with  insinuation  did  entreat 

That  Tavy's  banks  might  be  thy  frequent  seat  : 

They  had  their  will,  thou  yield's!  a  loath  consent, 

Thy  winds  must  calm  their  swelling  element, 

And  hear  the  water-nymphs  e'er  since  that  time. 

We  hinds,  remembering  thy  mellifluous  rhyme, 

Covet  to  drive  our  cherelie*  flocks  along 

That  crystal  lake  to  hear  thy  wonted  song, 

That  song  which  metamorphos'd  raping1"  bears, 

And  train'd  the  crafty  fox  into  her  snares. 

The  happier  Fates  had  favour'd  fair  Marine, 

Had  thy  lips  woo'd  for  her  her  Celandine  ; 

If  Remond  could  persuade  as  thou  canst  move, 

Had  chang'd  to  hate  that  beauty's  disdain'd  love  ; 

Nor  had  the  labour  of  a  deity 

Needed  to  quicken  her  mortality, 

Thy  charming  voice  had  done  "t ;  for  thy  song's  sake 

Charon  had  wherried  from  the  Stygian  lake 

Again  her  ghost  ;  nor  hath  thy  peerless  verse 

Done  less,  thou  must  immortalize  thy  herse. 

Thou'st  quite  forsook  Pan's  sports,  the  more  the  grief, 

His  joy  the  more,  thou  absent,  he's  the  chief  ; 

We've  lost  thy  fellowship,  not  lost  thy  fame, 

We'll  teach  our  children  to  adore  thy  name. 

When  as  our  Cornish  or  Devonian  swains 

Still  sport  among  their  lambkins  on  the  plains, 

Or  celebrate  their  festivals,  we'll  raise 

Our  old  reed  once  to  Pan's,  twice  to  thy  praise  ; 

»  Cherelie,  cheerful. 
b  Raping,  ravening. 
VOL.    II.  C 


1 8  COMMENDATORY   VERSES. 

And  when  great  Jove  thy  soul  angelical 

Shall  summon  us  to  sing  thy  madrigal, 

Our    ....     shall  want  their  tallow,  but  we'll  burn 

Continual  candles  on  thy  lasting  urn. 

NICH.  DOWNEY,  Coll.  Exon. 


Idem  ad  Eundem. 
AN  ODE. 

I  HEARD  the  mountain  gods  complain, 
Sweet  Willy,  thou  neglects  thy  strain, 
And  that  thou  wouldst  not  bless  again 
Thy  fellow  swain. 

The  sisters  did  bewail, 

That  he  whose  notes  did  oft  assail 

Apollo's  skill,  yea,  did  prevail, 

Their  art  disdain?. 

What  if  some  forward  stub-chinn'd  boy 
Takes  up  a  reed,  and  does  employ 
His  artless  lips,  can  this  annoy 

Thy  sweeter  song  1 

Could  thy  exactness  brook  a  foil, 
Without  disparagement ;  their  soil 
Commends  thy  tongue  more  smooth  than  oil, 
Our  sports  among. 

Great  Pan  e'er  since  thou  went'st  away 
Has  miss'd  the  glories  of  his  day  ; 
No  shepherd  dares  begin  a  lay- 
To  honour  him. 


COMMENDATORY  VERSES.  19 

Behold  how  all  our  joys  do  turn 
To  sadness,  see  hot  sighs  which  burn 
Our  breasts,  look  how  our  swoll'n  eyes  mourn 
And  weep  tiH  dry. 

Our  crooks  are  trail'd  along  the  ground, 
Our  pipes  grow  dumb,  or  sadly  sound  ; 
No  flow'ry  chaplets  e'er  hath  crown'd 
Since  thine  a  brow. 

Each  shepherdess,  as  in  despair, 
Mean  more  to  be  proclaimed  fair, 
Th'  fit  time  to  trim  her  fluent  hair 
Doth  scarce  allow. 

Our  Iambs  do  leave  to  skip  about, 
And  ape  their  dams'  sad  pace  throughout 
The  hills  with  woes,  as  if  they  doubt 
Security. 

Now  thou  art  absent,  whose  smooth  ree'd 
Did  in  the  wolves  and  tigers  breed 
A  nature  tame,  and  thus  them  freed 
From  cruelty. 

Each  Muse,  go'!,  sheep,  and  shepherds  all, 
Join  in  the  art  thy  madrigal ; 
For  Pan's  sake  at  thy  festival 

Renew  thy  strains. 

Why  should  that  spright  which  soar'd  so  high 
Above  the  ken  of  emulous  eye, 
Ere  Doridon  be  finish'd,  die, 

And  shun  our  plains  ? 

N.  D.  Ex.  Coll. 


C  2 


>  COMMENDATORY    VERSES. 

On  the  Authpr  of  Britannia 's  Matchless  (though 
unfinished}  Pastorals. 

i. 

LOOK  how  the  dying  swan  on  Tagus'  shore, 

Singing  a  lullably  to  her  last  sleep, 
Ties  to  her  golden  tongue  the  leaping  ore, 
And  binds  th'  ashamed  water-nymphs  to  keep 
Eternal  silence,  whilst  the  dumb  waves  stay, 
And  dare  not  with  their  murmuring  pebbles  play, 
Or  through  the  whistling  rushes  take  their  wonted  way  : 

2. 
Look  how  the  gentle  breath  of  southern  gales, 

Buzzing  their  tunes  amongst  the  querulous  reeds, 
Or  whispering  music  to  the  sounding  vales, 
In  all  the  aery  nation  envy  breeds, 
And  into  sleep  the  lazy  grooms*  doth  rock, 
Or  calls  th'  amazed  shepherd  from  his  flock, 
And  prompts  the  straining  echo  of  the  neighbouring;  rock  : 

3- 
So  sat  our  noble  Willy,  happy  swain, 

With  peerless  songs  encroaching  sorrow  drowning, 
And  Tavy's  curled  locks  (who  danc'd  amain 
Unto  his  pipe)  with  bays  immortal  crowning  ; 
The  whilst  the  woods  their  leafy  heads  inclin'd, 
In  list'ning  wise,  and  mix'd  their  envious  wind 
With  those  more  heavenly  airs  which  in  his  voice  they  find. 

4- 
Once  when  the  jolly  lad  began  a  lay 

Of  his  Marina's  fate,  the  wond'ring  rom* 
Of  neighbouring  swains,  leaving  their  wonted  play, 
Ran  to  encircle  their  new  Pan  about, 

Where  grown  forgetful  of  their  former  care, 
Although  they  fed  on  nought  but  his  sweet  air, 
Vow'd  that  the  quintessence  of  nectar  was  their  fare. 

•  Grooms,  servants.  b  Rout,  company. 


COMMENDATORY    VERSES.  2 

5- 
And  as  their  captive  souls  were  chain'd  unto 

The  charming  pipe  ;  when  they  it  least  suspected, 
The  smiles  and  winks  which  forth  did  steal,  would  show- 
How  much  that  loved  sound  they  all  respected, 
And  all  amaz'd  in  a  deep  ecstasy 
Would  swear  he  was  some  chorister  of  the  sky, 
Or  (though  their  eyes  said  no)  Phoebus'  own  deity. 


Each  peerless  nymph  that  bathes  her  dewy  curls 

In  too  too  happy  Tavy's  crystal  waves, 
Into  the  singing,  echoing  champion  hurls, 
And  there  our  Willy's  head  with  flow'rs  embraves,! 
Robs  her  own  banks,  and  decks  a  coronet 
With  blushing  roses  and  the  violet, 
Which  on  the  head  of  her  admired  swain  is  set 

7- 
The  merry  emulous  songsters  of  the  wood 

In  silence  listen'd  to  his  better  song, 
And  the  soft  murmurs  of  the  bubbling  flood 
(Which  seem'd  to  laugh  as  he  did  ride  along) 
Presum'd  to  bear  the  burthen  of  his  lay, 
The  whilst  the  jocund  satyrs  all  would  say 
They  were  not  half  so  blest  even  on  Pan's  holiday. 


But  midst  these  thankful  shouts  and  signs  of  joy, 

Whilst  all  expect  to  see  a  happy  close, 
Upon  the  sudden  starts  the  peevish  boy, 
And  runs  away  in  haste  as  from  his  foes  : 

Nor  can  our  speaking  sighs,  and  begging  tears, 

Nor  all  our  prayers  and  plaints  he  daily  hears, 

Or  melt  his  stubborn  heart,  or  banish  his  vain  fears. 

»  Embraces,  adorns. 


22  COMMENDATORY  VERSES. 

9- 

So,  when  as  Philomel  her  hapless  fate 
Unto  the  tell-tale  echo  doth  bemoan, 
The  whilst  some  envious  bough  presents  in  hate 
A  dagger  to  her  breast,  and  there  is  none 
That  praises  not  her  music's  heavenly  grace, 
The  bashful  bird  with  lea-'es  doth  veil  her  face, 
Or  to  her  shroud  and  tomb,  some  thicket,  flies  apace. 

10. 
And  now  he  haunts  the  woods  and  silent  groves, 

(Poor  lad)  and  teaches  silence  to  the  winds  ; 
H'  has  now  forgot  our  sports  and  harmless  loves. 
Ah  !  can  such  deeds  agree  with  heavenly  minds  ? 
Great  flakes  of  moss,  bred  in  some  silent  cave, 
Stop  his  pipe's  mouth,  and  now  his  spirit  leave, 
Now  a  dead  soul  entomb'd  within  a  living  grave. 

n. 
But,  Willy  boy,  let  not  eternal  sleep 

Captive  thy  sprightly  Muse  ;  so  shall  we  all 
Rejoice  at  her  new  life,  and  henceforth  keep 
Unto  thy  name  a  yearly  festival  ; 
May  she  but  impa  her  wings  with  thy  blest  pen, 
And  take  her  wonted  flight,  heaven  says  Amen, 
The  music  of  the  spheres  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again. 

12. 

So  may  a  sunshine  day  smile  on  our  sports, 

So  may  the  pretty  lambs  live  free  from  harm, 
So  may  the  tender  lass  that  here  resorts 

Ne'er  feel  the  clownish  winds'  cold  boist'rous  arm. 
As  we  do  love  thee,  Willy,  as  we  all 
Do  wistlyb  for  thy  peerless  music  call, 
And  as  we  plait  for  thee  a  matchless  coronal. 

PERIGOT. 

"  />«/*,  in  hawking,  to  insert  a  new  feather  in  the  place  of 
a  broken  one  ;  often  used  metaphorically. 
b  Wistly,  wistfully. 


BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS. 

THE      THIRD      BOOK. 
THE  FIRST  SONG. 

The  Argument  is  wanting. 


THRICE  had  the  pale-fac'd  Cynthia  fill'd  her  horns, 

And  through  the  circling  zodiac,  which  adorns 

Heaven's  goodly  frame,  the  horses  of  the  sun 

A  fourth  part  of  their  race  had  fiercely  run, 

Since  fair  Marina  left  her  gentle  flock  ;  5 

Whose  too  untimely  loss  the  watchful  cock 

No  oft'ner  gave  a  summons  to  the  day, 

Then  some  kind  shepherd  on  the  fertile  ley 

8. — Ley,  lea,  meadow. 


24         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.    [Book  3. 

Took  a  sad  seat,  and,  with  a  drowned  eye, 
Bemoan'd  in  heart  far  more  than  elegy.  10 

Here  sits  a  shepherd  whose  mellifluous  tongue 
On  shaded  banks  of  rivers  whilom  sung 
Many  sweet  lays  to  her  harmonious  ear ; 
Recounting  former  joys,  when  she  liv'd  there, 
With  present  woes,  and  every  pleasure  gone  15 

Tells  with  a  hundred  tears,  and,  those  drops  done, 
A  thousand  sighs  ensue,  and  gives  not  o'er 
Until  he  faints,  and  so  can  sigh  no  more. 

Yonder,  another,  on  some  swelling  hill, 
Records  her  sweet  praise  to  a  gentle  rill  20 

Which,  in  requital,  takes  no  little  pain 
To  roll  her  silver  sands  up  to  the  swain  ; 
And  almost  wept  that  time  would  not  permit 
That  beauteous  maid  to  bathe  herself  in  it  ; 
Whose   touch  made  streams,   and  men,  and  plants 
more  proud  25 

Than  he  that  clasp'd  the  Juno-seeming  cloud. 

Amongst  the  rest  (that  ere  the  sun  did  shine 
Sought  the  thick  groves)  neglectful  Celadyne 
Was  come  abroad  ;  and  underneath  a  tree 
Dead  as  his  joys,  and  from  all  moisture  free  30 

As  were  the  fountains  of  his  lovely  eyes, 
With  lavish  weeping,  discontented  lies. 

if>.— Juno-seeming  cloud,  an  allusion  to  the  fable  of  Ixion 
Ovid,  Met.  iv.  465,  x.  42). 
28. — Celadyne,  called  "Celandine"  in  the  First  Book. 


Song  I.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         25 

Now,  like  a  prodigal,  he  minds  in  vain 
What  he  hath  lost,  and  cannot  lose  again. 
Now  thinks  he  on  her  eyes,  like  some  sad  wight,    35 
Which  new  struck  blind  bemoans  the  want  of  liglu. 
Her  cheeks,  her  lips,  to  mind  he  doth  recall, 
As  one  in  exile  clean  bereav'd  of  all. 
Her  modest  graces,  her  affection  more, 
That  wounds  him  most  which  only  can  restore.       40 
And  lastly  to  his  pipe  (which  woods  nor  plains 
Acquainted  not,  but  with  the  saddest  strains, 
Yet  he  more  sad  than  song  or  places  can) 
Varied  his  plaints,  and  thus  anew  began  : — 

Marina's  gone,  and  now  sit  I,  45 

As  Philomela  (on  a  thorn, 
Turn'd  out  of  nature's  livery), 

Mirthless,  alone,  and  all  forlorn : 
Only  she  sings  not,  while  my  sorrows  can 
Breathe  forth  such  notes  as  fit  a  dying  swan.   50 

So  shuts  the  marigold  her  leaves 

At  the  departure  of  the  sun  ; 
So  from  the  honeysuckle  sheaves 

The  bee  goes  when  the  day  is  done  ; 
So  sits  the  turtle  when  she  is  but  one,  55 

And  so  all  woe,  as  I,  since  she  is  gone. 

To  some  few  birds,  kind  Nature  hath 
Made  all  the  summer  as  one  day  ; 


26         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

Which  once  enjoy'd,  cold  winter's  wrath, 

As  night,  they  sleeping  pass  away.  60 

Those  happy  creatures  are,  that  know  not  yet 
The  pain  to  be  depriv'd  or  to  forget. 

I  oft  have  heard  men  say  there  be 

Some,  that  with  confidence  profess 
The  helpful  Art  of  Memory  ;  65 

But  could  they  teach  forgetfulness, 
I'd  learn,  and  try  what  further  art  could  do, 
To  make  me  love  her  and  forget  her  too. 

Sad  melancholy,  that  persuades 

Men  from  themselves,  to  think  they  be     70 
Headless,  or  other  bodies'  shades, 

Hath  long  and  bootless  dwelt  with  me  ; 
For  could  I  think  she  some  idea  were, 
I  still  might  love,  forget,  and  have  her  here. 

But  such  she  is  not :  nor  would  I,  75 

For  twice  as  many  torments  more, 
As  her  bereaved  company 

Hath  brought  to  those  I  felt  before, 
For  then  no  future  time  might  hap  to  know 
That  she  deserv'd,  or  I  did  love  her  so.  80 

Ye  hours,  then,  but  as  minutes  be  ! 
(Though  so  I  shall  be  sooner  old) 


Song  I.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         27 

Till  I  those  lovely  graces  see, 

Which,  but  in  her,  can  none  behold  ; 
Then  be  an  age  !  that  we  may  never  try  85 

More  grief  in  parting,  but  grow  old  and  die. 

Here  ceas'd  the  shepherd's  song,  but  not  his  woe  ; 
Grief  never  ends  itself.     And  he  doth  know 
Nothing  but  time  or  wisdom  to  allay  it ; 
Time  could  not  then ;  the  other  should  not  stay  it.  90 

Thus  sits  the  hapless  swain  :  now  sighs,  now  sings  : 
Sings,   sighs,   and  weeps  at  once.     Then  from  the 

springs 

Of  pity  begs  his  pardon.     Then  his  eye, 
Wronging  his  oraisons,  some  place  hard  by 
Informs  his  intellect,  where  he  hath  seen    •  95 

His  mistress  feed  her  flock,  or  on  the  green 
Dance  to  the  merry  pipe  :  this  drives  him  thence 
As  one,  distracted  with  the  violence 
Of  some  hot  fever,  casts  his  clothes  away, 
Longs  for  the  thing  he  loath'd  but  yesterday,         100 
And  fondly  thinking  'twill  his  fits  appease, 
Changeth  his  bed,  but  keeps  still  the  disease. 
Quitting  the  plains  to  seek  the  gloomy  springs, 
He,  like  a  swan  that  on  Meander  sings, 
Takes  congey  of  his  mates  with  ling'ring  haste,     105 
To  find  some  stream  where  he  may  sing  his  last. 

105. — Congey,  farewell. 


28        BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

So  have  I  left  my  Tavy's  flow'ry  shore, 
Far-flowing  Thamesis,  and  many  more 
Attractive  pleasures  which  sweet  England  yields, 
Her  peopled  cities  and  her  fertile  fields,  i  in 

For  Amphitrite's  plains ;  those  hath  mine  eye 
Chang'd  for  our  whilom  fields  of  Normandy  ; 
For  Seine  those  have  I  left ;  for  Loire,  the  Seine : 
And  for  the  Thoiie  changed  Loire  again  ; 
Where  to  the  nymphs  of  Poitou  now  I  sing  115 

A  stranger  note  (yet  such  as  ev'ry  spring 
Rolls  smiling  to  attend)  :  for  none  of  those 
Yet  have  I  lessen'd  or  exchang'd  my  woes. 
Dear,  dearest  isle,  from  thee  I  pass'd  away 
But  as  a  shadow,  when  the  eye  of  day  1 20 

Shines  otherwhere  ;  for  she  whose  I  have  been, 
By  her  declining  makes  me  live  unseen. 
Nor  do  I  hope  that  any  other  light 
Can  make  me  her's  ;  the  pallid  queen  of  night 
And  Venus,  or  some  err,  may  with  their  rays         125 
Force  an  observing  shade  ;  but  none  of  these, 
Meteors  to  my  set  sun,  can  ever  have 
That    power   thou  hadst.       Sweet   soul,   thy   silent 

grave 

I  give  my  best  verse,  if  a  shepherd's  wit 
Can  make  a  dead  hand  capable  of  it.  130 

Chaste  were  our  loves,  as  mutual  ;  nor  did  we 
Hardly  dream  otherwise  ;  our  secrecy 
Such  as  I  think  the  world  hath  never  known 
I  had  a  mistress,  till  that  I  had  none. 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         29 

Poor  Celadyne  and  I  (but  happier  he)  135 

Only  in  dreams  meet  our  felicity  ; 
Our  joys  but  shadows  are  ;  our  constant  woes 
The  day  shows  real ;  O,  unhappy  those, 
Thrice,  thrice  unhappy,  who  are  ever  taking         [14° 
Their  joys  in  sleep,  but  are  most  wretched  waking  ! 

Seated  at  last  near  Tavy's  silver  stream, 
Sleep  seiz'd  our  shepherd  ;  and  in  sleep  a  dream 
Show'd  him  Marina  all  bedew'd  with  tears  : 
Pale  as  the  lily  of  the  field  appears,  [145 

When  the  unkiss'd  morn  from  the  mountains'  tops 
Sees  the  sweet  flow'rs  distil  their  silver  drops. 
She  seem'd  to  take  him  by  the  hand  and  say  : 
O  Celadyne,  this,  this  is  not  the  way 
To  recompense  the  wrong  which  thou  hast  done 
And  I  have  pardon'd,  since  it  was  begun  150 

To  exercise  my  virtue  ;  I  am  thine 
More  than  I  wish'd,  or  thou  canst  now  divine. 
Seek  out  the  aged  Lama,  by  whose  skill 
Thou    may'st   our  fortunes    know,    and    what    the 

will 

Of  fate  is  in  thy  future.     This  she  spoke,  155 

And  seem'd  to  kiss  him,  wherewith  he  awoke, — 
And    missing    what    (in    thought)    his    sleep     had 

gain'd, 
He  mus'd,  sigh'd,  wept,  and  lastly  thus  complain'd  : 

Vain  dreams,  forbear  !  ye  but  deceivers  be, 
For  as  in  flatt'ring  glasses  women  see  160 


30         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

More  beauty  than  possess'd  :  so  I  in  you 
Have  all  I  can  desire,  but  nothing  true. 

Who  would  be  rich,  to  be  so  but  an  hour, 
Eats  a  sweet  fruit  to  relish  more  the  sour. 
If  but  to  lose  again  we  things  possess,  165 

Ne'er  to  be  happy  is  a  happiness. 

Men  walking  in  the  pitchy  shades  of  night 
Can  keep  their  certain  way  ;  but  if  a  light 
O'ertake  and  leave  them,  they  are  blinded  more, 
And  doubtful  go  that  went  secure  before.  170 

For  this  (though  hardly)  I  have  oft  forborne 
To  see  her  face,  fair  as  the  rosy  morn  ; 
Yet  mine  own  thoughts  in  night  such  traitors  be, 
That  they  betray  me  to  that  misery. 
Then  think  no  more  of  her — as  soon  I  may  175 

Command  the  sun  to  rob  us  of  a  day, 
Or  with  a  net  repel  a  liquid  stream, 
As  lose  such  thoughts,  or  hinder  but  a  dream. 

The  lightsome  air  as  eas'ly  hinder  can 
A  glass  to  take  the  form  of  any  man  180 

That  stands  before  it,  as  or  time  or  place 
Can  draw  a  veil  between  me  and  her  face. 

Yet,  by  such  thoughts  my  torments  hourly  thrive  ; 
For  (as  a  prisoner  by  his  perspective) 
By  them  I  am  inform'd  of  what  I  want ;  185 

I  envy  now  none  but  the  ignorant. 
He  that  ne'er  saw  her  (O,  too  happy  wight  !) 
Is  one  born  blind  that  knows  no  want  of  light ; 
He  that  ne'er  kiss'd  her  lips,  yet  sees  her  eyes, 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         31 

Lives,  while  he  lives  so,  still  in  paradise  ;  190 

But  if  he  taste  those  sweets  as  hapless  I, 
He  knows  his  want,  and  meets  his  misery. 

An  Indian  rude  that  never  heard  one  sing 
A  heav'nly  sonnet  to  a  silver  string, 
Nor  other  sounds,  but  what  confused  herds  195 

In  pathless  deserts  make,  or  brooks  or  birds, 
Should  he  hear  one  the  sweet  pandora  touch, 
And  lose  his  hearing  straight ;  he  would  as  much 
Lament  his  knowledge  as  do  I  my  chance, 
And  wish  he  still  had  liv'd  in  ignorance.  200 

I  am  that  Indian  ;  and  my  soothing  dreams 
In  thirst  have  brought  me  but  to  painted  streams, 
Which  not  allay,  but  more  increase  desire  : 
A  man,  near  frozen  with  December's  ire, 
Hath,  from  a  heap  of  glowworms,  as  much  ease    205 
As  I  can  ever  have  by  dreams  as  these. 

O  leave  me  then  !  and  strongest  memory 
Keep  still  with  those  that  promise-breakers  be. 
Go,  bid  the  debtor  mind  his  payment  day, 
Or  help  the  ignorant  devout  to  say  210 

Prayers  they  understand  not ;  lead  the  blind, 
And  bid  ingrateful  wretches  call  to  mind 
Their  benefactors  ;  and  if  Virtue  be 
(As  still  she  is)  trod  on  by  misery, 


197. — Pandora,  or  pandore,  a  stringed  instrument  of  the 
cither  kind,  invented  in  England,  and  popular  at  the  beginning 
of  the  seventeenth  century. 


32         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.    [Book  3. 

Show  her  the  rich,  that  they  may  free  her  want,   215 

And  leave  to  nurse  the  fawning  sycophant  ; 

Or,  if  thou  see  fair  honour  careless  lie, 

Without  a  tomb  for  after  memory, 

Dwell  by  the  grave,  and  teach  all  those  that  pass 

To  imitate,  by  showing  who  it  was.  220 

This   way,  Remembrance,  thou   may'st    do    some 

good, 

And  have  due  thanks  ;  but  he  that  understood 
The  throes  thou  bring'st  on  me,  would  say  I  miss 
The  sleep  of  him  that  did  the  pale  moon  kiss, 
And  that  it  were  a  blessing  thrown  on  me,  225 

Sometimes  to  have  the  hated  lethargy. 

Then,  dark  Forgetfulness,  that  only  art 
The  friend  oflunatics,  seize  on  that  part 
Of  memory  which  hourly  shows  her  me  ! 
Or  suffer  still  her  waking  fantasy,  230 

Even  at  the  instant  when  I  dream  of  her, 
To  dream  the  like  of  me !  so  shall  we  err 
In  pleasure's  endless  maze  without  offence, 
And  both  connex  as  souls  in  innocence. 

His  sorrow  this  way  yet  had  further  gone,          235 
For  now  his  soul,  all  in  confusion, 
Discharg'd  her  passions  on  all  things  she  met, 
And,  rather  than  on  none,  on  counterfeit. 
For  in  her  suff  rings  she  will  sooner  frame 
Subjects  fantastical,  forms  without  name,  240 

234. — CennfX,  join  together. 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         33 

Deceive  itself  against  her  own  conceit, 

Then  want  to  work  on  somewhat  thought  of  weight. 

Hence  comes  it,  those  affections  which  are  tied 

To  an  enforced  bed,  a  worthless  bride, 

(Wanting  a  lawful  hold)  our  loving  part  245 

To  subjects  of  less  worth  doth  soon  convert 

Her  exercise,  which  should  be  nobly  free, 

Rather  on  dogs,  or  dice,  than  idle  be. 

Thus  on  his  memory,  poor  soul,  he  cast 
His  exclamations  ;  and  the  day  had  pass'd  250 

With  him  as  sadly  as  his  sighs  were  true, 
And  on  this  subject.     When  (as  if  he  flew) 
Leap'd  from  a  near  grove  (as  he  thought)  a  man, 
And  to  th'  adjoining  wood  as  quickly  ran  ;  E255 

This   stay'd   his  thoughts.      And,    whilst   the   other 

fled, 
He  rose,  scarce  knowing  why,  and  followed. 

It  was  a  gentle  swain,  on  whose  sweet  youth 
Fortune  had  thrown  her  worst,  and  all  men's  ruth  ; 
Who,  like  a  satyr  now,  from  men's  abode 
The  uncouth  paths  of  gloomy  deserts  trod  ;  260 

Deep,  sullen  vales,  that  never  mercy  won, 
To  have  a  kind  look  from  the  pow'rful  sun  ; 
But  mantled  up  in  shades  as  fearful  night, 
Could  merry  hearts  with  awful  terror  smite. 
Sad  nooks  and  dreadful  clefts  of  mighty  rocks       265 
That  knew  no  guest  within  their  careless  locks, 

266. — Locks,  cavities. 
VOL.    II.  D 


34         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

But  baneful  serpents,  hated  beasts  of  prey, 

And  fatal  fowl,  that  from  the  blessed  day 

Hid  their  abhorred  heads  ;  these,  only  these, 

Were  his  companions  and  his  cottages.  270 

Wayfaring  man,  for  aftertimes  y-bore, 
Whoe'er  thou  be,  that  on  the  pleasant  shore 
Of  my  dear  Tavy  hap'st  to  tread  along, 
When  \Villy  sings  no  more  his  rural  song, 
But  long  dissolv'd  to  dust,  shall  hardly  have          275 
A  tear  or  verse  bestow 'd  upon  his  grave — 
Think  on  that  hapless  lad,  for  all  his  meed, 
Who  first  this  lay  tun'd  to  an  oaten  reed  ; 
Then  ask  the  swains  who,  in  the  valleys  deep, 
Sing  lays  of  love  and  feed  their  harmless  sheep,     280 
Ask  them  for  Ramsham  (late  a  gallant  wood 
Whose  gaudy  nymphs,  tripping  beside  the  flood, 
Allur'd  the  sea-gods  from  their  brackish  strands 
To  court  the  beauties  of  the  upper  lands)  ; 

The  Descrip-  And  near  to  it,  halfway,  a  high-brow'd  hill,  285 

DeJi  of'obli-  Whose  maiden  sides  ne'er  felt  a  coulter's  ill, 
vion.  Thou  may'st  behold,  and  (if  thou  list)  admire 

An  arched  cave  cut  in  a  rock  entire, 
Deep,  hollow,  hideous,  overgrown  with  grass, 
With,  thorns  and  briars,  and  sad  mandragoras  :      290 
Poppy  and  henbane  thereby  grew  so  thick, 

281.— Ramsham,  near  Tavistock  on  the  Tavy,  not  far  from 
Shilla  Mill,  in  Crowndale. 
286. — Coulter,  ploughshare. 
290. — Mandragoras,  mandrakes. 


Song  i  ]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         35 

That  had  the  earth  been  thrice  as  lunatic 

As  learn'd  Copernicus  in  sport  would  frame  her, 

AVe  there  had  sleepy  simples  found  to  tame  her. 

The  entrance  to  it  was  of  brick  and  stone,          295 
Brought  from  the  ruin'd  tower  of  Babylon. 
On  either  side  the  door  a  pillar  stood, 
Whereon  of  yore,  before  the  general  flood, 
Industrious  Seth  in  characters  did  score 
The  mathematics'  soul-enticing  lore.  300 

Cheek-swoll'n  Lyreus  near  one  pillar  stood, 
And  from  each  hand  a  bunch,  full  with  the  blood 
Of  the  care-killing  vine,  he  crashed  out, 
Like  to  an  artificial  water-spout; 
But  of  what  kind  it  was,  the  writers  vary  :  305 

Some  say  'twas  claret,  others  swear  canary. 
On  th'  other  side,  a  statue  strangely  fram'd, 
And  never  till  Columbus'  voyage  nam'd, 
The  Genius  -of  America  blew  forth 
A  fume  that  hath  bewitched  all  the  north.  310 

A  noise  of  ballad-makers,  rhymers,  drinkers, 
Like  a  mad  crew  of  uncontrolled  tinkers, 
Lny  there,  and  drunk,  and  sung,  and  suck'd,  and 

writ 

Verse  without  measure,  volumes  without  wit  ; 
Complaints  and  sonnets,  vows  to  young  Cupido,   315 
May  be  in  such  a  manner  as  now  I  do. 

He  that  in  some  fair  day  of  summer  sees 
A  little  commonwealth  of  thrifty  bees 
Send  out  a  pretty  colony,  to  thrive 

D  2 


36         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.    [Book  3. 

Another  where,  from  their  too-peopled  hive,          320 
And  marks  the  young  adventurers  with  pain 
Fly  off  and  on,  and  forth,  and  back  again, 
May  well  conceive  with  how  much  labour  these 
Drunk,  writ,  and  wrong'd  the  learn'd  Pierides  ; 
Yet    time,    as    soon     as     e'er     their    works    were 

done,  325 

Threw  them  and  it  into  oblivion. 

Into  this  cave  the  forlorn  shepherd  enters, 
And  Celadyne  pursues  ;  yet  ere  he  venters 
On  such  an  obscure  place,  knowing  the  danger 
Which  oft  betided  there  the  careless  stranger,        330 
Moly  or  such  preservative  he  takes, 
And  thus  assur'd,  breaks  through  the  tangling  brakes  ; 
Searcheth  each  nook  to  find  the  hapless  swain, 
And  calls  him  oft,  yet  seeks  and  calls  in  vain. 

At    last,    by    glimm'ring    of    some     glowworms 

there,  335 

He  finds  a  dark  hole  and  a  winding  stair  ; 
Uncouth  and  hideous  the  descent  appears, 
Yet,  unappall'd  with  future  chance  or  fears, 
Essays  the  first  step,  and  goes  boldly  on  ; 
Pieces  of  rotten  wood  on  each  side  shone,  340 

Which,  rather  than  to  guide  his  vent'rous  pace, 
With  a  more  dreadful  horror  fill'd  the  place. 
Still  he  descends,  and  many  a  step  doth  make, 

324. — Pierides,  Muses. 

328. — Venters,  ventures. 

331. — Moly,  a  fabulous  herb  of  magic  power. 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         37 

As  one  whose  naked  foot  treads  on  a  snake  : 

The  stairs  so  worn,  he  feareth  in  a  trice  345 

To  meet  some  deep  and  deadly  precipice. 

Thus  came  he  down  into  a  narrow  vault, 
Whose  rocky  sides  (free  from  the  smallest  fault, 
Enforc'd  by  age  or  weather)  and  the  roof 
Stood  firmly  strong  and  almost  thunder-proof.       350 
'Twas  long  ;  and  at  the  far-off  further  end 
A  little  lamp  he  spies,  as  he  had  kenn'd 
One  of  the  fixed  stars  ;  the  light  was  small, 
And  distance  made  it  almost  nought  at  all.  [355 

Tow'rds  it  he  came,  and,  from  the  swain  which  fled, 
These  verses  fall'n  took  up,  went  near  and  read  : 

Listen  !  ye  gentle  winds,  to  my  sad  moan  ; 
And,  mutt'ring  brooks,  attend  my  heavy  plaints. 
Ye  melodists,  which  in  the  low  groves  sing, 
Strive  with  your  fellows  for  sweet  skill  no  more,  360 
But  wail  with  me  !  and  if  my  song  ye  pass 
For  dreary  notes,  match  with  the  nightingale. 
Henceforward  with  the  rueful  nightingale; 
No  other  but  sad  groves  shall  hear  my  moan, 
And  night  bear  witness  of  my  doleful  plaints.        365 
Sweet  songs  of  love  let  others  quaintly  sing, 
For  fate  decrees  I  shall  be  known  no  more 
But  by  my  woes.     All  pleasures  from  me  pass, 
As  gliding  torrents  to  the  ocean  pass, 
Ne'er  to  come  back.     The  all-voice  nightingale    370 
Comforts  her  fellows,  and  makes  dear  her  moan  ; 


38         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

But  (where  I  would)  regardless  are  my  plaints, 

And  but  for  echo  should  unanswer'd  sing  ; 

Can  there  in  others  be  affection  more 

Than  is  in  me,  yet  be  neglected  more  ?  375 

Then  such  neglect  and  love  shall  no  man  pass. 

For  voice  she  well  may  mate  the  nightingale, 

And  from  her  syren's  song  I  learn'd  to  moan  ; 

Yet  she,  as  most  imperfect  deems  my  plaints, 

Though  too  too  long  I  them  have  us'd  to  sing,      380 

Yet  to  no  happier  key  she  lets  me  sing. 

Shall  I  then  change  ?  O,  there  are  others  move 

(As  I  hear  shepherds  wailing,  when  I  pass 

In  deserts  wild  to  hear  the  nightingale) 

Whose  ears  receive  no  sound  of  any  moan,  385 

But  hear  their  praises  rather  than  our  plaints. 

Then  since  to  flint  I  still  address  my  plaints, 

And  my  sad  numbers  to  a  deaf  ear  sing, 

My  cries  shall  beat  the  subtile  air  no  more, 

But  all  my  woes  imprison  ;  and  so  pass  390 

The  poor  rest  of  my  days.     No  nightingale 

Shall  be  disturb'd  in  forests  with  my  moan. 

And  when  through  inpent  moan  I  hide  my  plaints, 

And  what  I  should  sing  makes  me  live  no  more, 

Tell  her  my  woes  did  pass  the  nightingale.  395 

Sad  swain,  quoth  Celadyne,  whoe'er  thou  be, 
I  grieve  not  at  my  pains  to  follow  thee  ; 
Thou  art  a  fit  companion  for  my  woe, 
Which  hearts  sunk  into  misery  should  know. 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.          39 

O,  if  thou  hear  me,  speak  :  take  to  thy  home  !      400 

Receive  into  this  dismal  living  tomb 

A  sorrow-laden  wretch  !  one  that  would  die 

And  tread  the  gloomy  shades  of  destiny 

Only  to  meet  a  soul  that  could  relate 

A  story  true  as  his  and  passionate  !  405 

By  this  a  sad  and  heavy  sound  began 
To  fill  the  cave  ;  and  by  degrees  he  wan 
So  near,  he  heard  a  well-accorded  lute, 
Touch'd  by  a  hand  had  struck  the  Thracian  mute. 

Had  it  been  heard  when  sweet  Amphkm's  tones 
Gave  motion  to  the  dull  and  senseless  stones  ;      [410 
When,  at  the  notes  his  skilful  fingers  warble, 
The  pebble  took  the  flint,  the  flint  the  marble  ; 
And  rolling  from  the  quarry  justly  fall, 

And  masonless  built  Cadmus'  town*  a  wall.  415  *  Thebes. 

Each  one  each  other  to  this  labour  woo, 
And  were  the  workmen  and  materials  too. 
Had    this   man   play'd    when   t'  other   touch'd    his 

lyre, 

Those  stones  had  from  the  wall  been  seen  retire  ; 
Or  stopp'd  half-way  to  hear  him  striking  thus,      420 
Though  each  had  been  a  stone  of  Sisyphus. 
Xay,  the  musician  had  his  skill  approv'd, 
And  been  as  ravish 'd  as  the  rocks  he  mov'd. 

Celadyne  listen'd  ;  and  the  arched  skies 
Might  wish  themselves  as  many  ears  as  eyes,         425 
That  they  might  teach  the  star-bestudded  spheres 
A  music  new,  and  more  divine  than  theirs. 


40         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.    [Book  3. 

To  these  sad-sweet  strings,  as  e'er  woe  befriended, 
This  verse  was  married  : — 

Yet  one  day's  rest  for  all  my  cries  !  430 

One  hour  amongst  so  many  ! 
Springs  have  their  sabbaths  ;  my  poor  eyes 

Yet  never  met  with  any. 

He  that  doth  but  one  woe  miss, 

O  Death,  to  make  him  thine  ;  435 

I  would  to  God  that  I  had  his, 

Or  else  that  he  had  mine  ! 

By  this  sad  wish  we  two  should  have 

A  fortune  and  a  wife  ; 
For  I  should  wed  a  peaceful  grave,  440 

And  he  a  happy  life. 

Yet  let  that  man  whose  fortunes  swim 

So  high  by  my  sad  woe, 
Forbear  to  tread  a  step  on  him 

That  died  to  make  them  so.  445 

Only  to  acquit  my  foes, 

Write  this  where  I  am  lain  : 
Here  lies  the  man  whom  others'  woes 

And  those  he  lov'd  have  slain. 

Here  the  music  ended.  450 

But  Celadyne  leaves  not  his  pious  quest ; 
For,  as  an  artist  curiously  address'd 


.Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         41 

To  some  conclusion,  having  haply  found 

A  small  encouragement  on  his  first  ground, 

Goes  cheerful  on  ;  nor  from  it  can  be  won,  455 

Till  he  have  perfected  what  he  begun  : 

So  he  pursues,  and  labours  all  he  can, 

Since  he  had  heard  the  voice,  to  find  the  man. 

A  little  door,  at  last,  he  in  the  side 
Of  the  long-stretched  entry  had  descried,  460 

And  coming  to  it  with  the  lamp,  he  spies 
These  lines  upon  a  table  writ  : — 

Love  !  when  I  met  her  first  whose  slave  I  am, 
To  make  her  mine,  why  had  I  not  thy  flame  ? 

Or  else  thy  blindness  not  to  see  that  day  ?      465 
Or  if  I  needs  must  look  on  her  rare  parts, 
Love  !  why  to  wound  her  had  I  not  thy  d?rts, 

Since  I  had  not  thy  wings  to  fly  away  ? 

Winter  was  gone  ;  and  by  the  lovely  spring 

Each  pleasant  grove  a  merry  quire  became,    470 

Where  day  and  night  the  careless  birds  did  sing, 
Love,  when  I  met  her  first  whose  slave  I  am. 

She  sat  and  listen'd  (for  she  lov'd  his  strain) 
To  one  whose  songs  could  make  a  tiger  tame  ; 

Which  made  me  sigh,  and  cry,  O  happy  swain  !  475 
To  make  her  mine,  why  had  I  not  thy  flame  ? 

I  vainly  sought  my  passion  to  control  : 
And  therefore  (since  she  loves  the  learned  lay), 


42         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

Homer,  I  should  have  brought  with  me  thy  soul, 
Or  else  thy  blindness,  not  to  see  that  day  !     480 

Yet  would  I  not  (mine  eyes)  my  days  outrun 
In  gazing  (could  I  help  it,  or  the  arts), 

Like  him  that  died  with  looking  on  the  sun  ; 
Or  if  I  needs  must,  look  on  her  rare  parts  ! 

Those,  seen  of  one  who  every  herb  would  try,  485 
And  what  the  blood  of  elephants  imparts 

To  cool  his  flame,  yet  would  he  (forced)  cry, 
Love  !  why  to  wound  her  had  I  not  thy  darts  ? 

O  Daedalus  !  the  lab'rinth  fram'd  by  thee 

Was  not  so  intricate  as  where  I  stray  ;  490 

There  have  I  lost  my  dearest  liberty, 
Since  I  had  not  thy  wings  to  fly  away. 

His  eyes, 

And  still  attentive  ears,  do  now  discover 

Sufficient  cause  to  think  some  hapless  lover  495 

Inhabited  this  dark  and  sullen  cell, 

Where  none  but  shame  or  dismal  grief  would  dwell. 

As  I  have  seen  a  fowler,  by  the  floods 
In  winter  time,  or  by  the  fleeced  woods, 
Steal  softly,  and  his  steps  full  often  vary,  5°° 

As  here  and  there  flutters  the  wished  quarry  ; 
Now  with  his  heel,  now  with  his  toe  he  treads, 
Fearing  the  crackling  of  the  frozen  meads  ; 
Avoids  each  rotten  stick  near  to  his  foot, 


Song  I,]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         43 

And  creeps,  and  labours  thus  to  get  a  shoot :         505 
So  Celadyne  approaches  near  the  door, 
Where  sighs  amaz'd  him  as  the  lute  before ; 
Sighs  fetch'd  so  deep,  they  seem'd  of  pow'r  to  carry 
A  soul  fit  for  eternity  to  marry. 

Had  Dido  stood  upon  her  cliffs  and  seen  5IQ 

Ilium's  ^Eneas  stealing  from  a  queen, 
And  spent  her  sighs  as  pow'rful  as  were  these, 
She  had  enforc'd  the  fair  Nereides 
To  answer  hers  ;  those  had  the  Naiads  won, 
To  drive  his  winged  pine  round  with  the  sun,        515 
And  long  ere  Drake  (without  a  fearful  wrack) 
Girdled  the  world,  and  brought  the  wand'rer  back. 

Celadyne  gently  somewhat  oped  the  door, 
And  by  a  glimm'ring  lamp  upon  the  floor 
Descried  a  pretty  curious  rocky  cell ;  52° 

A  spout  of  water  in  one  corner  fell 
Out  of  the  rock  upon  a  little  wheel, 
Which  speedy  as  it  could  the  water  feel 
Did,  by  the  help  of  other  engines  lent, 
Set  soon  on  work  a  curious  instrument,  525 

Whose  sound  was  like  the  hollow,  heavy  flute, 
Join'd  with  a  deep,  sad,  sullen  cornemute. 
This  had  the  unknown  shepherd  set  to  play 

505.— Shoot,  shot. 

517. — Girdled,  circumnavigated  ;  cf.  Shakespeare, — 
"  I'll  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 

In  forty  minutes." 
Midsummer's  Night's  Dream,  Act  II.  Sc.  i. 

527-  —  Cornemute,  a  rustic  instrument,  blown  like  a  bagpipe. 


44         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Books. 

Such  a  soul-thrilling  note,  that  if  that  day 
Celadyne  had  not  seen  this  uncouth  youth  530 

Descend  the  cave,  he  would  have  sworn  for  truth 
That  great  Apollo,  slid  down  from  his  sphere, 
Did  use  to  practise  all  his  lessons  there. 
Upon  a  couch  the  music's  master  lay; 
And  whilst  the  handless  instrument  did  play  535 

Sad  heavy  accents  to  his  woes  as  deep, 
To  woo  him  to  an  everlasting  sleep, 
Stretch'd  carelessly  upon  his  little  bed, 
His  eyes  fix'd  on  the  floor,  his  careful  head 
Leaning  upon  his  palm,  his  voice  but  faint,  540 

Thus  to  the  sullen  cave  made  his  complaint  : 

Fate  !  yet  at  last  be  merciful.     Have  done  ! 
Thou  canst  ask  nothing  but  confusion  : 
Take  then  thy  fill !  strike  till  thine  edge  be  dull ! 
Thy  cruelty  will  so  be  pitiful.  545 

He  that  at  once  hath  lost  his  hopes  and  fears 
Lives  not,  but  only  tarries  for  more  years  ! 
Much  like  an  aged  tree  which  moisture  lacks, 
And  only  standeth  to  attend  the  axe. 
So  have,  and  so  do  I  :  I  truly  know  550 

How  men  are  born,  and  whither  they  shall  go  ; 
I  know  that  like  to  silkworms  of  one  year, 
Or  like  a  kind  and  wronged  lover's  tear, 
Or  on  the  pathless  waves  a  rudder's  dint, 
Or  like  the  little  sparkles  of  a  flint,  555 

Or  like  to  thin  round  cakes  with  cost  perfum'd, 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         45 

Or  fireworks  only  made  to  be  consum'd  ; 

I  know  that  such  is  man,  and  all  that  trust 

In  that  weak  piece  of  animated  dust. 

The  silkworm  droops,  the  lover's  tears  soon  shed,  560 

The  ship's  way  quickly  lost,  the  sparkle  dead  ; 

The  cake  burns  out  in  haste,  the  firework's  done, 

And  man  as  soon  as  these  as  quickly  gone. 

Day  hath  her  night ;  millions  of  years  shall  be 
Bounded  at  last  by  long  eternity.  565 

The  roses  have  their  spring,  they  have  their  fall, 
So  have  the  trees,  beasts,  fowl,  and  so  have  all ; 
The  rivers  run  and  end  :  stars  rise  and  set ; 
There  is  a  heat,  a  cold,  a  dry,  a  wet ; 
There  is  a  heaven,  a  hell,  an  earth,  a  sky  ;  570 

Or  teach  me  something  new,  or  let  me  die  ! 
Dear  fate,  be  merciful  by  prayers  won, 
Teach  me  once  what  Death  is,  and  all  is  done  ! 

Thou  may'st  object ;  there's  somewhat  else  to  learn  ; 
O  do  not  bring  me  back  unto  the  quern  575 

To  grind  for  honours,  when  I  cannot  tell 
What  will  be  said  in  the  next  chronicle  ! 
Let  my  unblemish'd  name  meet  with  a  tomb 
Deservedly  unspurn'd  at,  and  at  home  ! 

I  know  there  are  possessions  to  inherit ;  580 

But  since  the  gate  is  stopp'd  up  to  all  merit, 
Some  hapless  souls,  as  I,  do  well  observe  it, 
The  way  to  lose  a  place  is  to  deserve  it.  . 

575.—  Quern,  mill. 


46         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.    [Book  3. 

I  am  not  ignorant  besides  of  this, 
Each  man  the  workman  of  his  fortune  is ;  585 

But  to  apply  and  temper  well  his  tools, 
He  follow  must  th'  advice  of  babes  and  fools ; 
Though  virtue  and  reward  be  the  extremes 
Of  fortune's  line,  yet  there  are  other  beams, 
Some  sprigs  of  bribery  imp'd  in  the  line  ;  590 

Pand'rism  or  flatt'ry  from  the  Florentine, 
Which  whoso  catches,  comes  home  crown'd  with  bay, 
Ere  he  that  runs  the  right  line  runs  half  way. 
What  love  and  beauty  is  (thou  know'st,  O  Fate  !) 
I  have  read  over ;  and,  alas  !  but  late  ;  595 

Their  wounds  yet  bleed,  and  yet  no  help  is  nigh  ; 
Then  teach  me  something  new,  or  let  me  die  ! 

Honours  and  places,  riches,  pleasures  be 
Beyond  my  star,  and  not  ordain'd  for  me  ; 
Or  sure  the  way  is  lost,  and  those  we  hold  600 

For  true,  are  countedeits  to  those  of  old. 
How  sprout  they  else  so  soon,  like  osier  tops. 
Which  one  spring  breeds  and  which  next  autumn  lops? 
Why  are  they  else  so  fading  :  so  possess'd 
With  guilt  and  fear,  they  dare  not  stand  the  test  ?  605 
Had  virtue  and  true  merit  been  the  basis, 
Whereon  were  rais'd  their  honours  and  high  places, 
They  had  been  stronger  seated,  and  had  stood 
To  after  ages,  as  our  ancient  blood, 

590.—  Imp'd,  engrafted.       591.  —  The  Florentine,  Machiavelli. 


Song  i.]     BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         47 

Whose  very  names,  and  courages  well  steel'd,       610 
Made  up  an  army,  and  could  crown  a  field. 

Open  the  way  to  merit  and  to  love  ! 
That  we  may  teach  a  Cato  and  a  dove 
To  heart  a  cause  and  weigh  affection  dear, 
And  I  will  think  we  live,  not  tarry  here.  615 

Further  his  plaint  had  gone  (if  needed  more), 
But  Celadyne,  now  widing  more  the  door, 
Made  a  small  noise,  which  startling  up  the  man, 
He  straight  descried  him,  and  anew  began  : 
What  sorrow,  or  what  curiosity,  620 

Say  (if  thou  be  a  man),  conducted  thee 
Into  these  dark  and  unfrequented  cells, 
Where  nought  but  I  and  dreadful  horror  dwells? 
Or  if  thou  be  a  ghost,  for  pity  say  [625 

What  pow'r,  what  chance,  hath  led  thee  to  this  way  ? 
If  so  thou  be  a  man,  there  can  nought  come 
From  them  to  me,  unless  it  be  a  tomb, 
And  that  I  hold  already.     See  !  I  have 
Sufficient  too  to  lend  a  king  a  grave, 
A  bless'd  one  too,  within  these  hollow  vaults  ;       630 
Earth  hides  but  bodies,  but  oblivion,  faults. 
Or  if  thou  be  a  ghost  sent  from  above, 
Say,  is  not  blessed  virtue  and  fair  love, 
Faith  and  just  gratitude,  rewarded  there  ? 
Alas  !  I  know  they  be  :  I  know  they  wear  635 

Crowns  of  such  glory,  that  their  smallest  ray 
Can  make  us  lend  th'  Antipodes  a  day  : 


43         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

Nay,  change  our  sphere,  and  need  no  more  the  sun 
Than  those  that  have  that  light  whence  all  begun. 

Stay  further  inquisition,  quoth  the  swain,  640 

And  know  I  am  a  man,  and  of  that  train 
Which  near  the  western  rivers  feed  their  flocks. 
I  need  not  make  me  known  ;  for  if  the  rocks 
Can  hold  a  sculpture,  or  the  pow'r  of  verse 
Preserve  a  name,  the  last-born  may  rehearse          645 
Me  and  my  fortunes.     Curiosity 
Led  me  not  hither  :  chance,  in  seeing  thee, 
Gave  me  the  thread,  and  by  it  I  am  come 
To  find  a  living  man  within  a  tomb. 
Thy  plaints  I  have  o'erheard  ;  and  let  it  be  650 

No  wrong  to  them  that  they  were  heard  of  me. 
May  be  that  Heaven's  great  providence  hath  led 
Me  to  these  horrid  caves  of  night  and  dread, 
That,  as  in  physic  by  some  signature 
Nature  herself  doth  point  us  out  a  cure  :  655 

The  liverwort  is  by  industrious  art 
Known  physical  and  sovereign  for  that  part 
"Which  it  resembles  ;  and  if  we  apply 
The  eye-bright  by  the  like  unto  the  eye, 
Why  maj'st  not  thou  (disconsolate)  as  well  660 

Fiom  me  receive  a  cure,  since  in  me  dwell 
All  those  sad  wrongs  the  world  hath  thrown  on  thee ; 
Which  wrought  so  much  on  my  proclivity, 
That  I  have  entertain'd  them,  and  th'  are  grown 
And  so  incorporated,  and  mine  own,  665 

That  grief,  elixir-like,  hath  turn'd  me  all 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         49 

Into  itself;  and  therefore  physical? 

For  if  in  herbs  there  lie  this  mystery, 

Say,  why  in  other  bodies  may  not  we  [67° 

Promise  ourselves  the  like  ?  why  shouldst  not  thou 

Expect  the  like  from  me  this  instant  now  ? 

And  more,  since  Heaven  hath  made  me  for  thy  cure 

Both  the  physician  and  the  signature. 

Ah  !  Celadyne,  quoth  he,  and  think 't  not  strange 
I  call  thee  by  thy  name ;  though  times'  now  chanee 
Makes  thee  forget  what  mine  is,  with  my  voice    [^75 
I  have  recorded  thine  :  and  if  the  choice 
Of  all  our  swains,  which  by  the  western  rills 
Feed  their  white  flocks  and  tune  their  oaten  quills, 
Were  with  me  now,  thou  only  art  the  man  680 

Whom  I  would  choose  for  my  physician. 
The  others  I  would  thank  and  wish  away. 
There  needs  but  one  sun  to  bring  in  the  day, 
Nor  but  one  Celadyne  to  clear  my  night 
Of  discontent,  if  any  human  wight  685 

Can  reach  that  possibility  :  but  know 
My  griefs  admit  no  parallax ;  they  go, 
Like  to  the  fixed  stars,  in  such  a  sphere, 
So  high  from  meaner  woes  and  common  care 
That  thou  canst  never  any  distance  take  690 

'Twixt  mine  and  others'  woes  ;  and  till  thou  make 
And  know  a  difFrence  in  my  saddest  fate, 
The  cause,  the  station  and  the  ling'ring  date, 
From  other  men  which  are  in  grief  o'ergone 
(Since  it  is  best  read  by  comparison),  695 

VOL.    II.  E 


50         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

Thou  never  canst  attain  the  least  degree 
Of  hope  to  work  a  remedy  on  me. 

I  know  to  whom  I  speak.      On  Isis'  banks, 
And  melancholy  Cherwell,  near  the  ranks 
Of  shading  willows,  often  have  we  lain  700 

And  heard  the  Muses  and  Apollo's  strain 
In  heavenly  raptures,  as  the  pow'rs  on  high 
Had  there  been  lecturers  of  poesy, 
And  nature's  searcher,  deep  philosophy; 
Yet  neither  these,  nor  any  other  art  705 

Can  yield  a  means  to  cure  my  wounded  heart. 
Stay  then  from  losing  longer  time  on  me, 
And  in  these  deep  caves  of  obscurity 
Spend  some  few  hours  to  see  what  is  not  known 
Above  ;  but  on  the  wings  of  rumour  blown.  710 

Here  is  the  fairies'  court,  if  so  they  be. 
With  that  he  rose.     Come  near,  and  thou  shall  see 
Who  are  my  neighbours.     And  with  that  he  led 
(With  such  a  pace  as  lovers  use  to  tread 
Near  sleeping  parents)  by  the  hand  the  swain         715 
Unto  a  pretty  seat,  near  which  these  twain 
By  a  round  little  hole  had  soon  descried 
A  trim  feat  room,  about  a  fathom  wide, 
As  much  in  height,  and  twice  as  much  in  length, 
Out  of  the  main  rock  cut  by  artful  strength.  720 

The  two-leav'd  door  was  of  the  mother  pearl, 
Hinged  and  nail'd  with  gold.     Full  many  a  girl, 

•]!%.— Feat,  neat. 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.          51 

Of  the  sweet  fairy  ligne,  wrought  in  the  loom 
That  fitted  those  rich  hangings  clad  the  room. 
In  them  was  wrought  the  love  of  their 

king, 

His  triumphs,  dances,  sports,  and  revelling  : 
And  learned  Spenser,  on  a  little  hill 
Curiously  wrought,  lay,  as  he  tun'd  his  quill ; 
The  floor  could  of  respect  complain  no  loss, 
But  neatly  cover'd  with  discolour'd  moss,  730 

Woven  into  stories,  might  for  such  a  piece 
Vie  with  the  richest  carpets  brought  from  Greece. 

A  little  mushroom  (that  was  now  grown  thinner, 
By  being  one  time  shaven  for  the  dinner 
Of  one  of  Spain's  grave  grandees,  and  that  day      735 
Out  of  his  greatness'  larder  stol'n  away 
By  a  more  nimble  elf  than  are  their  wits, 
Who  practise  truth  as  seldom  as  their  spits) — 
This  mushroom  (on  a  frame  of  wax  y-pight, 
Wherein  was  wrought  the  strange  and  cruel  fight  740 
Betwixt  the  troublous  commonwealth  of  flies, 
And  the  sly  spider  with  industrious  thighs) 
Serv'd  for  a  table  ;  then  a  little  elf 
(If  possible,  far  lesser  than  itself), 
Brought    in    the    covering    made    of    white     rose 
leaves,  745 

And  (wrought  together  with  the  spinner's  sleaves) 


iu.  lineage.  739-— Y-pight,  fixed. 

.  —  Sleavet,  soft  floss  or  unspun  silk. 

E   2 


52         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

Met  in  the  table's  middle  in  right  angles ; 

The  trenchers  were  of  little  silver  spangles  : 

The  salt  the  small  bone  of  a  fish's  back, 

Whereon  in  little  was  express'd  the  wrack  750 

Of  that  deplored  mouse,  from  whence  hath  sprung 

That  furious  battle  Homer  whilom  sung 

Betwixt  the  frogs  and  mice  :  so  neatly  wrought 

Yet  could  not  work  it  lesser  in  a  thought. 

Then  on  the  table,  for  their  bread,  was  put  755 

The  milk-white  kernels  of  the  hazel  nut ; 

The  cupboard,  suitable  to  all  the  rest, 

Was  as  the  table  with  like  cov'ring  dress'd. 

The  ewer  and  bason  were,  as  fitting  well, 

A  periwinkle  and  a  cockle-shell  :  760 

The  glasses  pure,  and  thinner  than  we  can 

See  from  the  sea-betroth'd  Venetian, 

Were  all  of  ice  not  made  to  overlast 

One  supper,  and  betwixt  two  cowslips  cast : 

A  prettier  fashion  hath  not  yet  been  told,  765 

So  neat  the  glass  was,  and  so  feat  the  mould. 

A  little  spruce  elf  then  (just  of  the  set 
Of  the  French  dancer  or  such  marionette) 
Clad  in  a  suit  of  rush,  woven  like  a  mat, 
A  monkshood  flow'r  then  serving  for  a  hat  ;  770 

Under  a  cloak  made  of  the  spider's  loom  : 
This  fairy  (with  them  held  a  lusty  groom) 
Brought  in  his  bottles  ;  neater  were  there  none. 
And  every  bottle  was  a  cherrystone. 
To  each  a  seed  pearl  served  for  a  screw,  775 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.          53 

And  most  of  them  were  fill'd  with  early  dew. 
Some  choicer  ones,  as  for  the  king  most  meet, 
Held  mel-dew  and  the  honeysuckle's  sweet. 

All  things  thus  fitted  ;  straightways  follow'd  in 
A  case  of  small  musicians,  with  a  din  78° 

Of  little  hautboys,  whereon  each  one  strives 
To  show  his  skill ;  they  all  were  made  of  selves, 
Excepting  one,  which  puff'd  the  player's  face, 
And  was  a  chibole,  serving  for  the  bass. 

Then  came  the  service.     The  first  dishes  were  7^5 
In  white  broth  boil'd  a  crammed  grasshopper  ; 
A  pismire  roasted  whole  ;  five  crayfish  eggs  ; 
The  udder  of  a  mouse  ;  two  hornets'  legs  ; 
Instead  of  olives,  cleanly  pickl'd  sloes  ; 
Then  of  a  bat  were  serv'd  the  pettitoes  ;  79° 

Three  fleas  in  souse,  a  cricket  from  the  brine  ; 
And  of  a  dormouse,  last,  a  lusty  chine. 

Tell  me,  thou  grandee,  Spain's  magnifico, 
Couldst  thou  e'er  entertain  a  monarch  foe, 
Without  exhausting  most  thy  rents  and  fees,  795 

Told  by  a  hundred  thousand  marvedis, 
That  bragging  poor  account  ?     If  we  should  hear 
Some  one  relate  his  incomes  every  year 

778. — Mel-dew,  honey-dew,  a  sweet  gum  which  exudes  from 
llie  leaves  or  bark  of  certain  trees. 

780. — Case,  a  pair. 

782. — Seives,  or  seaves,  dwarf  rushes. 

784.—  Chibole,  properly  chippie,  a  small  green  onion. 

796. — Marvedis,  very  small  Spanish  coins,  thirty-four  to  a 
sixpence. 


54         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

To  be  five  hundred  thousand  farthings  told, 

Could  ye  refrain  from  laughter  ?  could  ye  hold  ?   800 

Or  see  a  miser  sitting  down  to  dine 

On  some  poor  sprat  new  squeezed  from  the  brine, 

Take  out  his  spectacles,  and  with  them  eat, 

To  make  his  dish  seem  larger  and  more  great ; 

Or  else  to  make  his  gold  its  worth  surpass,  805 

Would  see  it  through  a  multiplying  glass  : 

Such  are  their  audits  ;  such  their  high  esteems  ; 

A  Spaniard  is  still  less  than  what  he  seems  : 

Less  wise,  less  potent ;  rich,  but  glorious ; 

Prouder  than  any  and  more  treacherous.  810 

But  let  us  leave  the  braggadocio  here, 

And  turn  to  better  company  and  cheer. 

The  first  course  thus  serv'd  in,  next  follow'd  on 
The  fairy -nobles,  ushering  Oberon, 
Their  mighty  king,  a  prince  of  subtle  pow'r,          815 
Clad  in  a  suit  of  speckled  gilliflow'r. 
His  hat  by  some  choice  master  in  the  trade 
Was  (like  a  helmet)  of  a  lily  made. 
His  ruff  a  daisy  was,  so  neatly  trim, 
As  if  of  purpose  it  had  grown  for  him.  820 

His  points  were  of  the  lady-grass,  in  streaks, 
And  all  were  tagg'd,  as  fit,  with  titmouse  beaks. 
His  girdle,  not  three  times  as  broad  as  thin, 

809. — Glorinus,  vain-glorious. 
819.—  Ruff,  frill. 

821.  -Points,  tagged  laces  used  for  tying  any  part  of  the 
dress. 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.          55 

Was  of  a  little  trout's  self-spangled  skin. 

His  boots,  for  he  was  booted  at  that  tide,  825 

Were  fitly  made  of  half  a  squirrel's  hide. 

His  cloak  was  of  the  velvet  flow'rs,  and  lin'd 

With  flow'r-de-luces  of  the  choicest  kind. 

Down  sat  the  king  ;  his  nobles  did  attend  ; 
And  after  some  repast  he  'gan  commend  830 

Their  hawks  and  sport.     This  in  a  brave  place  flew  : 
That  bird  too  soon  was  taken  from  the  mew  : 
This  came  well  through  the  fowl,  and  quick  again 
Made  a  brave  point  straight  up  upon  her  train. 
Another  for  a  driver  none  came  nigh  ;  835 

And  such  a  hawk  truss'd  well  the  butterfly. 
That  was  the  quarry  which  their  pastime  crown'd  ; 
Their  hawks  were  wagtails,   most   of  them   mew'cl 

round. 

Then  of  their  coursers'  speed,  sure-footing  pace, 
Their  next  discourse  was;  as  that  famous  race,      843 
Engender' d  by  the  wind,  could  not  compare 
With  theirs,  no  more  than  could  a  Flemish  mare 
With  those  fleet  steeds  that  are  so  quickly  hurl'd, 
And  make  but  one  day's  journey  round  the  world. 
Nay,  in  their  praises,  some  one  durst  to  run          845 
So  far  to  say,  that  if  the  glorious  sun 
Should  lame  a  horse,  he  must  come  from  the  spheres 
And  furnish  up  his  team  with  one  of  theirs. 
Those  that  did  hear  them  vaunt  their  excellence 

832. — Miw,  cage  for  moulting  hawks.        838. — Mew'd,  caged. 


56         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.    [Book  3. 

Beyond  all  value  with  such  confidence,  850 

Stood  wond'ring  how  so  little  elfs  as  these 

Durst  venture  on  so  great  hyperboles  ; 

Eut  more  upon  such  horses.     But  it  ceas'd 

(I  mean  the  wonder)  when  each  nanvd  his  beast. 

My  nimble  squirrel,  quoth  the  king,  and  then        855 

Pinching  his  hat,  is  but  a  minute's  ken. 

The  earth  ran  speedy  from  him,  and  I  dare 

Say.  it  i,t  have  a  motion  circular, 

I  could  have  run  it  round  ere  she  had  done 

The  half  of  her  circumvolution.  S6o 

Her  motion,  lik'd  with  mine,  should  almost  be 

As  Saturn's,  mine  the  primum  mobile. 

Then,  looking  on  the  fairies  most  accounted, 

I  grant,  quoth  he,  some  others  were  well  mounted. 

And  praise  your  choice  ;  I  do  acknowledge  that    865 

Your  weasel  ran  well  too  ;  so  did  your  rat  ; 

And  were  his  tail  cut  shorter  to  the  fashion, 

You  in  his  speed  would  find  an  alteration. 

Another's  stoat  had  pass'd  the  swiftest  tegs, 

If  somewhat  sooner  he  had  found  his  legs  ;  870 

His  hare  was  winded  well  ;  so  had  indeed 

Another's  rabbit  tolerable  speed. 

Your  cat  (quoth  he)  would  many  a  courser  baffle  ; 

But  sure  he  reins  not  half  well  in  a  snaffle. 

I  know  her  well ;  'twas  Tybert  that  begat  her,      875 

But  she  is  flew,  and  never  will  be  fatter  : 

869. —  Tfgs,  young  sheep  or  deer. 
876. — Flew,  weak,  or  tender. 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.          57 

The  vare  was  lastly  prais'd,  and  all  the  kind, 
But  on  their  pasterns  they  went  weak  behind. 

What  brave  discourse  was  this  I  now  tell  me,  you 
That  talk  of  kings  and  states,  and  what  they  do  ;  880 
Or  gravely  silent  with  a  Cato's  face, 
Chew  ignorance  until  the  later  grace  ; 
Or  such,  who  (with  discretion  then  at  jar) 
Dare  check  brave  Grenville  and  such  sons  of  war, 
With  whom  they  durst  as  soon  have  measur'd  swords, 

[885 

(Hovve'er  their  pens  fight  or  wine-prompted  words) 
As  not  have  left  him  all  with  blood  besmear'd, 
Or  ta'en  an  angry  lion  by  the  beard. 
Forbear  that  honour'd  name  !  you,  that  in  spite 
Take  pains  to  censure,  more  than  he  to  fight,        890 
Trample  not  on  the  dead  !  those  wrongly  lay 
The  not-success,  who  soonest  ran  away. 
Kill  not  again  whom  Spain  would  have  repriev'd  ! 
Had  ten  of  you  been  Grenvilles,  he  had  liv'd. 

Were  it  not  better  that  you  did  apply  895 

Your  meat,  unlaugh'd  at  of  the  standers-by  ? 
Or  (like  the  fairy  king)  talk  of  your  horse, 
Or  such  as  you,  for  want  of  something  worse. 

Let  that  dear  name  for  ever  sacred  be  : 
Csesar  had  enemies,  and  so  had  he  ;  900 


877. — Vare,  vair,  a  kind  of  weasel. 

878. — Pasterns,  hind  quarter. 

884.—  Grenville,  Sir  Richard  Grenville. 


58        BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

But  Grenville  did  that  Roman's  fate  transcend, 
And  fought  an  enemy  into  a  friend. 

Thus  with  small  things  I  do  compose  the  great. 
Now  comes  the  king  of  fairies'  second  meat  ; 
The  first  dish  was  a  small  spawn'd  fish  and  fried,  905 
Had  it  been  lesser,  it  had  not  been  spied  ; 
The  next,  a  dozen  larded  mites  ;  the  third, 
A  goodly  pie  fill'd  with  a  lady-bird. 
Two  roasted  flies,  then  of  a  dace  the  poll, 
And  of  a  miller's  thumb  a  mighty  joll ;  910 

A  butterfly  which  they  had  kill'd  that  day, 
A  brace  of  fern-webs  pickled  the  last  May. 
A  well-fed  hornet  taken  from  the  souse, 
A  lark's  tongue  dried,  to  make  him  to  carouse. 

As  when  a  lusty  sawyer,  well  prepar'd,  915 

His  breakfast  eaten,  and  his  timber  squar'd, 
About  to  raise  up  as  he  thinketh  fit 
A  good  sound  tree  above  his  sawing  pit, 
His  neighbours  call'd  ;  each  one  a  lusty  heaver, 
Some  steer  the  roller,  others  ply  the  lever  ;  920 

Heave  here,  says  one  ;  another  calls,  shove  thither  ; 
Heave,  roll,  and  shove  !  cry  all,  and  altogether  ; 
Look  to  your  foot,  sir,  and  take  better  heed, 
Cries  a  by-stander,  no  more  haste  than  need  ; 
Lift  up  that  end  there  ;  bring  it  gently  on  ;  925 

And  now  thrust  all  at  once,  or  all  is  gone, 
Hold  there  a  little  ;  soft ;  now  use  your  strength, 

903.-  Compose,  compare.  912.—  Fern-web,  a  small  beetle. 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.          59 

And  with  this  stir,  the  tree  lies  fit  at  length  : 

Just  such  a  noise  was  heard  when  came  the  last    [930 

Of  Oberon's  second  mess.     One  cried,  hold  fast ; 

Put  five  more  of  the  guard  to 't,  of  the  best ; 

Look  to  your  footing  ;  stop  awhile  and  rest ; 

One  would  have  thought,  with  so  much  strength  and 

din, 

They  surely  would  have  brought  Behemoth  in, 
That  mighty  ox  which  (as  the  Rabbins  say)  935 

Shall  feast  the  Jews  upon  the  latter  day. 
But  at  the  last,  with  all  this  noise  and  cry, 
Ten  of  the  guard  brought  in  a  minnow-pie. 

The  mountain  labour'd  and  brought  forth  a  mouse, 
And  why  not  in  this  mighty  prince's  house  940 

As  any  others  ?    Well,  the  pie  was  placed, 
And  then  the  music  struck,  and  all  things  graced. 

It  was  a  concert  of  the  choicest  set 
That  never  stood  to  tune,  or  right  a  fret ; 
For  Nature  to  this  king  such  music  sent,  945 

Most  were  both  players  and  the  instrument. 

No  famous  sensualist,  whate'er  he  be, 
Who  in  the  brazen  leaves  of  history 
Hath  his  name  register'd,  for  vast  expense 
In  striving  how  to  please  his  hearing  sense,  950 

Had  ever  harmony  chose  for  his  ear 
So  fit  as  for  this  king;  and  these  they  were. 


944. — Fret,  the  point  at  which  a  string  is  to  be  stopped  in 
such  an  instrument  as  the  lute  or  guitar. 


60        BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

The  treble  was  a  three-mouth'd  grasshopper, 
Well  tutor'd  by  a  skilful  quirister  : 
An  ancient  master,  that  did  use  to  play  '    955 

The  friskings  which  the  lambs  do  dance  in  May, 
And  long  time  was  the  chiefest  call'd  to  sing, 
When  on  the  plains  the  fairies  made  a  ring ; 
Then  a  field-cricket,  with  a  note  full  clean, 
Sweet  and  unforc'd  and  softly  sung  the  mean,        960 
To  whose  accord,  and  with  no  mickle  labour, 
A  pretty  fairy  play'd  upon  a  tabor  : 
The  case  was  of  a  hazel-nut,  the  heads 
A  bat's-wing  dress'd,  the  snares  were  silver  threads  ; 
A  little  stiffen'd  lamprey's  skin  did  suit  965 

All  the  rest  well,  and  serv'd  them  for  a  flute  ; 
And  to  all  these  a  deep  well-breasted  gnat, 
That   had    good   sides,    knew  well    his   sharp   and 

flat, 

Sung  a  good  compass,  making  no  wry  face, — 
Was  there  as  fittest  lor  a  chamber  bass.  970 

These  choice  musicians  to  their  merry  king 
(lave  all  the  pleasure  which  their  art  could  bring. 
At  last  he  ask'd  a  song  ;  but  ere  I  fall 
To  sing  it  over  in  my  Pastoral, 

Give  me  some  respite  :  now  the  day  grows  old,     975 
And  'tis  full  time  that  I  had  pitch'd  my  fold. 
When  next  sweet  morning  calls  us  from  our  beds, 
With  harmless  thoughts  and  with  untroubled  heads, 

964. — Snares,  strings. 


Song  i.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.          61 

Meet  we  in  Rowden  meadows,  where  the  flood 
Kisses  the  banks,  and  courts  the  shady  wood  ;       980 
A  wood  wherein  some  of  these  lays  were  dress'd, 
And  often  sung  by  Willy  of  the  west : 
Upon  whose  trees  the  name  of  Licea  stands, 
Licea  more  fleeting  than  my  Tavy's  sands. 
Grow  old,  ye  rinds  !  and  shed  away  that  name  ;    985 
But  oh  !  what  hand  shall  wipe  away  her  shame  ? 

There  let  us  meet.     And  if  my  younger  quill 
Bring  not  such  raptures  from  the  sacred  hill 
With  others,  to  whom  Heaven  infused  breath 
When  reign'd  our  glorious  dear  Elizabeth,  990 

(The  nurse  of  learning  and  the  blessed  arts, 
The  centre  of  Spain's  envy  and  our  hearts), 
If  that  the  Muses  fail  me  not,  I  shall 
Perfect  the  little  fairies'  festival, 

And  charm  your  ears  so  with  that  prince's  song,    995 
That  those  fair  nymphs  which  daily  tread  along 
The  western  rivers  and  survey  the  fountains, 
And  those  which  haunt  the  woods,    and  sky-kiss'd 

mountains, 

Shall  learn  and  sing  it  to  ensuing  times 
When  I  am  dust.     And,  Tavy,  in  my  rhymes      loco 
Challenge  a  due  ;  let  it  thy  glory  be, 
That  famous  Drake  and  I  were  born  by  thee  ! 

THE   END  OF   THE   FIRST  SONG  OF   THE   THIRD 
BOOK. 

979. — Rowden  meadtnvs,  on  the  Okehampton  road,  about  a 
mile  N.E.  of  Tavistock. 


62          BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.    [Book  3. 


THE   SECOND  SONG. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Good  day  to  all,  ye  merry  western  swains, 
And  ev'ry  gentle  shepherdess  that  deigns 
A  kind  attentive  ear  to  what  I  sing. 
Come,  sit  you  round  about  me  in  a  ring  ; 
My  reed  is  fitted,  and  I  mean  to  play 
The  fairies'  song  I  promis'd  yesterday  ; 
And  though  for  length  I  have  it  over-run, 
This  was  the  matter,  thus  the  elf  begun  : 


OF  royal  parents  in  a  country  rich 

Were    born    three    daughters,    with    al]    beauties 

crown'd 
That  could  the  eyes  of  men  or  gods  bewitch, 

Or  poets'  sacred  verse  did  ever  sound  ; 
But  Nature's  favour  flew  a  higher  pitch,  5 

When  with  the  youngest  she  enrich'd  this  round, 
Though  her  first  work  for  praise  much  right  might 

hold, 
Her  last  outwent  it,  and  she  broke  the  mould. 


Song  2.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         63 

From  countries  far  remote,  wing'd  with  desire, 

Strangers  pass'd  gladly  o'er  a  tedious  way  10 

To  see  if  fame  would  now  be  found  a  liar, 
Who  said  another  sun  brought  in  the  day  ; 

Poor  men  !  ye  come  too  near  to  such  a  fire, 
And  for  a  look  your  lives  at  hazard  lay. 

Stay,  stay  at  home,  read  of  her  beauty  there,  15 

And  make  not  those  sweet  eyes  your  murderer. 

The  curious  statuaries,  painters  quaint, 

From  their  great  monarchs  come,  from  ev'iy  land, 
That  what  the  chisel  could  or  pencil  paint, 

Might  in  her  portrait  have  the  skilfull'st  hand  ;     20 
But,  seely  men,  they  meet  a  sad  restraint, 

And  they  themselves  as  turn'd  to  statues  stand  : 
So  many  graces  in  her  feature  lurk, 
They  turn  all  eye  and  have  no  hands  to  woik. 

The  altars  of  the  gods  stood  now  forlorn  ;  25 

Their  myrrh  and  frankincense  was  kept  away, 

And  fairest  Cytherea  (that  was  born 

Out  of  the  white  froth  of  the  working  sea) 

Wanted  her  votaries  ;  nay,  some  in  scorn 

Durst  vaunt,  while  they  the  sacrifice  delay,  30 

This  was  a  deity,  indeed,  for  whom 

The  gods  themselves  might  be  a  hecatomb. 

Divers  believ'd,  who,  ravish'd  with  the  sight, 
Stood  gazing,  as  amaz'd,  at  her  fair  eyes, 


64         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

That  Nature  had  produc'd  another  light,  35 

New  kind  of  star,  and  in  a  newer  guise  ; 

And  from  the  earth,  not  from  the  sea,  should  rise 
A  Venus  worthier  to  unlength  the  night ; 

And  though  the  first  be  for  a  goddess  plac'd, 

This  was  more  heavenly  fair,  more  truly  chaste.      40 

Hence  came  it  Paphos  and  Cythera  now, 
Gnidus  and  Amathus,  could  see  no  more 

The  ships  the  parent  of  their  goddess  plough, 
Nor  pilgrims  land  on  their  forsaken  shore. 

No  man  a  gift  could  to  her  shrine  allow,  45 

Nor  rose  nor  myrtle  crown  her  image  wore  ; 

The  beds  contemn'd,  hearth  fireless  and  unlit, 

And  men's  devotions  were  as  cold  as  it. 

Anger  and  rage  possess'd  the  queen  of  love 

To  see  a  fairer  queen  of  love  than  she  ;  50 

And  that  a  mortal  with  the  powers  above 
Came  in  divine  rites  to  a  like  degree  ; 

Nay,  that  the  ravish 'd  people  always  strove 
That  this  none  other  could  than  Venus  be  ; 

Impatient  ought  on  earth  deserv'd  her  name,  55 

Thus  murmur'd  she,  and  scorn  still  fed  the  flame. 

Have  I,  quoth  she,  the  most  confus'd  abyss, 
The  chaos  rude  unwound,  the  vault  of  heaven 

Compos'd,  and  settled  all  that  order  is  ? 

The  name  of  nursing  mother  to  me  given,  60 


Song  2.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         65 

And  all  regardless  ?  must  I,  after  this, 

Be  from  my  temples  and  mine  altars  driven? 
And  she  that  is  the  source  of  human  things 
Pay,  as  a  vassal,  tribute  to  her  springs  ? 

No  ;  'tis  a  competition  too-too  low,  65 

To  stand  with  one  compos'd  of  elements 

Which  their  original  to  me  do  owe  ; 
Shall  fading  creatures  prosecute  intents 

With  us  that  all  eternity  do  know  ? 

And  the  like  victims  have  and  sacred  scents  ?       70 

Or  .share  with  me  in  any  rites  of  mine, 

And  mingle  mortal  honours  with  divine? 

What  boots  it  then  that  men  me  rightly  call 
The  daughter  of  the  mighty  thunderer? 

And  that  I  can  ascend  up  to  my  stall  75 

Along  the  milky  way  by  many  a  star  ? 

And  where  I  come,  the  powers  celestial 
Rise  more  to  me  than  any  goddess  far  ? 

And  all  those  countries  by  bright  Phoebus  seen 

Do  homage  and  acknowledge  me  their  queen.         80 

Shall  I  then  leave  the  prize  I  whilom  won 
On  stately  Ida  (for  my  beauty's  charms), 

Given  me  by  Paris,  Priam's  fatal  son, 

From  stately  Juno  and  the  Maid  of  Arms, 

By  which  old  Simois  long  with  blood  did  run  ?        85 
If  such  ambition  her  proud  bosom  warms, 
VOL.    II.  F 


66         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

I  must  descend  :  she  fly  to  heaven,  and  there 
Sit  in  my  glorious  orb,  and  guide  my  sphere. 

No  !  this  usurping  maid  shall  feel  the  pow'r 

Of  an  incensed  deity,  and  see  90 

Those  cheeks  of  red  and  white,  that  living  flow'r, 
And  those  her  limbs  of  truest  symmetry. 

Want  winning  eloquence  to  'scape  the  show'r 
Of  due  revenge  must  fall  on  her  from  me. 

She  shall  repent  those  beauties,  and  confess  95 

She  had  been  happier  in  deformedness. 

She  said  no  more  :  but  full  of  ire  ascends 

Her  chariot  drawn  by  white  enamour'd  doves  ; 

Her  passion  to  their  speed  more  swiftness  lends. 
And  now  to  search  her  son  (that  various  loves    100 

Worketh  each  where)  she  studiously  intends  : 
She  sought  him  long  among  th'  Elysian  groves, 

But  missing  him,  to  earthward  bent  her  reins, 

And  with  a  shepherd  found  him  on  the  plains. 

It  was  a  shepherd  that  was  born  by-west,  105 

And  well  of  Tityrus  had  learn 'd  to  sing ; 

Little  knew  he,  poor  lad,  of  love's  unrest, 
But  by  his  fellow-shepherds'  sonneting  ; 

A  speculative  knowledge  with  the  best 

He  had,  but  never  felt  the  golden  sting  ;  1 10 

106. —  Tityrus,  Chaucer. 


Song  2.]     BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         67 

And  to  comply  with  those  his  fellow-swains, 
He  sung  of  love  and  never  felt  the  pains. 


The  little  Cupid  lov'd  him  for  his  verse, 
Though  low  and  tuned  to  an  oaten  reed  ; 

And  that  he  might  the  fitter  have  commerce  1 1 5 

With  those  that  sung  of  love  and  lovers'  deed, 

Struck  (O  but  had  Death  struck  her  to  a  herse) 
Those   wounds   had   not  been  ope  which  freshly 
bleed — 

Struck  a  fair  maid  and  made  her  love  this  lad, 

From  whence  his  sorrows  their  beginnings  had.     1 20 

Long  time  she  lov'd  :  and  Cupid  did  so  dear 
Affect  the  shepherd,  that  he  would  not  try 

A  golden  dart  to  wound  him  (out  of  fear 
That  they  might  not  be  stricken  equally), 

But  turned  orator,  and  coming  there  125 

Where  this  young  pastor  did  his  flocks  apply, 

He  wooes  him  for  the  lass  sick  of  his  hand, 

And  begs,  who  might  imperiously  command  : 

Shall  that  sweet  paradise  neglected  lie 

('Twas  so,  and  had  a  serpent  in  it  too),  130 

Shall  those  sweet  lips,  that  pity-begging  eye 

Beget  no  flame,  when  common  beauties  do  ? 
Those  breasts  of  snow,  beds  of  felicity, 

Made  to  enforce  a  man  of  ice  to  woo, 

K  2 


68         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

Make  nought  for  her,  in  whose  soul-melting  flashes 
A  salamander  might  consume  to  ashes  ?  [135 

Pity  her  sighs,  fond  swain  !  believe  her  tears  ; 

What  heart  of  marble  would  not  rend  to  see  her 
Languish  for  love  ?  poor  soul,  her  tender  years 

Have  flame  to   feed  her  fire,   not  words   to   free 
her.  140 

Bad  orators  are  younger  loves  and  fears. 

Thus  Cupid  wooes,  and  could  a  mortal  flee  her  ? 
But  Venus  coming,  Cupid  threw  a  dart 
To  make  all  sure,  and  left  it  in  his  heart. 

Thus  to  the  winged  archer  Venus  came,  145 

Who,  though  by  Nature  quick  enough  inclin'd 

To  all  requests  made  by  the  Cyprian  dame, 
She  left  no  grace  of  look  or  word  behind 

That  might  raise  up  that  fire  which  none  can  tame  : 
Revenge,  that  sweet  betrayer  of  the  mind,         150 

That  cunning,  turbulent,  impatient  guest, 

Which  sleeps  in  biood,  and  but  in  death  hath  rest. 

Into  her  chariot  she  him  quickly  takes, 
And  swift  as  time,  cutting  the  yielding  air, 

Her  discontent  she  tells  him,  as  she  makes  155 

Towards  Psyche's  sweet  abode  a  sad  repair. 

Psyche  the  lady  hight,  that  now  awakes 

Fair  Venus'  fury  ;  look,  quoth  she,  and  there 

Behold  my  grief ;  O  Cupid,  shut  thine  eyne, 

Or  that  which  now  is  hers  will  soon  be  thine.        160 


Song  2.]    BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         69 

See  yonder  girl,  quoth  she,  for  whom  my  shrine 

Is  left  neglected  and  of  all  forlorn  ; 
Hark  how  the  poets  court  the  sacred  Nine 

To  give  them  raptures  full  and  highly  born 
That  may  befit  a  beauty  so  divine,  165 

And  from  the  threshold  of  the  rosy  morn 
To  Phcebus'  western  inn,  fill  by  their  lays 
All  hearts  with  love  of  her,  all  tongues  with  praise. 

By  that  maternal  rightful  pow'r,  my  son, 
Which    I    have    with     thee,     and    may    justly 
claim:  [170 

By  those  gold  darts  which  I  for  thee  have  won, 
By   those   sweet   wounds   they  make    without    a 
maim  : 

By  thy  kind  fire  which  hath  such  wonders  done, 
And  all  fair  eyes  from  whence  thou  takest  aim  : 

By  these  and  by  this  kiss,  this  and  this  other,         175 

Right  a  wrong'd  goddess  and  revenge  thy  mother. 

And  this  way  do  it  :  make  that  glorious  maid 

Slave  in  affection  to  a  wretch  as  rude 
As  ever  yet  deformity  array'd 

Or  all  the  vices  of  the  multitude.  180 

Let  him  love  money  !  and  a  friend  betray'd 

Proclaim  with  how  much  wit  he  is  endued  ; 
Let  not  sweet  sleep  but  sickness  make  his  bed  ! 
And  to  the  grave  bring  home  her  maidenhead. 


70         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

When    the    bless'd    day    calls    others     from    their 
sleep,  185 

And  birds'  sweet  lays  rejoice  all  creatures  waking, 
Let  her  lame  husband's  groans  and  sighing  deep 

Affright  her  from  that  rest  which  she  is  taking  ! 
And  (spite  of  all  her  care)  when  she  doth  weep, 

Let  him  mistrust  her  tears  and  faith's  forsaking  ! 
In  brief,  let  her  affect  (thus  I  importune)  [190 

One  wrong'd  as  much  as  Nature  could  or  Fortune. 

Thus  spoke  she,  and  a  winning  kiss  she  gave, 
A  long  one  with  a  free  and  yielding  lip, 

Unto  the  god  ;  and  on  the  brackish  wave  195 

(Leaving  her  son  ashore)  doth  nimbly  trip. 

Two  dolphins  with  a  chariot  richly  brave 
Waited,  and  with  her  unto  Cyprus  strip  ; 

The  little  Cupid  she  had  left  behind, 

And  gave  him  sight  then  when  he  should  be  blind.  200 

Cupid,  to  work  his  wiles  that  can  apply 
Himself,  like  Proteus,  to  what  form  he  list, 

Fierce  as  a  lion,  nimble  as  an  eye, 
As  glorious  as  the  sun,  dark  as  a  mist, 

Hiding  himself  within  a  lady's  eye,  205 

Or  in  a  silken  hair's  ensnaring  twist ; 

And  those  within  whose  breasts  he  oft  doth  fall, 

And  feel  him  most,  do  know  him  least  of  all. 

198.  —Strip,  move  rapidly. 


Song  2.]     BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.          71 

The  god  now  us'd  his  pow'r,  and  him  address'd 
Unto  a  fitting  stand,  where  he  might  see  210 

All  that  kind  Nature  ever  yet  express'd 
Of  colour,  feature,  or  due  symmetry  ; 

It   seem'd   heaven  was   come  down   to  make  earth 

bless'd. 
No  wonder  then  if  there  this  god  should  be  ; 

No  ;  wonder  more  which  way  he  can  be  driven,    215 

To  leave  this  sight  for  those  he  knew  in  heaven. 

Her  cheeks  the  wonder  of  what  eye  beheld, 

Begot  betwixt  a  lily  and  a  rose, 
In  gentle  rising  plains  divinely  swell'd, 

Where  all  the  graces  and  the  loves  repose.          220 
Nature  in  this  piece  all  her  works  excell'd, 

Yet  show'd  herself  imperfect  in  the  close, 
For  she  forgot  (when  she  so  fair  did  raise  her) 
To  give  the  world  a  wit  might  duly  praise  her. 

I  ler  sweet  and  ruddy  lips,  full  of  the  fire  225 

Which  once  Prometheus  stole  away  from  heaven, 

Could  by  their  kisses  raise  a  like  desire 
To  that  by  which  Alcides  once  was  driven 

To  fifty  beds,  and  in  one  night  entire 

To  fifty  maids  the  name  of  mother  given  ;  230 

Rut  had  he  met  this  dame  first,  all  the  other 

Had  rested  maids  :  she  fifty  times  a  mother  ! 

When  that  she  spoke,  as  at  a  voice  from  heaven 
On  her  sweet  words  all  ears  and  hearts  attended  ; 


72         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

When    that    she    sung,    they   thought    the    planets 

seven  235 

By  her  sweet  voice   might  well  their  tunes  have 

mended  ; 
When  she  did  sigh,  all  were  of  joy  bereaven  ; 

And    when    she    smil'd,    heaven    had    them    all 

befriended. 

If  that  her  voice,  sighs,  smiles,  so  many  thrill'd, 
O,  had  she  kiss'd,  how  many  had  she  kill'd  !         240 

Her  hair  was  flaxen,  small,  and  full  and  long, 
Wherewith  the  soft  enamour'd  air  did  play, 

And  here  and  there  with  pearls  was  quaintly  strung  ; 
When  they  were  spread  (like  to  Apollo's  ray) 

They  made  the  breasts  of  the  Olympic  throng       245 
To  feel  their  flames,  as  we  the  flame  of  day  ; 

And  to  eternize  what  they  saw  so  fair, 

They  made  a  constellation  of  her  hair. 

Her  slender  fingers  (neat  and  worthy  made 
To  be  the  servants  to  so  much  perfection)  250 

Join'd  to  a  palm,  whose  touch  would  straight  invade 
And  bring  a  sturdy  heart  to  low  subjection. 

Her  slender  wrists  two  diamond  bracelets  lade, 
Made  richer  by  so  sweet  a  soul's  election. 

O  happy  bracelets  !  but  more  happy  he  255 

To  whom  those  arms  shall  as  a  bracelet  be ! 

241. — Small,  fine. 


Song  2.]      BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         73 

Nature,  when  she  made  women's  breasts,  was  then 
In  doubt  of  what  to  make  them,  or  how  stain'd  ; 

If  that  she  made  them  soft,  she  knew  that  men 

Would  seek  for  rest  there,  where  none  could  be 
gain'd :  260 

If  that  she  made  them  snow-like,  they  again 

Would  seek  for  cold  where   love's   hot    flamings 
reign'd  ; 

She  made  them  both,  and  men  deceived  so, 

Find  wakefulness  in  down,  and  fire  in  snow. 

Such  were  fair  Psyche's  lillied  beds  of  love,  265 

Or  rather  two  new  worlds  where  men  would  fain 

Discover  wonders  by  her  stars  above, 

If  any  guide  could  bring  them  back  again. 

But  who  shall  on  those  azure  riverets  move, 

Is  lost,  and  wanders  in  an  endless  main  ;  270 

So  many  graces,  pleasures,  there  apply  them, 

That  man  should  need  the  world's   age   to  descry 
them. 

As  when  a  woodman  on  the  greeny  lawns, 
Where  daily  chants  the  sad-sweet  nightingale, 

Would  count  his  herd,  more  bucks,  more  prickets, 
fawns  275 

Rush  from  the  copse  and  put  him  from  his  tale ; 

Or  some  wayfaring  man,  when  morning  dawns, 
Would  tell  the  sweet  notes  in  a  joysome  vale, 

275. — Prickets,  bucks  in  their  second  year. 


74         BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.     [Book  3. 

At  ev'ry  foot  a  new  bird  lights  and  sings, 

And  makes  him  leave  to  count  their  sonnetings  :    280 

So  when  my  willing  Muse  would  gladly  dress 

Her  several  graces  in  immortal  lines, 
Plenty  impoors  her  ;  ev'ry  golden  tress, 

Each  little  dimple,  every  glance  that  shines 
As  radiant  as  Apollo,  I  confess  285 

My  skill  too  weak  for  so  admir'cl  designs  ; 
For  whilst  one  beauty  I  am  close  about, 
Millions  do  newly  rise  and  put  me  out. 

Never  was  maid  to  various  nature  bound 

In  greater  bonds  of  thankfulness  than  she,          290 

As  all  eyes  judg'd  ;  nor  on  the  massy  round 
For  all  perfections  could  another  be 

Upon  whose  any  limn  was  to  be  found 

Ought,  that  on  hers  could  vant  of  mastery  ; 

Yet  though  all  eyes  had  been  a  wishful  feast,         295 

Who  saw  nought  but  her  body  saw  her  least. 

Blest  was  the  womb  that  bore  so  fair  a  birth  ; 

Blest  was  the  birth  for  blessing  of  the  womb  ; 
Blest  was  the  hand  that  took  her  to  the  earth  ; 

Blest  ev'ry  shady  arbour,  every  room  ;  300 

Blest  were  the  deserts  rough  where  zephyr  stirr'th  ; 

Blest  ev'ry  craggy  rock  and  rushy  coombe  : 

280. — Leave,  cease.  283. — Impoors,  impoverishes. 

291.— Massy  round,  globe.        294.  —  Vant,  vaunt. 


Song  2.]      BRITANNIA'S  PASTORALS.         75 

All  things  that  held,  touch'd,  saw  her,  still  confess'd 
To  time's  last  period  they  were  ever  bless'd. 

My  fairest  Delia,  when  thine  eyes  shall  view         305 
These,  and  all  other  lines  ere  writ  by  me, 

Wherein  all  beauties  are  describ'd,  and  true, 
Think  your  devoted  shepherd's  fantasy, 

Rapt  by  those  heavenly  graces  are  in  you, 

Had  thence  all  matter  fit  for  elogy.  310 

Your  blest  endowments  are  my  verses'  mothers, 

For  by  your  sweetness  I  describe  all  others. 


SHEPHEARDSil 


PIPE. 


m 

H  Printed  by  AT.O.for  George  Nor-  g 
/«»,and  arc  to  be  foldac  his  Shop 
without  Tcmple-barrc.. 


The  truly  Virtuous,  and  worthy  of  all  Honour, 
the  Right  Honourable 

EDWARD, 
LORD  ZOUCH,  ST.  MAUR  AND  CANTELUPE, 

and  one  of  His  Majesty's  Most  Honourable 
Privy  Council. 


BE  pleas'd,  great  Lord,  when  underneath  the  shades 
Of  your  delightful  Bramshill,  where  the  spring 
Her  flowers  for  gentle  blasts  with  Zephyr  trades, 
Once  more  to  hear  a  sillya  shepherd  sing. 
Yours  be  the  pleasure,  mine  the  sonneting  : 
Ev'n  that  hath  his  delight ;  nor  shall  I  need 
To  seek  applause  amongst  the  common  store. b 
It  is  enough  if  this  mine  oaten  reed 

»  Silly,  simple.  b  Store,  multitude. 


8o  COMMENDATORY   VERSES. 

Please  but  the  ear  it  should  ;  I  ask  no  more  : 
Nor  shall  those  rural  notesa  which  heretofore 
Your  true  attention  grac'd  and  wing'd  for  fame 
Imperfect  lie  ;  oblivion  shall  not  gain 
Ought  on  your  worth,  but  sung  shall  be  your  name 
So  long  as  England  yields  or  song  or  swain. 

Free  are  my  lines,  though  dress'd  in  lowly  state, 
And  scorn  to  flatter  but  the  men  I  hate. 

Your  Honour's 

W.  BROWNE. 

*  Those  rural  notes,  i.e.,  Britannia's  Pastorals,  of  which 
the  first  book  only  had  appeared. 


Of  his  Friend 
MASTER   WILLIAM   BROWNE. 


A  POET'S  born,  not  made  :  no  wonder  then 

Though  Spenser,  Sidney  (miracles  of  men, 

Sole  English  makers,a  whose  ev'n  names  so  high 

Express  by  implication  poesy) 

Were  long  unparallel'd  :  for  Nature,  bold 

In  their  creation,  spent  that  precious  mould, 

That  nobly  better  earth,  that  purer  spirit. 

Which  poets,  as  their  birthrights,  claim  t'  inherit : 

And  in  their  great  production  prodigal, 

Careless  of  futures,  well-nigh  spent  her  all. 

Viewing  her  work,  conscious  sh'  had  suffer'd  wrack,1' 

Hath  caus'd  our  countrymen  e'er  since  to  lack 

That  better  earth  and  form  :  long  thrifty  grown, 

Who  truly  might  bear  poets,  brought  forth  none  : 

*  Makers,  i.e.,  of  verse,  a   literal  rendering  of  the  Creel- 
word  ffowjTTJs. 
b  Wrack,  loss. 
VOL.    II.  <; 


82  COMMENDATORY   VERSES. 

Till  now  of  late,  seeing  her  stocks  new  full 

(By  time  and  thrift)  of  matter  beautiful, 

And  quintessence  of  forms,  what  several 

Our  elder  poets  graces  had,  those  all 

She  now  determin'd  to  unite  in  one, 

So  to  surpass  herself,  and  call'd  him  Browne. 

That  beggar'd  by  his  birth,  she's  now  so  poor 

That  of  true  makeifs]  she  can  make  no  more. 

Hereof  accus'd,  answer'd,  she  meant  that  he 

A  species  should,  no  individuum,a  be. 

That,  Phcenix-like,  he  in  himself  should  find 

Of  poesy  contain'd  each  several  kind  ; 

And  from  this  Phoenix's  urn  thought  she  could  take 

Whereof  all  following-poets  well  to  make. 

For  of  some  former  she  had  now  made  known 
They  were  her  errors  whilst  sh'  intended  Browne. 

In  libellum  inscriptionemque. 

Not  ^Eglogues  your,  but  Eclogues  :  to  compare  : 
Virgil's  selected,  yours  elected  are. 
He  imitates,  you  make  :  and  this  your  creature 
Expresseth  well  your  name,  and  theirs,  their  nature. 

E.  JOHNSON, 

Int.  Temp. 
*  Ittdk'tdiimn,  an  atom,  indivisible  particle. 


To  his  better  beloved  than  known  Friend, 
MR.    BROWNE. 


SUCH  is  the  fate  of  some  (write)  nowadays 

Thinking  to  win  and  wear,  they  break  the  bays. 

As  a  slow  footman  striving  near  to  come 

A  swifter  that  before  him  far  doth  run, 

PufF'd  with  the  hope  of  Honour's  goal  to  win, 

Runs  out  of  breath  yet  furthest  off  from  him  : 

So  do  our  most  of  poets  whose  Muse  flies 

About  for  honour,  catch  poor  butterflies. 

But  thou,  fair  friend,   not  rank'd  shall  be   'mongst 

those 

That  make  a  mountain  where  a  molehill  grows  ; 
Thou  whose  sweet -singing  pen  such  lays  hath  writ 
That  in  an  old  way  teacheth  us  new  wit  ; 
Thou  that  wert  born  and  bred  to  be  the  man 
To  turn  Apollo's  glory  into  Pan, 
And  when  thou  lists  of  shepherds  leave  to  write, 
To  great  Apollo  add  again  his  light. 

G  2 


84  COMMENDATORY   VERSES. 

For  never  yet  like  shepherds  forth  have  come 
Whose  pipes  so  sweetly  play  as  thine  have  done. 
Fair  Muse  of  Browne,  whose  beauty  is  as  pure 
As  women  brown  that  fair  and  longest  endure, 
Still  may'st  thou  as  thou  dost  a  lover  move, 
And  as  thou  dost  each  mover  may  thee  love, 
Whilst  I  myself  in  love  with  thee  must  fall, 
Browne's  Muse  the  fair  brown  woman  still  will  call. 

JOHN  ONLEY, 

Int.  Temp. 


THE   SHEPHERD'S   PIPE. 


THE    FIRST  ECLOGUE. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Rogeta  and  Willi<.b  both  ymet 

Upon  a  greeny  ley, 
With  roundelays  and  tales  are  set 

To  spend  the  length  of  day. 


WILLIE.  ROGET. 

Willie. 

ROGET,  droop  not,  see  the  spring 
Is  the  earth  enamelling, 
And  the  birds  on  every  tree 
Greet  this  morn  with  melody : 
Hark,  how  yonder  thrustle  chants  it, 
And  her  mate  as  proudly  vants  it ; 

Roget,  George  Wither.        b  Willie,  William  Browne. 
5. — Thrustle,  thrush. 


86  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

See  how  every  stream  is  dress'd 

By  her  margin  with  the  best 

Of  Flora's  gifts  ;  she  seems  glad 

For  such  brooks  such  flow'rs  she  had.        10 

All  the  trees  are  quaintly  tired 

With  green  buds,  of  all  desired  ; 

And  the  hawthorn  every  day 

Spreads  some  little  show  of  May  : 

See  the  primrose  sweetly  set  1 5 

By  the  much-lov'd  violet, 

All  the  banks  do  sweetly  cover, 

As  they  would  invite  a  lover 

With  his  lass  to  see  their  dressing 

And  to  grace  them  by  their  pressing  :        20 

Yet  in  all  this  merry  tide 

When  all  cares  are  laid  aside, 

Roget  sits  as  if  his  blood 

Had  not  felt  the  quick'ning  good 

Of  the  sun  nor  cares  to  play,  25 

Or  with  songs  to  pass  the  day 

As  he  wont  :  fie,  Roget,  fie, 

Raise  thy  head,  and  merrily 

Tune  us  somewhat  to  thy  reed  : 

See  our  flocks  do  freely  feed,  30 

Here  we  may  together  sit, 

And  for  music  very  fit 

Is  this  place  ;  from  yonder  wood 

Comes  an  echo  shrill  and  good, 

Twice  full  perfectly  it  will  35 


Eel.  i.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  87 

Answer  to  thine  oaten  quill. 
Roget,  droop  not  then,  but  sing 
Some  kind  welcome  to  the  spring. 

Roget. 

AH  Willie,  Willie,  why  should  I 

Sound  my  notes  of  jollity  ?  40 

Since  no  sooner  can  I  play 

Any  pleasing  roundelay, 

But  some  one  or  other  still 

'Gins  to  descant  on  my  quill  ; 

And  will  say,  by  this  he  me  45 

Meaneth  in  his  minstrelsy. 

If  I  chance  to  name  an  ass 

In  my  song,  it  comes  to  pass, 

One  or  other  sure  will  take  it 

As  his  proper  name,  and  make  it  5° 

Fit  to  tell  his  nature  too. 

Thus  whate'er  I  chance  to  do 

Happens  to  my  loss,  and  brings 

To  my  name  the  venom'd  stings 

Of  ill  report  :  how  should  I  55 

Sound  then  notes  of  jollity? 

Willie. 

'Tis  true  indeed,  we  say  all, 

Rub  a  gall'd  horse  on  the  gall, 

Kick  he  will,  storm  and  bite  ; 

But  the  horse  of  sounder  plight  60 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  I. 

Gently  feels  his  master's  hand. 

In  the  water  thrust  a  brand 

Kindled  in  the  fire,  'twill  hiss  ; 

When  a  stick  that  taken  is 

From  the  hedge,  in  water  thrust,  65 

Never  rokes  as  would  the  first, 

But  endures  the  water's  touch  : 

Roget,  so  it  fares  with  such 

Whose  own  guilt  hath  them  inflam'd, 

Rage  whene'er  their  vice  is  blam'd.  70 

But  who  in  himself  is  free 

From  all  spots,  as  lilies  be, 

Never  stirs,  do  what  thou  can. 

If  thou  slander  such  a  man, 

Yet  he's  quiet,  for  he  knows  75 

With  him  no  such  vices  close. 

Only  he  that  is  indeed 

Spotted  with  the  lep'rous  seed 

Of  corrupted  thoughts,  find  hath 

An  ulcerous  soul  in  the  path  So 

Of  reproof,  he  straight  will  brawl 

If  you  rub  him  on  the  galL 

Roget. 

But  in  vain  then  shall  I  keep 
These  my  harmless  flock  of  sheep  ; 
And  though  all  the  day  I  tend  them,  85 

And  from  wolves  and  foxes  shend  them, 
66.- Rakes,  hisses.  86.— SJtend,  defend,  g.iard. 


Eel.  i.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  89 

Wicked  swains  that  bear  me  spite, 

In  the  gloomy  veil  of  night, 

Of  my  fold  will  draw  the  pegs, 

Or  else  break  my  lambkins'  legs,  90 

Or  unhang  my  wether's  bell, 

Or  bring  briars  from  the  dell, 

And  them  in  my  fold  by  pieces 

Cast,  to  tangle  all  their  fleeces. 

Well-a-day  !  such  churlish  swains  95 

Now  and  then  lurk  on  our  plains  : 

That  I  fear  a  time  ere  long, 

Shall  not  hear  a  shepherd's  song, 

Nor  a  swain  shall  take  in  task 

Any  wrong,  nor  once  unmask  100 

Such  as  do  with  vices  rife 

Soil  the  shepherd's  happy  life  : 

Except  he  means  his  sheep  shall  be 

A  prey  to  all  their  injury. 

This  causeth  me  I  do  no  more  105 

Chant  so  as  I  wont  of  yore  : 

Since  in  vain  then  should  I  keep 

These  my  harmless  flock  of  sheep. 

Willie. 

YET  if  such  thou  wilt  not  sing, 

Make  the  woods  and  valleys  ring  I IO 

With  some  other  kind  of  lore  : 

Roget  hath  enough  in  store. 

Sing  of  love,  or  tell  some  tale, 


90  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

Praise  the  flowers,  the  hills,  the  vale  : 

Let  us  not  here  idle  be  ;  115 

Next  day  I  will  sing  to  thee. 

Hark,  on  knap  of  yonder  hill 

Some  sweet  shepherd  tunes  his  quill ; 

And  the  maidens  in  a  round 

Sit  to  hear  him  on  the  ground  ;  1 20 

And  if  thou  begin,  shall  we 

Grac'd  be  with  like  company  ; 

And  to  gird  thy  temples  bring 

Garlands  for  such  fingering. 

Then  raise  thee,  Roget — 

Roget. 

Gentle  swain,  125 

Whom  I  honour  for  thy  strain, 
Though  it  would  beseem  me  more 
To  attend  thee  and  thy  lore, 
Yet  lest  thou  might'st  find  in  me 
A  neglect  of  courtesy,  130 

I  will  sing  what  I  did  lere 
Long  agone  in  Janivere 
Of  a  skilful  aged  sire, 
As  we  toasted  by  the  fire. 

Willie. 

SING  it  out,  it  needs  must  be  135 

Very  good  what  comes  from  thee. 

117. — Knap,  top.  131. — Lere,  learn. 


Eel.  I.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  91 

Roget. 

WHILOM  an  Emperor,  prudent  and  wise, 
Reigned  in  Rome,  and  had  sons  three, 
Which  he  had  in  great  cherete  and  great  price, 
And  when  it  shop  so  that  th'  infirmity  140 

Of  death,  which  no  wight  may  eschew  or  flee, 
Him  threw  down  in  his  bed,  he  let  to  call 
His  sons,  and  before  him  they  came  all. 

And  to  the  first  he  said  in  this  manneer  : 

All  th'eritage  which  at  the  dying  145 

Of  my  fadir,  he  me  left,  all  in  feere 

Leave  I  thee  :  and  all  that  of  my  buying 

Was  with  my  peny,  all  my  purchasing, 

My  second  son,  bequeath  I  to  thee. 

And  to  the  third  son  thus  said  he  :  150 

Unmoveable  good  right  none  withouten  oath 
Thee  give  I  may  ;  but  I  to  thee  devise 
Jewels  three,  a  ring,  a  brooch  and  a  cloth  : 
With  which,  and  thou  be  guied  as  the  wise, 
Thou  may'st  get  all  that  ought  thee  suffice.         155 
Whoso  that  the  ring  useth  still  to  wear 
Of  all  folks  the  love  he  shall  conquer. 

137. — An  Emperor,  i.e.  "  Godfridus." 

139. — Cherete,  affection.  140 — Shop,  befell. 

146. — Fadir,  father.         In  feere,  together. 

148. — Peny,  money.  i^.—Guicd,  guided. 


92  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

And  whoso  the  brooch  beareth  on  his  breast, 
It  is  eke  of  such  virtue  and  such  kind, 
That  think  upon  what  thing  him  liketh  best,      160 
And  he  as  blive  shall  it  have  and  find. 
My  words,  son,  imprint  well  in  mind. 
The  cloth  eke  hath  a  marvellous  nature, 
Which  that  shall  be  committed  to  thy  cure. 

Whoso  sit  on  it,  if  he  wish  where  165 

In  all  the  world  to  been,  he  suddenly 

Without  more  labour  shall  be  there. 

Son,  those  three  jewels  bequeath  I 

To  thee,  unto  this  effect  certainly 

That  to  study  of  the  university  170 

Thou  go,  and  that  I  bid  and  charge  thee. 

When  he  had  thus  said,  the  vexation 

Of  death  so  hasted  him,  that  his  spirit 

Anon  forsook  his  habitation 

In  his  body  :  death  would  no  respite  175 

Him  yeve  at  all  :  he  was  of  his  life  quit. 

And  buried  was  with  such  solemnity, 

As  fell  to  his  imperial  dignity. 

Of  the  youngest  son  I  tell  shall, 

And  speak  no  more  of  his  brethren  two,  1 80 

161. — Blive,  immediately.  164. — Cure,  care,  keeping. 

176. —  Yeve,  give. 


Eel.  i.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  93 

For  with  them  have  I  not  to  do  at  all. 
Thus  spake  the  mother  Jonathas  unto : 
Sin  God  hath  his  will  of  thy  father  do, 
To  thy  father's  will  would  I  me  conform, 
And  truly  all  his  testament  perform.  185 

He  three  jewels,  as  thou  knowest  well, 
A  ring,  a  brooch,  and  a  cloth  thee  bequeath, 
Whose  virtues  he  thee  told  every  deal, 
Or  that  he  pass'd  hence  and  yalde  up  the  breath. 
O  good  God,  his  departing,  his  death  190 

Full  grievously  sticketh  unto  mine  heart, 
But  suffered  mot  been,  all  how  sore  it  smart. 

In  that  case  women  have  such  heaviness, 
That  it  not  lieth  in  my  cunning  aright 
To  tell  of  so  great  sorrow  the  excess  : 
But  wise  women  can  take  it  light, 
And  in  short  while  put  unto  the  flight 

All  sorrow  and  woe,  and  catch  again  comfort  : 

Now  to  my  tale  make  I  my  resort. 

Thy  father's  will,  my  son,  as  I  said  ere,  200 

Will  I  perform  ;  have  here  the  ring  and  go 
To  study  anon,  and  when  that  thou  art  there, 
As  thy  father  thee  bade,  do  even  so, 
And  as  thou  wilt  my  blessing  have  also. 

183.— Sin,  since.         189.— Or,  ere,  before.     Yalde,  yielded. 


94  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

She  unto  him  as-swythe  took  the  ring  205 

And  bade  him  keep  it  well  for  anything. 

He  went  unto  the  study  general 
Where  he  gat  love  enough,  and  acquaintance 
Right  good  and  friendly,  the  ring  causing  all ; 
And  on  a  day  to  him  befell  this  chance  210 

With  a  woman,  a  morsel  of  pleasance, 

By  the  streets  of  the  university 

As  he  was  in  his  walking,  met  he. 

And  right  as  blive  he  had  with  her  a  tale, 

And  therewithal  sore  in  her  love  he  brent ;         215 

Gay,  fresh  and  piked  was  she  to  the  sale, 

For  to  that  end  and  to  that  intent 

She  thither  came,  and  both  forth  they  went, 

And  he  a  pistle  rowned  in  her  ear, 

Nat  wot  I  what,  for  I  ne  came  nat  there.        220 

She  was  his  paramour  shortly  to  say. 

This  man  to  folkes  all  was  so  leefe, 

That  they  him  gave  abundance  of  money  ; 

He  feasted  folk,  and  stood  at  high  boncheefe  ; 

Of  the  lack  of  good  he  felt  no  grief  225 

All  whiles  the  ring  he  with  him  had  ; 

But  failing  it  his  friendship  'gan  sad. 

•2oc..—As-swytJie,  quickly.  215. — Brent,  burnt. 

216.—  Piked,  picked. 

219. — Pistle,  epistle,  tale.  Rowned,  rounded,  whispered. 

222. — Leefe,  agreeable.  224. — Bonclteefe,  prosperity. 


Eel.  I.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  95 

His  paramour,  which  that  ycalled  was 

Fellicula,  marvelled  right  greatly 

Of  the  dispences  of  this  Jonathas,  230 

Sin  she  no  peny  at  all  with  him  sy  ; 

And  on  a  night  as  there  she  lay  him  by 

In  the  bed,  thus  she  to  him  spake  and  said, 

And  this  petition  assoile  him  pray'd  : 


O  reverent  sir,  unto  whom,  quoth  she,  235 

Obey  I  would  aye  with  heart's  humbleness, 
Since  that  ye  han  had  my  virginity, 
You  I  beseech  of  your  high  gentleness, 
Telleth  me  whence  com'th  the  good  and  richesse 
That  ye  with  feasten  folk,  and  han  no  store,      240 
By  ought  I  see  can,  ne  gold,  ne  tresore. 


If  I  tell  it,  quoth  he,  paraventure 

Thou  wilt  discover  it,  and  out  it  publish  ; 

Such  is  woman's  inconstant  nature, 

They  cannot  keep  counsel  worth  a  rish  :  245 

Better  is  my  tongue  keep  than  to  wish 

That  I  had  kept  close  that  is  gone  at  large, 
And  repentance  is  thing  that  I  mote  charge. 


229. — Fellicula,  a  name  formed  from  the  Latin  word  /<•/, 

gall.  230.  —  Dispences.  expenditure. 

231. — Sy,  saw.  234. — Assoile,  answer. 

237. — Han,  have.  245. — Rish,  rush. 


96  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

^ayi  good  sir,  quoth  she,  holdeth  me  not  suspect, 
Doubtetli  nothing,  I  can  be  right  secree.  250 

Well  worthy  were  it  me  to  been  abject 
From  all  good  company,  if  I,  quoth  she, 
Unto  you  should  so  mistake  me. 

Be  not  adread  your  counsel  me  to  shew. 

Well,  said  he,  thus  it  is  at  words  few  :  255 

My  father  the  ring,  which  that  thou  may'st  see 
On  my  finger,  me  at  his  dying  day 
Bequeath'd,  which  this  virtue  and  property 
Hath,  that  the  love  of  men  he  shall  have  aye 
That  weareth  it,  and  there  shall  be  no  nay  260 

Of  what  thing  that  him  liketh  ask  and  crave, 
But  with  good  will  he  shall  as  blive  it  have. 

Through  the  ring's  virtuous  excellence 

Thus  am  I  rich,  and  have  ever  ynow. 

Now,  sir,  yet  a  word  by  your  licence  265 

Suff'reth  me  to  say,  and  to  speak  now  : 

Is  it  wisdom,  as  that  it  seemeth  you, 

Wear  it  on  your  finger  continually? 

What  wouldst  thou  mean,  quoth  he,  thereby  ? 

What  peril  thereof  might  there  befall  ?  270 

Right  great,  quoth  she,  as  ye  in  company 

250. — Secree,  secret.  251. — Abject,  rejected. 

254. — Adread,  afraid.  264.  —  Ynow,  enough. 


Eel.  I.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  97 

Walk  often,  from  your  finger  might  it  fall, 

Or  plucked  off  been  in  a  ragery 

And  so  be  lost,  and  that  were  folly  : 

Take  it  me,  let  me  been  of  it  warden,  275 

For  as  my  life  keep  it  would  I  certain. 

This  Jonathas,  this  innocent  young  man, 

Giving  unto  her  words  full  credence, 

As  youth  not  avised  best  be  can, 

The  ring  her  took  of  his  insipience.  280 

When  this  was  done  the  heat  and  the  fervence 
Of  love  which  he  beforn  had  purchased, 
Was  quench'd,  and  love's  knot  was  unlaced. 

Men  of  their  gifts  to  stint  began. 

Ah,  thought  he,  for  the  ring  I  not  ne  bear,  285 

Faileth  my  love  ;  fetch  me,  woman, 

Said  he,  my  ring :  anon  I  will  it  wear. 

She  rose,  and  into  chamber  dresseth  her, 
And  when  she  therein  had  been  a  while, 
Alas,  quoth  she,  out  on  falsehood  and  guile,      290 

The  chest  is  broken,  and  the  ring  take  out. 

And  when  he  heard  her  complaint  and  cry, 

He  was  astonied  sore,  and  made  a  shout, 

And  said  :  Cursed  be  the  day  that  I 

Thee  met  first,  or  with  mine  eyne  sy.  295 

273. — Ragery,  wantonness.  275. —  Take,  give. 

280. — Insipience,  folly.  288. — Dresseth,  approacheth. 
293. — Astonied,  astounded. 
VOL.    II.  H 


98  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

She  wept  and  showed  outward  chere  of  woe, 
But  in  her  heart  was  it  nothing  so. 


The  ring  was  safe  enough,  and  in  her  chest 

It  was  ;  all  that  she  said  was  leasing, 

As  some  woman  other  while  at  best  300 

Can  lie  and  weep  when  is  her  liking. 

This  man  saw  her  woe,  and  said  :  Dearling, 

Weep  no  more,  God's  help  is  nigh. 

To  him  unwist  how  false  she  was  and  sly. 

He  twined  thence,  and  home  to  his  countree          305 
Unto  his  mother  the  straight  way  he  went ; 
And  when  she  saw  thither  comen  was  he, 
My  son,  quoth  she,  what  was  thine  intent 
Thee  fro  the  school  now  to  absent  ? 

What  caused  thee  fro  school  hither  to  hie  ?         310 
Mother,  right  this,  said  he,  nat  would  I  lie. 

Forsooth,  mother,  my  ring  is  agoe. 

My  paramour  to  keep  I  betook  it, 

And  it  is  lost,  for  which  I  am  full  woe ; 

Sorrowfully  unto  mine  heart  it  sit.  315 

Son,  often  have  I  warned  thee,  and  yet 

For  thy  profit  I  warn  thee,  my  son, 
•  Unhonest  women  thou  hereafter  shun. 


296. — CJiere,  countenance.  290. — Leasing,  lying. 

304. — Utvuiiit,  unknown.  305. — Twined,  departed. 


Eel.  I.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  99 

Thy  brooch  anon  right  woll  I  to  thee  fet. 

She  brought  it  him,  and  charged  him  full  deep      320 

When  he  it  took,  and  on  his  breast  he  it  set, 

Bet  than  his  ring  he  should  it  keep, 

Lest  he  the  loss  bewail  should  and  weep. 

To  the  university,  shortly  to  sain, 

In  what  he  could,  he  hasted  him  again.  325 

And  when  he  comen  was,  his  paramour 

Him  met  anon,  and  unto  her  him  took, 

As  that  he  did  erst,  this  young  revelour  ; 

Her  company  he  nat  a  deal  forsook, 

Though  he  cause  had,  but  as  with  the  hook  330 

Of  her  sleight  he  beforn  was  caught  and  hent, 
Right  so  he  was  deceived  oft  and  blent. 

And  as  through  virtue  of  the  ring  before 

Of  good  he  had  abundance  and  plentee, 

While  it  was  with  him,  or  he  had  it  lore  :  335 

Right  so  through  virtue  of  the  brooch  had  he 

What  good  him  list.    She  thought,  How  may  this  be  ? 

Some  privy  thing  now  causeth  this  richesse, 

As  did  the  ring  herebefore,  I  guess. 

Wond'ring  hereon,  she  pray'd  him,  and  besought  340 
Busily  night  and  clay,  that  tell  he  would 

319. — Fet,  fetch.  322. — Bet,  better. 

331. — Hent,  seized.  332.— Blent,  blind 

335. — Lore,  lost. 

H  2 


ioo          THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  I. 

The  cause  of  this  ;  but  he  another  thought : 
He  meant  it  close  for  him  it  kept  be  should, 
And  a  long  time  it  was  or  he  it  told. 

She  wept  aye  too  and  too,  and  said  :  Alas,         345 
The  time  and  hour  that  ever  I  born  was ! 

Trust  ye  not  on  me,  sir  ?  she  said, 

Lever  me  were  be  slain  in  this  place 

By  that  good  Lord  that  for  us  all  died, 

Than  purpose  again  you  any  fallace  ;  350 

Unto  you  would  I  be  my  live's  space 
As  true  as  any  woman  in  earth  is 
Unto  a  man  ;  doubteth  nothing  of  this. 

Small  may  she  do,  that  cannot  well  byheet, 
Though  not  performed  be  such  a  promesse.  355 

This  Jonathas  thought  her  words  so  sweet, 
That  he  was  drunk  of  the  pleasant  sweetness 
Of  them,  and  of  his  foolish  tenderness 
Thus  unto  her  he  spake  and  said  tho  : 
Be  of  good  comfort,  why  weepest  thou  so  ?         360 

And  she  thereto  answered  thus  sobbing  : 

Sir,  quoth  she,  my  heaviness  and  dreed 

Is  this  ;  1  am  adread  of  the  leesing 

Of  your  brooch,  as  Almighty  God  forbeed 

It  happen  so.     Now  what,  so  God  thee  speed,       365 

348. — Lever,  rather.  350. — Fallace,  deceit. 

354-  —Byheet,  pledge,  engage.      359.— 7Vi<7,  then. 
363. — Leesing,  losing. 


Eel.  i.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  101 

Said  he,  wouldest  thou  in  this  case  counsail  ? 
Quoth  she,  that  I  keep  it  might  sans  fail. 

He  said  :  I  have  a  fear  and  dread  algate, 

If  I  so  did  thou  wouldst  it  leese 

As  thou  lostest  my  ring,  now  gone  but  late. 

First  God  pray  I,  quoth  she,  that  I  not  chese,       °'° 

But  that  my  heart  as  the  cold  frost  may  freeze, 

Or  else  be  it  brent  with  wild  fire  : 

Nay,  surely  it  to  keep  is  my  desire. 

To  her  words  credence  he  gave  pleneer,  375 

And  the  brooch  took  her,  and  after  anon, 
Whereas  he  was  beforn  full  leefe  and  cheer 
To  folk,  and  had  good,  all  was  gone. 
Good  and  friendship  him  lacked,  there  was  none. 
Woman,  me  fetch  the  brooch,  quoth  he  ;  swythee 
Into  thy  chamber  for  it  go  ;  hie  thee.  [380 

She  into  chamber  went,  as  then  he  bad, 

But  she  not  brought  that  he  sent  her  for  ; 

She  meant  it  nat ;  but  as  she  had  be  mad 

Her  clothes  hath  she  all  to  rent  and  tore,  385 

And  cried,  alas,  the  brooch  away  is  bore, 

For  which  I  wole  anon  right  with  my  knife 

Myself  slay  :  I  :im  weary  of  my  life. 

368. — Algafe,  nevertheless.  371. — C/iese,  choose. 

375. — Pleneer,  full.  380. — Swytltee,  quickly. 


102          THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.      [Eel.  r. 

This  noise  he  heard,  and  blive  he  to  her  ran, 
Weening  she  would  han  done  as  she  spake,  390 

And  the  knife  in  all  haste  that  he  can 
From  her  took,  and  threw  it  behind  his  back, 
And  said  :  ne  for  the  loss,  ne  for  the  lack 

Of  the  brooch,  sorrow  not ;  I  forgive  all ; 

I  trust  in  God,  that  yet  us  help  he  shall.  395 

To  th'emperess  his  mother  this  young  man 

Again  him  dresseth  :  he  went  her  unto, 

And  when  she  saw  him,  she  to  wonder  'gan  ; 

She  thought,  now  somewhat  there  is  misdo, 

And  said,  I  dread  thy  jewels  two  400 

Been  lost  now,  percase  the  brooch  with  the  ring. 

Mother,  he  said,  yea,  by  heaven  King. 

Son,  thou  wotst  well  no  jewel  is  left 

Unto  thee  now,  but  the  cloth  precious 

Which  I  thee  take  shall,  thee  charging  eft  405 

The  company  of  women  riotous 

Thou  flee,  lest  it  be  to  thee  so  grievous 

That  thou  it  nat  sustain  shalt  ne  bear ; 

Such  company  on  my  blessing  forbear. 

The  cloth  she  fet,  and  it  hath  him  take,  410 

And  of  his  lady  his  mother  his  leave 

389. — Blive,  quickly.  393. — Ne,  nor. 

405. — £/t,  again. 


Eel.  i.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  103 

He  took  ;  but  first  this  forward  'gan  he  make  : 
Mother,  said  he,  trusteth  this  weel  and  leeve, 
That  I  shall  seyn,  for  sooth  ye  shall  it  preeve, 

If  I  leese  this  cloth,  never  I  your  face  415 

Henceforth  see  wole,  ne  you  pray  of  grace. 

With  God's  help  I  -shall  do  well  ynow. 

Her  blessing  he  took,  and  to  study  is  go  j 

And  as  beforn  told  have  I  unto  you, 

His  paramour,  his  privy  mortal  foe,  420 

Was  wont  to  meet  him,  right  even  so 

She  did  then,  and  made  him  pleasant  cheer. 

They  clip  and  kiss  and  walk  homeward  in  feere. 

When  they  were  enter'd  in  the  house,  he  sprad 

This  cloth  upon  the  ground,  and  thereon  sit,          425 

And  bade  his  paramour,  this  woman  bad, 

To  sit  also  by  him  adown  on  it. 

She  doth  as  he  commandeth  and  bit ; 

Had  she  this  thought  and  virtue  of  the  cloth 
Wist,  to  han  set  on  it  had  she  been  loth.  430 

She  for  a  while  was  full  sore  affesed. 

This  Jonathas  wish  in  his  heart  'gan  : 

Would  God  that  I  might  thus  been  eased, 

That  as  on  this  cloth  I  and  this  woman 

Sit  here,  as  far  were,  as  that  never  man  435 

413.— Leeve,  believe.  428.—  Bit,  biddeth. 

it,  frightened. 


104  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.      [Eel.  I. 

Or  this  came  ;  and  unneth  had  he  so  thought, 
But  they  with  the  cloth  thither  weren  brought 

Right  to  the  world's  end,  as  that  it  were. 
When  apperceived  had  she  this,  she  cried, 
As  though  she  through  girt  had  be  with  a  spear.    440 
Harrow  !  alas  1  that  ever  shop  this  tide  ! 
How  came  we  hither?     Nay,  he  said,  abide, 
Worse  is  coming  ;  here  sole  wole  I  thee  leave, 
Wild  beasts  shallen  thee  devour  or  eve. 

For  thou  my  ring  and  brooch  hast  from  me  holden. 

O  reverent  sir  !  have  upon  me  pitee,  [445 

Quoth  she,  if  ye  this  grace  do  me  wolden, 

As  bring  me  home  again  to  the  citee 

Where  as  I  this  day  was,  but  if  that  ye 

Them  have  again,  of  foul  death  do  me  die  :       450 
Your  bounty  on  me  kythe,  I  mercy  cry. 

This  Jonathas  could  nothing  beware, 

Ne  take  en  sample  of  the  deceits  twain 

That  she  did  him  beforn,  but  faith  him  bare, 

And  her  he  commanded  on  death's  pain  455 

Fro  such  offences  thenceforth  her  restrain. 

She  swore,  and  made  thereto  forward  ; 

But  heark'neth  how  she  bore  her  afterward. 

436.— Or,  before.         Unneth,  scarcely. 
443.— Sole,  alone.  447-  —  Wolden,  will. 

451.— Kythe,  bestow. 


Eel.  I.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  105 

When  she  saw  and  knew  that  the  wrath  and  ire 
That  he  to  her  had  borne  was  gone  and  past,        460 
And  all  was  well,  she  thought  him  eft  to  fire, 
In  her  malice  aye  stood  she  stedfast, 
And  to  inquire  of  him  was  not  agast 

In  so  short  time  how  that  it  might  be 

That  they  came  thither  out  of  her  countree.       465 

Such  virtue  hath  this  cloth  on  which  we  sit, 

Said  he,  that  where  in  this  world  us  be  list 

Suddenly  with  the  thought  shallen  thither  flit, 

And  how  thither  come  unto  us  unwist, 

As  thing  fro  far  unknown  in  the  mist.  470 

And  therewith  to  this  woman  fraudulent, 

To  sleep,  he  said,  have  I  good  talent. 

Let  see,  quoth  he,  stretch  out  anon  thy  lap, 

In  which  wole  I  my  head  down  lay  and  rest. 

So  was  it  done,  and  he  anon  'gan  nap.  475 

Nap  ?  nay,  he  slept  right  well  at  best. 

What  doth  this  woman,  one  the  ficklest 
Of  women  all,  but  that  cloth  that  lay 
Under  him,  she  drew  lyte  and  lyte  away. 

When  she  it  had  all  :  would  God,  quoth  she,        480 
I  were  as  I  was  this  day  morning  ! 

463. — Agast,  afraid.  472. — Talent,  inclination. 

W^.—Lyte  and  lyte,  by  little  and  little. 


106          THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  I. 

And  therewith  this  root  of  iniquitee 
Had  her  wish,  and  sole  left  him  there  sleeping. 
O  Jonathas  !  like  to  thy  perishing 
Art  thou,  thy  paramour  made  hath  thy  beard  ;  485 
When  thou  wakest  cause  hast  thou  to  be  ferd. 

But  thou  shalt  do  full  well ;  thou  shalt  obteen 
Victory  on  her  ;  thou  hast  done  some  deed, 
Pleasant  to  thy  mother,  well  can  I  ween, 
For  which  our  Lord  quite  shall  thy  meed,  490 

And  thee  deliver  out  of  thy  woful  dreed. 

The  child  whom  that  the  mother  useth  bless, 

Full  often  sythe  is  eased  in  distress. 

When  he  awoke,  and  neither  he  ne  fond 

Woman  ne  cloth,  he  wept  bitterly,  495 

And  said,  Alas  !  now  is  there  in  no  lond 

Man  worse  I  know  begon  than  am  I. 

On  every  side  his  look  he  cast,  and  sy 

Nothing  but  birds  in  the  air  flying, 

And  wild  beasts  about  him  renning.  5°° 

Of  whose  sight  he  full  sore  was  agrysed. 

He  thought,  all  this  well  deserved  I  have. 

What  ail'd  me  to  be  so  evil  avised, 

That  my  counsel  could  I  nat  keep  and  save  ? 

Who  can  fool  play  ?  who  can  mad  and  rave  ?         5°5 

485. — Jl Tnde  hath  thy  beard,  i.e.,  undone  thee. 
486. — Ferd,  terrified.  493. — Sythe,  time. 

500.—  Renning,  running.         501. — Agrysed,  terrified. 


Eel.  i.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.          107 

But  he  that  to  a  woman  his  secree 
Discovereth  :  the  smart  cleaveth  now  on  me. 

He  thus  departeth  as  God  would  harmless, 

And  forth  of  adventure  his  way  is  went, 

But  whitherward  he  draw,  he  conceitless  510 

Was  ;  he  nat  knew  to  what  place  he  was  bent. 

lie  pass'd  a  water  which  was  so  fervent 

That  flesh  upon  his  feet  left  it  him  none, 

All  clean  was  departed  from  the  bone. 

It  shop  so  that  he  had  a  little  glass,  515 

Which  with  that  water  anon  filled  he, 
And  when  he  further  in  his  way  gone  was, 
Before  him  he  beheld  and  saw  a  tree 
That  fair  fruit  bore,  and  in  great  plentee  : 

He  ate  thereof,  the  taste  him  liked  well,  520 

But  he  there-through  became  a  foul  mesel. 

For  which  unto  the  ground  for  sorrow  and  woe 

He  fell,  and  said,  cursed  be  that  day 

That  I  was  born,  and  time  and  hour  also 

That  my  mother  conceived  me,  for  aye  525 

Now  am  I  lost ;  alas  and  well  away  ! 

And  when  some  deal  slaked  his  heaviness, 
lie  rose,  and  on  his  way  he  'gan  him  dress. 

Another  water  before  him  he  sy, 

Which  sore  to  comen  in  he  was  adrad  :  53° 

512. — Fervent,  hot  521.—  Mesel,  leper. 


loS  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

But  nathless,  since  thereby  other  way 
Ne  about  it  there  could  none  be  had, 
lie  thought,  so  streitly  am  I  bestad, 

That  though  it  sore  me  affese  or  gast, 

Assoil  it  wole  I ;  and  through  it  he  pass'd.         535 

And  right  as  the  first  water  his  flesh 
Departed  from  his  feet,  so  the  second 
Restored  it,  and  made  all  whole  and  fresh  : 
And  glad  was  he,  and  joyful  that  stownd 
When  he  felt  his  feet  whole  were  and  sound  :        540 
A  vial  of  the  water  of  that  brook 
He  fill'd,  and  fruit  of  the  tree  with  him  took. 

Forth  his  journey  this  Jonathas  held, 

And  as  he  his  look  about  him  cast, 

Another  tree  from  afar  he  beheld,  545 

To  which  he  hasted,  and  him  hied  fast. 

Hungry  he  was,  and  of  the  fruit  he  thrast 
Into  his  mouth,  and  ate  of  it  sadly, 
And  of  the  lepry  he  purged  was  thereby. 

Of  that  fruit  more  he  raught,  and  thence  is  gone  ; 
And  a  fair  castle  from  afar  saw  he,  [55° 


531. — Nathless,  none  the  less,  never  the  less. 
534.  —  Gast,  terrify.  535. — Assoil,  attempt. 

539. — Stoivnd,  moment.  547. —  Thrast,  thrust. 

548. — Sadly,  heavily,  heartily.     549. — Lepry,  leprosy. 
550. — Raught,  plucked. 


Eel.  i.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  109 

In  compass  of  which  heads  many  one 
Of  men  there  hung,  as  he  might  well  see 
But  not  for  that  he  shun  would  or  flee  ; 

He  thither  him  dresseth  the  straight  way  555 

In  that  ever  that  he  can  or  may. 

Walking  so,  two  men  came  him  again, 
And  saiden  thus  :  Dear  friend,  we  you  pray 
What  man  be  ye  ?     Sirs,  quoth  he,  certain 
A  leech  I  am,  and  though  myself  it  say,  560 

Can  for  the  health  of  sick  folks  well  purvey. 
They  said  him  :  Of  yonder  castle  the  king 
A  leper  is,  and  can  whole  be  for  nothing. 

With  him  there  hath  been  many  a  sundry  leech 
That  undertook  him  well  to  cure  and  heal  565 

On  pain  of  their  heads,  but  all  to  seech 
Their  art  was  ;  'ware  that  thou  not  with  him  deal, 
But  if  thou  canst  the  charter  of  health  enseal, 

Lest  that  thou  leese  thy  head,  as  didden  they  ; 

But  thou  be  wise  :  thou  find  it  shall  no  play.     570 

Sirs,  said  he,  you  thank  I  of  your  reed, 

For  gently  ye  han  you  to  me  quit  : 

But  I  nat  dread  to  lose  mine  heed, 

By  God's  help  full  safe  keep  I  will  it ; 

God  of  his  grace  such  cunning  and  wit  575 

561.— Purvey,  provide.  566.—  Seech,  seek. 

yii.-Recd,  advice.  572-— (?*'',  acquitted. 


no  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

Hath  lent  me,  that  I  hope  I  shall  him  cure. 
Full  well  dare  I  me  put  in  aventure. 

They  to  the  king's  presence  han  him  lad, 

And  him  of  the  fruit  of  the  second  tree 

He  gave  to  eat,  and  bade  him  to  be  glad,  580 

And  said  :  Anon  your  health  han  shall  ye  ; 

Eke  of  the  second  water  him  gave  he 

To  drink,  and  when  he  those  two  had  received, 
His  lepry  from  him  voided  was  and  weived. 

The  king  (as  unto  his  high  dignity  585 

Convenient  was)  gave  him  largely, 
And  to  him  said  :  If  that  it  like  thee 
Abiden  here,  I  more  abundantly 
Thee  give  wole.     My  Lord,  sickerly, 

Quoth  he,  fain  would  I  your  pleasure  fulfil,        590 

And  in  your  high  presence  abide  still. 

But  I  no  while  may  with  you  abide, 

So  mochill  have  I  to  done  elsewhere. 

Jonathas  every  day  to  the  sea-side, 

Which  was  nigh,  went  to  look  and  enquere  595 

If  any  ship  drawing  hither  were 

Which  him  home  to  his  country  lead  might, 

And  on  a  day  of  ships  had  he  sight 

584. —  Weived,  departed.  589. — Sickerly,  certainly. 

593. — Mac/till,  much. 


Eel.  I.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  in 

Well  a  thirty  toward  the  castle  draw, 

And  at  time  of  evensong  they  all  600 

Arriveden,  of  which  he  was  full  faw, 

And  to  the  shipmen  cry  he  'gan  and  call, 

And  said  :  If  it  so  hap  might  and  fall 

That  some  of  you  me  home  to  my  countree 

Me  bring  would,  well  quit  should  he  be.  605 

And  told  them  whither  that  they  shoulden  go. 

One  of  the  shipmen  forth  start  at  last, 

And  to  him  said  :  My  ship  and  no  moe 

Of  them  that  here  been  doth  shop  and  cast 

Thither  to  wend  ;  let  see,  tell  on  fast,  610 

Quoth  the  shipman,  that  thou  for  my  travail 

Me  give  wilt,  if  that  I  thither  sail. 

They  were  accorded.     Jonathas  forth  goeth 

Unto  the  king  to  ask  him  license 

To  twine  thence,  to  which  the  king  was  loth,        615 

And  nathless  with  his  benevolence, 

This  Jonathas  from  his  magnificence 
Departed  is,  and  forth  to  the  shipman 
His  way  he  taketh,  as-swythe  as  he  can. 

Into  the  ship  he  ent'reth,  and  as  blive  620 

As  wind  and  weather  good  shop  to  he, 

6oi.—Faw,  glad.  615.— Twine,  depart. 


112  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

Thither  as  he  purposed  him  arrive 
They  sailed  forth,  and  came  to  the  citee 
In  which  this  serpentine  woman  was  ;  she 

That  had  him  terned  with  false  deceitis,  625 

But  where  no  remedy  followeth,  streit  is. 

Turns  been  quit,  all  be  they  good  or  bad 
Sometime,  though  they  put  been  in  delay. 
But  to  my  purpose.     She  deemed  he  had 
Been  devoured  with  beasts  many  a  day  630 

Gone  ;  she  thought  he  delivered  was  for  aye. 
Folk  of  the  city  knew  not  Jonathas, 
So  many  a  year  was  past  that  he  there  was. 

Misliking  and  thought  changed  eke  his  face. 
Abouten  he  go'th,  and  for  his  dwelling  635 

In  the  city,  he  hired  him  a  place, 
And  therein  exercised  his  cunning 
Of  physic,  to  whom  weren  repairing 

Many  a  sick  wight,  and  all  were  healed. 

Well  was  the  sick  man  that  with  him  dealed.     640 

Now  shop  it  thus  that  this  Fellicula, 

(The  well  of  deceivable  doubleness, 

Follower  of  the  steps  of  Dallida,) 

Was  then  exalted  unto  high  richesse, 

But  she  was  fallen  into  great  sickness  645 

625.—  Tented,  tricked.  643.— Dallida,  Delilah. 

644. — Richesst,  wealth. 


Eel.  i.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  113 

And  heard  sain,  for  not  might  it  been  hid, 
How  masterful  a  leech  he  had  him  kid. 

Messages  solemn  to  him  she  sent, 

Praying  him  to  do  so  mochill  labour 

As  come  and  see  her  ;  and  he  thither  went.  650 

When  he  her  saw,  that  she  his  paramour 

Had  been  he  well  knew,  and  for  that  debtour 

To  her  he  was,  her  he  thought  to  quite 

Or  he  went,  and  no  longer  it  respite. 

But  what  that  he  was,  she  ne  wist  nat.  655 

He  saw  her  urine,  and  eke  felt  her  pous, 
And  said,  The  sooth  is  this  plain  and  flat, 
A  sickness  han  ye  strange  and  marvellous, 
Which  to  avoid  is  wonder  dangerous  : 

To  heal  you  there  is  no  way  but  one.  660 

Leech  in  this  world  other  can  find  none. 

Aviseth  you  whether  you  list  it  take 

Or  not,  for  I  told  have  you  my  wit. 

Ah,  sir,  said  she,  for  God's  sake, 

That  way  me  show,  and  I  shall  follow  it,  665 

Whatever  it  be  :  for  this  sickness  sit 

So  nigh  mine  heart,  that  I  wot  not  how 

Me  to  demean  :  tell  on,  I  pray  yow. 

647. — Kid,  known,  or  made  known.         656. — Pans,  pulse. 

659.  —  Wonder,  wonderful,  extraordinarily. 

662. — Aviscth,  consider.  663. —  Wit,  opinion. 

VOL.    II.  I 


114          THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

Lady,  ye  must  openly  you  confess, 

And  if  against  good  conscience  and  right  670 

Any  good  ban  ye  take  more  or  less, 

Beforn  this  hour,  of  any  manner  wight, 

Yield  it  anon  ;  else  not  in  the  might 

Of  man  is  it  to  give  a  medicine 

That  you  may  heal  of  your  sickness  and  pine.    675 

If  any  such  thing  be,  tell  out  thy  rede, 

And  ye  shall  been  all  whole  I  you  beheet  ; 

Else  mine  art  is  naught,  withouten  drede. 

O  Lord,  she  thought,  health  is  a  thing  full  sweet, 

Therewith  desire  I  sovereignly  to  meet :  680 

Since  I  it  by  confession  may  recover. 

A  fool  am  I  but  I  my  guilt  discover. 

How  falsely  to  the  son  of  th'  Emperor, 
Jonathas,  had  she  done,  before  them  all 
As  ye  han  heard  above,  all  that  error  685 

By  knew  she.     O  Fellicula  thee  call 
Well  may  I  so,  for  of  the  bitter  gall 
Thou  takest  the  beginning  of  thy  name, 
Thou  root  of  malice  and  mirror  of  shame. 

Then  said  Jonathas  :  Where  are  those  three  690 

Jewels,  that  thee  fro  the  clerk  withdrew  ? 


676. — Rede,  confession.  678. — Drede,  doubt. 

691. — Clerk,  scholar. 


Eel.  i.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  115 

Sir,  in  a  coffer  at  my  bed's  feet  ye 

Shall  find  them  ;  open  it,  and  so  pray  I  you. 

He  thought  not  to  make  it  queint  and  tow, 

And  say  nay,  and  strain  courtesy,  695 

But  with  right  good  will  thither  he  'gan  hie. 

The  coffer  he  opened,  and  them  there  fond. 

Who  was  a  glad  man  but  Jonathas  ?  who 

The  ring  upon  a  finger  of  his  hond 

lie  put,  and  the  brooch  on  his  breast  also,  700 

The  cloth  eke  under  his  arm  held  he  tho  ; 

And  to  her  him  dresseth  to  done  his  cure, 

Cure  mortal,  way  to  her  sepulture. 

He  thought  rue  she  should,  and  fore-think 

That  she  her  had  unto  him  misbore ;  705 

And  of  that  water  her  he  gave  to  drink, 

Which  that  his  flesh  from  his  bones  before 

Had  twined,  wherethrough  he  was  almost  lore, 

Nad  he  relieved  been,  as  ye  above 

Han  heard,  and  this  he  did  eke  for  her  love.      710 

Of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  he  gave  her  eat, 
Which  that  him  made  into  the  leper  stert, 
And  as  blive  in  her  womb  'gan  they  fret 

694. — Make  it  queint  and  tow,  make  an  unnecessary  fuss. 
708. — Twined^  twisted  off,  i.e.,  stripped. 
709. — Nad,  ne  had. 

712.— Stert,  leap.  713. — Fret,  gripe. 

I   2 


ii6  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

And  gnaw  so,  that  change  'gan  her  hert 
Now  heark'neth  how  it  her  made  smert :  715 

Her  womb  opened,  and  out  fell  each  entrail 
That  in  her  was,  thus  it  is  said,  sans  fail. 

Thus  wretchedly  (lo)  this  guile-man  died, 

And  Jonathas  with  jewels  three 

No  longer  there  thought  to  abide,  720 

But  home  to  the  empress  his  mother  hasteth  he, 

Whereas  in  joy  and  in  prosperitee 

His  life  led  he  to  his  dying  day ; 

And  so  God  us  grant  that  we  do  may. 


Willie, 

By  my  hook  this  is  a  tale  725 

Would  befit  our  Whitsun-Ale  : 

Better  cannot  be,  I  wist, 

Descant  on  it  he  that  list. 

And  full  gladly  give  I  wold 

The  best  cosset  in  my  fold  730 

And  a  mazor  for  a  fee, 

If  this  song  thou'lt  teachen  me 

718. — Guile-man,  beguiler  of  men. 

726.— Whitsun-Ale,  a  festival  held  at  Whitsuntide  (Brand, 
Pop.  Antiq.,  ed.  Bohn,  i.  276-84). 

730. — Cosset,  hand-reared  lamb. 

731. — Mazor,  mazer,  a  bowl  made  of  maple  and  richly  orna- 
mented. 


Eel.  i.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  117 

'Tis  so  quaint  and  fine  a  lay, 

That  upon  our  revel  day 

If  I  sung  it,  I  might  chance  735 

(For  my  pains)  be  took  to  dance 

With  our  Lady  of  the  May. 


Roget. 

Roget  will  not  say  thee  nay, 

If  thou  deem'st  it  worth  thy  pains. 

'Tis  a  song  not  many  swains  74° 

Singen  can,  and  though  it  be 

Not  so  deck'd  with  nicety 

Of  sweet  words  full  neatly  choosed 

As  are  now  by  shepherds  used  : 

Yet  if  well  you  sound  the  sense,  745 

And  the  moral's  excellence, 

You  shall  find  it  quit  the  while, 

And  excuse  the  homely  style. 

Well  I  wot  the  man  that  first 

Sung  this  lay  did  quench  his  thirst  750 

Deeply  as  did  ever  one 

In  the  Muses'  Helicon. 

Many  times  he  hath  been  seen 

With  the  fairies  on  the  green, 

And  to  them  his  pipe  did  sound,  755 

Whilst  they  danced  in  a  round. 

747- — Quit  the  while,  be  worth  while,  requite  the  pains. 


iiS  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  i. 

Mickle  solace  would  they  make  him, 

And  at  midnight  often  wake  him, 

And  convey  him  from  his  room 

To  a  field  of  yellow  broom  ;  760 

Or  into  the  meadows  where 

Mints  perfume  the  gentle  air, 

And  where  Flora  spends  her  treasure  : 

There  they  would  begin  their  measure. 

If  it  chanc'd  night's  sable  shrouds  765 

Muffled  Cynthia  up  in  clouds, 

Safely  home  they  then  would  see  him, 

And  from  brakes  and  quagmires  free  him. 

There  are  few  such  swains  as  he 

Nowadays  for  harmony.  770 

Willie. 
What  was  he  thou  praisest  thus  ? 

Roget. 

Scholar  unto  Tityrus  : 

Tityrus,  the  bravest  swain 

Ever  li%'ed  on  the  plain, 

Taught  him  how  to  feed  his  lambs,  775 

How  to  cure  them,  and  their  dams  : 

How  to  pitch  the  fold,  and  then 

How  he  should  remove  agen  : 

772.—  Tityms,  a  name  given  to  Chaucer  by  Spenser  and 
others. 


Ed.  i.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  119 

Taught  him  when  the  corn  was  ripe, 

How  to  make  an  oaten  pipe,  780 

How  to  join  them,  how  to  cut  them, 

When  to  open,  when  to  shut  them, 

And  with  all  the  skill  he  had 

Did  instruct  this  willing  lad. 

Willie. 

Happy  surely  was  that  swain  !  7$5 

And  he  was  not  taught  in  vain  : 

Many  a  one  that  prouder  is, 

Han  not  such  a  song  as  this, 

And  have  garlands  for  their  meed, 

That  but  jar  as  Skelton's  reed.  790 

Reget. 

'Tis  too  true  :  but  see  the  sun 

Hath  his  journey  fully  run  ; 

And  his  horses,  all  in  sweat, 

In  the  ocean  cool  their  heat ; 

Sever  we  our  sheep  and  fold  them,          795 

'Twill  be  night  ere  we  have  told  them. 

Thomas  Occleeve,  one  of  the  Privy  Seal,  composed  first  this 
tale,  and  was  never  till  now  imprinted.  As  this  shall 
please,  I  may  be  drawn  to  publish  the  rest  of  his  works, 
being  all  perfect  in  my  hands.  He  wrote  in  Chaucer's 
time. 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  2. 


THE  SECOND   ECLOGUE. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Two  shepherds  here  complain  the  wrong 

Done  by  a  swinish  lout, 
That  brings  his  hogs  their  sheep  among, 

And  spoils  the  plains  throughout. 


WILLIE.  JOCKIE. 

Willie. 

JOCKIE,  say  :  what  might  he  be 
That  sits  on  yonder  hill  ? 

And  tooteth  out  his  notes  of  glee 
So  uncouth  and  so  shrill  ? 

Jackie. 

Notes  of  glee  ?  bad  ones  I  trow  : 
I  have  not  heard  beforn 

One  so  mistook  as  Willie  now : 
"Tis  some  sow-gelder's  horn. 


Eel.  2.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE, 

And  well  thou  asken  might'st  if  I 

Do  know  him,  or  from  whence 
He  comes,  that  to  his  minstrelsy 

Requires  such  patience. 
He  is  a  swinward,  but  I  think 

No  swinward  of  the  best. 
For  much  he  reketh  of  his  swink, 

And  carketh  for  his  rest. 


Willie. 

Harm  take  the  swine  !     What  makes  he  here  ? 

What  luckless  planet's  frowns 
Have  drawn  him  and  his  hogs  in  feere 

To  root  our  daisied  downs  ?  20 

111  mote  he  thrive  !  and  may  his  hogs, 

And  all  that  e'er  they  breed, 
Be  ever  worried  by  our  dogs 

For  so  presumptuous  deed. 
Why  kept  he  not  among  the  fens,  25 

Or  in  the  copses  by, 
Or  in  the  woods  and  braky  glens, 

Where  haws  and  acorns  lie  ? 
About  the  ditches  of  the  town 

Or  hedgerows  he  might  bring  them.  30 


13. — Swinward,  swineherd. 

15.—  Reketh,  taketh  heed.  Swink,  work. 

16. — Carketh,  is  careful.  19. — In  feere,  together. 


122  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  2. 

Jackie. 
But  then  some  pence  'twould  cost  the  clown 

To  yoke  and  eke  to  ring  them  ; 
And  well  I  ween  he  loves  no  cost 

But  what  is  for  his  back  : 
To  go  full  gay  him  pleaseth  most,  35 

And  lets  his  belly  lack. 
Two  suits  he  hath,  the  one  of  blue, 

The  other  home-spun  grey  : 
And  yet  he  means  to  make  a  new 

Against  next  revel  day  ;  40 

And  though  our  May-lord  at  the  feast 

Seem'd  very  trimly  clad, 
In  cloth  by  his  own  mother  dress'd, 

Yet  comes  not  near  this  lad. 
His  bonnet  neatly  on  his  head,  45 

With  button  on  the  top, 
His  shoes  with  strings  of  leather  red, 

And  stocking  to  his  slop. 
And  yet  for  all  it  comes  to  pass, 

He  not  our  gibing  'scapes  :  50 

Some  like  him  to  a  trimmed  ass, 

And  some  to  Jackanapes. 

Willie. 
It  seemeth  then,  by  what  is  said, 

That  Jockie  knows  the  boor  ; 
I  would  my  scrip  and  hook  have  laid  55 

Thou  knew'st  him  not  before. 


Eel.  2.]       THE  SHEPHERD 'S  PIPE.  123 

Jackie. 

Sike  loathed  chance  by  fortune  fell 

(If  fortune  ought  can  do)  : 
Not  kend  him  ?     Yes,  I  ken  him  well, 

And  sometime  paid  for't  too.  60 

Willie. 

Would  Jockie  ever  stoop  so  low, 

As  conissance  to  take 
Of  sike  a  churl  ?     Full  well  I  know, 

No  nymph  of  spring  or  lake, 
No  herdess,  nor  no  shepherd's  girl,  65 

But  fain  would  sit  by  thee, 
And  sea-nymphs  offer  shells  of  pearl 

For  thy  sweet  melody. 
The  satyrs  bring  thee  from  the  woods 

The  strawberry  for  hire,  70 

And  all  the  first  fruits  of  the  buds 

To  woo  thee  to  their  quire. 
Silvanus'  songsters  learn  thy  strain, 

For  by  a  neighbour  spring 
The  nightingale  records  again  75 

What  thou  dost  primely  sing. 
Nor  canst  thou  tune  a  madrigal, 

Or  any  dreary  moan, 


57. — Sike,  such.  62. — Conissance,  recognition. 

76. — Primely,  in  the  first  instance. 


124  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  2. 

15ut  nymphs,  or  swains,  or  birds,  or  all 

Permit  thee  not  alone.  So 

And  yet  (as  though  devoid  of  these) 
Canst  thou  so  low  decline, 

As  leave  the  lovely  naiades 
For  one  that  keepeth  swine  ? 

But  how  befell  it  ? 

Jockie. 

T  other  day,  85 

As  to  the  field  I  set  me, 
Near  to  the  Maypole  on  the  way 

This  sluggish  swinward  met  me. 
And  seeing  Weptol  with  him  there, 

Our  fellow-swain  and  friend,  90 

I  bade  good  day,  so  on  did  fare 

To  my  proposed  end. 
But  as  back  from  my  wint'ring  ground 

I  came  the  way  before, 
This  rude  groom  all  alone  I  found  95 

Stand  by  the  ale-house  door. 
There  was  no  nay,  but  I  must  in 

And  taste  a  cup  of  ale  ; 
Where  on  his  pot  he  did  begin 

To  stammer  out  a  tale.  loo 

lie  told  me  how  he  much  desir'd 

Th'  acquaintance  of  us  swains, 

95. — Groom,  fellow. 


Eel.  2.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  125 

And  from  the  forest  was  retir'd 

To  graze  upon  our  plains  : 
But  for  what  cause  I  cannot  tell,  105 

He  can  nor  pipe  nor  sing, 
Nor  knows  he  how  to  dig  a  well, 

Nor  neatly  dress  a  spring  : 
Nor  knows  a  trap  nor  snare  to  till, 

He  sits  as  in  a  dream  ;  no 

Nor  scarce  hath  so  much  whistling  skill 

Will  hearten-on  a  team. 
Well,  we  so  long  together  were, 

I  'gan  to  haste  away  ; 
He  licens'd  me  to  leave  him  there,  115 

And  gave  me  leave  to  pay. 

Willie. 

Done  like  a  swinward  !  may  you  all 

That  close  with  such  as  he, 
Be  used  so  !  that  gladly  fall 

Into  like  company.  120 

But  if  I  fail  not  in  mine  art, 

I'll  send  him  to  his  yard, 
And  make  him  from  our  plains  depart 

With  all  his  dirty  herd. 
I  wonder  he  hath  suffer'd  been  125 

Upon  our  common  here  ; 

108.-  Spring,  a  young  tree  or  wood.  109.— Till,  set. 

112. — Hearten-on,  encourage. 


126  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  2. 

His  hogs  do  root  our  younger  trees, 

And  spoil  the  smelling  breer. 
Our  purest  wells  they  wallow  in, 

All  overspread  with  dirt,  130 

Nor  will  they  from  our  arbours  lin, 

But  all  our  pleasures  hurt. 
Our  curious  benches  that  we  build 

Beneath  a  shady  tree, 
Shall  be  o'erthrown,  or  so  defil'd  135 

As  we  would  loath  to  see. 
Then  join  we,  Jockie  ;  for  the  rest 

Of  all  our  fellow-swains, 
I  am  assur'd,  will  do  their  best 

To  rid  him  fro  our  plains.  140 

Jockie. 

What  is  in  me  shall  never  fail 

To  forward  such  a  deed. 
And  sure,  I  think,  we  might  prevail 

By  some  satiric  reed. 

Willie. 
If  that  will  do,  I  know  a  lad  145 

Can  hit  the  master-vein. 
But  let  us  home,  the  skies  are  sad, 

And  clouds  distil  in  rain. 

128.— Breer,  briar.  151. -Lin,  desist,  refrain. 


Eel.  3.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.          127 


THE    THIRD    ECLOGUE. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Old  Neddy's  poverty  they  moan, 
Who  whilom  was  a  swain 

That  had  more  sheep  himself  alone, 
Than  ten  upon  the  plain. 


PIERS.          THOMALIN. 

Thomalin. 

WHERE  is  every  piping  lad 
That  the  fields  are  not  yclad 

With  their  milk-white  sheep  ? 
Tell  me  :  is  it  holiday, 
Or  if  in  the  month  of  May 

Use  they  long  to  sleep  ? 

Piers. 

Thomalin,  'tis  not  too  late, 
For  the  turtle  and  her  mate 
Sitten  yet  in  nest : 


128  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  3. 

And  the  thrustle  hath  not  been  10 

Gath'ring  worms  yet  on  the  green, 

But  attends  her  rest. 
Not  a  bird  hath  taught  her  young, 
Nor  her  morning's  lesson  sung 

In  the  shady  grove  :  15 

But  the  nightingale  in  dark 
Singing  woke  the  mounting  lark  : 

She  records  her  love. 
Not  the  sun  hath  with  his  beams 
Gilded  yet  our  crystal  streams  ;  20 

Rising  from  the  sea, 
Mists  do  crown  the  mountains'  tops, 
And  each  pretty  myrtle  drops  : 

'Tis  but  newly  day. 

Yet  see,  yonder  (though  unwist)  25 

Some  man  cometh  in  the  mist ; 

Hast  thou  him  beheld  ? 
See  he  crosseth  o'er  the  land 
With  a  dog  and  staff  in  hand, 

Limping  for  his  eld.  30 

Thomalin. 

Yes,  I  see  him,  and  do  know  him,- 
And  we  all  do  rev'rence  owe  him, 

'Tis  the  aged  sire 
Neddy,  that  was  wont  to  make 

*  The  Mid-  gucj,  great  feasting  at  the  wake,  35 

summer  fires 

are  termed  so  And  the  blessing-fire.* 

parts  of  Eng-  &-— Blessing-fire.     Cf.  Brand,  Pop.  Antiy.,  ed.   Bohn,  i.  306 
land. 


Eel.  3.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  129 

Good  old  man  !  see  how  he  walks 

4 

Painful  and  among  the  balks, 

Picking  locks  of  wool ! 
I  have  known  the  day  when  he  40 

Had  as  much  as  any  three, 

When  their  lofts  were  full. 
Underneath  yond  hanging  rocks 
All  the  valley  with  his  flocks 

Was  whilom  overspread  :  45 

He  had  milch-goats  without  peers, 
Well-hung  kine,  and  fatten'd  steers 

Many  hundred  head. 
Wilkin's  cote  his  dairy  was, 
For  a  dwelling  it  may  pass  50 

With  the  best  in  town. 
Curds  and  cream  with  other  cheer 
Have  I  had  there  in  the  year 

For  a  greeny  gown. 

Lasses  kept  it,  as  again  55 

Were  not  fitted  on  the  plain 

For  a  lusty  dance  : 
And  at  parting,  home  would  take  us, 
Flawns  or  syllabubs  to  make  us 

For  our  jouisance.  60 

And  though  some  in  spite  would  tell, 
Yet  old  Neddy  took  it  well  ; 

Bidding  us  again 

59. — Flawns,  custards.        do.— Jouisance,  enjoyirent. 
VOL.    II.  K 


130          THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  3. 

Never  at  his  cote  be  strange  : 
Unto  him  that  wrought  this  change,          65 
Mickle  be  the  pain  ! 

Piers. 

What  disaster,  Thomalin, 
This  mischance  hath  cloth'd  him  in, 

Quickly  tellen  me. 

Rue  I  do  his  state  the  more,  7° 

That  lie  clipped  heretofore 

Some  felicity. 

Han  by  night  accursed  thieves 
Slain  his  lambs,  or  stol'n  his  beeves, 

Or  consuming  fire  75 

Brent  his  shearing-house,  or  stall  ; 
Or  a  deluge  drowned  all, 

Tell  me  it  entire  ? 
Have  the  winters  been  so  set 
To  rain  and  snow,  they  have  wet  So 

All  his  driest  lair  : 
By  which  means  his  sheep  have  got 
Such  a  deadly,  cureless  rot, 

That  none  living  are  ? 

Thomalin. 

Neither  waves,  nor  thieves,  nor  fire,          85 
Nor  have  rots  impoor'd  this  sire  ; 
Suretyship,  nor  yet 

73. — Han,  have.  74. — Beeves,  oxen. 

86. — Impoor'd,  impoverished. 


Eel.  3.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  131 

Was  the  usurer  helping  on 
With  his  damn'd  extortion, 

Nor  the  chains  of  debt.  90 

But  deceit  that  ever  lies 
Strongest  arm'd  for  treacheries 

In  a  bosom'd  friend  : 
That  (and  only  that)  hath  brought  it : 
Cursed  be  the  head  that  wrought  it,  95 

And  the  basest  end  ! 
Grooms  he  had,  and  he  did  send  them 
With  his  herds  a-field,  to  tend  lliem. 

Had  they  further  been  ! 
Sluggish,  lazy,  thriftless  elves;  100 

Sheep  had  better  kept  themselves 

From  the  foxes'  teen. 
Some  would  kill  their  sheep,  and  then 
Bring  their  master  home  agen 

Nothing  but  the  skin  ;  105 

Telling  him,  how  in  the  morn 
In  the  fold  they  found  them  torn, 

And  ne'er  lying  lin. 
If  they  went  unto  the  fair 
With  a  score  of  fatten'd  ware,  1 10 

And  did  chance  to  sell, 
If  old  Neddy  had  again 
Half  his  own,  I  dare  well  sain, 

That  but  seldom  fell. 

102. —  Teen,  violence.  lo&.—Lln,  cease.' 

2 


132  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  3. 

They  at  their  return  would  say,  115 

Such  a  man  or  such  would  pay, 

.    Well  known  of  your  hyne. 
Alas,  poor  man  !  that  subtle  knave 
Undid  him,  and  vaunts  it  brave, 

Though  his  master  pine.  120 

Of  his  master  he  would  beg 
Such  a  lamb  that  broke  his  leg ; 

And  if  there  were  none, 
To  the  fold  by  night  he'd  hie, 
And  them  hurt  full  ruefully  125 

Or  with  staff  or  stone. 
He  would  have  petitions  new, 
And  for  desp'rate  debts  would  sue 

Neddy  had  forgot : 

He  would  grant  :  the  other  then  130 

Tears  from  poor  and  aged  men  : 

Or  in  jails  they  rot. 
Neddy,  lately  rich  in  store, 
Giving  much,  deceived  more, 

On  a  sudden  fell ;  135 

Then  the  steward  lent  him  gold, 
Yet  no  more  than  might  be  told 

.   Worth  his  master's  cell. 
That  is  gone,  and  all  beside 
(Well-a-day,  alack  the  tide) !  140 

In  a  hollow  den 

17. — Hyne,  hind,  used  in  Devonshire  and  Cornwall  for  a 
bailiff  or  upper  farm-servant. 


Eel.  3.].      THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  133 

Underneath  yond  gloomy  wood 
Wons  he  now,  and  wails  the  brood 
Of  ingrateful  men. 

Piers. 

But,  alas  1  now  he  is  old,  145 

Bit  with  hunger,  nipp'd  with  cold. 

What  is  left  him, 
Or  to  succour  or  relieve  him, 
Or  from  wants  oft  to  reprieve  him  ? 

Thomalin. 

All's  bereft  him,  150 

Save  he  hath  a  little  crowd, 
He  in  youth  was  of  it  proud, 
And  a  dog  to  dance  : 
With  them  he  on  holidays 
In  the  farmers' houses  plays  J55 

For  his  sustenance. 

Piers. 

See  ;  he's  near,  let's  rise  and  meet  him, 
And  with  dues  to  old  age  greet  him  ; 
It  is  fitting  so, 

Thomalin. 

'Tis  a  motion  good  and  sage.  160 

Honour  still  is  due  to  age  : 
Up,  and  let  us  go. 

143.  —  Wons,  dwells.  151.  -Crowd,  fiddle. 


1,34  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  4. 


THE   FOURTH   ECLOGUE. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

In  this  the  Author  bewails  the  death  of  one  whom  he 
shadoweth  under  the  name  of  Philarete,  compounded  of  the 
Greek  words  <#>i'Aos  and  aperrj,  a  lover  of  virtue,  a  name  well 
befitting  him  to  whose  memory  these  lines  are  consecrated, 
being  sometime  his  truly  loved  (and  now  as  much  lamented) 
friend  Mr.  Thomas  Manwood,  son  to  the  worthy  Sir  Peter 
Manwood,  knight. 


UNDER  an  aged  oak  was  Willie  laid, 
Willie,  the  lad  who  whilom  made  the  rocks 
To  ring  with  joy,  whilst  on  his  pipe  he  play'd, 
And  from  their  masters  woo'd  the  neighb'ring  flocks  : 
But  now  o'ercome  with  dolours  deep  5 

That  nigh  his  heart-strings  rent, 
Ne  car'd  he  for  his  silly  sheep, 

Ne  car'd  for  merriment. 
But  chang'd  his  wonted  walks 

For  uncouth  paths  unknown,  1C 

Where  none  but  trees  might  hear  his  plaints, 
And  echo  rue  his  moan. 


Eel.  4.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  135 

Autumn  it  was  when  droop'd  the  sweetest  flow'rs, 
And  rivers,  swoll'n  with  pride,  o'erlook'd  the  banks  ; 
Poor  grew  the  day  of  summer's  golden  hours,  1 5 

And  void  of  sap  stood  Ida's  cedar-ranks. 
The  pleasant  meadows  sadly  lay 

In  chill  and  cooling  sweats 
By  rising  fountains,  or  as  they 

Fear'd  winter's  wastfull  threats.  20 

Against  the  broad-spread  oak, 

Each  wind  in  fury  bears  ; 
Yet  fell  their  leaves  not  half  so  fast 
As  did  the  shepherd's  tears. 

As  was  his  seat,  so  was  his  gentle  heart,  25 

Meek  and  dejected,  but  his  thoughts  as  high 
As  those  aye-wand'ring  lights,  who  both  impart 
Their  beams  on  us,  and  heaven  still  beautify. 
Sad  was  his  look  (O,  heavy  fate  ! 

That  swain  should  be  so  sad,  30 

Whose  merry  notes  the  forlorn  mate 

With  greatest  pleasure  clad,) 
Broke  was  his  tuneful  pipe 

That  charm'd  the  crystal  floods, 
And  thus  his  grief  took  airy  wings  35 

And  flew  about  the  woods. 

Day,  thou  art  too  officious  in  thy  place, 
And  night  too  sparing  of  a  wished  stay. 

20.— Wastfull,  devastating. 


136  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.      [Eel.  4. 

Ye  wand'ring  lamps,  O  be  ye  fix'd  a  space  ! 
Some  other  hemisphere  grace  with  your  ray.  40 

Great  Phoebus  !  Daphne  is  not  here, 

Nor  Hyacinthus  fair  ; 
Phoebe  !  Endymion  and  thy  dear 

Hath  long  since  cleft  the  air. 
But  ye  have  surely  seen  45 

(Whom  we  in  sorrow  miss) 
A  swain  whom  Phoebe  thought  her  love, 
And  Titan  deemed  his. 


But  he  is  gone  ;  then  inwards  turn  your  light, 
Behold  him  there  :  here  never  shall  you  more  ;       50 
O'erhang  this  sad  plain  with  eternal  night ; 
Or  change  the  gaudy  green  she  whilom  wore 
To  fenny  black  !     Hyperion  great 

To  ashy  paleness  turn  her  ! 
Green  well  befits  a  lover's  heat,  55 

But  black  beseems  a  mourner. 
Yet  neither  this  thou  canst, 
Nor  see  his  second  birth, 
His  brightness  blinds  thine  eye  more  now, 
Than  thine  did  his  on  earth.  60 

Let  not  a  shepherd  on  our  hapless  plains 
Tune  notes  of  glee,  as  used  were  of  yore  ! 
For  Philarete  is  dead.     Let  mirthful  strains 
With  Philarete  cease  for  evermore  ! 


Eel.  4.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  137 

And  if  a  fellow-swain  do  live  65 

A  niggard  of  his  tears, 
The  shepherdesses  all  will  give 

To  store  him  part  of  theirs. 
Or  I  would  lend  him  some, 

But  that  the  store  I  have  70 

Will  all  be  spent  before  I  pay 
The  debt  I  owe  his  grave. 

O  what  is  left  can  make  me  leave  to  moan, 
Or  what  remains  but  doth  increase  it  more  ? 
Look  on  his  sheep  :  alas  !  their  master's  gone.        75 
Look  on  the  place  where  we  two  heretofore 

With  locked  arms  have  vow'd  our  love, 

(Our  love  which  time  shall  see 
In  shepherds'  songs  for  ever  move, 

And  grace  their  harmony, )  So 

It  solitary  seems. 

Behold  our  flow'ry  beds  ; 
Their  beauties  fade,  and  violets 
For  sorrow  hang  their  heads. 

'Tis  not  a  cypress'  bough,  a  count'nance  sad,          85 
A  mourning  garment,  wailing  elegy, 
A  standing  hearse  in  sable  vesture  clad, 
A  tomb  built  to  his  name's  eternity, 

Although  the  shepherds  all  should  strive 
By  yearly  obsequies,  go 


138  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  4. 

And  vow  to  keep  thy  fame  alive 

In  spite  of  destinies, 
That  can  suppress  my  grief  : 

All  these  and  more  may  be, 
Yet  all  in  vain  to  recompense  95 

My  greatest  loss  of  thee. 


Cypress  may  fade,  the  countenance  be  chang'd, 
A  garment  rot,  an  elegy  forgotten, 
A  hearse  'mongst  irreligious  rites  be  rang'd,          [100 
A  tomb  pluck'd  down,  or  else  through  age  be  rotten : 
All  things  th'  unpartial  hand  of  Fate 

Can  raze  out  with  a  thought, 
These  have  a  sev'ral  fixed  date 

Which  ended,  turn  to  nought. 
Yet  shall  my  truest  cause  105 

Of  sorrow  firmly  stay, 
When  these  effects  the  wings  of  Time 
Shall  fan  and  sweep  away. 

Look  as  a  sweet  rose  fairly  budding  forth 
Bewrays  her  beauties  to  th'  enamour'd  morn,         1 10 
Until  some  keen  blast  from  the  envious  North 
Kills  the  sweet  bud  that  was  but  newly  born  ; 
Or  else  her  rarest  smells  delighting 

Make  her  herself  betray, 
Some  white  and  curious  hand  inviting     115 
To  pluck  her  thence  away  : 


Eel.  4.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  139 

So  stands  my  mournful  case, 

For  had  he  been  less  good, 
He  yet  (uncropp'd)  had  kept  the  stock 

Whereon  he  fairly  stood.  120 

Yet  though  so  long  he  liv'd  not  as  he  might, 
He  had  the  time  appointed  to  him  given. 
Who  liveth  but  the  space  of  one  poor  night, 
His  birth,  his  youth,  his  age  is  in  that  even. 

Who  ever  doth  the  period  see  125 

Of  days  by  Heaven  forth  plotted, 
Dies  full  of  age,  as  well  as  he 

That  had  more  years  allotted. 
In  sad  tones  then  my  verse 

Shall  with  incessant  tears  130 

Bemoan  my  hapless  loss  of  him, 
And  not  his  want  of  years. 

In  deepest  passions  of  my  grief-swoll'n  breast 
(Sweet  soul  !)  this  only  comfort  seizeth  me, 
That  so  few  years  did  make  thee  so  much  blest,    135 
And  gave  such  wings  to  reach  eternity. 
Is  this  to  die  ?     No  :  as  a  ship, 

Well  built,  with  easy  wind, 
A  lazy  hulk  doth  far  outstrip, 

And  soonest  harbour  find  :  140 

So  Philarete  fled, 

Quick  was  his  passage  given, 
When  others  must  have  longer  time 
To  make  them  fit  for  heaven. 


i  .p  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  4. 

Then  not  for  thee  these  briny  tears  are  spent,         145 
But  as  the  nightingale  against  the  breer 
"Pis  for  myself  I  moan,  and  do  lament 
Not  that  thou  left'st  the  world,  but  left'st  me  here  : 
Here,  where  without  thee  all  delights 

Fail  of  their  pleasing  pow'r,  .150 

All  glorious  days  seem  ugly  nights  ; 

Methinks  no  April  show'r 
Embroider  should  the  earth, 

But  briny  tears  distil, 

Since  Flora's  beauties  shall  no  more  155 

Be  honour'd  by  thy  quill. 

And  ye  his  sheep  (in  token  of  his  lack), 
Whilom  the  fairest  flock  on  all  the  plain, 
Yean  never  lamb,  but  be  it  cloth'd  in  black  : 
Ye  shady  sycamores,  when  any  swain  160 

To  carve  his  name  upon  your  rind 

Doth  come,  where  his  doth  stand, 
Shed  drops,  if  he  be  so  unkind 

To  raze  it  with  his  hand. 
And  thou,  my  loved  Muse,  165 

No  more  shouldst  numbers  move, 
But  that  his  name  should  ever  live, 
And  after  death  my  love. 

This  said,  he  sigh'd,  and  with  o'erdrowned  eyes  [170 
Gaz'd  on  the  heavens  for  what  he  miss'd  on  earth. 

146. — Breer,  briar. 


Eel.  4.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  141 

Then  from  the  ground  full  sadly  'gan  arise 
As  far  from  future  hope  as  present  mirth  ; 
Unto  his  cote  with  heavy  pace 

As  ever  sorrow  trod 
He  went  with  mind  no  more  to  trace       175 

Where  mirthful  swains  abode  ; 
And  as  he  spent  the  day, 

The  night  he  pass'd  alone. 
Was  never  shepherd  lov'd  more  dear, 

Nor  made  a  truer  moan.  180 


142  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  4. 


The  Virtuous  and  much  lamenting  Sisters  of 
my  ever  admired  friend, 

MR.    THOMAS    MANWOOD. 


To  me  more  known  than  you  is  your  sad  chance. 

Oh  !     had     I     still     enjoy'd     such     ignorance  ; 

Then  I  by  these  spent  tears  had  not  been  known, 

Nor  left  another's  grief  to  sing  mine  own. 
Yet  since  his  fate  hath  wrought  these  throes, 
Permit  a  Partner  in  your  woes: 
The  cause  doth  yield,  and  still  may  do, 
Enough  for  You,  and  others  too. 
But  if  such  plaints  for  You  are  kept, 
Yet  may  I  grieve  since  you  have  wept. 
For  he  more  perfect  grows  to  be, 
That  feels  another's  MISERY. 
And  though  these  drops  which  mourningrun, 
From  several  fountains  first  begun, 
And  some  far  off,  some  nearer  fleet, 
They  will  (at  last)  in  one  stream  meet. 
Mine  shall  with  yours,  yours  mix  with  mine, 
And  make  one  Oft  'ring  at  his  Shrine  : 


For  whose  ETERNITY  on  earth,  my  Muse 
To  build  this  ALTAR,  did  her  best  skill  use  ; 
And  that  you,  I,  and  all  that  held  him  dear, 
Our  tears  and  sighs  might  freely  offer  here. 


Eel.  5.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  143 


THE   FIFTH   ECLOGUE. 

To  his  Ingenious  Friend 
MR.    CHRISTOPHER   BROOKE. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Willie  incites  his  friend  to  write 
Things  of  a  higher  fame 

Than  silly  shepherds  use  indite, 
Veil'd  in  a  shepherd's  name. 


WlLLIEa   and   CUTTIE.b 

MORN  had  got  the  start  of  night ; 

Lab'ring  men  were  ready  dight 

With  their  shovels  and  their  spades 

For  the  field,  and  (as  their  trades) 

Or  at  hedging  wrought  or  ditching  5 

For  their  food  more  than  enriching  ; 

When  the  shepherds  from  the  fold 

All  their  bleating  charges  told, 

Willie,  William  Browne.        •>  Cuttie,  Christopher  Brooke. 


144          THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  5. 

And  (full  careful)  search'd  if  one 

Of  all  their  flock  were  hurt  or  gone,  10 

Or  (if  in  the  night-time  cull'd) 

Any  had  their  fleeces  pull'd  ; 

'Mongst  the  rest  (not  least  in  care) 

Cuttie  to  his  fold  'gan  fare, 

And  young  Willie  (that  had  given  15 

To  his  flock  the  latest  even 

Neighbourhood  with  Cuttie's  sheep,) 

Shaking  off  refreshing  sleep, 

Hied  him  to  his  charge  that  blet ; 

Where  he  (busied)  Cuttie  met.  20 

Both  their  sheep  told,  and  none  miss'd 

Of  their  number  ;  then  they  bliss'd 

Pan  and  all  the  gods  of  plains 

For  respecting  of  their  trains 

Of  silly  sheep,  and  in  a  song  25 

Praise  gave  to  that  holy  throng. 

Thus  they  drave  their  flocks  to  graze, 

Whose  white  fleeces  did  amaze 

All  the  lilies,  as  they  pass 

Where  their  usual  feeding  was.  30 

Lilies  angry  that  a  creature 

Of  no  more  eye-pleasing  feature 

Than  a  sheep,  by  nature's  duty 

Should  be  crown'd  with  far  more  beauty 

Than  a  lily,  and  the  pow'r  35 

H.--CW/W,  chosen,  picked  out.  iq.—£let,  bleated. 


Eel.  5.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  145 

Of  white  in  sheep  outgo  a  flow'r, 

From  the  middle  of  their  sprout 

(Like  a  Fury's  sting)  thrust  out 

Dart-like  forks  in  death  to  steep  them  ; 

But  great  Pan  did  safely  keep  them,  40 

And  afforded  kind  repair 

To  their  dry  and  wonted  lair, 

Where  their  masters  (that  did  eye  them) 

Underneath  a  hawthorn  by  them, 

On  their  pipes  thus  'gan  to  play,  45 

And  with  rhymes  wear  out  the  day. 

Willie. 

Cease,  Cuttie,  cease,  to  feed  these  simple  flocks, 
And  for  a  trumpet  change  thine  oaten-reeds  ; 
O'erlook  the  valleys  as  aspiring  rocks, 
And  rather  march  in  steel  than  shepherd's  weeds.   50 
Believe  me,  Cuttie,  for  heroic  deeds 
Thy  verse  is  fit,  not  for  the  lives  of  swains, 
(Though  both  thou  canst  do  well)  and  none  proceeds 
To  leave  high  pitches  for  the  lowly  plains : 

Take  thou  a  harp  in  hand,  strive  with  Apollo  ;   55 
Thy  Muse  was  made  to  lead,  then  scorn  to  follow. 

Cuttie. 

Willie,  to  follow  sheep  I  ne'er  shall  scorn, 
Much  less  to  follow  any  deity  ; 

Who  'gainst  the  Sun  (though  weaken'd  by  the  morn) 
Would  vie  with  looks,  needeth  an  eagle's  eye.         60 
VOL.    II.  L 


146  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  5. 

I  dare  not  search  the  hidden  mystery 
Of  tragic  scenes  ;  nor  in  a  buskin 'd  style 
Through  death  and  horror  march,  nor  their  height  fly 
Whose  pens  were  fed  with  blood  of  this  fair  Isle. 
It  shall  content  me  on  these  happy  downs  65 

To  sing  the  strife  for  garlands,  not  for  crowns. 

Willie. 

O  who  would  not  aspire,  and  by  his  wing 
Keep  stroke  with  fame,  and  of  an  earthly  jar 
Another  lesson  teach  the  spheres  to  sing  ? 
Who  would  a  shepherd  that  might  be  a  star  ?  70 

See,  learned  Cuttie,  on  yond  mountains  are 
Clear  springs  arising,  and  the  climbing  goat, 
That  can  get  up,  hath  water  clearer  far 
Than  when  the  streams  do  in  the  valleys  float. 

What  madman  would  a  race  by  torchlight  run     75 
That  might  his  steps  have  usher'd  by  the  sun  ? 

We  shepherds  tune  our  lays  of  shepherds'  loves, 

Or  in  the  praise  of  shady  groves  or  springs  ; 

We  seldom  hear  of  Cytherea's  doves, 

Except  when  some  more  learned  shepherd  sings  ;   80 

And  equal  meed  have  to  our  sonnetings  : 

A  belt,  a  sheep-hook,  or  a  wreath  of  flow'rs, 

Is  all  we  seek,  and  all  our  versing  brings  ; 

And  more  deserts  than  these  are  seldom  ours. 

But  thou,  whose  Muse  a  falcon's  pitch  can  soar,  85 
Must  share  the  bays  even  with  a  conqueror. 


Eel.  5.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  147 

Cuttu. 

Why  doth  not  Willie  then  produce  such  lines 
Of  men  and  arms  as  might  accord  with  these  ? 

Willie. 

'Cause  Cuttie's  spirit  not  in  Willie  shines. 

Pan  cannot  wield  the  club  of  Hercules,  90 

Mor  dare  a  merlin  on  a  heron  seize. 

Scarce  know  I  how  to  fit  a  shepherd's  ear  : 

Far  more  unable  shall  I  be  to  please 

In  ought,  which  none  but  semi-gods  must  hear. 
When  by  thy  verse  (more  able)  time  shall  see,     95 
Thou  canst  give  more  to  kings  than  kings  to  thee. 

Ottttie. 

But,  well-a-day,  who  loves  the  Muses  now, 

Or  helps  the  climber  of  the  sacred  hill  ? 

None  lean  to  them,  but  strive  to  disallow 

All  heavenly  dews  the  goddesses  distil.  100 

Willie. 

Let  earthly  minds  base  muck  for  ever  fill, 

Whose  music  only  is  the  chime  of  gold  ; 

Deaf  be  their  ears  to  each  harmonious  quill  ! 

As  they  of  learning  think,  so  of  them  hold.         [105 

And  if  there's  none  deserves  what  thou  canst  do, 

Be  then  the  poet  and  the  patron  too. 


148  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  5. 

I  tell  thee,  Cuttie,  had  I  all  the  sheep, 
With  thrice  as  many  moe,  as  on  these  plains 
Or  shepherd  or  fair  maiden  sits  to  keep, 
I  would  them  all  forego,  so  I  thy  strains  no 

Could  equalize.     O  how  our  neatest  swains 
Do  trim  themselves,  when  on  a  holiday 
They  haste  to  hear  thee  sing,  knowing  the  trains 
Of  fairest  nymphs  will  come  to  learn  thy  lay. 
Well  may  they  run  and  wish  a  parting  never,     115 
So  thy  sweet  tongue  might  charm  their  ears  for  ever. 

Ctittie. 

These  attributes,  my  lad,  are  not  for  me  ; 
Bestow  them  where  true  merit  hath  assign'd — 

Willie. 

And  do  I  not,  bestowing  them  on  thee  ? 
Believe  me,  Cuttie,  I  do  bear  this  mind,  120 

That  whereso'er  we  true  deserving  find, 
To  give  a  silent  praise  is  to  detract. 
Obscure  thy  verses  (more  than  most  refin'd) 
From  any  one  of  dulness  so  compact ; 
And  rather  sing  to  trees  than  to  such  men,  125 

Who  know  not  how  to  crown  a  poet's  pen. 

Cuttie, 

Willie,  by  thy  incitement  I'll  assay 
To  raise  my  subject  higher  than  tofore, 


Eel.  5.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.          149 

And  sing  it  to  our  swains  next  holiday,  [130 

"Which  (as  approv'd)  shall  fill  them  with  the  store 
Of  such  rare  accents  ;  if  dislik'd,  no  more 
Will  I  a  higher  strain  than  shepherds  use, 
But  sing  of  woods  and  rivers,  as  before. 

Willie. 

Thou  wilt  be  ever  happy  in  thy  Muse. 

But  see,  the  radiant  sun  is  gotten  high  ;  135 

Let's  seek  for  shadow  in  the  grove  here  by. 


150  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  6. 


THE   SIXTH  ECLOGUE. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Philos  of  his  dog  doth  bra^ 
For  having  many  feats  ; 

The  while  the  cur  undoes  his  bag, 
And  all  his  dinner  eats. 


WILLIE.        JOCKIE.        PHILOS. 

Witte. 

STAY,  Jockie,  let  us  rest  here  by  this  spring, 
And  Philos  too,  since  we  so  well  are  met  ; 
This  spreading  oak  will  yield  us  shadowing 
Till  Phoebus'  steeds  be  in  the  ocean  wet. 

Jockie. 

Gladly,  kind  swain,  I  yield,  so  thou  wilt  play, 
And  make  us  merry  with  a  roundelay. 

Philos. 

No,  Jockie,  rather  wend  we  to  the  wood  ; 
The  time  is  fit,  and  filberds  waxen  ripe. 


Eel.  6.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  151 

Let's  go  and  fray  the  squirrel  from  his  food  ; 

We  will  another  time  hear  Willie  pipe.  10 

WOOp. 

But  who  shall  keep  our  flocks  when  we  are  gone  ? 
I  dare  not  go,  and  let  them  feed  alone. 

Jackie. 

Nor  I :  since  but  the  other  day  it  fell, 
Leaving  my  sheep  to  graze  on  yonder  plain, 
I  went  to  fill  my  bottle  at  the  well,  15 

And  ere  I  could  return  two  lambs  were  slain. 

Philos. 

Then  was  thy  dog  ill  taught,  or  else  asleep  ; 
Such  curs  as  those  shall  never  watch  my  sheep. 

Willie. 

Yet  Philos  hath  a  dog  not  of  the  best : 
He  seems  too  lazy,  and  will  take  no  pains  ;          20 
More  fit  to  lie  at  home  and  take  his  rest, 
Than  catch  a  wand'ring  sheep  upon  the  plains. 

Jackie. 

'Tis  true  indeed :  and  Philos,  wot  ye  what  ? 
I  think  he  plays  the  fox,  he  grows  so  fat ! 

f'hilos. 

Yet  hath  not  Jockie  nor  yet  Willie  seen  25 

A  dog  more  nimble  than  is  this  of  mine, 


152  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  6. 

Nor  any  of  the  fox  more  heedful  been, 
When  in  the  shade  I  slept,  or  list  to  dine. 
And  though  I  say't,  hath  better  tricks  in  store 
Than  both  of  yours,  or  twenty  couple  more.         30 

How  often  have  the  maidens  strove  to  take  him, 
When  he  hath  cross'd  the  plain  to  bark  at  crows  ? 
How  many  lasses  have  I  known  to  make  him 
Garlands  to  gird  his  neck,  with  which  he  goes 
Vaunting  along  the  lands  so  wondrous  trim,         35 
That  not  a  dog  of  yours  durst  bark  at  him. 

And  when  I  list,  as  oftentimes  I  use, 
To  tune  a  hornpipe  or  a  morris-dance, 
The  dog,  as  he  by  nature  could  not  choose, 
Seeming  asleep  before,  will  leap  and  dance.  40 

Willie. 

Belike  your  dog  came  of  a  pedlar's  brood, 
Or  Philos'  music  is  exceeding:  good. 


Philos. 

I  boast  not  of  his  kin,  nor  of  my  reed, 

Though  of  my  reed  and  him  I  well  may  boast ; 

Yet  if  you  will  adventure  that  some  meed  45 

Shall  be  to  him  that  is  in  action  most, 
As  for  a  collar  of  shrill-sounding  bells, 
My  dog  shall  strive  with  yours,  or  any's  else. 


Eel.  6.]       THE  SHEPHERD 'S  PIPE.  153 

Jackie. 

Philos,  in  truth  I  must  confess  your  Wag 
(For  so  you  call  him)  hath  of  tricks  good  store.        50 
To  steal  the  victuals  from  his  master's  bag 
More  cunningly  I  ne'er  saw  dog  before. 
See,  Willie,  see  !     I  prithee,  Philos,  note 
How  fast  thy  bread   and   cheese  goes  down   his 
throat 

Willie. 

Now,  Philos,  see  how  mannerly  your  cur,  5  5 

Your  well-taught  dog,  that  hath  so  many  tricks, 
Devours  your  dinner. 

Philos. 

I  wish  'twere  a  bur 
To  choke  the  mongrel  ! 

Jackie. 

See  how  clean  he  licks 
Your  butter-box  ;  by  Pan,  I  do  not  meanly 
Love  Philos'  dog  that  loves  to  be  so  cleanly.  60 

Philos. 

Well  flouted,  Jockie. 

Willie. 

Philos  !  run  amain, 

For  in  your  scrip  he  now  hath  thrust  his  head 
So  far,  he  cannot  get  it  forth  again  ; 
See  how  he  blindfold  strags  along  the  mead, 

64.— St  rags,  stumbles. 


154  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  6. 

And  at  your  scrip  your  bottle  hangs,  I  think.       65 
He  loves  your  meat,  but  cares  not  for  your  drink. 

Jackie. 

Ay,  so  it  seems  :  and  Philos  now  may  go 
Unto  the  wood  or  home  for  other  cheer. 

Philos. 

'Twere  better  he  had  never  serv'd  me  so  : 
Sweet  meat,  sour  sauce,  he  shall  aby  it  dear.  70 

What,  must  he  be  aforehand  with  his  master  ? 

Willie. 
Only  in  kindness  he  would  be  your  taster. 

Philos. 

Well,  Willie,  you  may  laugh,  and  urge  my  spleen  ; 
But  by  my  hook  I  swear  he  shall  it  rue, 
And  had  far'd  better  had  he  fasting  been.  75 

But  I  must  home  for  my  allowance  new. 
So  farewell,  lads.     Look  to  my  fleeced  train 
Till  my  return. 

Jockie. 
\Ve  will. 

Wilh 
Make  haste  again. 

65- — Serif,  bag.        70. — Aby,  pay  for,  expiate. 


Eel.  7.]        THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.          155 


THE  SEVENTH   ECLOGUE. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Palinode  entreats  his  friend 
To  leave  a  wanton  lass  ; 

Yet  he  pursues  her  to  his  end, 
And  lets  all  counsel  pass. 


PALINODE.        HOBBINOLL. 

IITHFR  wends  Hobbtnoll  so  early  day? 
fhat,  be  thy  lambkins  broken  from  the  fold, 
And  on  the  plains  all  night  have  run  astray  ? 
Or  are  thy  sheep  and  sheep-walks  both  ysold  ?         [5 
What  mister-chance  hath  brought  thee  to  the  field 
Without  thy  sheep  ?  thou  were  not  wont  to  yield 
To  idle  sport, 
But  didst  resort 

5. — Mister-chance,  manner  of  chance. 


156  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  7. 

As  early  to  thy  charge  from  drowsy  bed 
As  any  shepherd  that  his  flock  hath  fed  10 

Upon  these  downs. 

Hobbinoll. 

Such  heavy  frowns 

Fortune  for  others  keeps  ;  but  bends  on  me 
Smiles  would  befit  the  seat  of  majesty. 

Hath  Palinode  15 

Made  his  abode 

Upon  our  plains,  or  in  some  uncouth  cell, 
That  hears  not  what  to  Hobbinoll  befell  ? 
Phillis  the  fair,  and  fairer  is  there  none, 
To-morrow  must  be  link'd  in  marriage  bands.         20 
'Tis  I  that  must  undo  her  virgin  zone : 
Behold  the  man,  behold  the  happy  hands. 

Palinode. 

Behold  the  man  ?  Nay,  then  the  woman  too  : 
Though  both  of  them  are  very  small  beholding 
To  any  power  that  set  them  on  to  woo.  25 

Ah,  Hobbinoll !  it  is  not  worth  unfolding 
What  shepherds  say  of  her ;  thou  canst  not  choose 
But  hear  what  language  all  of  Phillis  use  ; 

Yet,  than  such  tongues, 

To  her  belongs  30 

More  men  to  sate  her  lust !     Unhappy  elf ! 
That  wilt  be  bound  to  her  to  lose  thyself : 

Forsake  her  first. 
31. — Ed.  1620,  More  then  to  sate,  &c. 


Eel.  7.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  157 

Hobbinoll. 

Thou  most  accurs'd  ! 

Durst  thou  to  slander  thus  the  innocent,  35 

The  graces'  pattern,  virtue's  president  ? 

She  in  whose  eye 

Shines  modesty : 

Upon  whose  brow  lust  never  looks  with  hope  ? 
Venus  rul'd  not  in  Phillis'  horoscope.  40 

'Tis  not  the  vapour  of  a  hemlock  stem 
Can  spoil  the  perfume  of  sweet  cinnamon ; 
Nor  vile  aspersions,  or  by  thee  or  them 
Cast  on  her  name,  can  stay  my  going  on. 

Palinode. 

On  may'st  thou  go,  but  not  with  such  a  one,  45 

Whom,  I  dare  swear,  thou  know'st  is  not  a  maid. 
Remember,  when  I  met  her  last  alone, 
As  we  to  yonder  grove  for  filberds  stray'd, 
Like  to  a  new-struck  doe  from  out  the  bushes 
Lacing  herself,  and  red  with  gamesome  blushes,     50 

Made  towards  the  green, 

Loath  to  be  seen  : 

And  after  in  the  grove  the  goatherd  met. 
What  saidst  thou  then?     If  this  prevail  not,  yet 

I'll  tell  thee  moe.  55 

Not  long  ago 

36.— President,  precedent,  model. 


158  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  7. 

Too  long  I  lov'd  her,  and  as  thou  dost  now, 
Would  swear  Diana  was  less  chaste  than  she, 
That  Jupiter  would  court  her,  knew  he  how 
To  find  a  shape  might  tempt  such  chastity  :  60 

And  that  her  thoughts  were  pure  as  new-fall'n  snow, 
Or  silver  swans  that  trace  the  banks  of  Po, 

And  free  within 

From  spot  of  sin  : 

Yet  like  the  flint  her  lust-swoll'n  breast  conceal'd  65 
A  hidden  fire ;  and  thus  it  was  reveaFd  : 

Cladon,  the  lad 

Who  whilom  had 

The  garland  given  for  throwing  best  the  bar, 
I  know  not  by  what  chance  or  lucky  star,  70 

Was  chosen  late 

To  be  the  mate 

Unto  our  Lady  of  the  gleesome  May, 
And  was  the  first  that  danc'd  each  holiday. 
None  would  he  take  but  Phillis  forth  to  dance.       75 
Nor  any  could  with  Phillis  dance  but  he. 
On  Palinode  she  thenceforth  not  a  glance 
Bestows,  but  hates  him  and  his  poverty. 
Cladon  had  sheep  and  limbs  for  stronger  load 
Than  e'er  she  saw  in  simple  Palinode  ;  So 

He  was  the  man 

Must  clip  her  then  ; 
For    him    she    wreaths    of    flowers    and    chapleis 

made, 
To  strawberries  invites  him  in  the  shade 


Eel.  7.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  159 

In  shearing  time :  85 

And  in  the  prime 

Would  help  to  clip  his  sheep  and  guard  his  lambs, 
And  at  a  need  lend  him  her  choicest  rams  ; 

And  on  each  stock 

Work  such  a  clock  90 

With  twisted  colour'd  thread,  as  not  a  swain 
On  all  these  downs  could  show  the  like  again. 
But,  as  it  seems,  the  well  grew  dry  at  last, 
Her  fire  unquench'd  ;  and  she  hath  Cladon  left. 
Nor  was  I  sorry  ;  nor  do  wish  to  taste  95 

The  flesh  whereto  so  many  flies  have  cleft. 
Oh,  Hobbinoll  1  canst  thou  imagine  she 
That  hath  so  oft  been  tried,  so  oft  misdone, 
Can  from  all  other  men  be  true  to  thee  ?  [too 

Thou  know'st  with  me,  with  Cladon,  she  hath  gone 
Beyond  the  limits  that  a  maiden  may, 
And  can  the  name  of  wife  those  rovings  stay  ? 

She  hath  not  ought 

That's  hid,  unsought : 

,These   eyes,  these  hands,   so   much  know   of  that 
woman  105 

As  more   thou  canst   not ;    can  that   please  that's 
common  ? 

No  :  should  I  wed, 

My  marriage  bed 
And  all  that  it  contains  should  as  my  heart 

86. — Prime,  spring. 


i6o          THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.      [Eel.  7. 

Be  known  but  to  myself ;  if  we  impart  1 10 

What  golden  rings 

The  fairy  brings, 

We  lose  the  gem  :  nor  will  they  give  us  more. 
Wives  lose  their  value,  if  once  known  before. 
Behold  this  violet  that  cropped  lies,  115 

I  know  not  by  what  hand,  first  from  the  stem, 
With  what  I  pluck  myself  shall  I  it  prize  ? 
I  scorn  the  offals  of  a  diadem. 
A  virgin's  bed  hath  millions  of  delights, 
If  then  good  parents  please  she  know  no  more  :    120 
Nor  hath  her  servants  nor  her  favourites 
That  wait  her  husband's  issuing  at  door. 
She  that  is  free  both  from  the  act  and  eye 
Only  deserves  the  due  of  chastity. 

But  Phillis  is  125 

As  far  from  this, 

As  are  the  poles  in  distance  from  each  other  : 
She  well  beseems  the  daughter  of  her  mother. 

Is  there  a  brake 

By  hill  or  lake  130 

In  all  our  plains  that  hath  not  guilty  been 
In  keeping  close  her  stealths  ;  the  Paphian  Queen 

Ne'er  used  her  skill 

To  win  her  will 

Of  young  Adonis  with  more  heart  than  she  135 

Hath  her  allurements  spent  to  work  on  me. 

121. — Servants,  paramours. 


Eel.  7.]       THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.  161 

Leave,  leave  her,  Hobbinoll ;  she  is  so  ill 
That  any  one  is  good  that's  nought  of  her, 
Though  she  be  fair,  the  ground  which  oft  we  till 
Grows  with  his  burden  old  and  barrener.  140 

Hobbinoll. 

With  much  ado,  and  with  no  little  pain 

Have  I  out-heard  thy  railing  'gainst  my  love  : 

But  it  is  common  what  we  cannot  gain 

We  oft  disvalue  ;  sooner  shall  thou  move 

Yond  lofty  mountain  from  the  place  it  stands,        145 

Or  count  the  meadow's  flowers,  or  Isis'  sands, 

Than  stir  one  thought 

In  me,  that  ought 
Can  be  in  Fhillis  which  Diana  fair 
And  all  the  goddesses  would  not  wish  their.  150 

Fond  man,  then  cease 

To  cross  that  peace 

Which  Phillis'  virtue  and  this  heart  of  mine 
Have  well  begun  ;  and  for  those  words  of  thine 

I  do  forgive,  155 

If  thou  wilt  live 

Hereafter  free  from  such  reproaches  moe, 
Since  goodness  never  was  without  her  foe. 

Palinode. 

Believe  me,  Hobbinoll,  what  I  have  said 
Was  more  in  love  to  thee  than  hate  to  her  :  160 

VOL.  II.  M 


162  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  7. 

Think  on  thy  liberty  ;  let  that  be  weigh'd  ; 
Great  good  may  oft  betide,  if  we  defer, 
And  use  some  short  delays  ere  marriage  rites  ; 
Wedlock  hath  days  of  toil  as  joysome  nights. 

Canst  thou  be  free  165 

From  jealousy  ? 

Oh  no  :  that  plague  will  so  infect  thy  brain 
That  only  death  must  work  thy  peace  again. 

Thou  canst  not  dwell 

One  minute  well  170 

From  whence  thou   leav'st    her ;   lock   on   her   thy 

gate, 
Yet  will  her  mind  be  still  adulterate. 

Not  Argus'  eyes, 

Nor  ten  such  spies, 

Can  make  her  only  thine  ;  for  she  will  do  175 

With  those  that  shall  make  thee  mistrust  them  too. 

Hobbinoll. 
Wilt  thou  not  leave  to  taint  a  virgin's  name  ? 

Palinode. 

A  virgin  ?  yes  :  as  sure  as  is  her  mother. 
Dost  thou  not  hear  her  good  report  by  fame  ? 

Hobbinoll. 
Fame  is  a  liar,  and  was  never  other.  180 


Eel.  7.]       THE  SHEPHEPD'S  PIPE.  163 

Palinode. 

Nay,  if  she  ever  spoke  true,  now  she  did  : 
And  thou  wilt  once  confess  what  I  foretold : 
The  fire  will  be  disc[l]os'd  that  now  lies  hid, 
Nor  will  thy  thought  of  her  thus  long  time  hold. 
Yet  may  she  (if  that  possible  can  fall)  185 

Be  true  to  thee,  that  hath  been  false  to  all. 

Hobbinoll. 

So  pierce  the  rocks 

A  redbreast's  knocks 

As  the  belief  of  ought  thou  tell'st  me  now. 
Yet  be  my  guest  to-morrow. 

Palinode. 

Speed  your  plough.         190 
I  fear  ere  long 
You'll  sing  a  song 

Like  that  was  sung  hereby  not  long  ago  : 
Where  there  is  carrion  never  wants  a  crow. 

Hobbinoll. 

Ill-tutor'd  swain,  195 

If  on  the  plain 

Thy  sheep  henceforward  come  where  mine  do  feed, 
They  shall  be  sure  to  smart  for  thy  misdeed. 

182. — Once,  at  some  time,  by-and-by. 

190.— S feed  your  plough,  i.e.,  God  prosper  you— a  shepherd's 
benediction. 

M    2 


164  THE  SHEPHERD'S  PIPE.       [Eel.  7. 

Palinode. 

Such  are  the  thanks  a  friend's  forewarning  brings. 
Now  by  the  love  I  ever  bore  thee,  stay !  200 

Meet  not  mishaps  !  themselves  have  speedy  wings. 

Hobbinoll. 
It  is  in  vain.     Farewell.      I  must  away. 


FINIS.     W.  B. 


THE 

INNER      TEMPLE 
MASQUE. 


Presented  by  the  gentlemen  there.     Jan.  13, 
1614. 


WRITTEN  BY  W.  BROWNE. 


OVID.    AD   PlSONEM. 
Non  semper  Gnosius  arcu 


Destinat,  exempto  sed  laxat  conma  nervo. 


To  the  Honourable  Society  of  the  Inner  Temple. 

GENTLEMEN, — 

I  GIVE  you  but  your  own.  If  you  refuse  to 
foster  it,  I  know  not  who  will.  By  your  means  it 
may  live.  If  it  degenerate  in  kind  from  those  other 
our  Society  hath  produced,  blame  yourselves  for  not 
seeking  to  a  happier  Muse.  I  know  it  is  not  without 
faults,  yet  such  as  your  loves,  or  at  least  Poetica 
Licentia  (the  common  salve)  will  make  tolerable. 
What  is  good  in  it,  that  is  yours  ;  what  bad,  mine  ; 
%vhat  indifferent,  both  ;  and  that  will  suffice,  since  it 
was  done  to  please  ourselves  in  private  by  him  that  is 

All  yours, 

W.  BROWNE. 


THE 

INNER  TEMPLE   MASQUE. 

The  Description  of 
THE    FIRST     SCENE. 

On  one  side  the  hall  towards  the  lower  end  -was  dis- 
covered a  cliff  of  the  sea  done  over  in  part  white 
according  to  that  of  Virgil,  lib.  5. 

Jamque  adeo  scopulos  sirenum  advecta  subibat, 
Difficiles  quondam  multorumque  ossibus  albos. 

Upon  it  were  seated  two  sirens  as  they  are  described  by 
Hyginus  and  Servius,  with  their  upper  parts  like 

*  The  Inner  Temfle  Masque  was  printed  for  the  first  time 
in  1772,  from  the  MS.  in  the  Library  of  Emmanuel  College, 
Cambridge,  by  Thomas  Davies,  the  bookseller,  in  his  edition 
of  Browne's  works. 


170     THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE. 

•women  to  the  navel  and  (he  rest  like  a  hen.  One  of 
these  at  the  first  discovery  of  the  scene  (a  sea  being 
done  in  perspective  on  one  side  the  cliff}  be^an  to 
sing  this  Song,  being  as  lascivious  proper  to  them 
and  beginning  as  that  of  theirs  in  Horn.  lib. 
ju,.  O5.  Aef''  &•>•'  (a)f  iro\\ia.iv  'OSutreO,  /ue'-)a  KVOOS 


STEER  hither,  steer,  your  winged  pines, 

All  beaten  mariners, 
Here  lie  Love's  undiscover'd  mines, 

A  prey  to  passengers  ; 

Perfumes  far  sweeter  than  the  best  5 

Which  make  the  Phoenix'  urn  and  nest. 

Fear  not  your  ships, 
Nor  any  to  oppose  you  save  our  lips, 

But  come  on  shore, 
Where  no  joy  dies  till  love  hath  gotten  more.    10 

The  last  two  lines  were  repeated  as  from  a  grove  near 
by  a  full  Chorus,  and  the  siren  about  to  sing  again, 
Triton  (in  all  parts  as  Apollonius,  lib.  4. 
Argonavtic.  shows  him)  was  seen  interrupting  her 
thus  : 

TRITON. 

Leave,  leave,  alluring  siren,  with  thy  song 
To  hasten  what  the  Fates  would  fain  prolong  : 


THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE.     171 

Your  sweetest  tunes  but  groans  of  mandrakes  be  ; 

He  his  own  traitor  is  that  heareth  thee. 

Tethys  commands,  nor  is  it  fit  that  you  15 

Should  ever  glory  you  did  him  subdue 

By  wiles  whose  policies  were  never  spread 

Till  flaming  Troy  gave  light  to  have  them  read. 

Ulysses  now  furrows  the  liquid  plain 

Doubtful  of  seeing  Ithaca  again.  20 

For  in  his  way  more  stops  are  thrust  by  time, 

Than  in  the  path  where  virtue  comes  to  climb  : 

She  that  with  silver  springs  for  ever  fills 

The  shady  groves,  sweet  meadows,  and  the  hills, 

From  whose  continual  store  such  pools  are  fed         25 

As  in  the  land  for  seas  are  famoused. 

'Tis  she  whose  favour  to  this  Grecian  tends, 

And  to  remove  his  ruin  Triton  sends. 

SIREN. 

But  'tis  not  Tethys,  nor  a  greater  power, 
Cynthia,    that    rules    the  waves ;    scarce  he   (each 
hour)  30 

That  wields  the  thunderbolts,  can  things  begun 
By  mighty  Circe,  daughter  to  the  Sun, 
Check  or  control ;  she  that  by  charms  can  make 
The  scaled  fish  to  leave  the  briny  lake, 
And  on  the  seas  walk  as  on  land  she  were  ;  35 

She  that  can  pull  the  pale  moon  from  her  sphere, 
And  at  mid-day  the  world's  all-glorious  eye 
Muffle  with  clouds  in  long  obscurity ; 


172     THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE. 

She  that  can  cold  December  set  on  fire, 

And  from  the  grave  bodies  with  life  inspire  ;  40 

She  that  can  cleave  the  centre,  and  with  ease 

A  prospect  make  to  our  Antipodes  ; 

Whose  mystic  spells  have  fearful  thunders  made, 

And  forc'd  brave  rivers  to  run  retrograde. 

She  without  storms  that  sturdy  oaks  can  tear  45 

And  turn  their  roots  where  late  their  curl'd  tops  were. 

She  that  can  with  the  winter  solstice  bring 

All  Flora's  dainties,  Circe,  bids  me  sing ; 

And  till  some  greater  power  her  hand  can  stay, 

Whoe'er  commands,  I  none  but  her  obey.  50 

TRITON. 

*  Horn :         Then  Nereus'  daughter*  thus  you'll  have  me  tell. 

'AAA<i  e  ' 

Nr)OT)o? 

evyanja,  &c  blREN. 

You  may. 

TRITON. 
Think  on  her  wrath. 

SIREN. 
I  shall.     Triton  !  farewell. 

SIREN. 

Vain  was  thy  message,  vain  her  hest,  for  I 
Must  tune  again  my  wanton  melody. 

53. — Hest,  behest,  command. 


THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE.      173 

Here  she  'went  on  ivifk  her  Song  thus  : 
For  swelling  waves  our  panting  breasts,        55 

Where  never  storms  arise, 
Exchange  ;  and  be  awhile  our  guests  : 

For  stars  gaze  on  our  eyes. 
The  compass  love  shall  hourly  sing, 
And  as  he  goes  about  the  ring,  60 

We  will  not  miss 
To  tell  each  point  he  nameth  with  a  kiss. 

CHORUS. 

Then  come  on  shore, 
Where  no  joy  dies  till  love  hath  gotten  more. 

At  the  end  of  this  song  Circe  was  seen  upon  the  rock, 
quaintly  attired,  her  hair  loose  about  her  shoulders, 
an  anadem  of  flowers  on  her  head,  with  a  wand 
in  her  hattd  ;  and  then,  making  towards  the 
sirens,  called  them  thence  with  this  speech : 

Sirens,  enough  ;  cease  ;  Circe  hath  prevail'd  ;         65 
The  Greeks  which  on  the  dancing  billows  sail'd, 
About  whose  ships  a  hundred  dolphins  clung 
Rapt  with  the  music  of  Ulysses'  tongue, 
Have  with  their  guide  by  pow'rful  Circe's  hand 
Cast  their  hook'd  anchors  on  Rosa's  strand.  70 

Yond  stands  a  hill  crown'd  with  high  waving  trees, 
Whose  gallant  tops  each  neighb'ring  country  sees, 


174      THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE. 

Under  whose  shade  an  hundred  silvans  play, 

With  gaudy  nymphs  far  fairer  than  the  day  ; 

Where  everlasting  spring  with  silver  showers  75 

Sweet  roses  doth  increase  to  grace  our  bowers  ; 

Where  lavish  Flora,  prodigal  in  pride, 

Spends  what  might  well  enrich  all  earth  beside, 

And  to  adorn  this  place  she  loves  so  dear, 

Stays  in  some  climates  scarcely  half  the  year.  So 

When  would  she  to  the  world  indifferent  be, 

They  should  continual  April  have  as  we. 

Midway  the  wood  and  from  the  levell'd  lands 

A  spacious  yet  a  curious  arbour  stands, 

\Vherein  should  Phoebus  once  to  pry  begin,  85 

I  would  benight  him  ere  he  get  his  inn, 

Or  turn  his  steeds  awry,  so  draw  him  on 

To  burn  all  lands  but  this  like  Phaeton. 

Ulysses  near  his  mates  by  my  strong  charms 

Lies  there  till  my  return  in  sleep's  soft  arms  :          90 

Then,  sirens,  quickly  wend  we  to  the  bower 

To  fit  their  welcome,  and  show  Circe's  power. 

SIREN. 

\Vhat  all  the  elements  do  owe  to  thee 
In  their  obedience  is  perform'd  in  me. 

CIRCE. 

Circe  drinks  not  of  Lethe  :  then  away  95 

To  help  the  nymphs  who  now  begin  their  lay. 

73. — Silvans,  fauns.  74. — Gaudy,  gay. 


THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE.      175 


THE   SECOND   SCENE. 

While  Circe  was  speaking  her  first  speech,  and  at 
these  words,  "Yond  stands  a  hill,  &c.,"  a  tra- 
verse3-  was  drawn  at  the  lower  end  of  the  hall, 
and  gave  way  for  the  discovery  of  an  artificial 
wood  so  near  imitating  natiire  that  I  think,  had 
there  been  a  grove  like  it  in  the  open  plain, 
birds  would  have  been  faster  drawn  to  that  than 
to  Zeuxis'  grapes.  The  trees  stood  at  the  climbing 
of  an  hill,  and  left  at  their  fiet  a  little  plain, 
which  they  circled  like  a  crescent.  In  this  space 
upon  hillocks  were  seen  eight  musicians  in  crim- 
son tajfetyft  robes,  with  chaplets  of  laurel  on  their 
heads,  their  lutes  by  them,  which  being  by  them 
touched  as  a  warning  to  the  nymphs  of  the  wood, 
from  among  the  trees  was  heard  this  Song  .... 

THE  SONG  IN  THE  WOOD. 
WHAT  sing  the  sweet  birds  in  each  grove  ? 

Nought  but  love. 
What  sound  our  echoes  day  and  night  ? 

All  delight.  100 

What  doth  each  wind  breathe  as  it  fleets  ? 

Endless  sweets. 


•  Traverse,  curtain. 

b  Tajfety,  taffeta,  a  kind  of  thin  silk. 


176      THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE. 

CHORUS. 

Is  there  a  place  on  earth  this  Isle  excels, 
Or  any  nymphs  more  happy  live  than  we  ? 
When   all   our  songs,  our   sounds,  and   breathings 
be,  105 

That  here  all  love,  delight,  and  sweetness  dwells. 

By  this  time  Circe  and  the  sirens  being  come  into  the 
wood,  Ulysses  was  seen  lying  as  asleep,  under  the 
covert  of  a  fair  tree,  towards  whom  Circe  coming 
bespake  thus  : — 

CIRCE. 

Yet  holds  soft  sleep  his  course.     Now,  Ithacus, 
Ajax  would  offer  hecatombs  to  us, 
And  Ilium's  ravish 'd  wives,  and  childless  sires, 
With  incense  dim  the  bright  ethereal  fires,  no 

To  have  thee  bound  in  chains  of  sleep  as  here  ; 
But  that  thou  may'st  behold,  and  know  how  dear 
Thou  art  to  Circe,  with  my  magic  deep 
And  powerful  verses  thus  I  banish  sleep. 

THE  CHARM. 

Son  of  Erebus  and  Night,  115 

Hie  away ;  and  aim  thy  flight 
Where  consort  none  other  fowl 
Than  the  bat  and  sullen  owl ; 

107. — Ithacus,  Ulysses. 


THE  INNER   TEMPLE  MASQUE.      177 

Where  upon  the  limber  gra;  s 

Poppy  and  mandragoras  120 

With  like  simples  not  a  few 

Hang  for  ever  drops  of  dew. 

Where  flows  Lethe  without  coil 

Softly  like  a  stream  of  oil. 

Hie  thee  thither,  gentle  Sleep  :  125 

With  this  Greek  no  longer  keep. 

Thrice  I  charge  thee  by  my  wand  ; 

Thrice  with  moly  from  my  hand 

Do  I  touch  Ulysses'  eyes, 

And  with  the  jaspis  :  Then  arise,  130 

Sagest  Greek 

Ulysses  (as  by  the  pmver  of  Circe)  awaking  thus 
began  : 

ULYSSES. 

....  Thou  more  than  mortal  maid, 
Who  when  thou  lists  canst  make,  as  if  afraid, 
The  mountains  tremble  and  with  terror  shake 
The  seat  of  Dis  ;  and  from  Avernus'  lake 


119. — Limber,  easily  bent. 

120. — Mandragoras,  mandrakes. 

123. — Coil,  tumult. 

128. — Moly,  a  fabulous  plant  supposed  to  be  endowed  with 
magic  power. 

iy>.~Jasflis,  jasper,  the  precious  stone  believed  by  the 
ancients  to  have  the  virtue  of  breaking  a  charm  or  spell. 

VOL.    II.  N 


178      THE  INNER    TEAfPLE  MASQUE. 

Grim  Hecate  with  all  the  Furies  bring  135 

To  work  revenge,  or  to  thy  questioning 

Disclose  the  secrets  of  th'  infernal  shades, 

Or  raise  the  ghosts  that  walk  the  under-glades  ! 

To  thee,  whom  all  obey,  Ulysses  bends. 

But  may  I  ask,  great  Circe,  whereto  tends  140 

Thy  never-failing  hand  ?     Shall  we  be  free  ? 

Or  must  thine  anger  crush  my  mates  and  me  ? 


CIRCE. 

Neither,  Laertes'  son  :  with  wings  of  love 
To  thee,  and  none  but  thee,  my  actions  move.     [145 
My  art  went  with  thee  and  thou  me  may'st  thank 
In  winning  Rhesus'  horses  ere  they  drank 
Of  Xanthus'  stream  ;  and  when  with  human  gore 
Clear  Hebrus'  channel  was  all  stained  o'er  ; 
\\hen  some  brave   Greeks,   companions  then   with 

thee, 

Forgot  their  country  through  the  lotus-tree  ;          150 
I  tyn'd  the  firebrand  that  (beside  thy  flight) 
Left  Polyphemus  in  eternal  night ; 
And  lastly  to  ^Eoea  brought  thee  on, 
Safe  from  the  man-devouring  Lsestrigon. 
This  for  Ulysses'  love  hath  Circe  done,  155 

And  if  to  live  with  me  thou  shalt  be  won 

151. — Tyn'd,  kindled. 


THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE.     179 

Aurora's  hand  shall  never  draw  away 

The  sable  veil  that  hides  the  gladsome  day, 

But  we  new  pleasures  will  begin  to  taste, 

And,  better  still,  those  we  enjoyed  last.  160 

To  instance  what  I  can  :  Music,  thy  voice, 

And  of  all  those  have  felt  our  wrath  the  choice 

Appear ;  and  in  a  dance  'gin  that  delight 

Which  with  the  minutes  shall  grow  infinite. 

Het  e  one  attired  like  a  woodman  in  all  points  came 
forth  of  the  -wood  and  going  towards  the  stage  sung 
this  song  to  call  away  the  Jirst  Antimasque. 

SONG. 

COME  ye  whose  horns  the  cuckold  wears,  165 

The  witol  too  with  asses'  ears  ; 

Let  the  wolf  leave  howling, 

The  baboon  his  scowling, 

And  Grillus  hie 

Out  of  his  sty.  170 

Though  grunting,  though  barking,  though  braying, 

ye  come, 
We'll  make  ye  dance  quiet  and  so  send  ye  home. 

No  gin  shall  snare  you, 

Nor  mastive  scare  you, 


166. — Witol,  a  contented  cuckold. 
169.— Grillus,  Greek  ypuAAot,  a  hog. 

N   2 


i So     THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE. 

Nor  learn  the  baboon's  tricks,  175 

Nor  Grillus  scoff 
From  the  hog  trough, 

But  turn  again  unto  the  thicks. 
Here's  none  ('tis  hop'd)  so  foolish  scorns 
That  any  else  should  wear  the  horns  ;  180 

Here's  no  cur  with  howling, 
Nor  an  ape  with  scowling, 
Shall  mock  or  moe 
At  what  you  show. 

In  jumping,  in  skipping,  in  turning,  or  ought        185 
You  shall  do  to  please  us,  how  well  or  how  nought. 
If  there  be  any 
Among  this  many, 

Whom  such  an  humour  steers, 
May  he  still  lie  190 

In  Grillus'  sty, 

Or  wear  for  ever  the  asses'  ears. 


While  the  first  staff  of  this  song  -was  singing  out  of 
the  thickets  on  either  side  the  boscage*  came  rush- 
ing the  Antimasque,  being  s^lch  as  by  Circe  were 
supposed  to  have  been  transformed  {having  the 
minds  of  men  still)  into  these  shapes  following : 


178.— Thicks,  thickets. 
183. — Moe,  mow,  make  months. 
189. — Steers,  disturbs,  frightens. 
•  Boscage,  wood. 


THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE.      181 

2.  With    parts,    heads    and   bodies    as    Actseon   is  The  music 

.  ,  was  com- 

pictur  d.  posed  of 

2.  Like  Midas  with  asses'  ears.  tr?bie  violins 

with  all  the 
2.  Like  wolves  as  Lycaon  is  drawn.  inward  parts, 

2.  Like  baboons.  bass?ute0  ' 

Grillus  (of  whom  Plutarch  writes  in  his  Morals)  in  sagbut,»cor- 

-       ,  namute,  and 

the  shape  of  a  hog.  a  tabor  and 

pipe. 

These  together  dancing  an  antic  measure  toivards  the 
latter  end  of  it  missed  Grillus,  who  ivas  newly 
slipped  away,  and  whilst  they  were  at  a  stand, 
wondering  what  was  become  of  him,  the  wood- 
man stepped  forth  and  sung  this  son^ : 


SONG. 

GRILLUS  is  gone  ;  belike  he  hath  heard 
The  dairy-maid  knock  at  the  trough  in  the  yard  : 

Through  thick  and  thin  he  wallows,  195 

And  weighs  nor  depths  nor  shallows. 
Hark  how  he  whines  ! 
Run  all  ere  he  dines  ; 

Then  serve  him  a  trick 
For  being  so  quick,  200 

And  let  him  for  all  his  pains 

Behold  you  turn  clean  off 

His  trough, 
And  spill  all  his  wash  and  his  grains, 

•  Siigbitt,  sackbut. 


1 82      THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE. 

With  this  the  triplex*  of  their  tune  -was  played  twice 
or  thrice  over,  and  by  turns  brought  them  from 
the  stage ;  "when  the  woodman  sung  this  other 
staff  of  the  last  song,  and  then  ran  after  them  : 

And  now  'tis  wish'd  that  all  such  as  he  205 

Were  rooting  with  him  at  the  trough  or  the  tree. 

Fly,  fly,  from  our  pure  fountains, 

To  the  dark  vales  or  the  mountains. 
List,  some  one  whines 
With  voice  like  a  swine's,  210 

As  angry  that  none 

With  Grillus  is  gone, 
Or  that  he  is  left  behind. 

O  let  there  be  no  stay 

In  his  way,  215 

To  hinder  the  boar  from  his  kind. 

CIRCE. 
How  likes  Ulysses  this  ? 

ULYSSES. 

....  Much  like  to  one 
Who  in  a  shipwreck  being  cast  upon 
The  frothy  shores,  and  safe  beholds  his  mates 
Equally  cross'd  by  Neptune  and  the  Fates.  220 

You  might  as  well  have  ask'd  how  I  would  like 
A  strain,  whose  equal  Orpheus  could  not  strike, 

»  Triplex,  triple  time. 


THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE.      183 

Upon  a  harp  whose  strings  none  other  be 

Than  of  the  heart  of  chaste  Penelope. 

O  let  it  be  enough  that  thou  in  these  225 

Hast  made  most  wretched  Laertiades  : 

Let  not  the  sad  chance  of  distressed  Greeks 

With  other  tears  than  Sorrow's  dew  your  cheeks  ! 

Most  abject  baseness  hath  enthrall'd  that  breast 

Which  laughs  at  men  by  misery  oppress'd.  230 

CIRCE. 

In  this,  as  lilies,  or  the  new-fall'n  snow, 
Is  Circe  spotless  yet.     What  though  the  bow, 
Which  Iris  bends,  appearing  to  each  sight 
In  various  hues  and  colours  infinite, 
The  learned  know  that  in  itself  is  free,  235 

And  light  and  shade  make  that  variety  ? 
Things  far  off  seen  seem  not  the  same  they  are  ; 
Fame  is  not  ever  truth's  discoverer  ; 
For  still  where  envy  meeteth  a  report  [24° 

111  she  makes  worse,  and  what  is  good  come  short. 
In  whatsoe'er  this  land  hath  passive  been, 
Or  she  that  here  o'er  other  reigneth  queen, 
Let  wise  Ulysses  judge.     Some,  I  confess, 
That  tow'rds  this  Isle  not  long  since  did  address 
Their  stretched  oars,  no  sooner-  landed  were,         245 
But,  careless  of  themselves,  they  here  and  there 

226. — Laertiades,  the  son  of  Laertes,  i.e.,  Ulysses  himself. 
232. — The  bow,  rainbow,  of  which  Iris  was  the  goddess. 


184     THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE. 

Fed  on  strange  fruits,  envenoming  their  bloods, 

And  now  like  monsters  range  about  the  woods. 

If  those  thy  mates  were,  yet  is  Circe  free  : 

For  their  misfortunes  have  not  birth  from  me.        250 

Who  in  th'  apothecary's  shop  hath  ta'en, 

Whilst  he  is  wanting,  that  which  breeds  his  bane, 

Should  never  blame  the  man  who  there  had  plac'd  it, 

But  his  own  folly  urging  him  to  taste  it. 

ULYSSES. 

yEcea's  Queen  and  great  Hyperion's  pride,  255 

Pardon  misdoubts  ;  and  we  are  satisfied. 

CIRCE. 

Swifter  the  lightning  comes  not  from  above, 
Than  do  our  grants  borne  on  the  wings  of  love. 
And  since  what's  past  doth  not  Ulysses  please, 
Call  to  a  dance  the  fair  nereides,  260 

With  other  nymphs  which  do  in  every  creek, 
In  woods,  on  plains,  on  mountains,  simples  seek 
For  powerful  Circe,  and  let  in  a  song 
Echoes  be  aiding,  that  they  may  prolong 
My  now  command  to  each  place  where  they  be,    265 
To  bring  them  hither  all  more  speedily. 

Presently  in  the  wood  was  heard  a  full  music  of  lutes, 
which  descending  to  the  stage  had  to  them  sung 

252. —  Wanting,  absent. 


THE  INNER   TEMPLE  MASQUE.      185 

this  following  song,  the  Echoes  being  placed  in 
several  parts  of  the  boscage  : 

SONG. 

CIRCE  bids  you  come  away. 

Echo :  Come  away,  come  away. 
From  the  rivers,  from  the  sea. 

Echo :  From  the  sea,  from  the  sea.          270 
From  the  green  woods  every  one. 
Echo:  Every  one,  every  one. 
Of  her  maids  be  missing  none. 

Echo:  Missing  none,  missing  none. 
No  longer  stay,  except  it  be  to  bring  275 

A  med'cine  for  love's  sting. 
That  would  excuse  you  and  be  held  more  dear 
Than  wit  or  magic,  for  both  they  are  here. 

Echo  :  They  are  here,  they  are  here. 

The  Echo  had  no  sooner  answered  to  the  last  lin:  of 
the  song.  They  are  here,  btit  the  second  Anti- 
masque  came  in,  being  seven  nymphs,  and  -were 
thus  attired: 

in  -white  tafftta  robes,  long  tresses,  and  chaplcts 
of  flowers,  herbs  and  weeds  on  their  heads,  with 
little  wicker  baskets  in  their  hands,  neatly 
/•'oitr-{  painted.  These  were  sitpposed  to  be  maids 
attending  upon  Circe,  and  ztsed  in  gathering 
simples  for  their  mistress's  enchantments. — 
(Pausanias  in  prioribus  Eliacis.) 


186      THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE. 

Herat,  lib.  3.  ,  in  sea-green   robes,    greenish  hair  hanging 

loose,withleaves  of  coral  and  shells  intermixed 

Three  I    tipon  it.      These  are  by  Ovid  affirmed  to  kelp 

the  nymphs  of  Circe   in  their  collections  by 

V  these. 

Ovid.  lib.  14.         Nereides  nymphseque  simul  quse  vellera  motis 
Nulla  trahunt  digitis,  nee  fila  sequentia  ducunt, 
Gramina  disponunt ;  sparsosque  sine  ordine  flores 
Secernunt  calathis,  variisque  coloribus  herbas. 
Ipsa,  quod  hse  faciunt,  opus  exigit — 

These  having  danced  a  most  curious  measure  to  a 
softer  tune  than  the  first  Antimasque  (as  most 
fitting}  returned  as  they  came  ;  the  nereides 
towards  the  cliffs  and  the  other  maids  of  Circe 
towards  the  woods  and  plains,  after  which  Ulysses, 
thus  : 

ULYSSES. 

Fame  adds  not  to  thy  joys,  I  see  in  this,  280 

But  like  a  high  and  stately  pyrarnis 
Grows  least  at  farthest.     Now,  fair  Circe,  grant, 
Although  the  fair-hair'd  Greeks  do  never  vaunt, 
That  they  in  measur'd  paces  ought  have  done, 
But  where  the  god  of  battles  led  them  on  ;  285 

Give  leave  that  (freed  from  sleep)  the  small  rcma'n 
Of  my  companions  on  the  under  plain 
May  in  a  dance  strive  how  to  pleasure  thee 
Either  with  skill  or  with  variety. 


THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE.      187 

CIRCE. 

Circe  is  pleas'd.     Ulysses,  take  my  wand  290 

And  from  their  eyes  each  child  of  sleep  command  ; 
Whilst  my  choice  maids  with  their  harmonious  voices, 
Whereat  each  bird  and  dancing  spring  rejoices, 
Charming  the  winds  when  they  contrary  meet, 
Shall  make  their  spirits  as  nimble  as  their  feet.      295 

THE   THIRD   SCENE'S 
Description. 

Circe  with  this  speech  delivering  her  wand  to  Ulysses 
rests  on  the  lower  part  of  the  hill,  while  he  going 
tip  the  hill  and  striking  the  trees  with  his  wand, 
suddenly  two  great  gates  flew  open,  making  as  it 
were  a  large  glade  through  the  wood,  and  along 
the  glatie  a  fair  walk  ;  two  seeming  brick  walls 
on  either  side,  over  which  the  trees  wantonly 
hung  •'  a  great  li^ht  (as  the  sun's  sudden  un- 
masking) being  seen  tipon  this  discovery.  At  the 
further  end  was  descried  an  arbour,  very  curiously 
done,  having  one  entrance  tinder  an  architrave 
borne  up  by  two  pillars  with  their  chapters  and 
bases  gilt ;  the  top  of  the  entrance  beautified 
with  postures  of  satyrs,  wood-nymphs,  and  other 
antick  work;  as  also  the  sides  and  corners: 
the  covering  archwise  interwove  with  boughs,  the 
back  of  it  girt  round  with  a  vine,  and  artificially 
done  up  in  knots  towards  the  top  ;  beyond  it  was 


jS3      THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE. 

a  wood  seen  in  perspective,  the  fore  part  of  it 
opening  at  Ulysses  his  approach;  the  maskers 
•were  discovered  in  several  seats  leaning  as  asleep. 


THEIR   ATTIRE. 

Doublets  of  green  taffeta,  cut  like  oaken  leaves,  as  upon 
cloth  of  silver ;  their  skirts  and  -wings  cut  into 
leaves,  deep  round  hose  of  the  same,  both  laid  with 
sprig  lace  spangled;  long  white  silk  stockings ; 
green  pumps,  and  roses  done  over  with  silver 
leaves;  hats  of  the  same  sttiff,  cut  narrow -brimmed, 
and  rising  smaller  compass  at  the  crown,  white 
wreath  hatbands,  white  plumes,  egrettts3-  with  a 
green  fall p  ruff,  bands  and  cuffs. 

Ulysses  severally  came  and  touched  every  one  of  them 
with  the  wand  while  this  was  sung: 

SONG. 

SHAKE  off  sleep,  ye  worthy  knights, 
Though  ye  dream  of  all  delights  ; 
Show  that  Venus  doth  resort 
To  the  camp  as  well  as  court 

»  Egrettes,  French  aigrette,  a  tuft  of  feathers,  diamonds, 
etc. :  an  ornament  of  ribbons. 

b  Fall,  falling-band  or  Vandyke :  it  fell  flat  upon  the  dress 
from  the  neck,  and  was  at  one  time  worn  with  the  ruff. 


THE  INNER    TEMPLE  MASQUE.      189 

By  some  well-timed  measure,  300 

And  on  your  gestures  and  your  paces 
Let  the  well-composed  Graces, 

Looking  like,  and  part  with  pleasure. 

By  this  the  knights  being  all  risen  from  their  seats 
were  by  Ulysses  (the  loud  music  sounding)  brought 
to  the  stage  ;  and  then  to  the  violins  danced  their 
first  measure  ;  after -which  this  song  brought  them 
to  the  second. 

SONG. 

ON  and  imitate  the  Sun, 

Stay  not  to  breathe  till  you  have  done  :  305 

Earth  doth  think  as  other  where 

Do  some  women  she  doth  bear  : 
Those  wives  whose  husbands  only  threaten 
Are  not  lov'd  like  those  are  beaten.  [310 

Then  with  your  feet  to  suffring  move  her, 

For  whilst  you  beat  earth  thus,  you  love  her. 

Here  they  danced  their  second  measure,  and  then  this 
song  was  sung,  during  which  time  they  take  out 
the  ladies  : 

SONG. 

CHOOSE  now  among  this  fairest  number, 
Upon  whose  breasts  love  would  for  ever  slumber  : 


190      THE  INNER   TEMPLE  MASQUE. 

Choose  not  amiss  since  you  may  where  you  will, 

Or  blame  yourselves  for  choosing  ill.'  315 

Then  do  not  leave,  though  oft  the  music  closes, 
Till  lilies  in  their  cheeks  be  turn'd  to  roses. 

CHORUS. 

And  if  it  lay  in  Circe's  power, 
Your  bliss  might  so  persever, 

That  those  you  choose  but  for  an  hour     320 
You  should  enjoy  for  ever. 

The  knights  wilh  the  laities  dance  here  the  old  measures, 
galliards,  corantoes,  the  brawls,  £fc.t  and  then 
(having  led  them  again  to  their  places)  danced 
their  last  measure;  after  which  this  song  called 
them  away  : 

SONG. 

WHO  but  Time  so  hasty  were 
To  fly  away  and  leave  you  here  ? 
Here  where  delight 

Might  well  allure  325 

A  very  Stoic  from  this  night 
To  turn  an  Epicure. 

But  since  he  calls  away  ;  and  Time  will  soon  repent, 
He  stay'd  not  longer  here,  but  ran  to  be  more  idly 
spent. 

Te'Aos.         FINIS.        THE  END. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS 

FROM   LANSDOWNE   MS.  777 

AND  OTHER  SOURCES. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


I.     LOVE  POEMS 


LOVE  who  will,  for  I'll  love  none, 
There's  fools  enough  beside  me  : 

Yet  if  each  woman  have  not  one, 
Come  to  me  where  I  hide  me, 

And  if  she  can  the  place  attain, 

For  once  I'll  be  her  fool  again. 

It  is  an  easy  place  to  find, 
And  women  sure  should  know  it ; 

Yet  thither  serves  not  every  wind, 
Nor  many  men  can  show  it : 

It  is  the  storehouse,  where  doth  lie 

All  women's  truth  and  constancy. 
VOL.    II.  O 


194  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

If  the  journey  be  so  long, 
No  woman  will  ad  venter  ; 

But  dreading  her  weak  vessel's  wrong, 
The  voyage  will  not  enter  : 

Then  may  she  sigh  and  lie  alone, 

In  love  with  all,  yet  lov'd  of  none. 


II. 


ON   A   FAIR   LADY'S    YELLOW    HAIR, 
POWDERED   WITH    WHITE. 

WRITTEN   IN  THE  DISSOLVING   OF  A   SNOW. 

SAY,  why  on  your  hair  yet  stays 
That  snow  resembling  white  ; 

Since  the  sun's  less  powerful  rays 
Thaw'd  that  which  fell  last  night  ? 

Sure  to  hinder  those  extremes 
Of  love  they  might  bestow  ; 

Art  hath  hid  your  golden  beams 
Within  a  fleece  of  snow. 

Yet  as  on  a  cloth  of  gold, 

With  silver  flowers  wrought  o'er, 

We  do  now  and  then  behold 
A  radiant  wire  or  more  : 


LOVE  POEMS.  195 

So  sometimes  the  amorous  air 
Doth  with  your  fair  locks  play, 

And  unclouds  a  golden  hair ; 
And  then  breaks  forth  the  day. 

On  your  cheeks  the  rosy  morn 

We  plainly  then  descry ; 
And  a  thousand  Cupids  born, 

And  playing  in  each  eye. 

Now  we  all  are  at  a  stay, 

And  know  not  where  to  turn  us  ; 

If  we  wish  that  snow  away, 
Those  glorious  beams  would  burn  us. 

If  it  should  not  fall  amain, 
And  cloud  your  loveful  eyes, 

Each  gentle  heart  would  soon  be  slain, 
And  made  their  sacrifice. 

III. 

NOT  long  agone  a  youthful  swain, 

Much  wronged  by  a  maid's  disdain, 

Before  Love's  altar  came  and  did  implore 

That  he  might  like  her  less,  or  she  love  more. 

The  god  him  heard,  and  she  began 

To  dote  on  him  ;  he,  foolish  man, 

Cloy'd  with  much   sweets,   thus  chang'd    his  note 

before, 
"  O  let  her  love  me  less,  or  I  like  more." 

O   2 


196  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

IV. 

SHALL  I  love  again,  and  try 

If  I  still  must  love  to  lose, 
And  make  weak  mortality 

Give  new  birth  unto  my  woes  ? 
No,  let  me  ever  live  from  Love's  enclosing, 
Rather  than  love  to  live  in  fear  of  losing. 

One  whom  hasty  Nature  gives 
To  the  world  without  his  sight, 

Not  so  discontented  lives, 
As  a  man  depriv'd  of  light : 

'Tis  knowledge  that  gives  vigour  to  our  woe, 

And  not  the  want,  but  loss  that  pains  us  so. 

With  the  Arabian  bird  then  be 

Both  the  lover  and  belov'd ; 
Be  thy  lines  thy  progeny 

By  some  gracious  fair  approv'd  ; 
So  may'st  thou  live,  and  be  belov'd  of  many, 
Without  the  fear  of  loss,  or  want  of  any. 


V. 

DEEP  are  the  wounds  which  strike  a  virtuous  name, 
Sharp  are  the  darts  Revenge  still  sets  on  wing  : 
Consuming  Jealousy's  abhorred  flame  ! 
Deadly  the  frowns  of  an  enraged  king. 


LOVE  POEMS.  197 

Yet  all  these  to  Disdain's  heart-searching  string, 
Deep,  sharp,  consuming,  deadly,  nothing  be, 
Whose  darts,  wounds,  flames,  and  frowns,  meet  all 
in  me.. 

VI. 

POOR  silly  fool !  thou  striv'st  in  vain  to  know, 
If  I  enjoy,  or  love  whom  thou  lov'st  so  ; 
Since  my  affection  ever  secret  tried 
Blooms  like  the  fern,  and  seeds  still  unespied. 

And  as  the  subtle  flames  of  Heaven,  that  wound 
The  inward  part,  yet  leave  the  outward  sound  : 
My  love  wars  on  my  heart,  kills  that  within, 
When  merry  are  my  looks,  and  fresh  my  skin. 

Of  yellow  jaundice  lovers  as  you  be, 
Whose  faces  straight  proclaim  their  malady, 
Think  not  to  find  me  one ;  who  know  full  well, 
That  none  but  French  and  fools  love  now  and  tell. 

His  griefs  are  sweet,  his  joys  (O)  heavenly  move, 
Who  from  the  world  conceals  his  honest  love  ; 
Nay,  lets  his  mistress  know  his  passion's  source 
Rather  by  reason  than  by  his  discourse. 

This  is  my  way,  and  in  this  language  new 
Showing  my  merit,  it  demands  my  due  ; 
And  hold  this  maxim,  spite  of  all  dispute, 
He  asks  enough  that  serves  well  and  is  mute. 


198  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


VII. 

WELCOME,  welcome,  do  I  sing, 
Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring  ; 
He  that  parteth  from  you  never 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  for  ever. 

He  that  to  the  voice  is  near 

Breaking  from  your  iv'ry  pale, 
Need  not  walk  abroad  to  hear 

The  delightful  nightingale. 

Welcome,  welcome,  then  I  sing, 
Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring ; 
He  that  parteth  from  you  never 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  for  ever 

He  that  looks  still  on  your  eyes, 

Though  the  winter  have  begun 
To  benumb  our  arteries, 

Shall  not  want  the  summer's  sun. 

Welcome,  welcome,  then  I  sing,  £c. 

He  that  still  may  see  your  cheeks, 

Where  all  rareness  still  reposes, 
Is  a  fool,  if  e'er  he  seeks 

Other  lilies,  other  roses. 

Welcome,  welcome,  &c. 

He  to  whom  your  soft  lip  yields, 
And  perceives  your  breath  in  kissing, 


LOVE  POEMS.  199 

All  the  odours  of  the  fields 
Never,  never  shall  be  missing. 
Welcome,  welcome,  &c. 

He  that  question  would  anew 

What  fair  Eden  was  of  old, 
Let  him  rightly  study  you, 

And  a  brief  of  that  behold. 

Welcome,  welcome,  then  I,  &c. 


VIII. 

YE  merry  birds,  leave  of  to  sing, 

And  lend  your  ears  awhile  to  me  ; 
Or  if  you  needs  will  court  the  spring 
With  your  enticing  harmony, 

Fly  from  this  grove,  leave  me  alone  ; 
Your  mirth  cannot  befit  my  moan. 

But  if  that  any  be  inclin'd 

To  sing  as  sad  a  song  as  I, 
Let  that  sad  bird  be  now  so  kind 
As  stay  and  bear  me  company  : 

And  we  will  strive  which  shall  outgo, 
Her  heavy  strains  or  my  sad  woe. 

Ye  nymphs  of  Thames,  if  any  swan 
Be  ready  now  her  last  to  sing, 

O  bring  her  hither,  if  ye  can, 
And  sitting  by  us  in  a  ring, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Spend  each  a  sigh,  while  she  and  I 
Together  sing,  together  die. 

Alas  !  how  much  I  err  to  call 

More  sorrow,  where  there  is  such  store  ; 
Ye  gentle  birds,  come  not  at  all, 
And  Isis'  nymphs  forbear  the  shore. 
My  sighs  as  groans  of  mandrakes  be, 
And  would  kill  any  one  but  me. 

To  me  my  griefs  none  other  are 

Than  poison  is  to  one  that  long 
Had  fed  on  it  without  impair 

Unto  his  health,  or  Nature's  wrong  ; 
What  others'  lives  would  quickly  spill, 
I  take,  but  cannot  take  to  kill. 

Then,  sorrow,  since  thou  wert  ordain'd 

To  be  the  inmate  of  my  heart, 
Thrive  there  so  long,  till  thou  hast  gain'd 
In  it  than  life  a  greater  part  : 
And  if  thou  wilt  not  kill,  yet  be 
The  means  that  some  one  pity  me. 

Yet  would  I  not  that  pity  have 

From  any  other  heart  than  hers, 
Who  first  my  wound  of  sorrow  gave  ; 
And  if  she  still  the  cure  defers, 
It  was  my  fate  that  did  assure 
A  hand  to  wound,  but  none  to  cure. 


LOVE  POEMS.  201 

IX. 
A   SIGH    FROM   OXFORD. 

Go,  and  if  thou  chance  to  find 

That  is  southwards  bent  a  wind, 

Take  it  upon  any  hire, 

But  be  sure  it  do  not  tire  : 

If  with  love-sighs  mix'd  it  be  5 

Be  secure  'twill  carry  thee  ; 

Spur  it  on,  and  make  more  haste, 

Than  the  fleet  that  went  out  last ; 

Do  not  stay  to  curl  a  rill, 

Cleanse  a  corn,  or  drive  a  mill ;  10 

Nor  to  crisp  a  lock,  or  turn  it : 

Thou  hast  fire,  and  so  may'st  burn  it. 

For  thy  lodging  do  not  come 
In  a  bagpipe  or  a  drum  : 
In  the  belly  of  some  lute  15 

That  hath  struck  Apollo  mute  ; 
Or  a  gentle  lady's  ear, 
That  might  dream,  whilst  thou  art  there, 
Of  such  vows  as  thou  dost  carry, 
There  for  one  night  thou  may'st  tarry  ;          20 
Whisper  there  thy  message  to  her  ; 
And  if  she  have  any  wooer, 
In  her  sleep  perhaps  she  may 
Speak  what  she  denies  the  day, 

10. — Cleanse  a  corn,  i.e.,  winnow. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  instruct  thee  to  reply  25 

To  my  Caelia  more  than  I. 

For  thy  lodging,  the  next  day, 

Do  not  thankless  go  away  ; 

Give  the  lute  a  test  of  air, 

That  a  poet's  sigh  lay  there  ;  30 

And  inform  it  with  a  soul 

Of  so  high  divine  control, 

That  whoever  hears  it  next 

Shall  be  with  a  Muse  perplex'd  ; 

And  a  lawyer  shall  rehearse  35 

His  demurs  and  pleas  in  verse. 

In  the  Lady's  Lab'rinth  leave 
Not  a  sound  that  may  deceive  ; 
Drive  it  thence  ;  and  after  see 
Thou  there  leave  some  part  of  thee,  40 

By  which  she  may  well  descry 
Any  lover's  forgery : 
For  it  never  will  admit 
Ought  that  is  not  true  as  it. 

When  that  office  thou  hast  done,  45 

And  the  lady  lastly  won, 
Let  the  air  thou  left'st  the  girl, 
Turn  a  drop,  and  then  a  pearl ; 
Which  I  wish  that  she  should  wear 
For  a  pendant  in  her  ear  ;  50 

And  its  virtue  still  shall  be, 
To  detect  all  flattery. 
Could  I  give  each  monarch  such, 


LOVE  POEMS.  203 

None  would  say  I  sigh'd  too  much. 

When  thy  largess  thou  hast  given,  55 

(My  best  sigh  next  that  for  heaven) 

Make  not  any  longer  stay  ; 

Kiss  thine  hostess,  and  away. 

If  thou  meet,  as  thou  dost  stir, 
Any  Sigh  a  passenger,  60 

Stand  upon  thy  guard,  and  be 
Jealous  of  a  robbery  ; 
For  the  Sighs  that  travel  now 
Bear  not  so  much  truth  as  thou  ; 
Those  may  rob  thee  to  supply  65 

That  defect  of  constancy 
Which  their  masters  left  to  be 
Fill'd  by  what  was  stol'n  from  thee  : 
Yet  adventure,  for  in  sooth 
Few  dare  meddle  now  with  truth  ;  70 

'Tis  a  coin  that  will  not  pay 
For  their  meat  or  horses'  hay  ; 
'Tis  cried  down,  and  such  a  coin 
As  no  great  thief  will  purloin. 

Petty  foot-Sighs  thou  may'st  meet,  75 

From  the  Counter  or  the  Fleet 
To  a  wife  or  mistress  sent, 
That  her  lover's  means  hath  spent, 
Of  such  ones  beware,  for  those, 
Much  spent  on  their  masters'  woes,  80 

May  want  of  that  store  which  thou 
Carriest  to  my  Caelia  now  : 


204  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  so  rob  thee,  and  then  spend  thee, 

So  as  I  did  ne'er  intend  thee  ; 

With  dishonour  thou  shalt  move  85 

To  beg  an  alms,  not  get  a  love. 

Shun  them,  for  they  have  no  ruth, 

And  know  that  few  are  hang'd  for  truth : 

Nay,  the  laws  have  been  more  brief 

To  jail  that  theft,  more  than  a  thief;  90 

The  Hue  and  Cry  will  not  go  post 

For  the  worth  which  thou  hast  lost. 

Yet  for  Faith  and  Truth  betray'd 

Countries  heretofore  have  paid. 

Wary  be,  and  fearing  loss,  95 

Like  those  of  the  Rosy-Cross, 
Be  not  seen,  but  hie  thee  on 
Like  an  inspiration ; 
And  as  air,  ascending  higher, 
Turns  to  drops,  or  else  to  fire  :  ico 

So  when  thou  art  nearer  come 
To  my  star,  and  to  thy  home, 
If  thou  meet  a  Sigh,  which  she 
Hath  but  coldly  sent  to  me, 
Kiss  it,  for  thy  wanner  air  105 

Will  dissolve  into  a  tear  ; 
As  the  steam  of  roses  will 
At  the  cold  top  of  a  still  : 
Nor  shalt  thou  be  lost ;  her  eyes 
Have  Apollo's  faculties  ;  1 10 

Their  fair  rays  will  work  amain, 


LOVE  POEMS.  205 

And  turn  thee  to  a  Sigh  again. 

What  thou  art  yet  closely  shroud, 
Rise  up  like  a  fleecy  cloud  ; 
And  as  thou  dost  so  aspire  115 

To  her  element  of  fire, 
(Which  afar  its  forces  dart, 
And  exhal'd  thee  from  my  heart,) 
Make  thine  own  shape,  just  as  we 
Fashion  clouds  by  phantasy  ;  120 

Be  a  Cupid,  be  a  Heart 
Wounded,  and  her  rays  the  dart  ; 
Have  a  chasma  too,  and  there 
Only  let  our  vows  appear  : 
Lastly,  I  would  wish  thee  be  125 

Such  a  cloud  resembling  me, 
That  Ixion-like  she  might 
Clasp  thee  with  his  appetite ; 
Yet  more  temperate  and  chaste, 
And  whilst  thou  art  so  embrac'd,  130 

And  afforded  some  sweet  sips, 
From  her  Muse-inspiring  lips, 
Vanish  !  and  then  slip  by  art 
Through  those  rubies  to  her  heart. 
Wind  it  round,  and  let  it  be  135 

Thoughtless  of  all  earth  but  me  ; 
Grow  acquainted  with  that  air, 
Which  doth  to  her  heart  repair  ; 

123. — Chasma,  chasm. 


2c6  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  so  temper  and  so  blisse  it, 

And  so  fan  it,  and  so  kiss  it,  140 

That  the  new-born  rose  may  be 

Not  so  truly  chaste  as  she. 

With  that  Regent,  from  that  hour, 
Leiger  lie  Ambassador  : 

Keep  our  truce  unbroke,  prefer  145 

All  the  suits  I  send  to  her  : 
Get  dispatches,  that  may  stand 
With  the  good  of  either  hand  ; 
So  that  thou  be  bold  and  true, 
Never  fear  what  may  ensue  ;  1 50 

For  there  is  no  policy 
Like  to  that  of  honesty. 

Get  into  her  minion  thought, 
Howsoever  dearly  bought  ; 
And  procure  that  she  dispense  155 

To  transport  some  kisses  thence  : 
These  are  rarities  and  dear, 
For  like  hers  I  meet  none  here. 

This  thy  charge  is  ;  then  begone 
With  thy  full  commission  :  1 60 

Make  her  mine,  and  clear  all  doubts  ; 
Kill  each  jealousy  that  sprouts  ; 
Keep  the  honour  of  thy  place  ; 
Let  no  other  Sigh  disgrace 

Thy  just  worth,  and  never  sit  165 

139. — Blisse,  bless. 

144. — Leiger,  a  resident  ambassador. 


LOVE  POEMS.  207 

To  her,  though  [s]he  bribe  for  it. 

And  when  I  shall  call  thee  home, 
To  send  another  in  thy  room  ; 
Leave  these  thoughts  for  agents  there  : 

First,  I  think  her  pure  and  chaste,        1 70 
As  the  ice  congealed  last ; 
Next,  as  iron  (though  it  glows) 
Never  melts  but  once,  and  flows  ; 
So  her  love  will  only  be 
Fluent  once,  and  that  to  me  :  175 

Lastly,  as  the  glowworm's  might 
Never  kindled  other  light, 
I  believe  that  fire  which  she 
Haply  shows  in  loving  me, 
Never  will  encourage  man,  180 

(Though  her  love's  meridian 
Heat  him  to  it)  once  to  dare 
To  mention  love,  though  unaware  ; 
Much  less  fire  a  Sigh  that  may 
Incorporate  with  my  fair  ray.  185 

I  have  read  of  two  erewhile, 
Enemies  burnt  in  one  pile  ; 
That  their  flames  would  never  kiss, 
But  made  a  several  pyramis. 
Let  all  Sighs  that  come  to  thee,  190 

By  thy  love  enlighten'd  be  ; 
If  they  join  and  make  one  flame, 
Be  secure  from  me  they  came. 
If  they  separate,  beware, 


208  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

There  is  craft  that  would  ensnare  ;  195 

Mine  are  rarefied  and  just ; 
Truth  and  love  :  the  others  lust. 

With  this  charge,  farewell,  and  try 
What  must  be  my  destiny : 
Woo,  secure  her  ;  plead  thy  due  ;  200 

This  Sigh  is  not  so  long  as  true  : 
And  whoever  shall  incline 
To  send  another  after  mine, 
Though  he  have  more  cunning  far 
Than  the  Juggler  Gondomar,  205 

All  his  sleights,  and  all  his  faults, 
Hollowness  of  heart,  and  halts  ; 
By  thy  chaster  fire  will  all 
Be  so  wrought  diaphanal ; 
She  shall  look  through  them,  and  see      210 
How  much  he  comes  short  of  me  : 
Then  my  Sigh  shall  be  approv'd, 
And  kiss  that  heart  whom  I  have  lovM. 


X. 

A  HAPLESS  shepherd  on  a  day 
Yode  to  St.  Michael's  Mount, 

And  spent  more  tears  upon  the  way 
Than  all  the  sands  could  count. 

205.— Gondomar,  Diego  Sarmiento  de  Acuaii,  Count  Gon- 
domar, ambassador  from  the  Court  of  Spain  to  London,  1617-23, 
by  whose  intrigues  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  was  beheaded  in  1618. 

207.—  Halts,  bad  qualities. 


LOVE   POEMS.  209 

Full  was  the  sea,  so  were  the  eyes 

Of  this  unhappy  lover, 
Yet  without  oar  or  wind  in  skies, 

His  sighs  did  waft  him  over. 


C>ELIA  is  gone,  and  now  sit  I 

As  Philomela,  on  a  thorn, 

Turn'd  out  of  Nature's  livery, 

Mirthless,  alone,  and  all  forlorn  ; 

Only  she  sings  not,  while  my  sorrows  can 

Afford  such  notes  as  fit  a  dying  swan. 
So  shuts  the  marigold  her  leaves 
At  the  departure  of  the  sun  ; 
So  from  honeysuckle  sheaves 
The  bee  goes  when  the  day  is  done. 

So  sits  the  turtle  when  she  is  but  one  ; 

So  is  all  woe  ;  as  I,  now  she  is  gone. 
To  some  few  birds  kind  Nature  hath 
Made  all  the  summer  as  one  day, 
Which  once  enjoy'd,  cold  winter's  wrath, 
As  night,  they  sleeping  pass  away  : 

Those  happy  creatures  are  that  know  not  yet 

The  pains  to  be  depriv'd,  or  to  forget. 
I  oft  have  heard  men  say  there  be 
Some  that  with  confidence  profess 
The  helpful  Art  of  Memory  ; 
But  could  they  teach  Forgetfulness, 

VOL.    II.  p 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

I'd  learn  and  try  what  further  art  could  do 
To  make  me  love  her  and  forget  her  too. 
Sad  Melancholy  that  persuades 
Men  from  themselves  to  think  they  be 
Headless  or  other  bodies'  shades, 
Hath  long  and  bootless  dwelt  with  me  ; 
For  could  I  think  she  some  Idea  were, 
I  still  might  love,  forget,  and  have  her  here  ; 
But  such  she  is  not  :  nor  would  I, 
For  twice  as  many  torments  more, 
As  her  bereaved  company 
Hath  brought  to  those  I  felt  before  ; 
For  then  no  future  time  might  hap  to  know, 
That  she  deserv'cl,  or  I  did  love  her  so. 
Ye  hours  then  but  as  minutes  be, 
(Though  so  I  shall  be  sooner  old,) 
Till  I  those  lovely  graces  see, 
Which  but  in  her  can  none  behold  : 
Then  be  an  age  that  we  may  never  try 
More  grief  in  parting,  but  grow  old  and  die. 


II.  ODES,  SONGS,  AND   SONNETS. 

AN  ODE. 
I. 

AWAKE,  fair  Muse  ;  for  I  intend 
These  everlasting  lines  to  thee, 
And,  honour'd  Dray  ton,  come  and  lend 

An  ear  to  this  sweet  melody  : 
For  on  my  harp's  most  high  and  silver  string 
To  those  Nine  Sisters  whom  I  love,  I  sing. 

This  man  through  death  and  horror  seeks 

Honour  by  the  victorious  steel ; 
Another  in  unmapped  creeks 

For  jewels  moors  his  winged  keel. 
The  clam'rous  Bar  wins  some,  and  others  bite 
At  looks  thrown  from  a  mushroom  favourite. 

But  I,  that  serve  the  lovely  Graces, 

Spurn  at  that  dross  which  most  adore  ; 

And  titles  hate  like  painted  faces, 
And  heart-fed  care  for  evermore. 

P  2 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Those  pleasures  I  disdain  which  are  pursu'd 
With  praise  and  wishes  by  the  multitude. 

The  bays,  which  deathless  Learning  crowns, 

Me  of  Apollo's  troop  installs  : 
The  satyrs  following  o'er  the  downs 

Fair  nymphs  to  rustic  festivals, 
Make  me  affect  (where  men  no  traffic  have) 
The  holy  horror  of  a  savage  cave. 

Through  the  fair  skies  I  thence  intend, 

With  an  unus'd  and  powerful  wing, 
To  bear  me  to  my  journey's  end : 

And  those  that  taste  the  Muses'  spring, 
Too  much  celestial  fire  have  at  their  birth 
To  live  long  time  like  common  souls  in  earth. 

From  fair  Aurora  will  I  rear 

Myself  unto  the  source  of  floods  ; 
And  from  the  Ethiopian  bear, 

To  him  as  white  as  snowy  woods  ; 
Nor  shall  I  fear  (from  this  day  taking  flight) 
To  be  wound  up  in  any  veil  of  night. 

Of  Death  I  may  not  fear  the  dart, 

As  is  the  use  of  human  state  ; 
For  well  I  know  my  better  part 

Dreads  not  the  hand  of  Time  or  Fate. 


ODES,  SONGS,  AND  SONNETS.       213 

Tremble  at  Death,  Envy,  and  Fortune  who 
Have  but  one  life  :  Heaven  gives  a  poet  two. 

All  costly  obsequies  away, 

Marble  and  painting  too,  as  vain  ; 
My  ashes  shall  not  meet  with  clay, 
As  those  do  of  the  vulgar  train. 
And  if  my  Muse  to  Spenser's  glory  come, 
No  king  shall  own  my  verses  for  his  tomb. 


II. 
A   ROUND. 

All. 

Now  that  the  Spring  hath  fill'd  our  veins 

With  kind  and  active  fire, 
And  made  green  liv'ries  for  the  plains, 

And  every  grove  a  quire  : 

Sing  we  a  song  of  merry  glee, 

And  Bacchus  fill  the  bowl. 
I.  Then  here's  to  thee  ;   2.  And  thou  to  me 

And  every  thirsty  soul. 

Nor  Care  nor  Sorrow  e'er  paid  debt, 

Nor  never  shall  do  mine  ; 
I  have  no  cradle  going  yet, 

Not  I,  by  this  good  wine. 


214  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Xo  wife  at  home  to  send  for  me, 
No  hogs  are  in  my  ground, 

No  suit  in  law  to  pay  a  fee, 
Then  round,  old  Jocky,  round. 

All. 

Shear  sheep  that  have  them,  cry  we  still, 
But  see  that  no  man  'scape 
To  drink  of  the  sherry, 
That  makes  us  so  merry, 
And  plump  as  the  lusty  grape. 


III. 

UNHAPPY  Muse,  that  nothing  pleasest  me, 
But  tir'st  thyself  to  reap  another's  bliss, 
She  that  as  much  forbears  thy  melody, 
As  fearful  maidens  do  the  serpent's  hiss, 
Doth  she  not  fly  away  when  I  would  sing  ? 
Or  doth  she  stay,  when  I  with  many  a  tear 
Keep  solemn  time  to  my  woes'  uttering  ; 
And  ask  what  wild  birds  grant  to  lend  an  ear 
O  hapless  tongue,  in  silence  ever  live, 
And  ye,  my  founts  of  tears,  forbear  supply : 
Since  neither  words,  nor  tears,  nor  Muse  can  give 
Ought  worth  the  pitying  such  a  wretch  as  I. 
Grieve  to  yourselves,  if  needs  you  will  deplore, 
Till  tears  and  words  are  spent  for  evermore. 


ODES,  SONGS,  AND  SONNETS.       215 

IV. 

UNHAPPY  I,  in  whom  no  joy  appears, 

And  but  for  sorrow  of  all  else  forlorn  ; 

Mishaps  increasing  faster  than  my  years, 

As  I  to  grieve  and  die  were  only  born. 

Dark  sullen  night  is  my  too  tedious  day ; 

In  it  I  labour  when  all  others  rest, 

And  wear  in  discontent  those  hours  away, 

Which  make  some  less  deserving  greater  blest. 

The  rose-cheek'd  morn  I  hate,  because  it  brings 

A  sad  remembrance  of  my  fairer  fair, 

From  whose  dear  grave  arise  continual  springs, 

Whose  misty  vapours  cloud  the  lightsome  air. 

And  only  now  I  to  my  love  prefer 

Those  clouds  which  shed  their  rain,  and  weep  for 
her. 

V. 
THIRSIS'  PRAISE  OF  HIS   MISTRESS.* 

ON  a  hill  that  grac'd  the  plain 
Thirsis  sat,  a  comely  swain, 

Cornel  ier  swain  ne'er  grac'd  a  hill : 
Whilst  his  flock,  that  wander'd  nigh, 
Cropp'd  the  green  grass  busily, 

Thus  he  tun'd  his  oaten  quill : 

•  From  Eng land's  Helicon  ;  or,  Hie  Muses'  Harmony,  1614, 
8vo. 


216  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Ver  hath  made  the  pleasant  field 
Many  sev'ral  odours  yield, 

Odours  aromatical  : 
From  fair  Astra's  cherry  lip 
Sweeter  smells  for  ever  skip, 

They  in  pleasing  passen  all. 

Leavy  groves  now  mainly  ring 
With  each  sweet  bird's  sonneting, 

Notes  that  makes  the  echoes  long  : 
But  when  Astra  tunes  her  voice, 
All  the  mirthful  birds  rejoice, 

And  are  list'ning  to  her  song. 

Fairly  spreads  the  damask  rose, 
Whose  rare  mixture  doth  disclose 

Beauties  pencils  cannot  feign; 
Yet  if  Astra  pass  the  bush, 
Roses  have  been  seen  to  blush. 

She  doth  all  their  beauties  stain. 

Phoebus,  shining  bright  in  sky, 
Gilds  the  floods,  heats  mountains  high 

With  his  beams'  all-quick'ning  fire  : 
Astra's  eyes,  most  sparkling  ones, 
Strikes  a  heat  in  hearts  of  stones, 

And  enflames  them  with  desire. 

Fields  are  blest  with  flow'ry  wreath, 
Air  is  blest  when  she  doth  breathe, 


ODES,  SONGS,  AND  SONNETS.       217 

Birds  make  happy  ev'ry  grove, 
She,  each  bird,  when  she  doth  sing  : 
Phoebus  heat  to  earth  doth  bring, 

She  makes  marble  fall  in  love. 

Those  blessings  of  the  earth  we  swains  do  call, 
Astra  can  bless  those  blessings,  earth  and  all. 


C  &  L I  A. 


i. 

Lo,  I  the  man  that  whilom  lov'cl  and  lost, 
Not  dreading  loss,  do  sing  again  of  love  ; 
And  like  a  man  but  lately  tempest-toss'd, 
Try  if  my  stars  still  inauspicious  prove  : 
Not  to  make  good  that  poets  never  can 
Long  time  without  a  chosen  mistress  be, 
Do  I  sing  thus  ;  or  my  affections  ran 
Within  the  maze  of  mutability ; 
What  last  I  lov'd  was  beauty  of  the  mind, 
And  that  lodg'd  in  a  temple  truly  fair, 
Which  ruin'd  now  by  death,  if  I  can  find 
The  saint  that  liv'd  therein  some  otherwhere, 
I  may  adore  it  there,  and  love  the  cell 
For  entertaining  what  I  lov'd  so  well. 


2iS  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

2. 

WKY  might  I  not  for  once  be  of  that  sect, 
Which  hold  that  souls,  when  Nature  hath  her  right, 
Some  other  bodies  to  themselves  elect ; 
And  sunlike  make  the  day,  and  license  night  ? 
That  soul,  whose  setting  in  one  hemisphere 
Was  to  enlighten  straight  another  part ; 
In  that  horizon,  if  I  see  it  there, 
Calls  for  my  first  respect  and  its  desert  ; 
I  ler  virtue  is  the  same  and  may  be  more  ; 
For  as  the  sun  is  distant,  so  his  power 
In  operation  differs,  and  the  store 
Of  thick  clouds  interpos'd  make  him  less  our. 
And  verily  I  think  her  climate  such, 
Since  to  my  former  flame  it  adds  so  much. 

3- 

FAIREST,  when  by  the  rules  of  palmistry 
You  took  my  hand  to  try  if  you  could  guess 
By  lines  therein  if  any  wight  there  be 
Ordain'd  to  make  me  know  some  happiness  ; 
I  wish'd  that  those  characters  could  explain, 
Whom  I  will  never  wrong  with  hope  to  win  ; 
Or  that  by  them  a  copy  might  be  ta'en, 
By  you  alone  what  thoughts  I  have  within. 
But  since  the  hand  of  Nature  did  not  set 
(As  providently  loath  to  have  it  known) 
The  means  to  find  that  hidden  alphabet, 
Mine  eyes  shall  be  th'  interpreters  alone  ; 


ODES,  SONGS,  AND  SONNETS.       219 

By  them  conceive  my  thoughts,  and  tell  me,  fair, 
If  now  you  see  her,  that  doth  love  me  there  ? 


4- 

So  sat  the  muses  on  the  banks  of  Thames, 
And  pleas'd  to  sing  our  heavenly  Spenser's  wit, 
Inspiring  almost  trees  with  pow'rful  flames, 
As  Cselia  when  she  sings  what  I  have  writ  : 
Methinks  there  is  a  spirit  more  divine, 
An  elegance  more  rare  when  ought  is  sung 
I'y  her  sweet  voice,  in  eveiy  verse  of  mine, 
Than  I  conceive  by  any  other  tongue  : 
So  a  musician  sets  what  some  one  plays 
\Viih  better  relish,  sweeter  stroke,  than  he 
That  first  compos'd  ;  nay,  oft  the  makera  weighs 
If  what  he  hears,  his  own,  or  other's  be. 

Such  are  my  lines  :  the  highest,  best  of  choice, 
Become  more  gracious  by  her  sweetest  voice. 

5- 

WERE'T  not  for  you,  here  should  my  pen  have  rest 
And  take  a  long  leave  of  sweet  poesy  ; 
Britannia's  swains,  and  rivers  far  by  west, 
Should  hear  no  more  mine  oaten  melody  ; 
Yet  shall  the  song  I  sung  of  them  awhile 
Unperfect  lie,  and  make  no  further  known 

»  Maker,  composer. 


20  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  happy  loves  of  this  our  pleasant  Isle  ; 
Till  I  have  left  some  record  of  mine  own. 
You  are  the  subject  now,  and,  writing  you, 
I  well  may  versify,  not  poetize  : 
Here  needs  no  fiction  :  for  the  graces  true 
And  virtues  clip  not  with  base  flatteries. 

Here  could  I  write  what  you  deserve  of  praise, 
Others  might  wear,  but  I  should  win  the  bays. 


6. 

SING  soft,  ye  pretty  birds,  while  Cselia  sleeps, 
And  gentle  gales  play  gently  with  the  leaves  ; 
Learn  of  the  neighbour  brooks,  whose  silent  deeps 
Would  teach  him  fear,  that  her  soft  sleep  bereaves. 
Mine  oaten  reed,  devoted  to  her  praise, 
(A  theme  that  would  befit  the  Delphian  lyre) 
Give  way,  that  I  in  silence  may  admire. 
Is  not  her  sleep  like  that  of  innocents, 
Sweet  as  herself ;  and  is  she  not  more  fair, 
Almost  in  death,  than  are  the  ornaments 
Of  fruitful  trees,  which  newly  budding  are  ? 
She  is,  and  tell  it,  Truth,  when  she  shall  lie 
And  sleep  for  ever,  for  she  cannot  die. 


7- 

FAIREST,  when  I  am  gone,  as  now  the  glass 
Of  Time  is  mark'd  how  long  1  have  to  stay, 


ODES,  SONGS,  AND  SONNETS.       221 

Let  me  entreat  you,  ere  from  hence  I  pass, 
Perhaps  from  you  for  evermore  away, 
Think  that  no  common  love  hath  fir'd  my  breast, 
Nor  base  desire,  but  virtue  truly  known, 
Which  I  may  love,  and  wish  to  have  possess'd, 
Were  you  the  high'st  as  fair'st  of  any  one  ; 
;Tis  not  your  lovely  eye  enforcing  flames, 
Nor  beauteous  red  beneath  a  snowy  skin, 
That  so  much  binds  me  yours,  or  makes  you  fame's, 
As  the  pure  light  and  beauty  shrin'd  within  : 
Yet  outward  parts  I  must  affect  of  duty, 
As  for  the  smell  we  like  the  rose's  beauty. 


As  oft  as  I  meet  one  that  comes  from  you, 
And  ask  your  health,  not  as  the  usual  fashion, 
Before  he  speaks,  I  doubt  there  will  ensue, 
As  oft  there  doth,  the  common  commendation  : 
Alas,  think  I,  did  he  but  know  my  mind 
(Though  for  the  world  I  would  not  have  it  so) 
He  would  relate  it  in  another  kind, 
Discourse  of  it  at  large,  and  yet  but  slow ; 
lie  should  th"  occasion  tell,  and  with  it  too 
Add  how  you  charg'd  him  ha  should  not  forget ; 
For  thus  you  might,  as  sure  some  lovers  do, 
Though  such  a  messenger  I  have  not  met : 

Nor  do  I  care,  since  'twill  not  further  move  me : 
Love  me  alone  and  say  alone  you  love  me. 


22  MISCELLANEOUS  rOEMS. 

9- 

TELL  me,  my  thoughts  (for  you  each  minute  fly, 
And  see  those  beauties  which  mine  eyes  have  lost,) 
Is  any  worthier  love  beneath  the  sky? 
Would  not  the  cold  Norwegian  mix'd  with  frost 
(If  in  their  clime  she  were)  from  her  bright  eyes 
Receive  a  heat,  so  pow'rfully  begun, 
In  all  his  veins  and  numbed  arteries, 
That  would  supply  the  lowness  of  the  sun  ? 
I  wonder  at  her  harmony  of  words, 
Rare  (and  as  rare  as  seldom  doth  she  talk) 
That  rivers  stand  not  in  their  speedy  fords, 
And  down  the  hills  the  trees  forbear  to  walk : 

But  more  I  muse  why  I  should  hope  in  fine 

To  get  a  Love,  a  Beauty  so  divine. 

10. 

To  get  a  Love  and  Beauty  so  divine, 
(In  these  so  wary  times)  the  fact  must  be 
Of  greater  fortunes  to  the  world  than  mine  ; 
Those  are  the  steps  to  that  felicity  ; 
For  love  no  other  gate  hath  than  the  eyes, 
And  inward  worth  is  now  esteem'd  as  none  ; 
Mere  outsides  only  to  that  blessing  rise, 
Which  Truth  and  Love  did  once  account  their  own ; 
Vet  as  she  wants  her  fairer,  she  may  miss 
The  common  cause  of  love,  and  be  as  free 
From  earth,  as  her  composure  heavenly  is  ; 
If  not,  I  restless  rest  in  misery, 


ODES,  SONGS,  AND  SONNETS.       223 

And  daily  wish,  to  keep  me  from  despair, 
Fortune  my  mistress,  or  you  not  so  fair. 


II. 

FAIR  Laurel,  that  the  only  witness  art 
To  that  discourse,  which  underneath  thy  shade 
Our  grief-swoll'n  breasts  did  lovingly  impart, 
With  vows  as  true  as  e'er  Religion  made  : 
If  (forced  by  our  sighs)  the  flame  shall  fly 
Of  our  kind  love,  and  get  within  thy  rind, 
Be  wary,  gentle  bay,  and  shriek  not  high, 
When  thou  dost  such  unusual  fervour  find  ; 
Suppress  the  fire  ;  for  should  it  take  thy  leaves, 
Their  crackling  would  betray  us,  and  thy  glory 
(Honour's  fair  symbol)  dies  ;  thy  trunk  receives 
But  heat  sufficient  for  our  future  story : 

And  when  our  sad  misfortunes  vanquish'd  lie, 
Embrace  our  fronts  in  sign  of  memory. 

12. 

HAD  not  the  soil  that  bred  me  further  done, 
And  fill'd  part  of  those  veins  which  sweetly  do, 
Much  like  the  living  streams  of  Eden,  run, 
Embracing  such  a  Paradise  as  you  ; 
My  Muse  had  fail'd  me  in  the  course  I  ran, 
Hut  that  she  from  your  virtues  took  new  breath, 
And  from  your  eyes  such  fire  that,  like  a  swan, 
She  in  your  praise  can  sing  herself  to  death. 


224  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Now  could  I  wish  those  golden  hours  unspent, 
Wherein  my  fancy  led  me  to  the  woods, 
And  tun'd  soft  lays  of  rural  merriment, 
Of  shepherds'  loves  and  never-resting  floods  : 
P'or  had  I  seen  you  then,  though  in  a  dream, 
Those  songs  had  slept,  and  you  had  been  my  theme. 

13- 

NIGHT,  steal  not  on  too  fast  :  we  have  not  yet 
Shed  all  our  parting  tears,  nor  paid  the  kisses, 
Which  four  days'  absence  made  us  run  in  debt, 
(O,  who  would  absent  be  where  grow  such  blisses?) 
The  Rose,  which  but  this  morning  spread  her  leaves, 
Kiss'd  not  her  neighbour  flower  more  chaste  than  we  : 
Nor  are  the  timely  ears  bound  up  in  sheaves 
More  strict  than  in  our  arms  we  twisted  be  ; 
O  who  would  part  us  then,  and  disunite 
Two  harmless  souls,  so  innocent  and  true, 
That  were  all  honest  love  forgotten  quite, 
By  our  example  men  might  learn  anew  ! 
Night  severs  us,  but  pardon  her  she  may, 
And  will  once  make  us  happier  than  the  day. 

14. 

DIVINEST  Caelia,  send  no  more  to  ask 
How  I  in  absence  do  ;  your  servant  may 
Be  freed  of  that  unnecessary  task : 
P'or  you  may  know  it  by  a  shorter  way. 


ODES,  SONGS,  AND  SONNETS.       225 

I  was  a  shadow  when  I  went  from  you  ; 
And  shadows  are  from  sickness  ever  free. 
My  heart  you  kept  (a  sad  one,  though  a  true) 
And  nought  but  memory  went  home  with  me. 
Look  in  your  breast,  where  now  two  hearts  you  have, 
And  see  if  they  agree  together  there  : 
If  mine  want  aid,  be  merciful  and  save, 
And  seek  not  for  me  any  other  where  : 

Should  my  physician  question  how  I  do, 

I  cannot  tell  him,  till  I  ask  of  you. 


AMOUR." 

LIKE  to  the  world  my  love  I  find  to  be, 
Like  to  the  earth  my  faith  itself  doth  show, 
And  like  the  thrilling  winds  my  sighs  do  blow  : 
Like  to  the  fire  my  burning  jealousy, 
And  as  a  rock  my  heart  in  constancy. 
Ardent  affection  is  like  to  the  Summer  ; 
My  fear  cold  Winter,  senses  all  benummer, 
And  like  the  Spring  is  memory  in  me. 
Like  to  the  waters  are  my  eye-spent  showers, 
My  thoughts  of  April  are  the  fading  flowers, 
My  flame  like  to  the  Sun  is  rightly  ta'en, 
Like  to  the  boundless  heaven  desire  hath  been. 

»  This  and  the  two  following  poems  are  printed  for  the  first 
time  from  the  MS.  in  the  Library  of  Salisbury  Cathedral. 

VOL.    II.  Q 


226  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

My  hopes  like  to  the  moon  do  wax  and  wane  ; 
But  Autumn  yet  in  me  was  never  seen. 


LOOK  as  a  bough  cut  lately  from  the  rind 
And  thrown  into  the  fire,  ere  it  consume 
It  combats  with  the  heat  in  noise  and  fume, 
And  sparkles  forth  his  moisture  and  his  wind. 
So  since  my  heart  was  fir'd  by  you,  I  find 
Uncessant  tears  so  welled  fro  mine  eyes, 
And  from  my  breast  such  heavy  sighs  arise 
Striving  to  quell  the  ardour  which  (unkind) 
You  pass  and  scarcely  notice  take  it  burns. 
Is  senseless  wood  so  deem'd  whenas  it  mourns 
To  be  no  more  ?     O  blame  not  then  my  heart 
That  would  be  read  in  characters  of  woe. 
You  are  the  fire  embracing  every  part. 
Can  any  choose  but  plain  that's  pained  so  ? 
If  such  there  be,  he  truly  merits  love 
Even  from  the  widow  of  a  Turtle-dove. 


SONNET. 

FOR  her  gait  if  she  be  walking, 
Be  she  sitting  I  desire  her 
For  her  state's  sake,  and  admire  her 
For  her  wit  if  she  be  talking. 

Gait  and  state  and  wit  approve  her  ; 

For  which  all  and  each  I  love  her. 


ODES,  SONGS,  AND  SONNETS.       227 

Be  she  sullen,  I  commend  her 

For  a  modest.     Be  she  merry, 

For  a  kind  one  her  prefer  I. 

Briefly  everything  doth  lend  her 
So  much  grace  and  so  approve  her, 
That  for  everything  I  love  her. 


228 


III.— EPISTLES. 

AN  EPISTLE. 

DEAR  soul,  the  time  is  come,  and  we  must  part, 

Yet,  ere  I  go,  in  these  lines  read  my  heart ; 

A  heart  so  just,  so  loving,  and  so  true, 

So  full  of  sorrow  and  so  full  of  you  ; 

That  all  I  speak,  or  write,  or  pray,  or  mean,  5 

And  (which  is  all  I  can)  all  that  I  dream, 

Is  not  without  a  sigh,  a  thought  for  you, 

And  as  your  beauties  are,  so  are  they  true. 

Seven  summers  now  are  fully  spent  and  gone, 
Since  first  I  lov'd,  lov'd  you,  and  you  alone  ;  10 

And  should  mine  eyes  as  many  hundreds  see, 
Yet  none  but  you  should  claim  a  right  in  me  ; 
A  right  so  plac'd  that  time  shall  never  hear 
Of  one  so  vow'd,  or  any  lov'd  so  dear. 

When  I  am  gone  (if  ever  prayers  mov'd  you)        1 5 
Relate  to  none  that  I  so  well  have  lov'd  you  ; 
For  all  that  know  your  beauty  and  desert, 
Would  swear  he  never  lov'd,  that  knew  to  part. 

Why  part  we  then?    That  spring  which  but  this 

day 
Met  some  sweet  river,  in  his  bed  can  play,  20 


EPISTLES.  229 

And  with  a  dimple[d]  cheek  smile  at  their  bliss, 
Who  never  know  what  separation  is. 
The  amorous  vine  with  wanton  interlaces 
Clips  still  the  rough  elm  in  her  kind  embraces  : 
Doves  with  their  doves  sit  billing  in  the  groves,       25 
And  woo  the  lesser  birds  to  sing  their  loves; 
Whilst  hapless  we  in  grieful  absence  sit, 
Yet  dare  not  ask  a  hand  to  lessen  it. 


AN  EPISTLE 

Occasioned  by  the  most  intolerable  jangling  of  the 
Papists'  bells  on  All  Saints'  Night,  the  eve  of  All 
Souls1  Day,  being  then  used  to  be  rung  all  nig  lit 
(and  all  as  if  the  town  were  on  fire)  for  the  sottls 
of  those  in  Purgatory. 

WRITTEN   FROM  THOUARS  TO   SAUMUR,   TO  MR. 
BRYAN    PALMES. 

PALMES  and  my  friend,  this  night  of  Hallantide, 

Left  all  alone,  and  no  way  occupied : 

Not  to  be  idle,  though  I  idle  be 

In  writing  verse,  I  send  these  lines  to  thee  : 

Ask  me  not  how  I  can  be  left  alone,  5 

For  all  are  here  so  in  devotion, 

So  earnest  in  their  prayers  for  the  dead, 

i. — Hallantide,  All  Saints'  Day,  a  west  country  form  of 
Hallowtide.  For  the  custom  of  ringing  bells  on  Allhallow  Eve 
see  BRAND,  Pop.  Antiy.,  ed.  Bohn,  i.  394-5. 


230  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  with  their  De  profimdis  so  far  led, 
And  so  transported,  poor  night-seeing  fowls, 
In  their  oraisons  for  all  Christian  souls,  10 

That  knowing  me  for  one  but  yesterday, 
Maybe  they  dreamt  me  dead,  and  for  me  pray. 
This  may  conjectur'd  be  the  reason  why 
I  have  this  night  with  me  no  company, 
I  mean  of  that  religion  ;  for  indeed  15 

But  to  consort  with  one  that  says  his  creed 
In  his  own  mother-tongue,  this  day  for  them 
Were  such  a  crime,  that  nor  Jerusalem, 
Not  yet  Rome's  voyage,  for  which  I  am  sorry, 
Could  free  these  friends  of  mine  from  purgatory.      20 
And  had  I  gone  to  visit  them  maybe 
They  at  my  entrance  might  have  taken  me, 
If  that  I  spoke  in  English,  for  some  one 
Of  their  good  friends,  new  come  from  Phlegethon  ; 
And  so  had  put  them  to  the  pains  to  woo  25 

My  friend  friar  Guy  and  Bonaventure  too 
To  publish  such  a  miracle  of  theirs 
By  ringing  all  the  bells  about  mine  ears. 
But  peace  be  to  their  bells,  say  I,  as  is 
Their  prayer  every  day  flax  defunctis  ;  30 

For  I  am  sure  all  this  long  night  to  hear 

1  Tinkling  of  Such  a  charavary,*  that  if  there  were 

kettles  and 

pans. 

24. — Phlegethon,  a  river  in    the    Lower  World,  which  ran 
with  fire  instead  of  water. 

26. — Friar    Guy.      See    Note.       Bonaventure,     Giovanni 
Fidanza,  the  "seraphic  doctor"  (1221-1274). 


EPISTLES.  231 

All  the  Tom  Tinkers  since  the  world  began, 

Inhabiting  from  Thule  to  Magellan  ; 

And  those  that  beat  their  kettles,  when  the  moon    35 

Dark'ning  the  sun,  brings  on  the  night  ere  noon  : 

I  think  all  those  together  would  not  make 

Such  a  curs'd  noise  as  these  for  all  souls'  sake. 

Honest  John  Helmes,*  now  by  my  troth  I  wish,          *. A  ?ood 

Although  my  popish  hostess  hath  with  fish  40 

Fed  me  three  days,  that  thou  wert  here  with  speed, 

And  some  more  of  thy  crew,  not  without  need, 

To  teach  their  bells  some  rhyme  or  tune  in  swinging, 

For  sure  they  have  no  reason  in  their  ringing. 

For  mine  own  part,  hearing  so  strange  a  coil,      45 
Such  discord,  such  debate,  and  such  turmoil, 
In  a  high  steeple,  when  I  first  came  hither, 
And  had  small  language,  I  did  doubt  me  whether 
Some  had  the  Tow'r  of  Babel  new  begun, 
And  Gcd  had  plagued  them  with  confusion  :  50 

For  which  I  was  not  sorry,  for  I  thought 
To  catch  some  tongue  among  them,  and  for  nought. 

But  being  much  deceiv'd,  good  Lord  !  quoth  I, 
What  pagan  noise  is  this  ?     One  that  stood  by, 
Swore  I  did  %vrong  them,  for  he  me  advis'd  55 

The  bells  upon  his  knowledge  were  baptiz'd. 
My  friend,  quoth  I,  y'are  more  to  blame  by  far, 
To  see  poor  Christian  creatures  so  at  jar, 
And  seek  not  to  accord  them  ;  as  for  me, 

45. — Coil,  distuibance. 


232  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Although  they  not  of  my  acquaintance  be,  60 

Nor  though  we  never  have  shook  hands  as  yet, 

Out  of  my  love  to  peace,  not  out  of  debt, 

See  there's  eight  soulz,  or  ten,  it  makes  not  whether  > 

Get  them  some  wine  and  see  them  drink  together  : 

Or  if  the  sexton  cannot  bring  them  to  it,  65 

As  he  will  sure  have  much  ado  to  do  it ; 

Tell  him  he  shall  be  thank'd,  if  so  he  strives 

With  special  care  to  take  away  their  knives  ; 

And  for  their  cause  of  stir  that  he  record  it, 

Until  a  gen'ral  Council  do  accord  it.  70 

Till  when,  I'll  hold,  whate'er  the  Jesuits  say  : 

Although  their  Church  err  not,  their  steeple  may. 

W.  B. 

AN   EPISTLE  THROWN  INTO  A  RIVER  IN 
A  BALL  OF  WAX. 

Go,  gentle  paper  ;  happy,  happier  far 

Than  he  that  sends  thee,  with  this  character  : 

Go,  view  those  blessed  banks,  enriched  by 

A  fair  but  faithless  maiden's  company ; 

And  if  consorted  with  my  tears  of  brine,  5 

Which,  gentle  flood,  add  waves  to  those  of  thine, 

Thou  chance  to  touch  the  sand  in  thy  progression, 

Made  valuable  by  her  steps'  impression  : 

63. — Soulz,  soules-turnois,  silver  coins,  ten  of  which  made  a 
shilling. 


EPISTLES.  .233 

Stay,  stay  thy  course  ;  and  fortunate  from  danger 

Dwell  there,  where  my  ill-fate  makes  me  a  stranger. 

If,  faithful  paper  which  hold'st  nought  of  Art,        [10 

Thou  come  into  her  hands  who  kills  my  heart ; 

And  she  demand  thee  how  I  spend  my  hours, 

Tell  her,  O  tell  her  !  how  in  gloomy  bowers, 

In  caverns  yet  unknown  even  to  the  sun,  1 5 

And  places  free  from  all  confusion 

Except  my  thoughts,  there  sit  I  girt  with  fears  ; 

Where  day  and  night  I  turn  myself  to  tears, 

Only  to  wash  away  that  stain  which  she 

Hath  (careless)  thrown  upon  her  constancy  ;  20 

And  if,  touch'd  with  repentance,  she  bedew 

Thee  with  some  crystal  drops,  I  would  she  knew 

Her  sorrows  or  the  breaking  of  the  dart 

Heals  not  her  wounded  faith,  nor  my  slain  heart. 

And  my  just  griefs  of  all  redress  bereaven  25 

Shall  ever  witness  before  men  and  heaven, 

That  as  she  is  the  faii'st  and  most  untrue 

Of  those  that  ever  man  or  read  or  knew, 

So  am  I  the  most  constant  wkhout  mate 

Of  all  that  breathe,  and  most  affectionate  ;  30 

Although  assured  that  nor  my  love  nor  faith 

Shall  reap  one  joy  but  by  the  hand  of  death. 


234  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


AN  EPISTLE. 

HASTEN,  O  hasten,  for  my  love's  sake  haste  : 

The  Spring  already  hath  your  Beachworth  grac'd. 

What  need  you  longer  stay  to  grace  it  more  ; 

Or  add  to  that  which  had  enough  before  ? 

The  heavens  admit  no  suns  :  why  should  your  seat    5 

Have  two,  then,  equal  good  and  as  complete  ? 

Hasten,  O  hasten  then  ;  for  till  I  see 

Whom  most  I  love,  'tis  Winter  still  with  me 

I  feel  no  Spring  ;  nor  shall  I,  till  your  light 

Repel  my  too-too  long  and  lonely  night :  10 

Till  you  have  quicken'd  with  your  happy  shine 

A  drooping  discontented  heart  of  mine, 

No  mirth,  but  what  is  forc'd,  shall  there  be  plac'd. 

Hasten,  O  hasten  then :  for  love's  sake  haste. 

So  longing  Hero  oftentimes  was  wont  15 

Upon  the  flow'ry  banks  of  Hellespont 
To  walk,  expecting  when  her  love  should  land, 
As  I  have  done  on  silver  Isis'  strand. 

I  ask  the  snowy  swans,  that  swim  along, 
Seeking  some  sad  place  for  their  sadder  song,          20 
Whether  they  came  from  Mole,  or  heard  her  tell 
What  worth  doth  near  her  wanton  river  dwell ; 

2. — Beachworth,  i.e.,   Betchworth   in  Surrey,  the  original 
seat  of  the  Brownes. 


EPISTLES.  235 

And  naming  you,  the  gentle  spotless  birds, 

As  if  they  understood  the  power  of  words, 

To  bend  their  stately  necks  do  straight  agree  ;          25 

And  honouring  the  name,  so  answer  me. 

Those  being  gone,  I  ask  the  crystal  brook, 
Since  part  of  it  unwillingly  had  took 
An  ever-leave  of  that  more  happy  place 
Than  pleasant  Tempe,  which  the  gods  did  grace  ;  30 
The  stream  I  ask'd,  if  when  it  lately  left 
Those  daisied  banks,  and  griev'd  to  be  bereft 
So  sweet  a  channel,  you  did  mean  to  stay 
Still  in  that  vale  whence  they  were  forc'd  away  ; 
Hereat  the  wave  a  little  murmur  makes,  35 

And  then  another  wave  that  overtakes  ; 
And  then  a  third  comes  on,  and  then  another, 
Rolling  themselves  up  closely  each  to  other — 
(As  little  lads,  to  know  their  fellow's  mind, 
While  he  is  talking,  closely  steal  behind  ;)  40 

I  ask  them  all,  and  each  like  murmur  keeps  ; 
I  ask  another,  and  that  other  weeps. 
What  they  should  mean  by  this,  I  do  not  know, 
Except  the  mutt'rings  and  the  tears  they  show 
Be  from  the  dear  remembrance  of  that  site  45 

Where,  when  they  left  you,  they  forsook  delight. 

That  this  the  cause  was,  I  perceived  plain  ; 
For  going  thence,  I  thither  came  again 
What  time  it  had  been  flood,  a  pretty  while  ; 
And  thdn  the  dimpled  waters  seem'd  to  smile  ;        50 
As  if  they  did  rejoice  and  were  full  fain, 


236  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

That  they  were  turning  back  to  Mole  again. 

In  such-like  thoughts,  I  spend  the  tedious  clay  ; 
But  when  the  night  doth  our  half-globe  array 
In  mournful  black,  I  leave  the  curled  stream,          53 
And  by  the  kindness  of  a  happy  dream, 
Enjoy  what  most  I  wish ;  yourself  and  such, 
Whose  worth,  whose  love,  could  I  as  highly  touch 
As  I  conceive,  some  hours  should  still  be  spent 
To  raise  your  more  than  earthly  monument.  60 

In  sleep  I  walk  with  you,  and  do  obtain 
A  seeming  conf  rence  :  but,  alas,  what  pain 
Endures  that  man,  which  evermore  is  taking 
His  joys  in  sleep,  and  is  most  wretched  waking  ? 

To  make  me  happy  then,  be  you  my  sun,  65 

And  with  your  presence  clear  all  clouds  begun  ; 
My  mists  of  melancholy  will  outwear, 
By  your  appearing  in  our  hemisphere  ; 
Till  which,  within  a  vale  as  full  of  woe, 
As  I  have  ever  sung,  or  eye  can  know,  7° 

Or  you  can  but  imagine,  reading  this, 
Inthralled  lies  the  heart  of  him  that  is 

Careless  of  all  others'  love 

without  your  respect, 

W.  B. 

From  an  Inner  Temple, 
than  the  Inner  Temple, 
May  the  third,  1615. 


EPISTLES.  237 


FIDO  :  AN  EPISTLE  TO  FIDELIA. 

SITTING  one  day  beside  a  silver  brook, 

Whose  sleepy  waves  unwillingly  forsook 

The  strict  embraces  of  the  flow'ry  shore, 

As  loath  to  leave  what  they  should  see  no  more  : 

I  read  (as  fate  had  turn'd  it  to  my  hand)  ] 

Among  the  famous  lays  of  fairy  land, 

Belphcebe's  fond  mistrust,  whenas  she  met 

Her  gentle  Squire  with  lovely  Amoret. 

And  laying  by  the  book,  poor  lad,  quoth  I, 

Must  all  thy  joys,  like  Eve's  posterity,         .  i< 

Receive  a  doom,  not  to  be  chang'd  by  suit, 

Only  for  tasting  the  forbidden  fruit  ? 

Had  fair  Belphoebe  licens'd  thee  some  time 

To  kiss  her  cherry  lip,  thou  didst  a  crime  ; 

But  since  she  for  thy  thirst  no  help  would  bring,      I 

Thou  lawfully  might'st  seek  another  spring  ; 

And  had  those  kisses  stol'n  been  melting  sips, 

Ta'en  by  consent  from  Amoret's  sweet  lips, 

Thou  might'st  have  answer'd,  if  thy  love  had  spied, 

How  others  gladly  gave  what  she  denied  ;  2> 

But  since  they  were  not  such,  it  did  approve 

A  jealousy  not  meriting  thy  love, 

And  an  injustice  offer'd  by  the  maid 

In  giving  judgment  ere  she  heard  thee  plead. 

6.— Tlte  famous  lays,  Spenser's  Fairy  Queen. 


238  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

I  have  a  Love,  (and  then  I  thought  of  you,  25 

As  Heaven  can  witness  I  each  minute  do,) 

So  well  assur'd  of  that  once  promis'd  faith, 

Which  my  unmoved  Love  still  cherisheth, 

That  should  she  see  me  private  with  a  dame, 

Fair  as  herself,  and  of  a  house  whose  name,  30 

From  Phoebus'  rise  to  Tagus  where  he  sets, 

Hath  been  as  famous  as  Plantagenet's  ; 

Whose  eyes  would  thaw  congealed  hearts  of  ice  ; 

And  as  we  now  dispute  of  Paradise, 

And  question  where  fair  Eden  stood  of  old,  35 

Among  so  many  sweet  plots  we  behold, 

Which  by  the  arms  of  those  brave  rivers  been 

Embraced  which  of  yore  did  keep  it  in  : 

So  were  she  one,  who  did  so  much  abound 

In  graces,  more  than  ever  mortal  crown'd,  40 

That  it  might  fitly  for  a  question  pass, 

Where  or  wherein  her  most  of  beauty  was. 

I  surely  could  believe,  nay,  I  durst  swear, 

That  your  sweet  goodness  would  not  stoop  to  fear, 

Though  she  might  be  to  any  that  should  win  it        45 

A  Paradise  without  a  serpent  in  it. 

Such  were  my  thoughts  of  you,  and  thinking  so, 
Much  like  a  man,  who  running  in  the  snow 
From  the  surprisal  of  a  murd'rous  elf, 
Beats  out  a  path,  and  so  betrays  himself,  50 

I  in  security  was  further  gone, 
And  made  a  path  for  your  suspicion 
To  find  me  out.     Time  being  nigh  the  same, 


EPISTLES.  239 

When  thus  I  thought,  and  when  your  letters  came. 

But,  oh,  how  far  I  err'd,  how  much  deceiv'd        55 
Was  my  belief  !  yourself,  that  have  bereav'd 
Me  of  that  confidence,  my  love  had  got, 
Judge  if  I  were  an  infidel  or  not ; 
And  let  me  tell  you,  fair,  the  fault  was  thine, 
If  I  did  misbelieve,  and  none  of  mine.  60 

That  man  which  sees,  as  he  along  doth  pass 
Some  beaten  way,  a  piece  of  sparkling  glass, 
And  deems  far  off  that  it  a  diamond  is, 
Adds  to  the  glass  by  such  a  thought  of  his  : 
But  when  he  finds  it  wants,  to  quit  his  pain,  65 

The  value  soon  returns  to  him  again. 

If  in  the  ruder  North  some  country  clown, 
That  stands  to  see  the  king  ride  through  the  town, 
Spying  some  gay  and  gold-belaced  thing,  [70 

Should  cry,  See,  neighbours,  yonder  comes  the  king  : 
And  much  mistaken  both  in  state  and  age, 
Points  at  some  lord,  and  for  a  lord  a  page  : 
Is  not  that  lord  or  page  beholding  much 
To  him  that  thinks  them  worthy  to  be  such 
He  took  them  for  ?    And  are  not  you  to  me  75 

Indebted  much,  since  my  credulity 
Made  you  the  same  I  thought  you,  and  from  thence 
Rais'd  an  assurance  of  your  confidence  ? 
These  were  the  thoughts  of  you  I  still  was  in, 
Nor  shall  your  letters  so  much  of  me  win  ;  80 

I  will  not  trust  mine  eyes  so  much  to  think 
Your  white  hand  wrote  with  such  a  staining  ink  ; 


240  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Or  if  I  ever  take  it  for  your  hand, 

I  sure  shall  think  I  do  not  understand 

In  reading  as  you  meant,  and  fall  from-  thence         85 

To  doubt  if  points  perverted  not  the  sense  ! 

For  such  a  constant  faith  I  have  in  thee, 

That  I  could  die  even  in  that  heresy. 

In  this  belief  of  you  I  stand  as  yet, 
And  think  as  those  that  follow  Mahomet :  90 

lie  merits  much  that  doth  continue  still 
In  his  first  faith,  although  that  faith  be  ill. 

A  vain  inconstant  dame,  that  counts  her  loves 
By  this  enamell'd  ring,  that  pair  of  gloves, 
And  with  her  chamber-maid  when  closely  set,          95 
Turning  her  letters  in  her  cabinet, 
Makes  known  what  tokens  have  been  sent  unto  her, 
What  man  did  bluntly,  who  did  courtly  woo  her  ; 
Who  hath  the  best  face,  neatest  leg,  most  lands, 
Who  for  his  carriage  in  her  favour  stands.  loo 

Op'ning  a  paper  then  she  shows  her  wit 
On  an  epistle  that  some  fool  had  writ : 
Then  meeting  with  another  which  she  likes, 
Her  chambermaid's  great  reading  quickly  strikes 
That  good  opinion  dead,  and  swears  that  this        105 
Was  stol'n  from  Palmerin  or  Amadis. 
Next  come  her  sonnets,  which  they  spelling  read, 
And  say  the  man  was  very  much  afraid 
To  have  his  meaning  known,  since  they  from  thence 
(Save  Cupid's  darts)  can  pick  no  jot  of  sense  ;        1 10 
And  in  conclusion,  wilh  discretion  small, 


EPISTLES.  241 

Scoff  this,  scorn  that,  and  so  abuse  them  all. 

If  I  had  thought  you  such  an  empty  prize, 

I  had  not  sought  now  to  apologize, 

Nor  had  these  lines  the  virgin  paper  stain'd  115 

But,  as  my  Love,  unspotted  had  remain'd  ; 

And  sure  I  think  to  what  I  am  about 

My  ink  than  it  was  wont  goes  slower  out, 

As  if  it  told  me  I  but  vaguely  writ 

To  her  that  should,  but  will  not,  credit  it.  120 

Yet  go,  ye  hopeless  lines,  and  tell  that  fair, 
Whose  flaxen  tresses  with  the  wanton  air 
Entrap  the  darling  boy,  that  daily  flies 
To  see  his  sweet  face  in  her  sweeter  eyes  ; 
Tell  my  Fidelia,  if  she  do  aver  125 

That  I  with  borrow'd  phrases  courted  her, 
Or  sung  to  her  the  lays  of  other  men  ; 
And  like  the  cag'd  thrush  of  a  citizen, 
Tir'd  with  a  note  continually  sung  o'er 
The  ears  of  one  that  knew  that  all  before.  130 

If  thus  she  think,  (as  I  shall  ne'er  be  won 
Once  to  imagine  she  hath  truly  done, ) 
Let  her  then  know,  though  now  a  many  be 
Parrots,  which  speak  the  tongue  of  Arcadie, 
Yet  in  themselves  not  so  much  language  know,      135 
Nor  wit  sufficient  for  a  Lord  Mayor's  show. 
I  never  yet  but  scorn'd  a  taste  to  bring 
Out  of  the  channel  when  I  saw  the  spring, 
Or  like  a  silent  organ  been  so  weak, 
That  others'  fingers  taught  me  how  to  speak.          140 

VOL.    II.  R 


242  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  sacred  Nine,  whose  powerful  songs  have  made 
In  wayless  deserts  trees  of  mighty  shade 
To  bend  in  admiration,  and  allay'd 
The  wrath  of  tigers  with  the  notes  they  play'd, 
Were  kind  in  some  small  measure  at  my  birth,       145 
And  by  the  hand  of  Nature  to  my  earth 
Lent  their  eternal  heat,  by  whose  bright  flame 
Succeeding  time  shall  read  and  know  your  name, 
And  pine  in  envy  of  your  praises  writ, 
Though  now  your  brightness  strive  to  lessen  it.      150 
Thus  have  I  done,  and  like  an  artist  spent 
My  days  to  build  another's  monument  ; 
Yet  you  those  pains  so  careless  overslip, 
That  I  am  not  allow'd  the  workmanship. 
Some   have   done   less,    and    have    been    more    re- 
warded ;  155 
None  hath  lov'd  more,  and  hath  been  less  regarded  : 
Yet  the  poor  silkenworm  and  only  I 
Like  parallels  run  on  to  work  and  die. 
Why  write  I  then  again,  since  she  will  think 
My  heart  is  limned  with  another's  ink  ?  160 
Or  if  she  deem  these  lines  had  birth  from  me, 
Perhaps  will  think  they  but  deceivers  be, 
And,  as  our  flattering  painters  do  impart, 
A  fair  made  copy  of  a  faithless  heart, 
O,  my  Fidelia,  if  thou  canst  be  won  165 
From  that  mistrust  my  absence  hath  begun, 
Be  now  converted,  kill  those  jealous  fears, 
Credit  my  lines  :  if  not,  believe  my  tears, 


EPISTLES.  243 

Which  with  each  word,  nay,  every  letter,  strove 
That  in  their  number  you  might  read  my  love.       1 70 
And  where  (for  one  distracted  needs  must  miss) 
My  language  not  enough  persuasive  is, 
Be  that  supplied  with  what  each  eye  affords, 
For  tears  have  often  had  the  power  of  words. 
Grant  this,  fair  saint,  since  their  distilling  rain        175 
Permits  me  not  to  read  it  o'er  again. 
For  as  a  swan  more  white  than  Alpine  snow, 
Wand'ring  upon  the  sands  of  silver  Po, 
Hath  his  impression  by  a  fuller  sea 
Not  made  so  soon  as  quickly  wash'd  away  :  180 

Such  in  my  writing  now  the  state  hath  been, 
For  scarce  my  pen  goes  of  the  ink  yet  green, 
Put  floods  of  tears  fall  on  it  in  such  store, 
That  I  perceive  not  what  I  writ  before. 
Can  any  man  do  thus,  yet  that  man  be  185 

Without  the  fire  of  love  and  loyalty  ? 
Know  then  in  breach  of  Nature's  constant  laws, 
There  may  be  an  effect  and  yet  no  cause. 
Without  the  sun  we  may  have  April  showers, 
And      wanting      moisture      know      no     want      of 
flowers ;  190 

Causeless  the  elements  could  cease  to  war  : 
The  seaman's  needle  to  the  Northern  star 
Without  the  loadstone  would  for  ever  move. 
If  all  these  tears  can  be  and  yet  no  love  : 
If  you  still  deem  I  only  am  the  man,  195 

Which  in  the  maze  of  love  yet  never  ran  : 

R  2 


244  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Or  if  in  love  I  surely  did  pursue 
The  favour  of  some  other,  not  of  you  ; 
Or  loving  you,  would  not  be  strictly  tied 
To  you  alone,  but  sought  a  saint  beside  :  200 

Know  then  by  all  the  virtues  we  enthrone, 
That  I  have  lov'd,  lov'd  you,  and  you  alone. 
Read  o'er  my  lines  where  truthful  passion  mov'd, 
And  Hate  itself  will  say  that  I  have  lov'd. 
Think  on  my  vows  which  have  been  ever  true,      205 
And  know  by  them  that  I  affected  you. 
Recount  my  trials,  and  they  will  impart 
That  none  is  partner  with  you  in  my  heart. 
Lines,  vows,  and  trials  will  conclude  in  one, 
That  I  have  lov'd,  lov'd  you,  and  you  alone.          210 
Lines,  seek  no  more  then  to  that  doubtful  fair, 
And  ye,  my  vows,  for  evermore  forbear  : 
Trials,  to  her  prove  never  true  again  ; 
Since  lines,  vows,  trials  strive  all  but  in  vain. 
Yet  when  I  writ,  the  ready  tongue  of  Truth  215 

Did  ever  dictate,  not  deceiving  youth. 
When  I  have  sworn  my  tongue  did  never  err 
To  be  my  heart's  most  true  interpreter, 
And  proof  confirm'd  when  you  examin'd  both, 
Love    caused     those    lines,     and     constancy    that 
oath ;  220 

And  shall  I  write,  protest  (you  prove)  and  then 
Be  left  the  most  unfortunate  of  men  ? 
Must  truth  be  still  neglected  ?  faith  forgot  ? 
And  constancy  esteem'd  as  what  is  not  ? 


EPISTLES.  245 

Shall  dear  regard  and  love  for  ever  be  225 

Wrong'd  with  the  name  of  lust  and  flattery  ? 
It  must ;  for  this  your  last  suspicion  tells, 
That  you  intend  to  work  no  miracles. 

W.  B. 


246  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


IV.— ELEGIES. 


AN  ELEGY  ON  MR.  WILLIAM  HOPTON. 

WHEN  shall  mine  eyes  be  dry?    I  daily  see 

Projects  on  foot ;  and  some  have  fall'n  on  me  : 

Yet  (with  my  fortune)  had  they  ta'en  away 

The  sense  I  have  to  see  a  friend  turn  clay  ; 

They  had  done  something  worth  the  name  of  spite  ;  5 

And  (as  the  grim  and  ugly  veil  of  night, 

Which  hides  both  good  and  bad)  their  malice  then 

Had  made  me  worthless  more  the  love  of  men 

Than  are  their  manners.     I  had  died  with  those, 

Who  once  entomb'd  shall  scarce  be  read  in  prose  :  10 

But  whilst  I  have  a  tear  to  shed  for  thee, 

A  star  shall  drop,  and  yet  neglected  be. 

For  as  a  thrifty  pismire  from  the  plain, 

Busily  dragging  home  some  little  grain, 

Is  in  the  midway  to  her  pretty  chamber  15 

Fatally  wept  on  by  some  drop  of  amber, 

Which  straight  congeal'd  (to  recompense  her  doom) 

The  instrument  to  kill  becomes  her  tomb  ; 

And  such  a  one  that  she  may  well  compare 

With  Egypt's  monarchs  for  a  sepulchre.  20 


ELEGIES.  247 

So  as  I  homewards  wend  to  meet  with  dust, 

Bearing  this  grief  along,  and  it  is  just, 

Each  eye  that  knew,  and  knowing  held  thee  dear, 

On  these  sad  lines  shall  shed  so  true  a  tear : 

It  shall  beget  a  second  :  that,  a  third  :  25 

And  propagate  so  many,  that  the  bird 

Of  Araby  shall  lack  a  sun  to  burn  her, 

Ere  I  shall  want  a  tomb,  or  thou  a  mourner. 

For  in  those  tears  we  will  embalmed  be, 

And  prove  such  remoras  to  memory,  30 

That  some  malicious  at  our  fame  grown  sick 

Shall  die,  and  have  their  dust  made  into  brick  ; 

And  only  serve  to  stop  some  prison's  holes, 

That  hides  as  wretched  bodies  as  their  souls. 

When  (though  the  earth  benight  us  at  our  noon,)    35 

We  there  will  lie  like  shadows  in  the  moon  ; 

And  every  dust  within  our  graves  shall  be 

A  star  to  light  us  to  posterity. 

But  (hapless  Muse),  admit  that  this  may  come, 
And  men  may  read  I  wept  upon  his  tomb  ;  40 

What  comfort  brings  it  me  ?     Princes  have  tried 
To  keep  their  names,  yet  scarce  are  known  they  died, 
So  weak  is  brass  and  marble  ;  and  I  pierce 
His  memory,  while  that  I  write  this  verse  ; 
Since  I  (his  living  monument)  indite  45 

And  moulder  into  dust  the  while  I  write. 


30. — Remoras,  sea-lampreys  or  suckstones,  believed  to  check 
the  course  of  ships  by  clinging  to  their  keels. 


248  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Such  is  the  grief  thy  loss  hath  brought  on  me, 

I  cut  some  life  off  in  each  line  on  thee  : 

The  cold  stone  that  lies  on  thee  I  survey, 

And,  looking  on  it,  feel  myself  turn  clay  ;  5° 

Yet  grieve  not  but  to  think,  when  I  am  gone, 

The  marble  will  shed  tears,  when  I  shed  none. 

This  vexeth  me,  that  a  dead  stone  shall  be 

My  rival  in  thy  loss  and  memory  ; 

That  it  should  both  outweep  me  and  rehearse,         55 

When  I  am  dust,  thy  glory  in  my  verse. 

And  much  good  may  it  do  thee,  thou  dead  stone, 
Though  not  so  dead  as  he  thou  liest  upon. 
Thou  may'st  instruct  some  after-age  to  say 
This  was  the  last  bed  whereon  Hopton  lay  ;  60 

Ilopton,  that  knew  to  choose  and  keep  a  friend  : 
That  scorn'd  as  much  to  flatter  as  offend  : 
That  had  a  soul  as  perfect  as  each  limb, 
That  serv'd  learn'd  Pembroke,  and  did  merit  him  ; 
And  to  name  Hoptnn  with  his  master  is  65 

More  than  a  tomb,  although  a  pyramis. 


AN  ELEGY  ON  THE  COUNTESS  DOWAGER 
OF  PEMBROKE. 

TIME  hath  a  long  course  run  since  thou  wert  clay ; 
Yet  hadst  thou  gone  from  us  but  yesterday, 
We  in  no  nearer  distance  should  have  stood, 
Than  if  thy  fate  had  call'd  thee  ere  the  flood  ; 


ELEGIES.  249 

And  I  that  knew  thee,  shall  no  less  cause  have          5 

To  sit  me  down  and  weep  beside  thy  grave 

Many  a  year  from  hence  than  in  that  hour 

When,  all  amazed,  we  had  scarce  the  power 

To  say  that  thou  wert  dead.     My  latest  breath 

Shall  be  a  sigh  for  thee  ;  and  when  cold  death         10 

Shall  give  an  end  to  my  just  woes  and  me, 

I  consecrate  to  thy  dear  memory 

So  many  tears,  if  on  thy  marble  shed, 

Each  hand  might  write  with  them,  who  there  lies 

dead  : 

And  so  much  grief,  that  some  from  sickness  free      1 5 
Would  gladly  die  to  be  bewail'd  like  thee. 

Yet  (could  I  choose)  I  would  not  any  knew 
That  thou  wert  lost  but  as  a  pearl  of  dew, 
Which  in  a  gentle  evening  mildly  cold 
Fall'n  in  the  bosom  of  a  marigold,  20 

Is  in  her  golden  leaves  shut  up  all  night, 
And  seen  again  when  next  we  see  the  light. 

For  should  the  world  but  know  that  thou  wert 

gone, 

Our  age,  too  prone  to  irreligion, 
Knowing  so  much  divinity  in  thee,  25 

Might  thence  conclude  no  immortality. 
And  I  believe  the  Puritans  themselves 
Would  be  seduc'd  to  think,  that  ghosts  and  elves 
Do  haunt  us  yet  in  hope  that  thou  wouldst  deign 
To  visit  us,  as  when  thou  liv'd'st  again.  30 

But  more,  I  fear,  (since  we  are  not  of  France, 


250  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Whose  gentry  would  be  known  by  ignorance) 

Such  wits  and  nobles  as  could  merit  thee, 

And  should  read  this,  spite  of  all  penalty 

Might  light  upon  their  studies,  would  become          35 

Magicians  all,  and  raise  thee  from  thy  tomb. 

Nay,  I  believe,  all  are  already  so  ; 
And  now  half  mad  or  more  with  inward  woe, 
Do  think  great  Drake  maliciously  was  hurl'd 
To  cast  a  circle  round  about  the  world,  40 

Only  to  hinder  the  magicians'  lore, 
And  frustrate  all  our  hopes  to  see  thee  more. 

Pardon  my  sorrow  :  is  that  man  alive, 
Who  for  us  first  found  out  a  prospective 
To  search  into  the  moon,  and  hath  not  he  45 

Yet  found  a  further  skill  to  look  on  thee? 

Thou    goodman,  who  thou    be'st,  that   e'er  hast 

found 

The  means  to  look  on  one  so  good,  so  crown'd, 
For  pity  find  me  out !  and  we  will  trace 
Along  together  to  that  holy  place  50 

Which  hides  so  much  perfection  ;  there  will  we 
Stand  fix'd  and  gaze  on  her  felicity. 
And  should  thy  glass  a  burning  one  becon 
And  turn  us  both  to  ashes  on  her  tomb ; 
Yet  to  our  glory,  till  the  latter  day,  55 

Our  dust  shall  dance  like  atoms  in  her  ray. 

And  when  the  world  shall  in  confusion  burn, 
And  kings  with  peasants  scramble  at  an  urn  ; 
Like  tapers  new  blown  out,  we,  blessed  then 


ELEGIES.  251 

Will  at  her  beams  catch  fire  and  live  again.  60 

But  this  is  sense,  and  some  one  (may  be)  glad 
That  I  so  true  a  cause  of  sorrow  had, 
Will  wish  all  those  whom  I  affect  might  die, 
So  I  might  please  him  with  an  elegy. 

O  let  there  never  line  of  wit  be  read  65 

To  please  the  living,  that  doth  speak  thee  dead  ; 
Some  tender-hearted  mother,  good  and  mild, 
Who  on  the  dear  grave  of  her  only  child 
So  many  sad  tears  hath  been  known  to  rain, 
As  out  of  dust  could  mould  him  up  again  ;  70 

And  with  her  plaints  enforce  the  worms  to  place 
Themselves  like  veins  so  neatly  on  his  face 
And  every  limb  ;  as  if  that  they  were  striving 
To  flatter  her  with  hope  of  his  reviving  : 
She  should  read  this  ;  and  her  true  tears  alone         75 
Should  copy  forth  these  sad  lines  on  the  stone 
Which  hides  thee  dead.     And  every  gentle  heart 
That  passeth  by  should  of  his  tears  impart 
So  great  a  portion,  that  (if  after  times 
Ruin  more  churches  for  the  clergy's  crimes,)  80 

When  any  shall  remove  thy  marble  hence, 
Which  is  less  stone  than  he  that  takes  it  thence, 
Thou  shalt  appear  within  thy  tearful  cell, 
Much  like  a  fair  nymph  bathing  in  a  well : 
But  when  they  find  thee  dead  so  lovely  fair,  85 

Pity  and  Sorrow  then  shall  straight  repair, 
And  weep  beside  thy  grave  with  cypress  crown'd, 
To  see  the  second  world  of  beauty  drown'd  ; 


252  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  add  sufficient  tears,  as  they  condole, 

Would  make  thy  body  swim  up  to  thy  soul.  90 

Such  eyes  should  read  the  lines  are  writ  on  thee  ; 
But  such  a  loss  should  have  no  elegy 
To  palliate  the  wound  we  took  in  her. 
Who  rightly  grieves  admits  no  comforter. 

He  that  had  ta'en  to  heart  thy  parting  hence,      95 
Should   have  been  chain'd   in  Bethlem   two    hours 

thence  ; 

And  not  a  friend  of  his  e'er  shed  a  tear, 
To  see  him  for  thy  sake  distracted  there  ; 
But  hugg'd  himself  for  loving  such  as  he, 
That  could  run  mad  with  grief  for  losing  thee.       100 

I,  hapless  soul,  that  never  knew  a  friend 
But  to  bewail  his  too  untimely  end  ; 
Whose  hopes,  cropp'd  in  the  bud,  have  never  come, 
But  to  sit  weeping  on  a  senseless  tomb, 
That  hides  not  dust  enough  to  count  the  tears,       105 
Which  I  have  fruitless  spent,  in  so  few  years  : 

I,  that  have  trusted  those  that  would  have  given 
For  our  dear  Saviour  and  the  Son  of  heaven, 
Ten  times  the  value  Judas  had  of  yore, 
Only  to  sell  him  for  three  pieces  more  :  no 

I  that  have  lov'd  and  trusted  thus  in  vain, 
Yet  weep  for  thee  :  and  till  the  clouds  shall  deign 
To  shower  on  Egypt  more  than  Nile  e'er  swell'd, 
These  tears  of  mine  shall  be  unparallel'd.  [115 

He  that  hath  love  enjoy'd,  and  then  been  cross'd, 
Hath  tears  at  will  to  mourn  for  what  he  lost ; 


ELEGIES.  253 

He  that  hath  trusted,  and  his  hope  appears 
Wrong'd  but  by  death,  may  soon  dissolve  in  tears ; 
But  he,  unhappy  man,  whose  love  and  trust 
Ne'er  met  fruition,  nor  a  promise  just :  120 

For  him,  unless,  like  thee,  he  deadly  sleep, 
'Tis  easier  to  run  mad  than  'tis  to  weep. 

And  yet  I  can  !     Fall  then,  ye  mournful  showers  ; 
And  as  old  Time  leads  on  the  winged  hours, 
Be  you  their  minutes  :  and  let  men  forget  125 

To  count  their  ages  from  the  Plague  of  Sweat, 
From  Eighty-eight,  the  Powder  Plot,  or  when 
Men  were  afraid  to  talk  of  it  again  ; 
And  in  their  numeration,  be  it  said, 
Thus  old  was  I,  when  such  a  tear  was  shed,  130 

And  when  that  other  fell  a  comet  rose, 
And  all  the  world  took  notice  of  my  woes. 
Yet,  finding  them  past  cure,  as  doctors  fly 
Their  patients  past  all  hope  of  remedy, 
No  charitable  soul  will  now  impart  135 

One  word  of  comfort  to  so  sick  a  heart ; 
But  as  a.  hurt  deer  beaten  from  the  herd, 
Men  of  my  shadow  almost  now  afear'd, 
Fly  from  my  woes,  that  whilom  wont  to  greet  me, 
And  well-nigh  think  it  ominous  to  meet  me.  140 

Sad  lines,  go  ye  abroad  :  go,  saddest  Muse  : 
And  as  some  nation  formerly  did  use 
To  lay  their  sick  men  in  the  streets,  that  those 
Who  of  the  same  disease  had  'scap'd  the  throes, 
Might  minister  relief  as  they  went  by  145 


254  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

To  such  as  felt  the  selfsame  malady  ; 

So,  hapless  lines,  fly  through  the  fairest  land  ; 

And  if  ye  light  into  some  blessed  hand, 

That  hath  a  heart  as  merry  as  the  shine 

Of  golden  days,  yet  wrong'd  as  much  as  mine  ;      150 

Pity  may  lead  that  happy  man  to  me, 

And  his  experience  work  a  remedy 

To  those  sad  fits  which,  spite  of  Nature's  laws, 

Torture  a  poor  heart  that  outlives  the  cause. 

But  this  must  never  be,  nor  is  it  fit  155 

An  ague  or  some  sickness  less  than  it, 
Should  glory  in  the  death  of  such  as  he, 
That  had  a  heart  of  flesh,  and  valued  thce. 

Brave  Roman  !  I  admire  thee,  that  wouldst  die 
At  no  less  rate  than  for  an  empery  :  160 

Some  massy  diamond  from  the  centre  drawn 
For  which  all  Europe  were  an  equal  pawn, 
Should,  beaten  into  dust,  be  drunk  by  him, 
That  wanted  courage  good  enough  to  swim 
Through  seas  of  woe  for  thee  ;  and  much  despise  165 
To  meet  with  death  at  any  lower  price. 
Whilst  grief  alone  works  that  effect  in  me  ; 
And  yet  no  grief  but  for  the  loss  of  thee. 

Fortune,  now  do  thy  worst,  for  I  have  got 
By  this  her  death  so  strong  an  antidote,  170 

That  all  thy  future  crosses  shall  not  have 
More  than  an  angry  smile.     Nor  shall  the  grave 
Glory  in  my  last  day.     These  lines  shall  give 
To  us  a  second  life,  and  we  will  live 


ELEGIES. 


To  pull  the  distaff  from  the  hands  of  Fate  ;  175 

And  spin  our  own  threads  for  so  long  a  date, 
That  death  shall  never  seize  upon  our  fame, 
Till  this  shall  perish  in  the  whole  world's  flame. 


ON   AN    INFANT    UNBORN,   AND  THE 
MOTHER  DYING  IN  TRAVAIL. 

WITHIN  this  grave  there  is  a  grave  entomb'd  : 
Here  lies  a  mother  and  a  child  enwomb'd  ; 
'Twas  strange  that  Nature  so  much  vigour  gave 
To  one  that  ne'er  was  born  to  make  a  grave. 
Yet,  an  injunction  stranger,  Nature  will'd  her, 
Poor  mother,  to  be  tomb  to  that  which  kill'd  her 
And  not  with  so  much  cruelty  content, 
Buries  the  child,  the  grave,  and  monument. 
Where  shall  we  write  the  epitaph  ?  whereon  ? 
The  child,  the  grave,  the  monument  is  gone  ; 
Or  if  upon  the  child  we  write  a  staff, 
Where  shall  we  cut  the  tomb's  own  epitaph  ? 
Only  this  way  is  left  ;  and  now  we  must, 
As  on  a  table  carpeted  with  dust, 
Make  chisels  of  our  fingers,  and  engrave 
An  epitaph  both  on  the  child  and  grave 
Within  the  dust:  but  when  some  days  are  gone, 
Will  not  that  epitaph  have  need  of  one  ? 
I  know  it  will ;  yet  grave  it  there  so  deep, 


256  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

That  those  which  knew  the  loss,  and  truly  weep, 

May  shed  their  tears  so  justly  in  that  place, 

Which  we  before  did  with  a  finger  trace, 

That  filling  up  the  letters,  they  shall  lie 

As  inlaid  crystal  to  posterity  : 

Where,  as  on  glass,  if  any  write  another, 

Let  him  say  thus  :  Here  lies  a  hapless  mother, 

Wrhom  cruel  fate  hath  made  to  be  a  tomb, 

And  keeps  in  travail  till  the  Day  of  Doom. 


ON  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  CHARLES, 
LORD  HERBERT  OF  CARDIFF  AND 
SHURLAND. 

IF  there  be  a  tear  unshed 

On  friend,  or  child,  or  parent  dead, 

Bestow  it  here  ;  for  this  sad  stone 

Is  capable  of  such  alone. 

Custom  showers  swell  not  our  deeps, 

Such  as  those  his  marble  weeps  ; 

Only  they  bewail  his  herse, 

Who  unskill'd  in  powerful  verse, 

To  bemoan  him  slight  their  eyes, 

And  let  them  fall  for  elegies. 

All  that  sweetness,  all  that  youth 
All  that  virtue,  all  that  truth 
Can  or  speak,  or  wish,  or  praise, 


ELEGIES.  257 

Was  in  him  in  his  few  days. 

His  blood  of  Herbert,  Sidney,  Vere, 

Names  great  in  either  hemisphere, 

Need  not  to  lend  him  of  their  fame  : 

He  had  enough  to  make  a  name  ; 

And  to  their  glories  he  had  come, 

Had  Heaven  but  given  a  later  tomb. 
But  the  Fates  his  thread  did  spin 
Of  a  sleave  so  fine  and  thin 
Minding  still  a  piece  of  wonder, 
It  untimely  broke  in  sunder ; 
And  we  of  their  labours  meet 
Nothing  but  a  winding-sheet. 

What  his  mighty  prince  hath  lost : 

What  his  father's  hope  and  cost  : 

What  his  sister,  what  his  kin, 

Take  too  all  the  kingdom  in  : 

'Tis  a  sea  wherein  to  swim, 

Weary  faint,  and  die  with  him. 

O  let  my  private  grief  have  room, 
Dear  Lord,  to  wait  upon  thy  tomb ; 
And  since  my  weak  and  saddest  verse 
Was  worthy  thought  thy  grandam's  herse, 
Accept  of  this  !    Just  tears  my  sight 
Have  shut  for  thee — dear  Lord — good  night. 

Et  longum  formose,  vale,  vale,  inquit,  lolla. 


VOL.    II. 


25S         MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


AN  EPICED  OX  MR.  FISHBOURNE. 

As  some,  too  far  inquisitive,  would  fain 
Know  how  the  Ark  could  so  much  life  contain  ; 
Where  the  ewe  fed,  and  where  the  lion  lay, 
Both  having  den  and  pasture,  yet  all  sea  : 
When  fishes  had  our  constellations  true,  5 

And  how  the  hawk  and  partridge  had  one  mew  ; 
So  do  I  wonder,  in  these  looser  times, 
When  men  commit  more  villanies  than  rhymes, 
How  honour'd  Fishbourne,  in  his  lesser  Ark, 
*  He  gave      Could  so  much  immortality  embark  ;*  10 

piou'iTuses.      And  take  in  man  too.     How  his  good  thoughts  lay 
With  wealth  and  hazard  both  of  them  at  sea  : 
How  when  his  debtors  thought  of  longer  owing, 
His  chiefest  care  was  of  that  sum's  bestowing 
In  pious  uses.'-  But  to  question  all ;  15 

Did  this  rich  man  come  to  an  hospital 
To  curb  the  incomes,  or  to  beg  the  leads, 
Or  turn  to  straw  more  charitable  beds  ? 
Or  gar'd  he  on  a  prison  with  pretence, 
More  to  enthrall  than  for  a  prayer  thence  ?  20 

Or  on  the  Levites'  part,  the  churches'  living, 
Did  he  e'er  look  without  the  thought  of  giving  ? 
No  :  as  the  Angel  at  Bethesda  he 
Came  never  in  the  cells  of  charity, 
Unless  his  mind  by  Heaven  had  fraughted  bin         25 
To  help  the  next  poor  cripple  that  came  in  ; 


ELEGIES.  259 

And  he  came  often  to  them  ;  and  withal 

Left  there  such  virtue  since  his  funeral, 

That,  as  the  ancient  prophet's  buried  bones 

Made  one  to  know  two  resurrections  :  30 

So  after  death  it  will  be  said  of  him, 

Fishbourne  revived  this  man,  gave  that  a  limb  : 

Such  miracles  are  done  in  this  sad  age, 

And  yet  we  do  nut  go  in  pilgrimage. 

When  by  the  graves  of  men  alive  he  trod,  35 

Prisons  where  souls  and  bodies  have  abode 
Before  a  judgment ;  and,  as  there  they  lie, 
Speak  their  own  epitaphs  and  elegy  : 
Had  he  a  deaf  ear  then  ?  threw  he  on  more 
Irons  or  actions  than  they  had  before  ?  40 

Nay  :  wish'd  he  not,  he  had  sufficient  worth 
To  bid  these  men,  dead  to  the  world,  come  forth  ? 
Or  since  he  had  not,  did  not  he  anon 
Provide  to  keep  them  from  corruption  ? 
Made  them  new  shrouds  (their  clothes  are  sure  no 
more,  45 

Such  had  the  desert  wanderers  heretofore) 
Embalm'd  them,  not  with  spice  and  gums,  whereby 
We  may  less  noisome,  not  more  deadly  lie  ; 
But  with  a  charitable  food,  and  then 
Hid  him  from  thanks  to  do  the  like  agen.  50 

Methinks  I  see  him  in  a  sweet  repair, 
Some  walk,  not  yet  infected  with  the  air 
Of  news  or  libel,  weighing  what  may  be, 
After  all  these,  his  next  good  legacy  ; 


260         MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Whether  the  Church  that  lies  within  his  ken,  55 

With  her  revenues  feeds  or  beasts  or  men  ? 
Whether,  though  it  equivocally  keep 
A  careful  shepherd  and  a  flock  of  sheep, 
The  patron  have  a  soul,  and  doth  entreat 
His  friends  more  to  a  sermon  than  his  meat  ?  60 

In  fine,  if  church  or  steeple  have  a  tongue, 
Bells  by  a  sexton  or  a  wether  rung  ? 
Or  where  depopulations  were  begun, 
An  almshouse  were  for  men  by  it  undone  ? 
Those,  Fishbourne,  were  thy  thoughts,  the  pulse  of 
these  65 

Thou  felt'st,  and  hast  prescrib'd  for  the  disease. 
Some  thou  hast  cur'd,  and  this  thy  Gilead  balm 
Hath  my  pneludium  to  thy  Angel's  Psalm. 

And  now,  ye  oracles  of  Heaven,  for  whom 
He  hath  prepar'd  a  candle,  stool,  and  room,  70 

That  to  St.  Mary's,  Paul's,  or  elsewhere  come, 
To  send  us  sighing,  and  not  laughing  home ; 
Ye,  that  the  hour  may  run  away  more  free, 
Bribe  not  the  clerk,  but  with  your  doctrine  me  ; 
Keep  ye  on  wing  his  ever  honoured  fame,  75 

And  though  our  learned  Mother  want  his  name, 
ner  'Twas  modesty  in  him  that  his  dear  BROWNE* 

Might  have  place  for  his  charity,  and  crown 
Their  memories  together.  And  though  his 
The  City  got,  the  Universities  80 

Might  have  the  other's  name.     You  need  not  call 
A  herald  to  proclaim  your  funeral. 


ELEGIES.  261 

Nor  load  your  graves  with  marble,  nor  expend 

Upon  a  statue  more  than  on  a  friend  ; 

Or  make  stones  tell  a  lie  to  after  times,  85 

In  prose  inscriptions,  or  in  hired  rhymes. 

For  whilst  there  shall  a  church  unruin'd  stand. 

And  five  blest  souls  as  yours  preserve  the  land  ; 

Whilst  a  good  preacher  in  them  hath  a  room, 

You  live,  and  need  nor  epitaph  nor  tomb.  90 


AN    ELEGY  ON  SIR  THOMAS   OVERBURY, 

POISONED    IN    THE    TOWER    OK    LONDON. 

HAD  not  thy  wrong,  like  to  a  wound  ill  cur'd, 

Broke  forth  in  death,  I  had  not  been  assur'd 

Of  grief  enough  to  finish  what  I  write  ; 

These  lines,  as  those  which  do  in  cold  blood  fight, 

Had  come  but  faintly  on  ;  for  ever  he  5 

That  shrines  a  name  within  an  elegy, 

Unless  some  nearer  cause  do  him  inspire, 

Kindles  his  bright  flame  at  the  funeral  fire. 

For  passion,  after  less'ning  her  extent, 

Is  then  more  strong,  and  so  more  eloquent.  10 

How  pow'rful  is  the  hand  of  Murther  nosv  ! 
\Vas't  not  enough  to  see  his  dear  life  bow 

10. — Here  the  MS.  copy  terminates;  the  remainder  is  given 
from  the  ninth  impression  of  Sir  T.  Overbtiry's  The  ll'f/f 
(1616). 


262         MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Beneath  her  hafe?  but  crushing  that  fair  frame, 

Attempt  the  like  on  his  unspotted  fame  ? 

O  base  revenge  !  more  than  inhuman  fact !  1 5 

Which  (as  the  Romans  sometime  would  enact 

No  doom  for  parricide,  supposing  none 

Could  ever  so  offend)  the  upright  throne 

Of  Justice  salves  not  :  leaving  that  intent 

Without  a  name,  without  a  punishment.  20 

Yet  through  thy  wounded  fame,  as  thorough  these 
Glasses  which  multiply  the  species, 
We  see  thy  virtues  more  ;  and  they  become 
So  many  statues  sleeping  on  thy  tomb, 
Wherein  confinement  new  thou  shall  endure,  25 

But  so  as,  when  to  make  a  pearl  more  pure 
We  give  it  to  a  dove,  in  whose  womb  pent 
Some  time,  we  have  it  forth  most  orient. 

Such  is  thy  lustre  now  that  venom'd  spite 
With  her  black  soul  dares  not  behold  thy  light,       30 
But  banning  it,  a  course  begins  to  run 
With  those  that  curse  the  rising  of  the  sun. 
The  poison,  that  works  upwards  now,  shall  strive 
To  be  thy  fair  fame's  true  preservative. 
And  witchcraft,  that  can  mask  the  upper  shine,        35 
With  no  one  cloud  shall  blind  a  ray  of  thine. 

And  as  the  Hebrews  in  an  obscure  pit 
Their  holy  fire  hid,  not  extinguish'd  it, 
And  after  time,  that  broke  their  bondage  chain, 

15. — Fact,  crime.  19. — Salves,  remedies. 


ELEGIES.  263 

Found  it,  to  fire  their  sacrifice  again  :  40 

So  lay  thy  worth  some  while,  but  being  found, 
The  Muses'  altars  plentifully  crown'd 
With  sweet  perfumes  by  it  new  kindled  be, 
And  offer  all  to  thy  dear  memory. 

Nor  have  we  lost  thee  long  :  thou  art  not  gone,  45 
Nor  canst  descend  into  oblivion. 
But  twice  the  sun  went  round  since  thy  soul  fled, 
And  only  that  time  men  shall  term  thee  dead  : 
Hereafter,  rais'd  to  life,  thou  still  shalt  have 
An  antidote  against  the  silent  grave.  50 

W.  B. 

Int  :  Temp. 

AN  ELEGY 

On  the  untimely  death  of  his  ever  honoured  and  as 
much  beloved  as  lamented  Friend,  Mr.  Thomas 
Ayleworth  of  the  Middle  Temple,  slain  at 
Croydon,  and  there  buried. 

Is  goodness  shortest  liv'd  ?  doth  Nature  bring 
Her  choicest  flowers  but  to  adorn  the  spring  ? 
Are  all  men  but  as  tarriers?  first  begun, 
Made  and  together  put  to  be  undone  ? 
Will  all  the  rank  of  friends  in  whom  I  trust,  5 

Like  Sodom's  trees,  yield  me  no  fruit  but  dust? 
Must  all  I  love,  as  careless  sparks  that  fly 
Out  of  a  flint,  but  show  their  worth  and  die  ? 
Will  Nature  ever  to  things  fleeting  bow  ? 


264         MISCELLANEOUS  FOE  ATS. 

Doth  she  but,  like  the  toiling  hind  at  plough,          10 

Sow  to  be  in'd  ?  then  I'll  begin  a  lore 

Hard  to  be  learn'd,  love  still  to  wail  no  more  ; 

I  ever  will  affect  that  good,  which  he 

Made  the  firm  steps  to  his  eternity. 

I  will  adore  no  other  light  than  shines  15 

From  my  best  thoughts,  to  read  his  life  ;  the  mines 

Of  richest  India  shall  not  buy  from  me 

That  book  one  hour  wherein  I  study  thee. 

A  book,  wherein  men's  lives  so  taxed  bin 

That  all  men  labour'd  death  to  call  it  in.  20 

What  now  as  licens'd  is  dispers'd  about, 

Is  no  true  copy,  or  the  best  left  out. 

No  ornaments  I'll  love  brought  from  the  Change, 

But  what's  in  it,  and  in  the  Court  more  strange, 

Virtue  ;  which  clad  thee  well,  and  I  may  have,      25 

Without  the  danger  of  a  living  grave. 

I  will  not  wish  Fortune  should  make  of  me 

A  worshipp'd  golden  calf,  as  most  rich  be  ; 

But  let  her,  for  all  lands  else,  grant  me  this, 

To  be  an  inmate  in  that  house  now  his.  30 

One  stone  will  serve,  one  epitaph  above, 

So  one  shall  be  our  dust,  as  was  our  love. 

O,  if  privation  be  the  greatest  pain, 
Which  wretched  souls  in  endless  night  sustain, 
What  mortal  torment  can  be  worse  than  his,  35 

That  by  enjoying,  knows  what  losing  is  ? 

it. — In'd,  gathered,  as  the  harvest. 


ELEGIES.  265 

Yet  such  is  mine.     Then  if  with  sacred  fire 

A  passion  ever  did  a  Muse  inspire ; 

Or  if  a  grief-sick  heart  hath  writ  a  line 

Than  Art  or  Nature  could  more  genuine,  40 

More  full  of  accents  sad  ;  let  it  appear 

In  what  I  write,  if  any  drop  a  tear, 

To  this  small  payment  of  my  latest  debt 

He  witness  is,  that  'twas  not  counterfeit. 

May  this  be  never  known  to  hearts  of  stone,       45 
That  measure  all  men's  sorrows  by  their  own  ; 
And  think  no  flood  should  ever  drown  an  eye, 
That  hath  not  issue  from  an  injury 
Of  some  misfortune,  tending  more  the  loss 
Of  goods  than  goodness.     Let  this  hapless  cross    50 
Alone  be  read,  and  known  by  such  as  be 
Apt  to  receive  that  seal  of  misery, 
Which  his  untimely  death  prints  on  my  heart. 

And  if  that  fatal  hand,  which  did  the  part 
That  Fate  should  have  perform'd,  shall  ever  chance, 
Either  of  purpose  or  through  ignorance,  [55 

To  touch  this  paper  may  it  rose-like  wither ; 
Or  as  the  plant  sentida  shrink  together  1 
Let  him  not  read  it ;  be  the  letters  dim, 
Although  the  ordinary  give  it  him  !  60 

Or  let  the  words  transpose  them  and  impart 
A  crying  anagram  for  his  desert 
Or  may  this  ink,  now  dry,  grow  green  again, 

58.— ^Sentida,  the  Sensitive  Plant. 


266  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

As  wounds,  before  the  murd'rer,  of  the  slain. 

So  these  sad  lines  shall,  in  the  Judge's  eye,  65 

Be  his  accuser  and  mine  elegy. 

But  vain  are  imprecations.     And  I  fear 
Almost  to  show  him  in  a  character, 
Lest  some  accursed  hand  the  same  should  stain, 
Or  by  depraving  murder  him  again.  70 

Sleep  then,  sweet  soul  ;  and  if  thy  virtues  be 
In  any  breast,  by  him  we'll  portrait  thee. 
If  thou  hadst  liv'd  where  heathen  gods  have  reign'd, 
Thy  virtues  thee  a  deity  had  gain'd. 
But  now  more   blest !     And    though   thy  honour'd 
shrine  75 

Be  unadorn'd  by  stone,  or  Indian  mine  : 
Yet  whilst  that  any  good  to  earth  is  lent, 
Thou  canst  not  lie  without  a  monument. 


AN  EPITAPH  ON  HIM. 

HERE  wither'd  lies  a  flower,  which  blown, 
Was  cropp'd  as  soon  as  it  was  known  ; 
The  loss  was  great,  and  the  offence, 
Since  one  unworthy  took  it  hence. 

W.  BROWNE. 

AN  ELEGY. 

Is  Death  so  great  a  gamester,  that  he  throws 
Still  at  the  fairest,  and  must  I  still  lose  ? 


ELEGIES.  267 

Are  we  all  but  as  tarriers  first  begun, 

Made  and  together  put  to  be  undone  ? 

Will  all  the  rank  of  friends,  in  whom  I  trust,  5 

Like  Sodom's  trees  yield  me  no  fruit  but  dust  ? 

Must  all  I  love,  as  careless  sparks  that  fly 

Out  of  a  flint,  but  show  their  worth  and  die  ? 

O,  where  do  my  for  ever  losses  tend  ? 
I  could  already  by  some  buried  friend  10 

Count  my  unhappy  years  ;  and  should  the  sun 
Leave  me  in  darkness,  as  her  loss  hath  done, 
By  those  few  friends  I  have  yet  to  entomb, 
I  might,  I  fear,  account  my  years  to  come. 
What  need  our  canons  then  be  so  precise  15 

In  registers  for  our  nativities  ? 
They  keep  us  but  in  bonds,  and  strike  with  fears 
Rich  parents,  till  their  children  be  of  years  ; 
For  should  they  lose  and  mourn,  they  might,  as  I, 
Number  their  years  by  every  elegy.  20 

These  books  to  sum  our  days  might  well  have  stood 
In  use  with  those  that  liv'd  before  the  Flood, 
When  she  indeed  that  forceth  me  to  write, 
Should  have  been  born,  had  Nature  done  her  right  : 
And  at  five  hundred  years  been  less  decay'd,  25 

Than  now  at«  fifteen  is  the  fairest  maid. 
But  Nature  had  not  her  perfection  then, 
Or  being  loath  for  such  long-living  men, 
To  spend  the  treasure  which  she  held  most  pure, 
She  gave  them  women  apter  to  endure  ;  30 

Or  providently  knowing  there  were  more 


268  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Countries  and  islands  which  she  was  to  store, 

Nature  was  thrifty,  and  did  think  it  well, 

If  for  some  one  part  each  one  did  excel  : 

As  this  for  her  neat  hand,  that  for  her  hair,  35 

A  third  for  her  sweet  eyes,  a  fourth  was  fair  : 

And  'tis  approv'd  by  him,  who  could  not  draw 

The  Queen  of  Love  till  he  a  hundred  saw. 

Seldom  all  beauties  met  in  one,  till  she, 

All  other  lands  else  stor'd,  came  finally  40 

To  people  our  sweet  Isle  :  and  seeing  now 

Her  substance  infinite,  she  'gan  to  bow 

To  lavishness  in  every  nuptial  bed, 

And  she  her  fairest  was  that  now  is  dead  ; 

Dead  as  a  blossom  forced  from  the  tree,  45 

And  if  a  maiden,  fair  and  good  as  she, 

Tread  on  thy  grave.     O  let  her  there  profess 

Herself  for  evermore  an  anchoress. 

Let  her  be  deathless  !  let  her  still  be  young  ! 

Without  this  means  we  have  no  verse  nor  tongue    50 

To  say  how  much  I  lov'd,  or  let  us  see 

How  great  our  loss  was  in  the  loss  of  thee. 

Or  let  the  purple  violet  grow  there, 

And  feel  no  revolution  of  the  year ; 

Hut  full  of  dew  with  ever-drooping  head,  55 

Show  how  I  live,  since  my  best  hopes  are  dead. 

Dead  !  as  the  world  to  virtue.     Murd'rers,  thieves 
Can  have  their  pardons,  or  at  least  reprieves. 
The  sword  of  Justice  hath  been  often  won 
15y  letters  from  an  execution.  60 


ELEGIES.  269 

Yet  vows  nor  prayers  could  not  keep  thee  here, 

Nor  shall  I  see,  the  next  returning  year, 

Thee  with  the  roses  spring  and  live  again. 

Th'art  lost  for  ever,  as  a  drop  of  rain 

Fall'n  in  a  river  !  for  as  soon  I  may  65 

Take  up  that  drop,  or  meet  the  same  at  sea, 

And  know  it  there,  as  e'er  redeem  thee  gone, 

Or  know  thee  in  the  grave,  when  I  have  one. 

O  !  had  that  hollow  vault,  where  thou  dost  lie, 
An  echo  in  it,  my  strong  fantasy  70 

Would  draw  me  soon  to  think  her  words  were  thine, 
And  I  would  hourly  come,  and  to  thy  shrine 
Talk  as  I  often  used  to  talk  with  thee, 
And  frame  my  words  that  thou  might'st  answer  me 
As  when  thou  liv'd'st  :  I'd  sigh,  and  say  I  love,      75 
And  thou  should'st  do  so  too,  till  we  had  mov  d 
With  our  complaints  to  tears  each  marble  cell 
Of  those  dead  neighbours  which  about  thee  dwell. 

And  when  the  holy  father  came  to  say 
His  orisons,  I'd  ask  him  if  the  day  80 

Of  miracles  were  past,  or  whether  he 
Knew  any  one  whose  faith  and  piety 
Could  raise  the  dead  ;  but  he  would  answer,  none 
Can  bring  thee  back  to  life  ;  though  many  one 
Our  cursed  days  afford,  that  dare  to  thrust  85 

Their  hands  profane  to  raise  the  sacred  dust 
Of  holy  saints  out  of  their  beds  of  rest. 

Abhorred  days  !     O  may  there  none  molest 
Thy  quiet  peace  !  but  in  thy  ark  remain 


270  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Unlouch'd,  as  those  the  old  one  did  contain,  90 

Till  he  that  can  reward  thy  greatest  worth, 
Shall  send  the  peaceful  Dove  to  call  thee  forth. 


ON  A  TWIN  AT  TWO  YEARS  OLD  DEAD 
OF  A  CONSUMPTION. 

DEATH  !  thou  such  a  one  hast  smit, 

Any  stone  can  cover  it  ; 

'Twas  an  envy  more  than  sin, 

If  he  had  not  been  a  twin, 

To  have  kill'd  him,  when  his  herse 

Hardly  could  contain  a  verse. 

Two  fair  sisters,  sweet  and  young, 

Minded  as  a  prophet's  tongue, 

Thou  hadst  kill'd,  and  since  with  thee 

Goodness  had  no  amity  : 

Nor  could  tears  of  parents  save 

So  much  sweetness  from  the  grave  ; 

Sickness  seem'd  so  small  to  fit  him, 

That  thou  should'st  not  see  to  hit  him  ; 

And  thou  canst  not  truly  say, 

If  he  be  dead  or  flown  away. 


AN 

E  L  E  G  I  E 

ON  THE   NEVER 

INOVGH  BEWAILED  DEATH 

of  the  Worthy,  Vertuous,  glory  of 

thefe,  and  wonder  for  enfuing  times, 

HENRY,  PRINCE  of 

WALES. 


Quid  de  Trift.  Lib.  I.  Eleg.  3. 
O_uocumq;adfpiceres,luctus,gemitufq;fonabant^ 

Virgil.  Eclog.  3. 
Et  longiim  formose  vale,  vale,  inquit,  lola. 


LONDON: 

Printed  by  T.  S.  for  RICHARD  MORE,  and  are  to 

be  fould  at  his  fhoppe  in  Saint  Dunftones 

Church-yard.  1613. 


273 


AN   ELEGY 

ON      THE      BEWAILED      DEATH      OF      THE       TRULY 
BELOVED       AND       MOST      VIRTUOUS      HENRY, 
f        PRINCE   OF    WALES. 

WHAT  time  the  world,  clad  in  a  mourning  robe, 

A  stage  made  for  a  woful  tragedy, 

When  showers  of  tears  from  the  celestial  globe 

Bewail'd  the  fate  of  sea-lov'd  Brittany  ; 

When  sighs  as  frequent  were  as  various  sights,          5 

When  Mope  lay  bed-rid,  and  all  pleasures  dying, 
When  Envy  wept, 
And  Comfort  slept, 

When  Cruelty  itself  sat  almost  crying  ; 

Nought  being  heard  but  what  the  mind  affrights  :   10 
When  Autumn  had  disrob'd  the  Summer's  pride, 
Then  England's  Honour,  Europe's  Wonder,  died. 

O  saddest  strain  that  e'er  the  Muses  sung  ! 

A  text  of  woe  for  Grief  to  comment  on  ; 

Tears,  sighs  and  sobs,  give  passage  to  my  tongue,  1 5 

Or  I  shall  spend  you  till  the  last  is  gone  ; 

And  then  my  heart,  in  flames  of  burning  love, 

Wanting  his  moisture,  shall  to  cinders  turn. 

But  first  by  me, 

Bequeathed  be,  20 

VOL,    II.  T 


274  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

To  strew  the  place  wherein  his  sacred  urn 
Shall  be  enclos'd.     This  might  in  many  move 
The  like  effect  :  who  would  not  do  it  when 
No  grave  befits  him  but  the  hearts  of  men  ? 

The  man  whose  mass  of  sorrows  have  been  such,    25 
That,  by  their  weight,  laid  on  each  several  part, 
His  fountains  are  so  dry,  he  but  as  much 
As  one  poor  drop  hath  left,  to  ease  his  heart : 
Why  should  he  keep  it,  since  the  time  doth  call 
That  he  ne'er  better  can  bestow  it  in  ?  30 

If  so  he  fears 
That  other  tears 

In  greater  number  greatest  prizes  win, 
Know,  none  gives  more  than  he  who  giveth  all  : 
Then  he  which  hath  but  one  poor  tear  in  store,  35 
Oh,  let  him'  spend  that  drop  and  weep  no  more  ! 

Why  flows  not  Helicon  beyond  her  strands  ? 

Is  Henry  dead,  and  do  the  Muses  sleep  ? 

Alas  !  I  see  each  one  amazed  stands  ; 

Shallow  fords  mutter,  silent  are  the  deep  :  40 

Fain  would  they  tell  their  griefs,  but  know  not  where. 

All  are  so  full,  nought  can  augment  their  store. 

Then  how  should  they 

Their  griefs  display 

To  men  so  cloy'd  they  fain  would  hear  no  more,    45 
Though  blaming  those    whose  plaints    they  cannot 
hear? 


ELEGIES.  275 

And  with  this  wish  their  passions  I  allow, 
May  that  Muse  never  speak  that's  silent  now  ! 

Is  Henry  dead  ?  alas  !  and  do  I  live 

To  sing  a  screech-owl's  note  that  he  is  dead  ?          50 

If  any  one  a  fitter  theme  can  give, 

Come,  give  it  now,  or  never  to  be  read  : 

But  let  him  see  it  do  of  horror  taste, 

Anguish,  destruction  ;  could  it  rend  in  sunder 

With  fearful  groans  55 

The  senseless  stones, 

Yet  should  we  hardly  be  enforc'd  to  wonder, 
Our  former  griefs  would  so  exceed  their  last : 
Time  cannot  make  our  sorrows  ought  completer, 
Nor    add    one    grief    to    make    our     mourning 
greater.  60 

England  stood  ne'er  engirt  with  waves  till  now, 
Till  now  it  held  part  with  the  Continent. 
Aye  me  !  some  one,  in  pity,  show  me  how 
I  might  in  doleful  numbers  so  lament, 
That  any  one,  which  lov'd  him,  hated  me,  65 

Might  dearly  love  me  for  lamenting  him. 
Alas,  my  plaint 
In  such  constraint 

Breaks  forth  in  rage,  that  though  my  passions  swim, 
Yet  are  they  drowned  ere  they  landed  be.  70 

Imperfect  lines  :  oh,  happy  were  I  hurl'd 
And  cut  from  life  as  England  from  the  world. 


276  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

O  !  happier  had  we  been,  if  we  had  been 

Never  made  happy  by  enjoying  thee. 

Where  hath  the  glorious  eye  of  Heaven  seen  75 

A  spectacle  of  greater  misery  ? 

Time,  turn  thy  course,  and  bring  again  the  spring  ! 

Break  Nature's  laws  !  search  the  records  of  old  ! 
If  ought  e'er  fell 
Might  parallel  80 

Sad  Albion's  case  :  then  note  when  I  unfold 

What  seas  of  sorrow  she  is  plunged  in  : 

Where  storms  of  woe  so  mainly  have  beset  her, 
She  hath  no  place  for  worse,  nor  hope  for  better. 

Britain  was  whilom  known,  by  more  than  fame,     85 

To  be  one  of  the  islands  fortunate  : 

What  frantic  man  would  give  her  now  that  name, 

Lying  so  rueful  and  disconsolate  ? 

Hath  not  her  wat'ry  zone,  in  murmuring, 

Fill'd  every  shore  with  echoes  of  her  cry  ?  90 

Yes,  Thetis  raves, 
And  bids  her  waves 

Bring  all  the  nymphs  within  her  Empery 

To  be  assistant  in  her  sorrowing. 
See  where  they  sadly  sit  on  Isis'  shore,  95 

And  rend  their  hairs  as  they  would  joy  no  more. 

Isis,  the  g'ory  of  the  Western  world, 
When  our  heroe,  honour'd  Essex,  died, 


ELEGIES.  277 

Strucken  with  wonder,  back  again  she  hurl'd, 
And  fill'd  her  banks  with  an  unwonted  tide.          loo 
As  if  she  stood  in  doubt  if  it  were  so, 
And  for  the  certainty  had  turn'd  her  way. 
Why  do  not  now 
Her  waves  reflow  ? 

Poor  nymph,  her  sorrows  will  not  let  her  stay,      105 
Or  flies  to  tell  the  world  her  country's  woe. 

Is  that  the  cause,  fair  maid  ?  then  stay  and  know 
Bad  news  are  swift  of  wing,  the  good  are  slow. 

Sometime  a  tyrant  held  the  reins  of  Rome, 

Wishing  to  all  the  city  but  one  head,  1 10 

That  all  at  once  might  undergo  his  doom, 

And  by  one  blow  from  life  be  severed. 

Fate  wish'd  the  like  on  England,  and  'twas  given, 

(O  miserable  men  enthrall'd  to  Fate  ! ) 

Whose  heavy  hand,  115 

That  never  scann'd 
The  misery  of  kingdoms  ruinate  : 
(Minding  to  leave  her  of  all  joy  bereaven) 
With  one  sad  blow  (alas  !  can  worser  fall  ?  ) 
Hath  given  this  little  Isle  her  funeral.  120 

O  !  come,  ye  blessed  imps  of  Memory, 
Erect  a  new  Parnassus  on  his  grave. 
There  tune  your  voices  to  an  elegy, 
The  saddest  note  that  e'er  Apollo  gave  : 


278  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Let  every  accent  make  the  stander-by  125 

Keep  time  unto  your  songs  with  dropping  tears, 
Till  drops  that  fell 
Have  made  a  well 

To  swallow  him  which  still  unmoved  hears  : 
And  though  myself  prove  senseless  of  your  cry,    130 
Yet  gladly  should  my  light  of  life  grow  dim 
To  be  entomb'd  in  tears  are  wept  for  him. 

When  last  he  sicken'd  then  we  first  began 
To  tread  the  Labyrinth  of  Woe  about, 
And  by  degrees  we  further  inward  ran,  135 

Having  his  thread  of  life  to  guide  us  out. 
But  Destiny  no  sooner  saw  us  enter 
Sad  Sorrow's  maze,  immured  up  in  night, 
Where  nothing  dwells 
But  cries  and  yells  140 

Thrown  from  the  hearts  of  men  depriv'd  of  light, 
When  we  were  almost  come  into  the  centre, 
Fate,  cruelly  to  bar  our  joys  returning, 
Cut  off  our  thread  and  left  us  all  in  mourning. 

Olyrapius  Nemesianus,  Eclog.  i. 
Turn  verd  ardentes  flammati  pectoris  aestus 
Carminibus  dulcique  parant  relevare  querela. 

Deflevit  W.  B. 

Inter  :  Tempi : 


2/9 


V.— VISIONS. 


SITTING  one  day  beside  the  banks  of  Mole, 
Whose  sleepy  stream  by  passages  unknown 
Conveys  the  fry  of  all  her  finny  shoal, 
As  of  the  fisher  she  were  fearful  grown ; 
I  thought  upon  the  various  turns  of  time, 
And  sudden  changes  of  all  human  state  ; 
The  fear  mix'd  pleasures  of  all  such  as  climb 
To  fortunes  merely  by  the  hand  of  fate, 
Without  desert.     Then  weighing  inly  deep 
The  griefs  of  one  whose  nearness  makes  him  mine, 
Wearied  with  thoughts,  the  leaden  god  of  sleep 
With  silken  arms  of  rest  did  me  entwine  : 
While  such  strange  apparitions  girt  me  round, 
As  need  another  Joseph  to  expound. 


2.a 


•  This  "  Vision  "  is  wanting  in  the  MS.,  though  a  space  was 
left  for  it. 


28o  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

3- 

I  SAW  a  silver  swan  swim  down  the  Lea, 
Singing  a  sad  farewell  unto  the  vale, 
While  fishes  leapt  to  hear  her  melody, 
And  on  each  thorn  a  gentle  nightingale 
And  many  other  birds  forbore  their  notes, 
Leaping  from  tree  to  tree,  as  she  along 
The  panting  bosom  of  the  current  floats, 
Rapt  with  the  music  of  her  dying  song  : 
When  from  a  thick  and  all-entangled  spring 
A  neatherd  rude  came  with  no  small  ado, 
Dreading  an  ill  presage  to  hear  her  sing, 
And  quickly  struck  her  tender  neck  in  two  ; 

Whereat  the  birds,  methought,   flew  thence  with 
speed, 

And  inly  griev'd  for  such  a  cruel  deed. 


4- 

WITHIN  the  compass  of  a  shady  grove 
I  long  time  saw  a  loving  turtle  fly, 
And  lastly  pitching  by  her  gentle  love, 
Sit  kindly  billing  in  his  company  : 
Till,  hapless  souls,  a  falcon,  sharply  bent, 
Flew  towards  the  place  where  these  kind  wretches 

stood, 

And  sev'ring  them,  a  fatal  accident, 
She  from  her  mate  flung  speedy  through  the  wood  ; 


VIS  JONS.  281 

And  'scaping  from  the  hawk,  a  fowler  set 
Close  and  with  cunning  underneath  the  shade, 
Entrapp'd  the  harmless  creature  in  his  net, 
And  nothing  moved  with  the  plaint  she  made, 
Restrain'd  her  from  the  groves  and  deserts  wide, 
Where,  overgone  with  grief,  poor  bird,  she  died. 


A  ROSE,  as  fair  as  ever  saw  the  North, 
Grew  in  a  little  garden  all  alone  ; 
A  sweeter  flower  did  Nature  ne'er  put  forth, 
Nor  fairer  garden  yet  was  never  known  : 
The  maidens  danc'd  about  it  morn  and  noon, 
And  learned  bards  of  it  their  ditties  made  ; 
The  nimble  fairies  by  the  pale-fac'd  moon 
Water'd  the  root  and  kiss'd  her  pretty  shade. 
But  we!l-a-day,  the  gard'ner  careless  grew  ; 
The  maids  and  fairies  both  were  kept  away, 
And  in  a  drought  the  caterpillars  threw 
Themselves  upon  the  bud  and  every  spray. 

God  shield  the  stock  !  if  heaven  send  no  supplies, 
The  fairest  blossom  of  the  garden  die?. 

6. 

DOWN  in  a  valley,  by  a  forest's  side, 

Near  where  the  crystal  Thames  rolls  on  her  waves, 

I  saw  a  mushroom  stand  in  haughty  pride, 

As  if  the  lilies  grew  to  be  his  slaves  ; 


282  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  gentle  daisy,  with  her  silver  crown, 
Worn  in  the  breast  of  many  a  shepherd's  lass  ; 
The  humble  violet,  that  lowly  down 
Salutes  the  gay  nymphs  as  they  trimly  pass  : 
These,  with  a  many  more,  methought,  complain'd 
That  Nature  should  those  needless  things  produce, 
Which  not  alone  the  sun  from  others  gain'd 
But  turn  it  wholly  to  their  proper  use  . 

I  could  not  choose  but  grieve  that  Nature  made 
•    So  glorious  flowers  to  live  in  such  a  shade. 


A  GENTLE  shepherd,  bom  in  Arcady, 
That  well  could  tune  his  pipe,  and  deftly  play 
The  nymphs  asleep  with  rural  minstrelsy, 
Methought  I  saw,  upon  a  summer's  day, 
Take  up  a  little  satyr  in  a  wood, 
All  masterless  forlorn  as  none  did  know  him, 
And  nursing  him  with  those  of  his  own  blood, 
On  mighty  Pan  he  lastly  did  bestow  him  ; 
But  with  the  god  he  long  time  had  not  been, 
Ere  he  the  shepherd  and  himself  forgot, 
And  most  ingrateful,  ever  stepp'd  between 
Pan  and  all  good  befell  the  poor  man's  lot : 

Whereat  all  good  men  griev'd,  and  strongly  swore 
They  never  would  be  foster-fathers  more. 


VI.— EPIGRAMS. 

IT  happen'd  lately  at  a  fair,  or  wake, 
After  a  pot  or  two  or  such  mistake, 
Two  iron-soled  clowns,  and  bacon-sided, 
Grumbled  :  then  left  the  forms  which  they  bestrided, 
And  with  their  crab-tree  cudgels,  as  appears, 
Thresh'd,  as  they  use,  at  one  another's  ears  : 
A  neighbour  near  both  to  their  house  and  drink, 
Who,  though  he  slept  at  sermons,  could  not  wink 
At  this  dissension,  with  a  spirit  bold 
As  was  the  ale  that  arm'd  them,  strong  and  old, 
Stepp'd  in  and  parted  them  ;  but  Fortune's  frown 
Was  such  that  there  our  neighbour  was  knock'd  down. 
For  they,  to  recompense  his  pains  at  full, 
Since  he  had  broke  their  quarrel,  broke  his  skull. 
People  came  ki,  and  rais'd  him  from  his  swound  ; 
A  chirurgeon  then  was  call'd  to  search  the  wound, 
Who,  op'ning  it,  more  to  endear  his  pains, 
Cried  out,  Alas  !  look,  you  may  see  his  brains. 
Nay,  quoth  the  wounded  man,  I  tell  you  free, 
Good  Mr.  Surgeon,  that  can  never  be  ; 

For  I  should  ne'er  have  meddled  with  this  brawl 

If  I  had  had  but  any  brains  at  all. 


284  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

ON  AN  HOUR-GLASS. 

THE  truest  hour-glass  lies  ;  for,  you'll  confess, 
\11  holes  grow  bigger,  and  the  sand  grows  less. 


ON  THE  COUNTESS  OF  SOMERSET'S 
PICTURE. 

THE  pitied  fortune  most  men  chiefly  hate, 
And  rather  think  the  envied  fortunate  : 
Yet  I,  if  Misery  did  look  as  she, 
Should  quickly  fall  in  love  with  Misery. 


ON  JOHN  TOOTH. 

HERE  lieth  in  sooth 
Honest  John  Tooth  ; 
Whom  Death  on  a  day 
From  us  drew  away. 


TO  DON  ANTONIO,  KING  OF  PORTUGAL. 

BETWEEN  thee  and  thy  kingdom  late  with  force 
Spain  happily  hath  sued  a  divorce  ; 
And  now  thou  may'st,  as  Christ  did  once  of  his, 
Say,  that  thy  kingdom  not  of  this  world  is. 


EPIGRAMS  285 

•    [MAN.] 

LIKE  to  a  silkworm  of  one  year, 

Or  like  a  wronged  lover's  tear, 

Or  on  the  waves  a  rudder's  dint, 

Or  like  the  sparkles  of  a  flint, 

Or  like  to  little  cakes  perfum'd, 

Or  fireworks  made  to  be  consum'd  ; 

Even  such  is  man,  and  all  that  trust 

In  weak  and  animated  dust. 

The  silkworm  droops  ;  the  tear's  soon  shed; 

The  ship's  way  lost  ;  the  sparkle  dead  ; 

The  cake  is  burnt ;  the  firework  done  ; 

And  man  as  these  as  quickly  gone. 

[KISSES.] 

GIVE  me  three  kisses,  Phillis  ;  if  not  three, 
Give  me  as  many  as  thy  sweet  lips  be  ; 
You  gave  and  took  one,  yet  deny  me  twain, 
Then  take  back  yours,  or  give  me  mine  again. 

ON  ONE  BORN  BLIND.  AND  SO  DEAD. 

WHO  (but  some  one  like  thee)  could  ever  say, 

He  master'd  Death  from  robbing  him  a  day  ? 

Or  was  Death  ever  yet  so  kind  to  any  ? 

One  night  she  took  from  thee,  from  others  many, 

And  yet,  to  recompense  it,  in  thy  tomb 

Gives  thee  a  longer  till  the  day  of  doom. 


286  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

ON  A  ROPE-MAKER  HANGED. 

HERE  lies  a  man  much  wronged  in  his  hopes, 
Who  got  his  wealth  backwards  by  making  of  ropes 
It  was  his  hard  chance  in  his  fortunes  to  falter, 
For  he  liv'd  by  the  rope,  and  died  by  the  halter 


VII.— EPITAPHS 

AN  EPITAPH  ON  MR.  JOHN  SMYTH, 

CHAPLAIN   TO   THE   RIGHT 

HONOURABLE  THE  EARL  OF  PEMBROKE. 

1624 

KNOW  thou,  that  tread'st  on  learned  Smyth  inurn'd, 

Man  is  an  hour-glass  that  is  never  turn'd  ; 

He  is  gone  through  ;  and  we  that  stay  behind 

Are  in  the  upper  glass,  yet  unrefin'd. 

When  we  are  fit,  with  him  so  truly  just, 

We  shall  fall  down,  and  sleep  with  him  in  dust. 

ON    MRS.    ANNE    PRIDEAUX,   DAUGHTER 

OF  MR.  DOCTOR  PRIDEAUX,  REGIUS 

PROFESSOR. 

SHE   DIED   AT  THE  AGE  OF  SiX   YEARS. 

NATURE  in  this  small  volume  was  about 

To  perfect  what  in  woman  was  left  out  ; 

Yet  fearful  lest  a  piece  so  well  begun 

Might  want  preservatives,  when  she  had  done, 

Ere  she  could  finish  what  she  undertook,  < 

Threw  dust  upon  it,  and  shut  up  the  book 


288  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 

AN  EPITAPH  ON    MR.  WM    HOFTON. 

READER,  stay,  and  read  a  truth  : 
Here  lies  Hopton,  goodness,  youth. 
Drop  a  tear,  and  let  it  be 
True  as  thou  would'st  wish  for  thee  ; 
Shed  one  more,  thou  best  of  souls  ; 
Those  two  tears  shall  be  new  poles  : 
By  the  first  we'll  sail  and  find 
Those  lost  jewels  of  his  mind  ; 
By  the  latter  we  will  swim 
Back  again,  and  sleep  with  him. 


AN  EPITAPH  ON  SIR  JOHN  PROWDE, 

LIEUTENANT-COLONEL    TO   SIR   CHARLES   MORGAN, 

SLAIN    AT   THE   SIEGE   OF   GROLL,a   AND    BURIED 

AT    ZUTPHEN,    1627. 

AFTER  a  march  of  twenty  years  and  more, 

I  set  me  down  on  Yssel'sb  warlike  shore  ; 

There  now  I  lie  intrench'd,  where  none  can  seize  me, 

Until  an  host  of  angels  come  to  raise  me. 

War  was  my  mistress,  and  I  courted  her 

As  Semele  was  by  the  Thunderer  : 

•  Croll,  now  Croenlo. 

»  Yssel,  a.  river  of  Holland  flowing  by  Zutphen. 


EPITAPHS.  289 

The  mutual  tokens  'twixt  us  two  allow'd 
Were  bullets  wrapt  in  fire,  sent  in  a  cloud  ; 
One  I  received,  which  made  my  pass  so  far, 
That  honour  laid  me  in  the  bed  of  war. 


IN  OBITUM  M  S,  X°  MAIJ,   1614. 

MAY  !  Be  thou  never  grac'd  with  birds  that  sins; 

Nor  Flora's  pride  ! 
In  thee  all  flowers  and  roses  spring, 

Mine  only  died.  W.  15. 


ON  MR.  VAUX,  THE  PHYSICIAN. 

STAY  !  this  grave  deserves  a  tear  ; 
'Tis  not  a  corse,  but  life  lies  here  : 
May  be  thine  own,  at  least  some  part, 
And  thou  the  walking  marble  art. 

'Tis  Vaux  !  whom  Art  and  Nature  gave 
A  power  to  pluck  men  from  the  grave  ; 
When  others'  drugs  made  ghosts  of  men, 
His  gave  them  back  their  flesh  agen  ; 
'Tis  he  lies  here,  and  tlioa  and  I 
May  wonder  he  found  time  to  die  ; 
So  busied  was  he,  and  so  rife, 
I  )istributing  both  health  and  life. 
VOL.  II.  u 


290  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Honour  his  marble  with  your  tears, 
You,  to  whom  he  hath  added  years  ; 
You,  whose  life's  light  he  was  about 
So  careful,  that  his  own  went  out. 
Be  you  his  living  monument !  or  we 
Will  rather  think  you  in  the  grave  than  he. 


ON  ONE  DROWNED  IN  THE  SNOW. 

WITHIN  a  fleece  of  silent  waters  drown'd, 
Before  I  met  with  death  a  grave  I  found  ; 
That  which  exil'd  my  life  from  her  sweet  home, 
For  grief  straight  froze  itself  into  a  tomb. 
One  only  element  my  fate  thought  meet 
To  be  my  death,  grave,  tomb,  and  winding-sheet 
Phoebus  himself  my  epitaph  had  writ  ; 
But  blotting  many,  ere  he  thought  one  fit, 
He  wrote  until  my  tomb  and  grave  were  gone, 
And  'twas  an  epitaph,  that  I  had  none  ; 
For  every  man  that  pass'd  along  the  way 
Without  a  sculpture  read  that  there  I  lay. 

Here  now,  the  second  time,  entomb'd  I  lie, 
And  thus  much  have  the  best  of  destiny  : 
Corruption,  from  which  only  one  was  free, 
Devour'd  my  grave,  but  did  not  feed  on  me, 

My  first  grave  took  me  from  the  race  of  men  ; 

My  last  shall  give  me  back  to  life  agen. 


EPITAPHS.  291 

ON  MR.  JOHN  DEANE,  OF  NEW  COLLEGE. 

LET  no  man  walk  near  this  tomb, 
That  hath  left  his  grief  at  home. 
Here  so  much  of  goodness  lies, 
We  should  not  weep  tears,  but  eyes, 
And  grope  homeward  from  this  stone 
Blind  for  contemplation 
How  to  live  and  die  as  he. 
Deane,  to  thy  dear  memory 
With  this  I  would  offer  more, 
Could  I  be  secur'd  before 
They  should  not  be  frown'd  upon 
At  thy  resurrection. 

Yet  accept  upon  thy  herse 
My  tears  far  better  than  my  verse. 
They  may  turn  to  eyes  and  keep 
Thy  bed  untouch'd  whilst  thou  dost  sleep. 

AN  EPITAPH." 

FAIR  Canace  this  little  tomb  doth  hide, 

Who  only  seven  Decembers  told  and  died. 

O  cruelty  !  O  sin  !  yet  no  man  here 

Must  for  so  short  a  life  let  fall  a  tear  ; 

Than  death  the  kind  was  worse,  what  did  infect 

First  seiz'd  her  mouth,  and  spoil'd  her  sweet  aspect : 

»  Imitated  from  Martial,  Epig.  91,  Lib.  xi.,  Aeolidos  Canace 
jacet  hoc  lumulata  sepuicro,  etc. 

U   2 


292  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

A  horrid  ill  her  kisses  bit  away, 

And  gave  her  almost  lipless  to  the  clay. 

If  Destiny  so  swift  a  flight  did  will  her, 

It  might  have  found  some  other  way  to  kill  her  ; 

But  Death  first  struck  her  dumb,  in  haste  to  have 

her, 
Lest  her  sweet  tongue  should  force  the  Fates  to  save 

her. 


ON  MR.  FRANCIS  LEE  OF  THE  TEMPLE, 
GENT. 

NATURE  having  seen  the  p£.tes 
Give  some  births  untimely  dates, 
And  cut  off  those  threads  before 
Half  their  web  was  twisted  o'er, 
Which  she  chiefly  had  intended 
With  just  story  should  be  friended, 
Underhand  she  had  begun, 
From  those  distaffs  half  way  spun, 
To  have  made  a  piece  to  tarry, 
As  our  Edward  should,  or  Harry. 

But  the  fatal  Sisters  spying 
What  a  fair  work  she  was  plying, 
Curstlya  cut  it  from  the  loom, 
And  hid  it  underneath  this  tomb. 

•  Curstly,  maliciously. 


EPITAPHS.  293 

MY  OWN  EPITAPH. 

LOADEN  with  earth,  as  earth  by  such  as  I, 
In  hope  of  life,  in  Death's  cold  arm  I  lie ; 
Laid  up  there,  whence  I  came,  as  ships  near  spilt 
Are  in  the  dock  undone  to  be  new  built. 
Short  was  my  course,  and  had  it  longer  bin, 
I  had  return'd  but  burthen 'd  more  with  sin. 
Tread  on  me  he  that  list ;  but  learn  withal, 
As  we  make  but  one  cross,  so  thou  must  fall, 
To  be  made  one  to  some  dear  friend  of  thine, 
That  shall  survey  thy  grave,  as  thou  dost  mine. 
Tears  ask  I  none,  for  those  in  death  are  vain, 
The  true  repentant  showers  which  I  did  rain 
From  my  sad  soul,  in  time  to  come  will  bring 
To  this  dead  root  an  everlasting  spring. 
Till  then  my  soul  with  her  Creator  keeps. 
To  waken  in  fit  time  what  herein  sleeps. 

WM.  BROWNE.     1614. 


ON  HIS  WIFE,  AN  EPITAPH. 

THOU  need'st  no  tomb,  my  wife,  for  thou  hast  one, 

To  which  all  marble  is  but  pumex  stone  ; 

Thou  art  engrav'd  so  deeply  in  my  heart, 

It  shall  outlast  the  strongest  hand  of  Art. 

Death  shall  not  blot  thee  thence,  although  I  must 

In  all  my  other  parts  dissolve  to  dust ; 


294  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

For  thy  dear  name,  thy  happy  memory, 
May  so  embalm  it  for  eternity, 
That  when  I  rise,  the  name  of  my  dear  wife 
Shall  there  be  seen  as  in  the  book  of  life. 


ON    THE    COUNTESS     DOWAGER     OF 
PEMBROKE. 

UNDERNEATH  this  sable  herse 
Lies  the  subject  of  all  verse  : 
Sidney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother  : 
Death,  ere  thou  hast  slain  another, 
Fair,  and  learn'd,  and  good  as  she, 
Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee. 

Marble  piles  let  no  man  raise 
To  her  name  :  for  after  days 
Some  kind  woman  born  as  she, 
Reading  this,  like  Niobe 
Shall  turn  marble,  and  become 
Both  her  mourner  and  her  tomb. 


ON  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  SUSAN, 
COUNTESS  OF  MONTGOMERY. 

THOUGH  we  trust  the  earth  with  thee, 
We  will  not  with  thy  memory  ; 
Mines  of  brass  or  marble  shall 
Speak  nought  of  thy  funeral  ; 


EPITAPHS.  295 

They  are  verier  dust  than  we, 

And  do  beg  a  history  : 

In  thy  name  there  is  a  tomb, 

If  the  world  can  give  it  room  ; 
For  a  Vere  and  Herbert's  wife 
Outspeaks  all  tombs,  outlives  all  life. 


AN  EPITAPH  ON  MRS.  EL :  Y. 

UNDERNEATH  this  stone  there  lies 
More  of  beauty  than  are  eyes  ; 
Or  to  read  that  she  is  gone, 
Or  alive  to  gaze  upon. 

She  in  so  much  fairness  clad, 
To  each  grace  a  virtue  had  ; 
All  her  goodness  cannot  be 
Cut  in  marble.     Memory 
Would  be  useless,  ere  we  tell 
In  a  stone  her  worth.     Farewell ! 


ON  MR.  TURNER  OF  ST.  MARY-IIALL. 

I  ROSE,  and  coming  down  to  dine, 
I  Turner  met,  a  learn'd  divine  ; 
'Twas  the  first  time  that  I  was  bless'd 
With  sight  of  him,  and  had  possessed 


296  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

His  company  not  three  hours  space, 
But  Oxford  call'd  him  from  that  place. 
Our  friendship  was  begun,  for  Arts, 
Or  love  of  them,  can  marry  hearts. 
But  see  whereon  we  trust  :  eight  days 
From  thence,  a  friend  of  mine  thus  says 
Turner  is  dead  ;  amaz'd,  thought  I, 
Could  so  much  health  so  quickly  die  ? 
And  have  I  lost  my  hopes  to  be 
Endear'd  to  so  much  industry  ? 
O  man  !  behold  thy  strength,  and  know 
Like  our  first  sight  and  parting,  so 
Are  all  our  lives,  which  I  must  say 
Was  but  a  dinner,  and.  away. 


ON  GOODMAN  HURST  OF  THE  GEORGE 
AT  HORSHAM, 

DYING  SUDDENLY  WHILE  THE  EARL  OF   NOTTING- 
HAM  LAY   THERE,    26   AUGUST,    1637. 

SEE  what  we  are  :  for  though  we  often  say, 
We  are  like  guests  that  ride  upon  the  way, 
Travel  and  lodge,  and  when  the  morn  comes  on, 
Call  for  a  reck'ning,  pay,  and  so  are  gone — 
We  err  ;  and  have  less  time  to  be  possess'd, 
For  see  !  the  host  is  gone  before  the  guest. 


EPITAPHS.  297 

HERE  lies  kind  Tom,  thrust  out  of  door, 
Nor  high  nor  low,  nor  rich  nor  poor ; 
He  left  the  world  with  heavy  cheer, 
And  never  knew  what  he  made  here. 


298  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


VIII.— PARAPHRASES,  &c. 

i. 
TELL  me,  Pyrrha,  what  fine  youth, a 

All  perfum'd  and  crown 'd  with  rose?, 
To  thy  chamber  thee  pursu'th, 

And  thy  wanton  arm  encloses  ? 


What  is  he  thou  now  hast  got, 

Whose  more  long  and  golden  tresses 

Into  many  a  curious  knot 

Thy  more  curious  finger  dresses  ? 

3- 
How  much  will  he  wail  his  trust, 

And,  forsook,  begin  to  wonder, 
When  black  winds  shall  billows  thrust, 

And  break  all  his  hopes  in  sunder  ! 

4- 
Fickleness  of  winds  he  knows 

Very  little  that  doth  love  thee  ; 
Miserable  are  all  those 

That  affect  thee  ere  they  prove  thee. 

1  Imitated  from  Horace  : — Quis  multa  gracilis,  etc.     Carm. 
lib.  i.  5. 


PARAPHRASES,  &c.  299 

5- 

I,  as  one  from  shipwreck  freed, 
To  the  ocean's  mighty  ranger 

Consecrate  my  dropping  weed, 
And  in  freedom  think  of  danger. 

THE  HAPPY  LIFE.* 

O  BLESSED  man  !  who,  homely  bred, 
In  lowly  cell  can  pass  his  days, 
Feeding  on  his  well-gotten  bread  ; 
And  hath  his  God's  not  others'  ways. 

That  doth  into  a  prayer  wake, 
And  rising,  not  to  bribes  or  bands, 
The  power  that  doth  him  happy  make, 
Hath  both  his  knees,  as  well  as  hands. 

His  threshold  he  doth  not  forsake, 

Or  for  the  city's  cates,  or  trim  ; 

His  plough,  his  flock,  his  scythe,  and  rake, 

Do  physic,  clothe,  and  nourish  him. 

By  some  sweet  stream,  clear  as  his  thought, 
He  seats  him  with  his  book  and  line  ; 
And  though  his  hand  have  nothing  caught, 
His  mind  hath  whereupon  to  dine. 

»  A  paraphrase  of  Horace  : — Beatus  ille,  qui  proriil  negotiis 
etc.     Epodon  lib.,  Ode  2. 


300  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

He  hath  a  table  furnish 'd  strong, 
To  feast  a  friend,  no  flattering  snare, 
And  hath  a  judgment  and  a  tongue 
That  know  to  welcome  and  beware. 

His  afternoon  spent  as  the  prime 
Inviting  where  he  mirthful  sups  ; 
Labour,  or  seasonable  time, 
Brings  him  to  bed  and  not  his  cups. 

Yet,  ere  he  take  him  to  his  rest, 
For  this  and  for  their  last  repair, 
He,  with  his  household  meek  address'd, 
Offer  their  sacrifice  of  prayer. 

If  then  a  loving  wife  he  meets, 
Such  as  a  good  man  should  lie  by, 
Bless'd  Eden  is  betwixt  these  sheets. 
Thus  would  I  live,  thus  would  I  die. 


IN  URBEM  ROMAM  QUALIS  EST  HODIE. 

Qui  Romam  in  media  quseris  novus  ad  vena  Roma, 
Et  Romre  in  Roma  nil  reperis  media  : 

Aspice  murorum  moles  praeruptaque  saxa 
Obrutaque  horrenti  vasta  theatra  situ  : 

Hrec  sum  Roma.     Viden'  velut  ipsa  cadavera  tantae 
Urbis  adhuc  spirant  imperiosa  minas  ? 


PARAPHRASES,  &c.  301 

Vicit  ut  haec  mundum  visa  est  se  vincere  :  vicit, 

A  se  non  victum  ne  quid  in  orbe  foret. 
Nunc  victa  in  Roma  victrix  Roma  ilia  sepulta  est, 

Atque  eadem  victrix  victaque  Roma  fuit. 
Albula  Romani  nunc  restat  nominis  index 

Quseque  etiam  rapidis  fertur  in  oequor  aquis. 
Disce  hinc  quid  possit  Fortuna  :  immota  labascunt  ; 

Et  quae  perpetuo  sunt  agitata  manent. 


ON  ROME  AS  IT  IS  NOW. 

THOU,  who  to  look  for  Rome,  to  Rome  art  come, 
And  in  the  midst  of  Rome  find'st  nought  of  Rome  ; 
Behold  her  heaps  of  walls,  her  structures  rent, 
Her  theatres  overwhelm'd,  of  vast  extent ; 
Those  now  are  Rome.     See  how  those  ruins  frown, 
And  speak  the  threats  yet  of  so  brave  a  town. 
By  Rome,  as  once  the  woild,  is  Rome  o'ercome, 
Lest  ought  on  earth  should  not  be  quell'd  by  Rome  : 
Now  conqu'ring  Rome  doth  conquer'd  Rome  inter  ; 
And  she  the  vanquish'd  is  and  vanquisher. 
To  show  us  where  she  stood  there  rests  alone 
Tiber ;  yet  that  too  hastens  to  be  gone. 

Learn    hence   what   fortune   can.     Towns    glide 
away ; 

And  rivers,  which  are  still  in  motion,  stay. 


302  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


IX.— MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


ON  A   DREAM. 

VAIN  dreams,  forbear,  ye  but  deceivers  be  ; 

For  as,  in  flatt'ring  glasses,  women  see 

More  beauty  than  possess,  so  I  in  you 

Have  all  I  can  desire,  but  nothing  true. 

Who  would  be  rich,  to  be  so  but  an  hour,  5 

Eats  a  sweet  fruit  to  relish  more  the  sour ; 

If,  but  to  lose  again,  we  things  possess, 

Ne'er  to  be  happy  is  a  happiness. 

Men  walking  in  the  pitchy  shades  of  night 

Can  keep  their  certain  way,  but  if  a  light  10 

O'ertake  and  leave  them,  they  are  blinded  more, 

And  doubtful  go  that  went  secure  before  : 

For  this,  though  hardly,  I  have  oft  forborne 

To  see  her  face  fair  as  the  rosy  morn  ; 

Yet  mine  own  thoughts  in  night  such  traitors  be,    15 

That  they  betray  me  to  that  misery. 

Then  think  no  more  of  her  !  as  soon  I  may 
Command  the  sun  to  rob  us  of  a  day  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  303 

Or  with  a  sieve  repel  a  liquid  stream, 

As  lose  such  thoughts  or  hinder  but  a  dream.          20 

The  lightsome  air  as  eas'ly  hinder  can 
A  glass  to  take  the  form  of  any  man 
That  stands  before  it,  as  or  time  or  place 
Can  draw  a  veil  between  me  and  her  face  ; 
Yet  by  such  thoughts  my  torments  hourly  strive  ;  25 
For,  as  a  prisoner  by  his  prospective, 
13y  them  I  am  inform'd  of  what  I  want : 
I  envy  none  now  but  the  ignorant. 
He  that  ne'er  saw  of  whom  I  dream'd  last  night, 
Is  one  born  blind,  that  knows  no  want  of  light  ;     30 
He  that  ne'er  kiss'd  those  lips,  yet  saw  her  eyes, 
Is  Adam  living  still  in  Paradise. 
But  if  he  taste  those  sweets,  as  hapless  I, 
He  knows  his  want  and  meets  his  misery. 
An  Indian  rude  that  never  heard  one  sing  35 

A  heavenly  sonnet  to  a  silver  string, 
Nor  other  sounds,  but  what  confused  herds 
In  pathless  deserts  make,  or  brooks,  or  birds, 
Should  he  hear  Syms  the  sweet  pandora  touch 
And  lose  his  hearing,  straight  he  would  as  much     40 
Lament  his  knowledge,  as  do  I  my  chance, 
And  wish  he  still  had  liv'd  in  ignorance. 
I  am  that  Indian,  and  my  soothing  dreams 
In  thirst  have  brought  me  but  to  painted  streams, 
Which  not  allay,  but  more  increase  desire.  45 

A  man,  near  frozen  with  December's  ire, 
Hath  from  a  heap  of  glowworms  as  much  ease 


304  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

As  I  can  ever  have  by  such  as  these. 

O  leave  me  then  !  and  strongest  memory 
Keep  still  with  those  that  promise-breakers  be  :      50 
Go  !  bid  the  debtor  mind  his  payment-day, 
Or  help  the  ignorant-devout  to  say 
Prayers  they  understand  not.     Lead  the  blind, 
And  bid  ingrateful  wretches  call  to  mind 
Their  benefactors  !     And  if  Virtue  be,  55 

As  still  she  is,  trod  down  with  misery, 
Show  her  the  rich,  that  they  may  free  her  want, 
And  leave  to  nurse  the  fawning  sycophant : 
Or  if  thou  seest  fair  Honour  careless  lie 
Without  a  tomb,  for  after  memory,  60 

Dwell  by  the  grave,  and  teach  all  those  that  pass 
To  imitate,  by  showing  who  it  was. 

This   way,   Remembrance,  thou  may'st  do   some 

good, 

And  have  due  thanks  ;  but  he  that  understood 
\Vliat   throes   thou  bring'st    on    me,    would    say   I 
miss  65 

The  sleep  of  him  that  did  the  pale  moon  kiss, 
And  that  it  were  a  blessing  thrown  on  me, 
Sometimes  to  have  the  hated  lethargy. 

Then,  dark  Forget  fulness,  that  only  art 
The  friend  of  lunatics,  seize  on  that  part  7° 

Of  memory  which  nightly  shows  her  me, 
Or  suffer  still  her  waking  fantasy, 

58. — Leave,  cease. 


MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.  305 

Even  at  the  instant  that  I  dream  of  her, 
To  dream  the  like  of  me,  that  we  may  err 
In  pleasure's  endless  maze  without  offence  ;     75 
And  both  connex,  as  souls  in  innocence. 


LYDFORD  JOURNEY. 

I  OFT  have  heard  of  Lydford  law, 
How  in  the  morn  they  hang  and  draw, 

And  sit  in  judgment  after  : 
At  first  I  wonder'd  at  it  much ; 
But  now  I  find  their  reason  such,  5 

That  it  deserves  no  laughter. 

They  have  a  castle  on  a  hill  ; 
I  took  it  for  an  old  windmill, 

The  vanes  blown  off  by  weather  ; 
Than  lie  therein  one  night,  'tis  guess'd,         10 
'Tis  better  to  be  ston'd  or  press'd, 

Or  hang'd,  now  choose  you  whether. 

Ten  men  less  room  within  this  cave 
Than  five  mice  in  a  lanthorn  have  ; 

The  keepers  they  are  sly  ones  :  15 

If  any  could  devise  by  art 
To  get  it  up  into  a  cart, 

'Twere  fit  to  carry  lions. 
VOL.   II.  X 


305          MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

When  I  beheld  it,  Lord  !  thought  I, 

What  justice  and  what  clemency  20 

Hath  Lydford,  when  I  spy  all  ! 
They  know  none  there  would  gladly  stay, 
But  rather  hang  out  of  the  way, 

Than  tarry  for  his  trial. 

The  Prince  a  hundred  pounds  hath  sent  25 

To  mend  the  leads  and  planchings  rent 

Within  this  living  tomb  : 
Some  forty-five  pounds  more  had  paid 
The  debts  of  all  that  shall  be  laid 

There  till  the  day  of  doom.  30 

One  lies  there  for  a  seam  of  malt, 
Another  for  three  pecks  of  salt, 

Two  sureties  for  a  noble  ; 
Marginal  If  this  be  true,  or  else  false  news, 

•  You  may  S«  ask  of  Mr.  Crewes,*  35 


Survey  and  John  Vaughan,  or  John  Doble.f 

Prince's 

Worthies  of 

Devon.  Near  to  the  men  that  lie  in  lurch, 

+  Attorneys  There  is  a  bridge,  there  is  a  church, 

*—n\tm'  Seven  ashes,  and  an  oak  ; 

Three  houses  standing,  and  ten  down  ;  40 

They  say  the  parson  hath  a  gown, 
But  I  saw  ne'er  a  cloak. 

26.  —  Planchings,  flooring,  or  sometimes  a  (boarded  ?)  ceiling  ; 
it  is  still  in  general  use  in  South  Devon  in  these  senses. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  307 

Whereby  you  may  consider  well, 
That  plain  simplicity  doth  dwell 

At  Lydford  without  bravery  ;  45 

For  in  that  town,  both  young  and  grave 
Do  love  the  naked  truth,  and  have 

No  cloaks  to  hide  their  knavery. 

This  town's  enclos'd  with  desert  moors, 

But  where  no  bear  nor  lion  roars,  50 

And  nought  can  live  but  hogs  : 
For,  all  o'erturn'd  by  Noah's  flood, 
Of  fourscore  miles  scarce  one  foot's  good, 

And  hills  are  wholly  bogs. 

And  near  hereto's  the  Gubbins'  cave  ;  55 

A  people  that  no  knowledge  have 

Of  law,  or  God,  or  men  : 
Whom  Cresar  never  yet  subdued  ; 
Who've  lawless  liv'd  ;  of  manners  rude  : 

All  savage  in  their  den.  60 

By  whom, — if  any  pass  that  way, 
He  dares  not  the  least  time  to  stay, 

For  presently  they  howl ; 
Upon  which  signal  they  do  muster 
Their  naked  forces  in  a  cluster,  65 

Led  forth  by  Roger  Rowle. 

The  people  all,  within  this  clime, 
Are  frozen  up  all  winter  time  ; 
Be  sure  I  do  not  fain  ; 


308  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  when  the  summer  is  begun  70 

They  lie  like  silkworms  in  the  sun, 
And  come  to  life  again. 

One  told  me,  in  King  Csesar's  time, 
The  town  was  built  of  stone  and  lime, 

But  sure  the  walls  were  clay  :  75 

For  they  are  fall'n,  for  ought  I  see, 
And  since  the  houses  were  got  free, 

The  town  is  run  away. 

O  Caesar,  if  thou  there  didst  reign, 

Whilst  one  house  stands,  come  there  again  ;    80 

Come  quickly,  while  there  is  one  : 
If  thou  but  stay  a  little  fit, 
But  five  years  more,  they  may  commit 

The  whole  town  into  prison. 

To  see  it  thus  much  griev'd  was  I  ;  85 

The  proverb  says,  Sorrow  is  dry, 

So  was  I  at  this  matter  : 
When  by  great  chance,  I  know  not  how, 
There  thither  came  a  strange  stray'd  cow, 

And  we  had  milk  and  water.  90 

Sure  I  believe  it  then  did  rain 

A  cow  or  two  from  Charles  his  wain, 

For  none  alive  did  see 
Such  kind  of  creatures  there  before, 
Nor  shall  from  hence  for  evermore,  95 

Save  pris'ners,  geese,  and  we. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  309 

To  nine  good  stomachs,  with  our  whig, 
At  last  we  got  a  tithing  pig  ; 

This  diet  was  our  bounds  : 

And  that  was  just  as  if  'twere  known,  100 

One  pound  of  butter  had  been  thrown 

Amongst  a  pack  of  hounds. 

One  glass  of  drink  I  got  by  chance, 
'Twas  claret  when  it  was  in  France  ; 

But  now  from  that  nought  wider  :  105 

I  think  a  man  might  make  as  good 
With  green  crabs  boil'd  with  Brazil  wood 

And  half  a  pint  of  cider. 

I  kiss'd  the  Mayor's  hand  of  the  town, 

Who,  though  he  wear  no  scarlet  gown,  1 10 

Honours  the  Rose  and  Thistle  : 
A  piece  of  coral  to  the  mace, 
Which  there  I  saw  to  serve  the  place, 

Would  make  a  good  child's  whistle. 

At  six  o'clock  I  came  away,  115 

And  pray'd  for  those  that  were  to  stay, 

Within  a  place  so  arrant, 
Wild  and  ope  to  winds  that  roar  : 
By  God's  grace  I'll  come  there  no  more, 

Unless  by  some  tin  warrant.  120 

W.  B. 

y).—  Wliig,  sour  whey. 
107. — Brazil  wjod,  which  produces  a  red  dye. 


310  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

[ON  THE  MARRIAGE  OF  CHARLES  I. 
AND  HENRIETTA  MARIA. a] 

UXOR,  at  ilia  pariim  ;  regnutn  jam  ducitur  :  ipsis 

Reginse  in  thalamis  Gallia  sponsa  jacet. 
Conjugio  Gens  ilia  tuse  sociata  Britannae  est, 

Te  dignumque  torum  Fcedere,  Cassar,  habes. 
Quseris  et  hinc  sobolem  ?  fselices  ecce  triumphos 

Prse  manibus,  Natos  hos  tuus  ambit  Amor. 
Neve  perire  queas,  ditet  Maria  Britannos 

Perpetuo  Carolo,  proleque  vive  Pater. 

GUILIEL.  BROWNE, 

Mag.  Art.  e  Col.  Exon. 


[DEVOTIONAL  VERSES.] 

BEHOLt),  O  God,  in  rivers  of  my  tears 

I  come  to  thee  :  bow  down  thy  blessed  ears 

To  hear  me  wretch,  and  let  thine  eyes  which  sleep 

Did  never  close,  behold  a  sinner  weep  : 

Let  not,  O  God,  my  God,  my  faults,  though  great 

And  numberless,  between  thy  mercy's  seat 

And  my  poor  soul  be  thrown  !  since  we  are  taught 

Thou,  Lord,  remember'st  thine  if  thou  be  sought. 

I  come  not,  Lord,  with  any  other  merit 

Than  what  I  by  my  Saviour  Christ  inherit : 

*  Contributed  to  Epithalamia,  Oxoniensia,  1625. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.          31: 

Be  then  his  wounds  my  balm  ;  his  stripes  my  bliss ; 
My  crown  his  thorns  ;  my  death  be  lost  in  his. 
And  thou,  my  blest  Redeemer,  Saviour,  God, 
Quit  my  accompts,  withhold  the  vengeful  rod. 
O  beg  for  me  !  my  hopes  on  thee  are  set  ; 
And  Christ  forgive,  as  well  as  pay  the  debt. 
The  living  fount,  the  lifc,  the  way,  I  know, 
And  but  to  thee,  O  whither  should  I  go  ? 
All  other  helps  are  vain  :  grant  thine  to  me, 
For  in  thy  cross  my  saving  health  must  be. 
O  hearken  then  what  I  with  faith  implore, 
Lest  sin  and  death  sink  me  for  evermore. 
Lastly,  O  God,  my  ways  direct  and  guide  ; 
In  death  defend  me,  that  I  never  slide  ; 
And  at  the  doom  let  me  be  raised  then, 
To  live  with  thee ;  sweet  Jesus,  say  Amen. 


312  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


X.— COMMENDATORY  VERSES. 

TO  HIS  WORTHY  AND  INGENIOUS 
FRIEND  THE  AUTHOR.* 

So  far  as  can  a  swain,  who  than  a  round 

On  oaten-pipe  no  further  boasts  his  skill, 
I  dare  to  censure  the  shrill  trumpet's  sound, 

Or  other  music  of  the  sacred  hill : 
The  popular  applause  hath  not  so  fell, 

Like  Nile's  loud  cataract,  possess'd  mine  ears 
But  others'  songs  I  can  distinguish  well 

And  chant  their  praise  despised  virtue  rears  : 
Nor  shall  thy  buskin'd  Muse  be  heard  alone 

In  stately  palaces  ;  the  shady  woods 
By  me  shall  learn't,  and  echoes  one  by  one 

Teach  it  the  hills,  and  they  the  silver  floods. 
Our  learned  shepherds  that  have  us'd  tofore 

Their  happy  gifts  in  notes  that  woo  the  plains 
By  rural  ditties  will  be  known  no  more  ; 

But  reach  at  fame  by  such  as  are  thy  stra'-s. 

»  Prefixed  to    The  Ghost  of  Richard  the   Third,  1614,  by 
Christopher  Brooke. 


COMMENDATORY    VERSES.  313 

And  I  would  gladly  (if  the  Sisters'  spring 
Had  me  enabled)  bear  a  part  with  thee, 
And  for  sweet  groves,  of  brave  heroes  sing, 

But  since  it  fits  not  my  weak  melody, 
It  shall  suffice  that  thou  such  means  dost  give, 
That  my  harsh  lines  among  the  best  may  live. 
W.  BUOWNE, 

Int.  Temp. 


TO  MY  HONOURED  FRIEND  MR 
DRAYTON.a 

ENGLAND'S  brave  genius,  raise  thy  head,  and  see, 
We  have  a  Muse  in  this  mortality 
Of  virtue  yet  survives  ;  all  met  not  death, 
When  we  entomb'd  our  dear  Elizabeth. 
Immortal  Sidney,  honour'd  Colin  Clout, 
Presaging  what  we  feel,  went  timely  out. 
Then  why  lives  Drayton,  when  the  times  refuse 
Both  means  to  live,  and  matter  for  a  Muse  ? 
Only  without  excuse  to  leave  us  quite, 
And  tell  us,  Durst  we  act,  he  durst  to  write. 

Now,  as  the  people  of  a  famish'd  town, 
Receiving  no  supply,  seek  up  and  down 
For  mouldy  corn,  and  bones  long  cast  aside, 
Wherewith  their  hunger  may  be  satisfied  : 

"  Prefixed  to  the  second  part  of  Drayton's  Polyoluion,  1622. 


314  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

(Small  store  now  left)  we  are  enforc'd  to  pry 
And  search  the  dark  leaves  of  antiquity 
For  some  good  name,  to  raise  our  Muse  again, 
In  this  her  crisis,  whose  harmonious  strain 
Was  of  such  compass,  that  no  other  nation 
Durst  ever  venture  on  a  sole  translation  ; 
Whilst  our  full  language,  musical  and  high, 
Speaks  as  themselves  their  best  of  poesy. 

Drayton,  amongst  the  worthiest  of  all  those 
The  glorious  laurel,  or  the  Cyprian  rose 
Have  ever  crown'd,  doth  claim  in  every  line 
An  equal  honour  from  the  sacred  Nine  : 
For  if  old  Time  could,  like  the  restless  main, 
Roll  himself  back  into  his  spring  again, 
And  on  his  wings  bear  this  admired  Muse 
For  Ovid,  Virgil,  Homer,  to  peruse, 
They  would  confess,  that  never  happier  pen 
Sung  of  his  loves,  his  country,  and  the  men. 

WILLIAM  BROWNE. 


UPON  THIS  WORK  OF  HIS  BELOVED 
FRIEND  THE  AUTHOR. a 

I  AM  snapp'd  already,  and  may  go  my  way  ; 

The  poet-critic's  come  ;  I  hear  him  say, 

This  youth's  mistook,  the  author's  work's  a  play. 

•  Prefixed  to  The  Duke  of  Milan,  a  tragedy  by  Philip 
Massii-ger,  1623.  Subscribed  "W.  B."  only,  these  and  the 
lines  which  follow  have  been  also  assigned  to  William  Basse. 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES.          315 

He  could  not  miss  it ;  he  will  straight  appear 
At  such  a  bait ;  'twas  laid  on  purpose  there 
To  take  the  vermin,  and  I  have  him  here. 

Sirrah,  you  will  be  nibbling  ;  a  small  bit, 
A  syllable,  when  yo'  are  i'  the  hungry  fit, 
Will  serve  to  stay  the  stomach  of  your  wit. 

Fool;    knave;    what's    worse?     for    worse    cannot 

deprave  thee. 

And  were  the  divel  now  instantly  to  have  thee, 
Thou  canst  not  instance  such  a  work  to  save  thee, 

'Mongst  all  the  ballets  which  thou  dost  compose, 
And  what  thou  styl'st  thy  poems,  ill  as  those, 
And,  void  of  ihyme  and  reason,  thy  worse  prose. 

Yet  like  a  rude  Jack-sauce  in  poesy, 

With  thoughts  unbless'd  and  hand  unmannerly, 

Ravishing  branches  from  Apollo's  tree  : 

f  nou  mak'st  a  garland  (for  thy  touch  unfit) 

And  boldly  deck'st  thy  pig-brain'd  sconce  with  it, 

As  if  it  were  the  supreme  head 

The  blameiess  Muses  blush,  who  no.  allow 
That  reverend  order  to  each  vulgar  brow  ; 
Whose  sinful  touch  profanes  the  holy  bough. 


316  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Hence,  shallow  prophet,  and  admire  the  strain 
Of  thine  own  pen,  or  thy  poor  copesmate'sa  vein  : 
This  piece  too  curious  is  for  thy  coarse  brain. 

Here  wit  (more  fortunate)  is  join'd  with  art, 
And  that  most  sacred  frenzy  bears  a  part, 
Infus'd  by  nature  in  the  poet's  heart. 

Here  may  the  puny-wits  themselves  direct  ; 
Here  may  the  wisest  find  what  to  affect ; 
And  kings  may  learn  their  proper  dialect. 

On,  then,  dear  friend;  thy  pen  thy  name  shall  spread; 
And  shouldst  thou  write  while  thou  shalt  not  be  read, 
Thy  Muse  must  labour  when  thy  hand  is  dead. 

W.   B. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  FRIEND  TO  THE 
READERS 

THE  printer's  haste  calls  on  ;  I  must  not  drive 
My  time  past  six,  though  I  begin  at  five. 
One  hour  I  have  entire  ;  and  'tis  enough. 
Here  are  no  gipsy  jigs,  no  drumming  stuff, 
Dances,  or  other  trumpery  to  delight, 
Or  take,  by  common  way,  the  common  sight. 

•  Copesmate,  companion. 

k  These  lines  are  prefixed  to  Tlie  Bondman:  An  Ancient 
Story,  by  Philip  Massinger,  1624. 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES.          317 

The  author  of  this  poem,  as  he  dares 
To  stand  th'  austerest  censure,  so  he  cares 
As  little  what  it  is.     His  own  best  way 
Is  to  be  judge  and  author  of  his  play. 
It  is  his  knowledge  makes  him  thus  secure  ; 
Nor  does  he  write  to  please,  but  to  endure. 
And,  reader,  if  you  have  disburs'd  a  shilling 
To  see  this  worthy  story,  and  are  willing 
To  have  a  large  increase  ;  if  rul'd  by  me, 
You  may  a  merchant  and  a  poet  be. 
'Tis  granted  for  your  twelvepence  you  did  sit, 
And  see,  and  hear,  and  understand  not  yet. 
The  author,  in  a  Christian  pity,  takes 
Care  of  your  good,  and  prints  it  for  your  sakes. 
That  such  as  will  but  venter  sixpence  more 
May  know  what  they  but  saw  and  heard  before  ; 
'Twill  not  be  money  lost,  if  you  can  read, 
(There's  all  the  doubt  now)  but  your  gains  exceed, 
If  you  can  understand,  and  you  are  made 
Free  of  the  freest  and  the  noblest  trade. 
And  in  the  way  of  poetry,  now-a-days, 
Of  all  that  are  call'd  works,  the  best  are  plays. 

\V.  B. 


NOTES, 


NOTES   TO   VOL.  I. 


P.  3.  EDWARD,  LORD  ZOUCH.— Born  in  1556,  the  only  son 
of  George,  Lord  Zouch,  of  Haringworth,  Northamptonshire.  Suc- 
ceeded to  the  peerage  in  1569.  From  1612  until  his  death  in  1625  he 
resided  principally  at  Bramshill  House,  Hampshire.  He  was  also  a 
patron  of  Ben  Jonson.  Browne  likewise  dedicated  to  him  The 
Shepherd's  Pipe  (1614). 

P.  9.  JOHN  SELUEN,  the  eminent  jurist,  legal  antiquary,  and 
Oriental  scholar  (born  1584  :  died  1654).  On  terms  of  friendship 
with  Browne,  Ben  Jonson,  Drayton,  and  Camden.  In  1613  he 
supplied  a  series  of  notes,  enriched  by  an  immense  number  of  quo- 
tations and  references  to  the  first  eighteen  songs  of  Drayton 's  1'oly- 
Olbion.  He  has  English  verses  before  the  edition  of  Drayton's 
Poents  published  in  1619. 

P.  10.  MICHAEL  DRAYTON  (born  1563  :  died  1631).  He  died  in 
the  parish  of  St.  Dunstan  in  the  West,  London,  his  estate  being 
?dministered  to  by  his  brother  Edmund  Drayton  on  77  January, 
1631-2  (Commissary  Court  of  London,  Book  1627-38).  In  his 
l;-lfgy,  or  rather  Epistle  to  Henry  Reynolds  (1627),  he  mentions 
the  two  Beaumonts  (Francis  Beaumont  and  Sir  John  Beaumont)  and 
William  Browne  as  his  "  dear  companions,"  "bosom  friends,"  and 
''  rightly-born  poets."  He  also  addressed  an  Elegy  to  Browne  "of 
the  evil  time  "  (1627).  Browne  has  introduced  him  as  "  our  second 
Ovid  "  in  his  eulogy  of  the  English  poets  in  the  second  song  of  the 
second  book  of  Britannia's  Pastorals,  11.  287-92,  refers  to  him  as 
"  honour' d  Drayton"  in  an  Ode  (vol.  ii.,  p.  211),  and  wrote  com- 
mendatory verges  before  the  second  part  of  his  Poly-Olbion  (vol.  ii. 


322  NOTES   TO    VOL.    I. 

P.  12.  EDWARD  HEYWARD,  born  in  1594,  the  eldest  son  of 
Richard  Heyward,  gent.,  of  Reepham,  Norfolk.  Admitted  of  the 
Inner  Temple  in  1604,  he  was  called  to  the  Bar  in  1618.  A  man 
of  great  learning,  the  friend  of  Browne,  Selden,  Ben  Jonson, 
Drayton,  and  other  distinguished  persons.  Both  the  editions  of 
Titles  of  Honor  (1614  and  1631)  are  dedicated  to  him  by  Selden, 
who  calls  him  his  "most  beloved  friend  and  chamber-fellow."  One 
of  Selden's  executors  and  one  of  the  four  persons  to  whom  Richard 
Milward,  Selden's  amanuensis,  inscribed  that  great  scholar's  Table- 
Talk,  not  printed  until  1689.  He  has  lines  prefixed  to  Jonson 's 
ll^orks  (1616),  and  some  verses  before  Drayton's  The  Barons  Wars 
(1619).  Died  on  25th  September,  1658. 

P.  13.  CHRISTOPHER  BROOKE  (died  1628).  An  intimate  friend 
of  Browne,  with  whom  he  published,  in  1613,  elegies  on  the  death 
of  Prince  Henry.  Browne  had  an  exaggerated  opinion  of  Brooke's 
poetic  capacity,  and  eulogizes  him  far  beyond  his  deserts  in  the 
>econd  song  of  the  second  book  of  Britannia's  Pastorals,  11.  303-22. 
In  the  fifth  eclogue  of  the  Shepherd's  Pipe  (1614),  which  is  in- 
scribed to  Brooke,  Browne  urges  him  to  attempt  more  ambitious 
poetry  than  the  pastorals  which  he  had  already  completed.  In 
response  to  this  appeal  Brooke  wrote  his  Ghost  of  Richard  thr 
Third  (i&n),  a  lame  flight,  before  which  Browne  has  commenda- 
tory verses.  Brooke  addressed  in  turn  an  eclogue  to  Browne,  also 
printed  in  the  Shepherd's  Pipe.  "  Cuttie "  or  "Cuddy"  is  the 
pastoral  name  which  he  adopted  for  himself. 

P.  13.  FR  :  DYNNE.  This  was  Francis  Dynne,  of  Deptford, 
who  became  a  member  of  the  Inner  Temple  in  1610,  and  was  called 
to  the  Bar  in  1620.  He  has  also  commendatory  verses  before 
Christopher  Brooke's  The  Ghost  of  Richard  the  Third  (1614). 

P.  14.  THO.  GARDINER.  Thomas  Gardiner,  third  son  of  Michael 
Gardiner,  successively  rector  of  Litt'.ebury,  Essex,  and  of  Greenford 
Magna,  Middlesex.  He  was  admitted  of  the  Inner  Temple  in  1609, 
called  to  the  Bar  in  1618,  and  held  the  recordership  of  London  from 
1635  to  1643,  when  he  was  discharged  "  for  long  absence."  For  his 
loyalty  he  received  knighthood  in  1641  ;  but  in  February,  1646-7, 
he  had  to  mortgage  his  lands  in  Oxfordshire  to  the  usurer  Hugh 
Audley,  and  lost  them  (cf.  his  will  in  P.  C.  C.  369,  Berkley,  with 
that  of  Audley,  P.  C.  C.  134,  Land).  Resided  latterly  at  Cuddes- 
don,  Oxfordshire,  where  he  was  buried  in  1652.  Upon  Browne's 


NOTES   TO    VOL.    I.  323 

admission  to  the  Inner  Temple,  in  March  1611-12,  Gardiner  lecame 
one  of  his  sureties. 

P.  15.  \V.  FEKRAR.  William  Ferrar,  third  son  of  Nicholas 
Ferrar,  an  eminent  Lend  n  mer,  hant,  who  was  inlerested  in  the 
adventures  of  Hawkins,  Drake,  and  Raleigh,  and  brother  of  the 
well  known  Nicholas  Ferrar  (1592-1637),  of  Little  Gidding,  in  Hunt- 
ingdonshire. Entere  1  the  Middle  Temple  on  10  May,  1610.  Died 
young,  at  sea.  Wither  introduces  him,  under  the  pastoral  name  of 
"Alexis,"  in  The  Shefilterd's  Hunting,  and  addresses  the  fifth 
eclogue  to  him;  therein  "Roget"  (Wither)  urges  "Alexis"  to 
write  poetry,  which  diffidence  had  hitherto  prevented  him  from 
doing.  Browne  pays  a  graceful  tribute  to  his  memory  in  the  first 
song  of  the  second  book  of  Britannia's  Pastorals,  11.  241-318. 

P.  15.  FR:OULDE.  Francis  Oulde,  a  native  of  Rowton,  Shrop- 
shire. Admitted  student  of  the  Inner  Temple  in  1608  ;  called  to 
the  Bar  in  1618. 

P-  38,  1.  S?8.     Are  after  to  receive,  etc.     Both  editions  read  as. 

P.  41,  1.  662.  False  tables  wrought  by  Alcibiaites.  They  repre- 
sented a  god  or  goddess  without,  and  a  Silenus  or  deformed  piper 
within.  Erasmus  has  a  curious  dissertation  on  "Sileni  Alcibiadis" 
in  his  Ai/a'ia. 

P.  44,  11.  735-36- 

A 'or  shall  this  helt>  their  sheep,  whose  stomach  fails, 
By  tying  knots  of  wool  near  to  their  tails. 

A  kindred  superstition  to  this  appears  to  have  prevailed  forty  years 
ago  in  the  district  of  Buchan,  Aberdeenshiie,  wher^,  according  to  a 
correspondent  of  Notes  and  Queries  (ist  Ser.,  vol.  iv.  pp.  380-1), 
the  housewives  were  accustomed  to  tie  a  piece  of  red  worsted  thread 
round  their  cows'  tails  on  turning  them  <  ut  to  grass  for  the  first 
time  in  the  spring.  It  secured  their  cattle,  they  believed,  from  an 
evil  eye,  from  being  "  elf-shot "  by  fairies,  and  from  other  mishaps. 
—  flaziitt.  Both  editions  have  "  stomachs." 

P.  56,  1.  277.  May  never  evet  nor  the  toad,  etc.  Imitated  by 
Henry  Vaughan  in  his  address  "  To  the  River  Isca  "  in  O  lor  I  scan*  s, 
1651,  p.  a  : 

May  the  evet  and  the  toad 
Within  thy  banks  have  no  abode, 

Y  2 


324  NOTES    TO    VOL.    1. 

In  all  thy  journey  to  the  main 

No  nitrous  clay,  nor  brimstone-vein 

Mix  with  thy  streams,  but  may  they  pass 

Fresh  as  the  air  and  clear  as  glass. 
P.  57,  11.  280-5. 

May'st  thoti  ne'er  happen  in  thy  •way 

On  nitre  or  on  brimstone  mine, 

To  spoil  thy  taste  !  this  spring  of  thine 

Let  it  of  nothing  taste  but  earth, 

And  salt- conceived  in  their  birth 

Be  ever  fresh  !     Let  no  man  dare 

To  spoil  thy  fish,  make  lock  or  ^vare. 

Imitated  from  Fletcher's  Faithful  Shepherdess\i(>io\,  Act  iii.,  Sc.  i. 
Milton,  in  his  Coinus,  1637  (MiLTON,  Poems,  ed.  Warton,  pp.  250-1). 
was  also  indebted  to  Fletcher's  pastoral.  The  lines  in  Roman  type 
are  thus  explained  by  Dr.  Brinsley  Nicholson,  in  a  learned  note 
communicated  to  Notes  and  Queries,  4th  Ser.,  xii.,  301  :  "  Marina 
wishes  that  the  waters  of  the  river  god,  salt-conceived  in  their 
mother  sea,  may,  in  losing  their  saltness,  receive  only  the  savour 
given  by  purer  earth  uncontaminated  with  nitre,  brimstone,  and  the 
like." 

Dr.  Nicholson  remarks  further:  "The  words  spring,  it,  and  then 
their  birth,  read  awkwardly  to  our  ears,  and  as  'its'  is  not  used 
by  Browne,  their  may  be  a  misprint  for  her.  But  the  text  may  be 
defended  by  two  lines  just  above  : — 

Whilst  I  into  my  spring  do  dive 
To  see  that  they  do  not  deprive 

The  meadows  near,  which  much  do  thirst, 

where  the  pltual  refers  to  the  waters  that  issue  from  the  spring, 
their  springing  place." 

P.  59,  11.  353-82.      There  stood  th*  elm,   etc.      Browne  is  here 
imitating  his  favourite  Spenser.      Cf.    The  Faery  Queen,   Bk.   I., 
Canto  I.,  Stanzas  8-9. 
P.  60, 11.  369-70 — 

The  tamarisk  there  stood, 

For  housewives'  besoms  only  known  most  good. 
Both  editions  read  "bosoms,"  for  which   I  have  substituted  "be- 
soms." 


NOTES    7O    VOL.    I.  325 

P.  63,  1.  456  Apelles'  half-done  table.  Apelles,  the  most 
celebrated  of  Greek  painters,  flourished  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
fourth  century  B.C.  That  he  painted  on  movable  panels  is  evident 
from  the  frequent  mention  of  tabula  with  reference  to  his  pictures. 
After  his  death  no  one  could  be  found  to  complete  his  picture  of 
Aphrodite  intended  for  the  Coans,  which  he  averred  should  sur- 
pass his  best  picture,  the  Aphrodite  Anadyomene. 

P.  67,  1.  574.  And  Stave  a  form  and  heart,  buf  yet  no  passion. 
Both  editions  read  "  a  passion."  I  adopt  Mr.  Hazlitt's  correction. 

P.  6),  1.  628.  Dragon's  blood.  The  dragon's  blood  known  to 
B  -owne  would  be  the  dark-coloured  resin,  valuable  in  medicine  for 
iis  tonic  astringent  properties,  but  more  generally  used  as  a  colour- 
ing matter,  which  is  yielded  in  part  by  the  Draczena  Draco  from 
the  surface  of  the  leaves  and  from  the  cracks  in  its  trunk.  A 
woodcut  of  the  "  Dragon  tree "  and  its  fruit  is  given  by  Gerard 
(Herbal,  1597,  P-  1339)-  It  is  also  obtained  from  other  trees,  such 
as  Calamus  Draco,  Pterocarpus  Draco,  etc.  Browne  may  likewise 
have  had  in  his  mind  the  following  passage  from  Topsell  : — "  That 
ancient  Cinnabaris,  maHe  by  commixture  of  the  blood  of  Elephants 
and  Dragons  both  together,  which  al  >ne  is  able  and  nothing  but  it, 
to  make  the  best  representation  of  blood  in  painting  ....  it  hath 
[also]  a  most  rare  and  singular  virtue  against  all  poisons"  {The 
History  of  Four-footed  Beasts,  1607,  p.  199). 

P.  72,  1.  691,  and  p.  73,  1.  717.  An  aged  rock.  Probably,  as  Mr. 
Shelly  suggests,  Mary  Tavy  Rock,  "  a  grey  crag  that  lies  in  the 
bed  of  the  river  about  three  miles  above  Tavistock." 

P.  73,  11.  711-12. 

....  his  work  not  seeming  fit 
To  walk  in  equipage  -with  better  wit. 

The  expression  to  "  walk  "  or  "march  in  equipage"  is  not  uncom- 
mon. Nashe,  in  the  preface  to  Greene's  Menaphon  (1589),  writes: 
"And  in  truth  (Master  Watson  except,  whom  I  mentioned  before)  I 
know  not  almost  any  of  late  days  that  hath  showed  himself  singular 
in  any  special  Latin  Poem,  whose  A  tnintas  and  translated  Antigone 
may  inarch  in  eqtiipage  of  honour  with  any  of  our  ancient  Poets." 
Marston,  in  verses  "  in  praise  of  his  Pigmalion"  (1598),  has 

"  Stanzas  like  odd  bands 
Of  voluntaries  and  mercenarians  ; 


326  NOTES   TO    VOL.    I. 

Which  like  soldados  of  our  warlike  age, 
March  rich  bedight  in  warlike  equipage." 

Shakespeare,  in  Sonnet  XXXII.,  uses  a  similar  expression  :  — 

"  Had  my  friend's  muse  grown  with  this  growing  age, 
A  dearer  birth  than  this  his  love  had  brought, 
To  march  in  ranks  of  better  equipage." 

(Cf.  review  of  Dr.  Thomas  Tyler's  edition  of  Shakespeare's  Sonnets 
in  Athenteum,  26  July,  1890,  p.  123.) 

P.  73.  !•  729.  Here  digs  a  cave  at  some  high  mountain's  foot. 
Though  there  is  no  "  high  mountain,"  properly  so  called,  along  the 
whole  course  of  the  river,  the  allusion,  observes  Mr.  Shelly,  "  may 
be  to  the  Virtuous  Lady  Cave,  where  the  Walkham  joins  the  Tavy, 
about  four  miles  below  Tavistock,  and  where  the  banks  of  the  river, 
particularly  the  west  bank,  are  very  steep  and  lofty." 

P.  74,  11.  736-7. 

Helps  down  an  abbey,  then  a  natural  bridge 
By  creeping  underground  heframeth  out. 

The  "  abbey  "  alluded  to  is  probably  that  at  Tavistock,  "  by  whose 
ruins,"  says  Risdon,  a  contemporary  of  Browne,  "  you  may  now  aim 
at  the  antique  magnificence  thereof."  (Survey  of  Devon,  ed.  1811, 
p.  213.) 

There  is  no  "  natural  bridge,"  strictly  speaking,  formed  by  the 
Tavy,  but  "  between  Crowndale  and  Virtuous  Lady  Mine,  two  or 
three  miles  below  Tavistock,"  remarks  Mr.  Shelly,  "  the  river  passes 
through  a  narrow  channel  between  steep  banks." 

P.  79,  1.  872.  Had-1-wists.  —"Had  I  known.  A  common  excla- 
mation of  those  who  repented  of  anything  unadvisedly  undertaken. 
....  Sometimes  used  much  like  a  substantive  in  the  sense  of 
repentance." — Nares's  Glossary. 

P.  82,  1.  15.     And  the  maid  help.     Both  editions  have  "  maids." 

P.  86,  1.  132.  Sought  out,  etc.  Both  editions  have  "sought 
ought." 

P.  94,  II.  315-40.  When  turning  head,  lie  not  afoot  would  stir, 
etc.  It  will  be  noticed  that  Browne  speaks  of  the  hind  in  both 
genders.  A  similar  deviation  from  strict  syntax  occurs  iii  the  de- 
scription of  the  wounded  swan  in  Song  5  (p.  141,  11.  129-41). 

P.  108, 1.  95.     On  craggy  rocks,  or  steepy  hills,  etc.     The  8vo 


NOTES   TO    VOL.    I.  327 

edition  has  "  sleepy  stils,"  an  obvious  misprint.  I  retain  the  read- 
ing of  the  folio. 

P.   109,  1.   140.     Out  of  the  covert  of  an   ivy  tod.     The  word 
"  tod,"  meaning  a  thick  tuft  or  bush,  is  misprinted  "  rod  "  in  both 
editions.     The  error  is  noticed  in  Nares's  Glossary,  ed.  Halliwell 
and  Wright,  ii.  888. 
P.  117,  11.  353-4. 

Or  to  a  mead  a  wanton  river  dresses 
With  richest  collars  of  her  turning  esses. 

The  winding  of  a  river  is  here  quaintly  compared  by  Browne  to 
the  collar  of  SS,  or  esses,  which  was  bestowed  on  knights  of  the 
garter,  the  chief  justices,  and  other  exalted  personages. 

P.  118,  1.  391.  Poor  A  letlieia,  long  despis'd  of  all.  My  friend 
Mr.  A.  H.  Bullen  points  out  to  me  that  this  episode  owes  much  of 
its  general  treatment  to  John  Day's  prose  tract,  Peregrinatiy 
Scholastica  or  Learnings  Pilgrimage  (Cf.  Day's  Works,  ed. 
Bullen,  1881). 

P.  119,  11.  395-400.  In  winter's  (i»te,  etc.  Browne  appears  to 
have  had  in  his  mind,  as  Mr.  Hazlitt  suggests,  the  song  in  Shake- 
speare's Love's  Labour's  Lost,  1598  : — 

When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall, 

And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail. 

P.    121,   1.  474. 

Unhappy,  unreliev'd,  yet  unredresid .' 

Both  editions  read  "  undressed,"  which,  in  the  annotated  copy  in 
the  Library  of  Salisbury  Cathedral,  is  corrected  to  "  unredress'd." 

P.  122,  1.  486.  That  he  might  till  those  lands  lucre  fallow  laid. 
Both  editions  have  "  were,"  but  inhere  may  be  the  right  reading, 
the  word  "  laid  "  being,  as  often,  intransitive. 

P.  129,  11.  683  seq.  Next  him  a  great  man  sat,  etc.  The  per- 
manence of  Essex's  popular  reputation  as  a  sturdy  champion  of 
British  interests  against  Spain  was  attested  in  1624  by  the  publicn- 
tion  of  Robert,  Earl  of  Essex,  his  Ghost  sent  from  Elysium  to  the 
Nobility,  Gentry,  and  Commonalty  of  England,  a  warning  again*! 
Prince  Charles's  Spanish  marriage,  and  the  maintenance  of  peaceful 
relations  with  Spain  (Mr.  Sidney  Lee,  in  Diet.  Nat.  Biof.). 


328  A'OTES   TO    VOL.    T. 

P.  130,  II.  692-3. 

He  sung  the  outrage  of  the  lazy  drone 
Upon  the  lab' ring  bee. 

A  poem  attributed  to  Essex,  "  It  was  a  time  when  silly  bees  could 
speak,"  was  printed  in  Dowland's  Third  Book  of  Sang s  and  A  irs 
(1603),  but  in  Egerton  MS.  923,  f.  5,  the  authorship  is  assigned  to 
Essex's  secretary,  Henry  Cuffe. 

P.  131,  1.  728.  A  surly  bear.  Leicester  was  popularly  believed 
to  have  poisoned  the  Earl  of  Essex's  father  in  Dublin  (1576). 

P.  132,  1.  746.  Quelling  /it's  rage  with  faithless  Gerion.  The 
allusion  (which  is  borrowed  from  Spenser,  Fairy  Queen,  Bk.  V., 
c.  10,  n)  refers  to  Gerion,  or  Geryon,  of  Gades  (Cadiz),  a  monster 
with  three  bodies  (or,  in  other  words,  a  king  over  three  kingdoms) 
slain  by  Hercules.  The  three  kingdoms  over  which  Philip  reigned 
were  Spain,  Germany,  and  the  Netherlands. 

P.  141,  11.  129-41.  But  as  a  snowy  swan,  etc.  See  note  on 
Song  3,  11.  315-40  (p.  326). 

P.  142,  1.  152.  Which  sj>oifd  her  fisJiers'  nets  and  fishes'  breed. 
Both  editions  read  "  her  sifter's  nets."  The  sense  is  preserved  by 
substituting  "  fishers,"  according  to  the  emendation  proposed  in  the 
copy  in  Salisbury  Cathedral  Library. 

P.  142,  1.  154.  A  royal  youth,  etc.  Henry  [Frederick],  Prince 
of  Wales.  Eldest  son  of  James  I.  Born  February  19,  1593-4  '•  died 
November  6,  1612.  His  unexpected  death  occasioned  an  extra- 
ordinary deluge  of  elegies  and  lamentations  in  prose  and  verse. 
(See  List  in  Nichols's  Progresses  of  J antes  /.,  pp.  504-12.) 

P.  151,  11.  381-2. 

Thou,  ly  whose  hand  the  sacred  Trine  did  bring 
Us  out  of  bonds,  front  bloody  Bannering. 

A  reference  to  the  religious  persecutions  which  took  place  during 
Edmund  Bonner's  occupancy  of  the  see  of  London  (1540-1558). 
The  bishop  was  held  in  such  detestation  that,  according  to  Sir  John 
Harington  (Brief  View,  p.  16),  men  would  say  of  any  ill-favoured, 
fat  fellow  in  the  street,  "There  goes  Bonner." 

P.  151,  1.  395.  The  mulberry  (liis  black  frotit  Thisbe  taking). 
According  to  the  legend,  Pyramus,  the  lover  of  Thisbe,  a  maiden 
of  Babylo.i,  imagining  that  she  had  been  murdered,  made  awny 
with  himself  under  a  mulberry-tree.  Thisbe,  on  finding  his  bociy, 


NOTES   TO    VOL.    I.  329 

likewise  killed  herself.  Thenceforth  the  fruit  of  the  mulberry-tree 
was  as  the  colour  of  blood. 

P.  167,  1.  8 10.  Makes  poor  her  garments  to  enrich  her  bed.  The 
conceit  is  borrowed  from  Sidney's  Arcadia,  book  ii.  (ed.  1613, 
p.  115) : — "  These  words  wan  no  further  of  Pamela,  but  that  telling 
her  they  might  talk  better  as  they  lay  together,  they  impoverished 
their  clothes  to  enrich  their  bed. " 

P.  168,  1.  846.  Tlie  shrill  chanting  of  her  teery-lerry.  Cf. 
Shakespeare  : — 

The  lark,  that  tirra  lirra  chants. —  Wint.  Tale,  iv.  2. 

P.  175.  WILLIAM,  EARL  OF  PEMBROKE.  Born  in  1580,  the 
eldest  son  of  Henry  Herbert,  second  earl,  by  his  third  wife  Mary, 
third  daughter  of  Sir  Henry  Sidney  and  sister  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney. 
He  succeeded  to  the  earldom  January  19,  1600-1,  and  died  April  10, 
1630.  Sharing  the  literary  tastes  of  his  mother  and  uncle,  he  wrote 
verse  himself,  and  was,  according  to  Aubrey,  "  the  greatest  Maecenas 
to  learned  men  of  any  peer  of  his  time  or  since."  Browne  lived 
with  him  for  some  time  at  his  seat,  Wilton  House,  near  Salisbury. 

P.  177.  JOHN-  GLANVILL.  A  kinsman  of  Browne's.  Born  at 
Kil worthy,  near  Tavistock,  in  1586,  the  second  son  of  Sir  John 
Cilanvill,  Knt.,  Judge  of  the  Common  Pleas.  Called  to  the  Bar  at 
Lincoln's  Inn  about  1610.  Successively  M.P.  for,  and  recorder  of 
Plymouth  and  Bristol.  Became  eminent  in  his  profession  and 
prominent  as  a  politician,  for  a  while  on  the  popular  side.  Made 
serjeant-at-law  in  1637.  Subsequently  he  adhered  to  the  King,  and 
was  created  a  king's  Serjeant  in  1640  and  knighted  in  1641.  He  fell 
i  ito  the  hands  of  the  Parliament  and  was  imprisoned  in  the  Tower  in 
1645.  Dying  'n  1661,  he  was  buried  at  Broad  Hinton,  Wiltshire. 

P.  178.  THO.  WKNMAN.  Born  in  1596,  the  eldest  son  of  Sir 
Richard  Wenman,  Knt.,  of  Thame  Park,  Oxfordshire,  who  was 
made  an  Irish  peer  by  the  title  of  Viscount  Wenman  in  1629. 
Admitted  a  student  of  the  Inner  Temple  in  1613.  Succeeded  to  the 
peerage  iiV  April,  1640.  One  of  the  commissioners  to  carry  the 
propositions  for  peace  to  the  King  at  Oxford  in  1644  ;  again  named 
commissioner  for  the  treaty  at  Uxbridge  in  the  same  year,  and  for 
the  treaty  at  Newport  in  1648.  One  of  the  adventurers  in  Ireland 
on  the  reduction  of  that  kingdom  by  the  English  Parliament.  Died 


330  NOTES   TO    VOL.    I. 

P.  179.  W.  HERBERT.  William  Herbert,  probably  son  of 
William  Herbert  of  Glamorgan.  Seems  to  have  matriculated  at 
Christ  Church,  Oxfoni,  on  October  17,  1600.  at  the  age  of  17.  He 
was  apparently  in  attendance  on  Prince  Henry  soon  after  James  I.'s 
accession.  Wrote  a  long  poem  entitled,  A  Prophesie  of  Cadwal- 
lader  (1604).  Contributed  also  verses  "in  laudem  authoris"  to 
Peter  Erondelle's  French  Garden  (1608). 

P.  181.  JOHN  DAVIES  OP  HEREF[ORD],  poet  and  writing- 
master,  was  born  about  1565  and  died  in  1618.  He  contributed  the 
third  eclogue  appended  to  the  Shepherd's  Pipe :  it  is  entitled,  "An 
Eclogue  between  young  Willy  the  singer  of  his  native  Pastorals  and 
old  Wernocke  his  friend."  Browne,  in  turn,  paid  a  hiah  compli- 
ment to  Davies  in  the  second  song  of  this  (the  second)  Book  of 
Britannia's  Pastorals,  11.  323-6. 

P.  181.  CAROLUS  CROKE.  Born  in  1591,  the  third  son  of  Sir  John 
Croke,  Knt.,  Judge  of  the  King's  Bench,  Charles  Croke  matriculated 
at  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  on  June  8,  1604  (B.A.  1608,  M.A.  1611. 
B.  and  D.D.  1625).  Entered  the  Inner  Temple  in  1609,  and  held 
the  professorship  of  Rhetoric  at  Gresham  College,  London,  from 
1613  to  1619.  Took  orders,  and  became  rector  of  Waterstock, 
Oxfordshire  (1616),  fellow  of  Eton  College  (1617-21),  and  rector  of 
Agmondisham,  Buckinghamshire  (1621).  Fled  to  Ireland  during  the 
Civil  War,  and  died  at  Carlow,  near  Dublin,  on  April  10,  1657. 
Contributed  a  copy  of  sapphics  to  the  Etithalamia  (1613),  pub- 
lished on  the  marriage  of  Prince  Frederick  and  the  Princess 
Elizabeth,  daughter  of  James  I. 

P.  182.  UNTON  CROKE.  Born  about  1594,  the  fourth  son  of  Sir 
John  Croke,  Knt.,  judge  of  the  King's  Bench.  Matriculated  from 
Christ  Church,  Oxford,  on  March  2,  1609-10.  Appointed  deputy- 
steward  of  the  University  in  February,  1619-20.  Admitted  a 
student  of  the  Inner  Temple  in  1609  ;  called  to  the  Bar  in  1616.  and 
made  a  bencher  in  1635.  M.P.  for  Wallingford  in  1626,  and  again 
in  the  Short  Parliament  of  1640.  Actively  aided  the  Parliamen- 
tarians, and  enjoyed  the  favour  of  Cromwell,  by  whom  he  was 
promoted  serjeant-at-law  in  1654.  Died  January  28,  1670-1. 

P.  182.  ANTH.  VINCENT.  Eldest  son  of  Sir  Francis  Vincent, 
bart.,  of  Stoke  D'Abernon,  Surrey.  Upon  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil 
War  he  declared  for  the  King,  and  suffered  in  his  fortune.  Died  in 
1642.  He  was  connected  with  Devonshire  by  his  marriage  to 


NOTES   TO    VOL.   I.  331 

Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Sir  Arthur  Acland,  of  Killeiton,  in  that 
county. 

P.  183.  JOHN  MORGAN.  One  of  the  ten  sons  of  George  Morgan 
of  Pencraig,  near  Caerleon,  Monmouthshire.  Became  a  student  of 
the  Inner  Temple  in  1610.  Died  young. 

P.  183.  THO.  HEYGATE.  Eldest  son  of  Thomas  Heygate,  of 
Hayes,  Middlesex.  Admitted  a  student  of  the  InnerTemple  in  1613. 

P.  184.  AUGUSTUS  C^SAR.  Born  in  1598,  the  second  son  of  Sir 
Thomas  Caesar,  Knt.,  baron  of  the  exchequer.  Admitted  a  student 
of  the  Inner  Temple  in  1609.  Matriculated  at  St.  Edmund  Hall, 
Oxford,  on  October  23,  1612.  Contributed  verses  to  the  Epitliala- 
ntia  (1613)  on  the  marriage  of  Prince  Frederick  to  Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  James  I.,  and  to  the  Justa  Funebria  on  Sir  Thomas 
Bodley  (1613).  Died  young. 

P.  185.  G.  WITHER.  George  Wither,  the  poet  (born  June  ir, 
1588  ;  died  May  2,  1667).  He  has  introduced  Browne  as  "Willy" 
in  his  fine  poem,  Tim  Sheplierd's  Hunting  (1615),  and  speaks  of 
him  as  one — 

"  Who,  at  twice  ten,  hath  sung  more, 
Than  some  will  do  at  fourscore." 

Elsewhere  he  refers  to  Browne  as — 

"  that  gentle  swain 

Who  wons  by  Tavy,  on  the  Western  plain." 

Wither  was  author  of  the  second  and  fourth  Eclogues  appended  to 
the  Shepherd's  Pipe :  in  the  one  Christopher  Brooke  and  Browne 
are  figured  under  the  names  of  "Cuttie"and  "Willy";  the  other  he 
dedicates  "  to  his  truly  loving  and  worthy  friend,  Mr.  W.  Browne." 
Krowne.  besides  eulogizing  Wither  in  company  with  John  Davies 
of  Hereford,  in  the  second  song  of  this  (the  second)  Book  of 
Britannia's  Pastorals,  11.  323-6,  has  introduced  him  under  the 
pastoral  name  of  "  Roget "  in  the  first  Eclogue  of  the  Shepherds 
Pipe. 

P.  185.  W.  B.  Apparently  the  initials  of  William  Basse,  the 
poet.  He  was  a  retainer  to  Sir  Richard,  afterwards  Viscount  Wen- 
man,  of  Thame  Park,  Oxfordshire,  whose  son,  Thomas,  was  con- 
temporary with  Browne  at  the  Inner  Temple,  and  also  wrote  verses 
prefixed  to  this  (the  second)  Book  of  Britannia's  Pastorals.  The 
lines  before  Massinger's  Bondman  (1624),  signed  W.  B.,  are  vari- 
ously attributed  to  Basse  and  to  Browne.  Basse  died  at  Thame 


332  NOTES   TO    VOL.    I. 

Park,  his  estate  being  administered  to  by  his  only  child,  Elizabeth, 
wife  of  John  Brooke,  on  20  March,  1653-4  (Administration  Act 
Book,  P.  C.  C.I.  It  is  just  possible  that  Basse  and  Browne  were 
kinsmen.  In  her  will,  dated  10  September,  1624  (/*.  C.  C. ,  88,  Byrdi), 
Anne  Basse,  widow  of  William  Basse,  one  of  the  proctors  of  the 
Prerogative  Court  of  Canterbury,  names  as  her  executrix  her 
daughter  Elizabeth,  wife  of  Ambrose  Browne,  Esq.,  of  Betch worth 
Castle,  Surrey. 

P.  186.  BEN  JONSON.  Born  about  1573  ;  died  in  1637.  Browne 
has  introduced  a  laudatory  notice  of  Jonson  in  the  second  song  of 
this  (the  second)  Book  of  Britannia's  Pastorals,  11.  293-302. 

P.  191,  marginal  note.  Petunt  Classetn,  etc.  The  exact  words 
of  Galfridus  are  as  follows  :  "  Nee  mora,  petivit  suorum  assensu 
classem  suam,  et  replevit  earn  universis  divitiis  vel  deliciis  quas 
acquisiverat,  et  ipsam  ingressus  est  :  prosperis  quoque  ventis  pro- 
missam  insulam  exigens,  in  Totonesio  littore  apphcuit."  (Historia 
Britonum,  ed.  Giles,  p.  20.) 

P.  196,  11.  241-318.  Glide  soft,  ye  silver  floods,  etc.  A  tribute  to 
the  memory  of  William  Ferrar  ("  Alexis  ").  See  Note  at  page  323. 

P.  202,  11.  391-2.  Tom  the  Miller  with  a  golden  thumb,  etc.  I 
have  sought  diligently  for  mention  of  this  ballad  in  the  various  col- 
lections of  old  ballads  and  in  the  Registers  of  the  Stationers'  Com- 
pany, but  without  success. 

P.  202,  1.  400.  Martial  will  show  for  coin  in  's  crabbed  woman. 
The  allusion  may  be  to  Martial's  coarse  epigram  "  In  Vetustillam," 
epig.  93,  lib.  iii. 

P.  217,  11.  771-96.  Now  great  Hyperion,  etc.  The  unpleasant 
allusion  to  the  "  sweating"  of  the  steeds  (11.  778-9)  and  the  prosaic 
introduction  of  "conduit-pipes"  in  the  description  of  the  rivulets 
(1.  783)  serve  to  mar  this  otherwise  fine  picture  of  the  approach  of 
Night.  The  "  conduit-pipes  "  were  probably  suggested  to  Browne 
by  the  upper  and  lower  conduit  which  formerly  existed  in  the  main 
street  of  Tavistock.  They  were  "  places  of  general  resort  with  all 
the  old  and  young  women  and  children  in  the  neighbourhood. 
There  they  gathered  to  fill  their  water-buckets,  to  chat  or  wash 
th<-ir  clothes."  (MRS.  BRAY,  The  Tamar  and  the  Tavy,  iii.  18.) 

P.  223,  1.  947.  Delightful  Saluste.  Guillaume  de  Saluste  Du 
Bartas  (born  1544,  died  1590),  author  of  La  Sepmaifie,  a  poem  on 
the  creation  of  the  world,  which  was  translated  by  Joshua  Sylvester 


NOTES   TO    VOL.    1.  333 

in  1598.  Its  religious  tone  and  rather  fanciful  style  made  it  a  great 
favourite  with  English  writers  of  the  time,  by  whom  the  author  was 
also  designated  the  "  divine  Du  Bartas,"  and  placed  on  an  equality 
with  Ariosto. 

P.  229,  11.  33-40.  Here  from  t!te  rest  a  lovely  shepherd's  boy,  etc. 
Imitated  from  the  description  of  Arcadia  in  the  first  book  of  Sir 
Philip  Sidney's  Arcadia  (ed.  1613,  p.  6).  Browne  has  introduced 
a  graceful  eulogy  on  Sidney,  and  on  the  Arcadia  in  particular,  in 
this  very  Song,  11.  247-80. 

P.  235,  11.  193-222.  Shall  I  tell  you  -whom  I  love  ?  etc.  That 
this  charming  song  was  rightly  appreciated  as  it  circulated  in  MS. 
among  the  poet's  friends  is  clear  from  the  allusions  to  it  by  John 
Olney  in  his  verses  prefixed  to  Browne's  Shepherd's  Pipe  (1614). 
It  has  been  set  to  music  by  Dr.  S.  S.  Wesley. 

P.  239,  1.  303.  Well-long  iiag'd  Daniel.  Samuel  Daniel  (1562- 
1619),  from  whose  pleasing  lines  on  Ulysses  and  the  Siren  (1605) 
Browne  may  have  derived  a  hint  for  his  Inner  Temple  Masque. 

P.  245,  II.  443-5- 

The  griping  carl 

That  spoils  onr  plains  in  digging  them  far  marl. 
Rudon,  in  his  Survey  of  Devon  (edit.  1811,  p.  5),  which  was  written 
about  1630,  says,  "  the  south  part  of  the  shire  is  thin,  standing  upon 
somewhat  a  rocky  soil  ;  but  the  most  part  of  these  rocks  are  a  kind 
of  marl,  fruitful  in  dressing  of  ground."  And  Fuller,  in  his  Worthies 
(edit.  1662,  p.  245)  says,  under  Devonshire,  "  no  shire  shows  more 
industrious  or  so  many  husbandmen,  who  by  marl  (blue  and  white), 
chalk,  lime,  ....  and  what  not,  make  the  ground  both  to  take 
and  keep  a  moderate  fruitfulness."  (Cited  by  Mr.  Shelly  in  Hazlitt's 
edition.) 

P.  250,  II.  599-604. 

Here  sat  the  lad,  of  whom  I  think  of  old 
Virgil's  prophetic  spirit  had  foretold,  etc. 
The  reference  is  to  the  pseudo-Virgilian  epigram  : — 

"  Dum  dubitat  Natura  marem  faciatne  puellam, 

Factus  es,  O  pulcher,  paene  puella  puer." 
P.  288,  11.  727-8. 

Whilst  in  a  bush  two  nightingales  together 
ShoTv'd  the  best  skill  they  had  to  draw  me  thither. 


334  NOTES   TO    VOL.    I. 

Writing  in  1832,  Mrs.  Bray  says,  "  Browne's  allusion  to  the  night- 
ingale, in  these  lines,  must  either  have  been  a  poetical  license,  or 
some  change  must  have  taken  place  in  the  natural  history  of  Devon 
since  his  day;  as  that  bird  is  now  unknown  in  our  county."  {The 
'1 'ama.r  and  ike  Tavy,  ii.  8.) 
P.  289,  11.  734-3. 

Thetis  with  her  brave  company  had  man 
The  mouth  of  Vart,  etc. 

The  Earme  and  Yealm  are  small  streams  that  run  down  from  Dart- 
moor and  fall  into  the  sea  between  Dartmouth  and  Plymouth.  The 
Piym,  accurately  described  in  Bk.  I.  Song  5,  1.  132,  as  the  "sandy 
Plym,"  and  the  Tamar,  fall  into  Plymouth  Sound. — Mr.  Shelly  in 
llazlitt  s  edition. 

P.  2qo,  1.  762,  seg.  Walla,  Tavy's  fairest  love.  The  Walla- 
brook,  that  has  its  source  just  under  Br»nt  Tor,  and  runs  through 
Kilworthy  (in  Browne's  time  belonging  to  the  Glanvills)  and  Ines- 
combe,  "sweet  Ina's  Coombe"  (1.  1117),  falling  into  the  Tavy  about 
half  a  mile  above  Tavistock.--^^'.  Shelly  in  Hazlitt's  edition. 

"About  half  a  mile  from  Tavistock,"  writes  Mrs.  Bray  in  1833, 
"  is  the  Walla  Brook,  a  little  stream  of  unpretending  character, 
that,  over  a  rocky  bed,  comes  murmuring  down  the  gentle  descent 
of  some  sloping  grounds,  and  unites  itself  with  the  Tavy  nearly 
opposite  to  Rowdon  woods.  The  Walla  was  till  very  lately  over- 
hung by  some  vestiges  of  oak-trees  so  old  and  decaying  that  I  could 
never  look  at  them  without  fancying  that  in  the  days  of  Browne  he 
had  often  reclined  under  their  picturesque  branches  on  the  margin 
of  the  stream,  and  there,  perhaps,  employed  his  imagination  in 
composing  the  beautiful  episode  called  the  '  Loves  of  the  Walla 
and  the  Tavy.'"  (The  Tamar  and  the  Tavy,  iii.  2.) 

The  idea  of  this  episode  was  probably  suggested  to  Browne  by 
Ovid's  Egeria,  who  was  transformed  into  a  iountain  (Met.  xv.  482, 
«•?.). 

P.  290,  11.  775-80.  For  as  I  oft  have  heard  the  -wocd-nymfhs  say, 
etc.  An  allusion  to  the  Devonshire  legend  that  fairies  and  pixies 
steal  honey  from  the  hives  of  bees. 

1.  777.  Then  back  did  pull  them.   Both  editions  have  "Then 

black." 

P.  300,  1.  1033.     Upon  a  great  adventure  is  it  bound.     So  Spen- 


NOTES   TO    VOL.   I.  335 

ser  of  the  Red  Cross  Knight :— "  Upon  a  great  adventure  he  was 
bond,"  Fairy  Queen,  Bk.  i.  c.  i.  St.  3. 

P.  305,  i.  1168.  Fair-check 'd  Etesias  yellow  camomile.  By 
"  Etesia  "  are  personified  the  etesian  gales,  which  blow  during  the 
dog-days  (July-August),  when  the  camomile  attains  its  full  bloom. 
Henry  VaUijhan,  a  lover  of  our  poet,  has  celebrated  a  lady  under  the 
name  of  "  Etesia  "  in  several  poems  in  his  Thalia  RutH-viva  (1678). 

P.  312,  1.  27.  That  apt  fabric.  Ordgar,  Karl  of  Devonshire, 
founded  the  monastery  of  Tavistock  about  A.t>.  961  (WiLL. 
MALMESB.,  De  Gest/'s  P,niti_fic  ,  ed.  Hamilton,  p.  202).  His  son 
Orclulf  is  said  to  have  completed  it  A.D.  981. 

P.  312,  11.  35-7. 

/  //  strnt  to  draw 

The  nymphs  by  Tamar,  Tavy,  Exe  and  Taw, 
By  '1  urridge,  Otter,  Ock,  by  Dart  and  Plym. 

Of  all  these  river>,  except  the  Exe  and  the  Otter,  which  run  through 
the  eastern  part  of  the  county,  it  may  be  said,  as  Risdon  says  of 
one  of  them,  the  Ock,  more  generally  called  the  Ockment, —  "It 
fetcheth  its  fountain  from  the  high  and  hungry  hills  of  Dartmoor." 
— Mr.  Skilly. 

P.  314,  1.  85.  Some  wearied  crow  is  set.  Both  editions  read  "  it 
set." 

P.  319,  1.  210.  CORNISH  MICHAEL,  whose  family  name  was 
P.laumpain,  flourished  about  1250,  and  was  dean  of  Maestricht  in 
Brabant  (Cf.  BOASE  and  COURTNEY  Bibl  Cornub.,  i.  25,  iii.  1072  ; 
BOASE,  Collect.  Cornub.,  col.  554 ;  CAMDEN,  Remains,  edit.  1870,  p.g). 

P.   319,  11.   211-12. 

To  see  a  swain  unfold 
The  tragedy  of  Drake  in  leaz>es  of  gold. 

Charles  Fitzs;eftVey  (1575  ?-i638),  a  native  of  Fowey  and  rector  of 
St.  Dominick,  Cornwall,   in    1596  published  at  Oxford  a  spirited 
poem,  entitled,  Sir  Francis   Drake,  liis   honourable  Life's  Com- 
mendation and  his  tragical  Death's  Lamentation. 
P.  319,  1.  213. 

Then  hear  another  Grenville's  name  relate. 

In  1595  Gervase  Markham  published  a  poem  called  The  most 
Honorable  Tragedy  of  Sir  Richard  Grinville,  Knight. 

P.  320,  1.  224.  The  rock  Main-Amber.  The  Logan  Rock,  a 
rockins-itone  which  weighs  about  eighty  tons,  on  the  headland 


336  NOTES   TO    VOL.    I. 

called  Castle  Treryn,  in  the  parish  of  S.  Levan,  Cornwall.  "  Well 
worth  the  viewing,"  writes  Carew,  "  is  Mainamber.  Mayne  [Maen 
or  Mean]  is  a  rock ;  amber,  as  some  say,  signifieth  Ambrose.  And 
a  great  rock  the  same  is,  advanced  upon  some  others  of  a  meaner 
size  with  so  equal  a  counterpeyze  that  the  push  of  a  finger  will 
sensibly  move  it  to  and  fro  :  but  farther  to  remove  it,  the  united 
forces  of  many  shoulders  are  over-weak"  (Survey  of  Cornwall, 
1602,  ed.  1769,  p.  I5ib).  In  1824  an  ignorant  naval  lieutenant 
overthrew  Main-Amber  with  nine  of  his  men.  He  was  forced  to 
replace  it,  and  deservedly  lost  his  promotion. 
P.  328,  11.  445-446. 

And  women,  -which  before  to  Icrse  began 
Man  ivitlwut  wealth,  love  wealth  -without  a  man. 
Cf.  Sir  John  Davies"  Twelve  Wonders  of  the  World  (xii.)  :— 
"Titles  and  lands  I  like,  yet  raiher  fancy  can 

A  man  that  wanteth  gold  than  gold  that  wants  a  man." 
For  other  examples  of  this  proverbial  expression  see  note   in  Davi- 
son's  Poetical  Rhapsody,  ed.  Bullen,  ii.  177. 
P.  343,  1.  848. 

....  him  that  did  the  shady  plane-tree  lovt. 
Cf.  Herodotus,  vii.  27,  31. 
P.  357,  1.  219. 

Music  thit  lent  feet  to  the  stable  woods. 

For  "stable"  the  folio  edition  has  "sable."     I  adopt  the  reading  of 
the  8vo  edition. 

P.  360,  1.  278.     Her  nigh  inhabitants.     For  "  nigh,"  the  reading 
of  the  8vo  edition,  the  folio  has  "high.  ' 
P-  373.  1-  652- 

Submissly  praycn  to  the  name  of  Pan. 

"  Prayer,"  the    reading  cf  both  editions,  has  been    corrected   U> 
"prayen." 
P.  374,  1.  68  r. 

A  nd  s/ie  begins  to  still  and  still  her  pate. 
For  "to"  both  editions  read  "  it." 
P.  374,  1-  687. 

And  harmless  flocks  of  s!ieep,  etc. 
Both  editions  read  "as  "for  "  and." 


337 


NOTES   TO  VOL.    II. 


P.  4.  PHIL.  PAHILLON.  Philip  Papillon,  son  of  David  Papillon, 
of  Lubbenham,  Leicestershire.  Born  January  i,  1620.  First  at  Oriel 
College,  Oxford,  from  which  he  migrated  to  Exeter  College  July  i. 
1634,  and  matriculated  on  September  9  following.  B.A.  April  7, 
1638  ;  M.A.  February  3,  1640-1.  Died  1641.  He  published  the 
tragedy  of  his  friend  and  fellow-collegian,  Samuel  Hardinge,  entitled, 
Sicily  and  Naples  (1640),  in  defiance  of  the  author's  wish. 

P.  4.  P.  S.,  COLL.  Ex.  These  initials  represent  either  Peter 
(born  1595)  or  Paul  (died  1644),  respectively  the  eldest  and  the 
second  sons  of  Sir  John  Speccott,  Knt.,  of  Thornbury,  Devonshire. 
Both  contributed  verses  to  the  Threni  Exoniensium  in  1613  on  Lord 
Petre,  and  both  became  members  of  the  Inner  Temple  in  1615. 

P.  6.  EDW.  HALL.  Born  in  Essex  in  1621,  the  sixth  son  of 
Joseph  Hall,  successively  bishop  of  Exeter  and  of  Norwich. 
Matriculated  at  Exeter  College,  Oxford,  in  1635.  B.A.  1637, 
M.A.  1640.  Elected  Probationer  Fellow  in  1638.  Died  in  1643. 
Contributed  also  verses  to  Corona  Carolina  Quadratura  (1636)  and 
Eticharistica  Oxoniensia  (1641);  also  lines  prefixed  to  Sicily  and 
Naples  (1640),  a  tragedy  written  by  his  friend  and  fellow-collegian 
Samuel  Hardinge. 

The  preceding  lines,  entitled,  "  On  the  Author  of  Britannia's 
Peerless  Pastorals,"  are  written  in  the  same  hand,  according  to 
Heloe,  and  therefore  may  have  been  likewise  by  Hall. 

P.  7.  Jo.  DYNHAM.  John  Dynham,  born  in  1585,  the  eldest 
son  of  John  Dynham,  of  VVortham,  in  the  parish  of  Lifton,  Devon- 
shire. Matriculated  at  Oxford  from  Exeter  College  on  March  23, 
VOL.  II.  Z 


33S  NOTES   TO    VOL.    II. 

1603-4.  B.A.  1606.  Rector  of  St.  Mary  Major,  Exeter,  1613-22. 
Died  1641. 

P.  n.  SAM.  HARDINGE.  Born  about  1618,  the  son  of  Robert 
Hardinge,  of  Ipswich,  Suffolk.  In  1634  he  became  a  sojourner  of 
Kxeter  College,  Oxford,  and  took  his  B.A.  degree  in  1638.  He 
afterwards  became  chaplain  to  some  nobleman,  and  died  "  about 
the  beginning,  or  in  the  heat  of,  the  Civil  War."  He  wrote  an 
unacted  tragedy  in  verse  and  prose,  entitled,  Sicily  and  Naples  ; 
or,  the  Fatal  Union,  which  was  published  in  1640,  without  his 
consent,  by  his  fellow-collegian,  Philip  Papillon. 

P.  12.  CHR.  GEWEX.  Christopher  Gewen  was  born  in  1617,  the 
eldest  son  of  Thomas  Gewen,  of  Bradridge,  in  the  parish  of  Boyton, 
Cornwall.  Commoner  of  Exeter  College,  Oxford,  May  12,  1634,  to 
October  4,  1636;  matriculated  September  9,  1634.  Admitted 
student  of  the  Inner  Temple  in  1635 

P.  13- 

'7*i 's  their  wish  each  place  could  tell 

Thy  conquests  like  St.  Dunstaris  well. 

An  allusion  to  a  passage  in  the  fourth  Eclogue  of  Wither's  The 
Shepherd's  Hunting,  where  "Roget"  (Wither)  says  of  "Willy" 
(Browne)  : — 

It  is  known  what  thou  canst  do, 

For  it  is  not  long  ago 

When  that  Cuddy,  thou,  and  I, 

Each  the  other's  skill  to  try, 

At  St.  Dunstan's  charmed  well 

(As  some  present  there  can  tell). 

Sang  upon  a  sudden  theme, 

Sitting  by  the  crimson  stream. 

"  Cuddy  "  is  Christopher  Brooke.  St.  Dunstan's  Well  was  in  Tot- 
tenham Wood,  Middlesex.  (Robinson,  Hist,  of  Tottenham.  i.  19.) 
There  is  another  well  dedicated  to  the  Saint  at  Mayfield  Palace, 
S  ussex. 

P.  14.  B.  N.  Nicholas  Breton  (i54S?-i626?),  who  often  reversed 
his  initials,  may  possibly  be  the  author  of  this  poem  ;  it  is  quite  in 
his  style.  Moreover,  as  the  writer  does  not  indicate  (as  the  others 
are  careful  to  do)  that  he  was  a  member  of  Exeter  College,  he 
would  appear  not  to  have  be'onged  to  that  particular  group  of 
Brov;ne's  friends.  No  oni  bearing  the  initials  "  B.  N."  was  a 


NOTES   TO    VOL.    II.  339 

member  of  the  College  at  that  time,  as  the  printed  registers  show 
Beloe,  however,  remarks  that  the  poem  is  written  in  the  same  hand 
as  that  by  Christopher  Gewen. 

Pp.  14,  15.  ROBERT  TAYLOR,  or  TAYLER.  Of  Exeter  College, 
Oxford.  B.A.  1615  ;  M.A.  1618.  There  seems  to  be  no  means  of 
identifying  him  with  the  Robert  Taylor  who  wrote  a  play  called, 
The  Hog  hath  lost  his  /V«r/(i6i4).  "The  above  acrostic  is  suc- 
ceeded by  two  quotations  from  The  Shepherd's  Calendar  of  Spenser, 
applied  in  compliment  to  Browne,  and  at  the  bottom  is  inscribed  in 
Robert  Taylor's  hand,  Sic  ignorans  cecinit.  Edm.  Spencer." — 
UKLOE.  Contributed  verses  to  Anna'  Funebria  Sacra  (1619). 

P.  18.  NICH.  DOWNEY.  Born  in  1618,  the  son  of  the  Rev. 
Nicholas  Downey,  of  Little  Modbury,  Devonshire.  Matriculated 
at  Oxford  from  Exeter  College  on  June  19,  1635.  B.A.  1638-9  ; 
M.A.  1641.  Has  also  verses  before  Sicily  and  Naples  (1640),  a 
tragedy  written  by  his  fellow-collegian,  Samuel  Hardinge. 

P.  22.     Perigot.     A  pseudonym. 

P.  25,  11.  51-2. 

So  shuts  the  -marigold  her  leaves 
At  the  departure  of  the  sun. 

Cf.  Shakespeare  : 

"  The  marigold  that  goes  to  bed  wi'  the  sun, 
And  with  him  rises  weeping." 

Wint.  Tale,  iv.  3. 
P.  26,  1.  73. 

For  could  I  think  she  some  idea  were,  etc. 

Here,  as   Mr.  Hazlitt  observes,  the  poet  had  in  his  thoughts  the 
collection  of  sonnets  written  by  his  friend  Draylon  under  the  name 
of  Idea,  and  printed  in  1593.     Browne  elsewhere  (Brit.  Past.,  Bk.  I., 
Song  5)  personifies  England  under  a  similar  name — ''  Idya. " 
P.  29,  11.  159-234- 

Vain  dreams,  forbear .'  ye  but  deceivers  be,  etc. 

These  lines  occur  as  a  separate  poem,  with  variants,  in  Lansdowne 
MS  777. 

P.  34,  I.  290.  Sad  mandragoras.  Mandragoras,  popularly 
called  mandrakes,  poisonous  plants,  natives  of  the  Mediterranean 
region.  The  root,  from  its  occasional  resemblance  tu  the  lower 

/  2 


340  NOTES   TO    VOL.    II. 

part  of   the  human  body,   was  formerly   supposed   to  possess   an 
inferior  kind  of  animal  life,  and  the  popular  belief  was  that  when 
torn  from  the  ground  it  uttered  such  fearful  groans,  that  the  person 
who  uprooted  it  went  mad. 
P.  40,  11.  430-449. 

Yet  one  day's  rest  for  all  my  cries  !  etc. 

The  first  and  second  stanzas  of  this  song  are  likewise  in  Lans- 
downe  MS.  777.     Both  texts  are  exactly  the  same. 
P.  41,  11.  463-492. 

Love!  when  I  met  her,  etc. 

This  song    also   occurs,  with    unimportant    verbal   variations,   in 
Lansdowne  MS.  777. 

11.  473-4. 

She  sat  and  listen  d,  etc. 

The  Lansdowne  MS.  reads  : — 

She  sat  and  listen'd,  for  she  loves  the  strain 
Of  one  whose  songs  would  make  a  tiger  tame. 

P.  42,  1.  486.  The  blood  of  elephants.  "  It  is  reported,"  writes 
Topsell,  "  that  the  blood  of  an  Elephant  is  the  coldest  blood  in  the 
world,  and  that  Dragons  in  the  scorching  heat  of  summer  cannot 
get  anything  to  cool  them,  except  this  blood."  (T/ie  History  of 
Four-footed  Beasts,  1607,  p.  199  ;  also  in  the  same  author's  History 
of  Serpents,  1608,  p.  169.) 

P.  44,  11.  552-63. 

/  know  that  like  to  silkworms  of  one  year,  etc. 

In  Lansdowne  MS.,  but  in  a  different  metre. 
P.  48,  11.  654-5. 

.     .     .     .     as  in  physic  by  some  signature 
Nature  herself  doth  point  us  out  a  cure. 

What  is  popularly  known  as  the  doctrine  of  signatures  was  a 
system  for  discovering  the  medicinal  uses  of  a  plant  from  something 
in  its  external  appearance  that  resembled  the  disease  it  would 
cure,  and  proceeded  upon  the  belief  that  God  had  in  this  indicated 
its  especial  virtues  (Cf.  Friend,  Flowers  and  Flower  Lore,  ch.  xii.). 

P-  5T>  !•  733-    A  little  mushroom,  etc.    Browne,  like  many  of  his 


NOTES   TO    VOL.    77.  341 

contemporaries,  was  fond  of  girding  at  the  supposed  niggardliness 
of  the  Spaniards.  He  returns  to  the  attack  a  little  further  on  (p.  53, 
11.  793-812).  Shakespeare,  in  Love  s  Labour's  Lost,  has  represented 
Don  Adriano  de  Armado  as  lean  and  miserable  through  too  sparing 
a  diet.  Cf.  also  Donne's  i8th  Epigram,  "Supping  Hours "( Works, 
ed.  Grosart,  ii.  270). 

P.  51,  1.  746.    Spinner's  sleaves,  cobwebs. 

P.  55,  11.  840-1. 

That  famous  race, 
Engender' d  by  the  -wind. 

Cf.  Virgil,  Georgics,  iii.  274-5. 

P.  70,  1.  198.  With.  Jter  unto  Cyprus  strip.  The  reading  of  the 
MS.,  "trip,"  is  not  only  defective  rhyme  but  defective  sense.  I 
have  therefore  altered  the  word  to  "strip,"  i.e.,  go  rapidly. 

P.  77.  The  Sheplterd's  Pipe.  Richard  Brathwaite,  an  admirer 
of  Browne  and  Wither,  alludes  to  The  Shepherd's  Pipe  in  a  poem 
entitled  "  Upon  the  general  Sciolists  or  Poetasters  of  Britannie," 
which  is  included  in  his  volume  called  A  Strappado  for  the  Devil, 
1615.  After  abusing  the  low  versifiers  of  the  day,  he  thus  honour- 
ably distinguishes  them : — 

Yet  rank  I  not  (as  some  men  do  suppose) 

These  worthless  swains  amongst  the  lays  of  those 

Time-honour'd  Shepherds  (for  they  still  shall  be, 

As  they  well  merit,  honoured  of  me) 

Who  bear  a  part,  like  honest  faithful  swains, 

On  witty  Wither  never-with'ring  plains  : 

For  these  (though  seeming  Shepherds)  have  deserv'd 

To  have  their  names  in  lasting  marble  carv'd. 

Yea,  this  I  know,  I  may  be  bold  to  say, 

Thames  ne'er  had  swans  that  sang  more  sweet  than  they. 

It's  true,  1  may  avow  "t,  that  ne'er  was  song 

Chanted  in  any  asje  by  swains  so  young 

With  more  delight  than  was  perform 'd  by  them, 

Prettily  shadow'd  in  a  borrow'd  name. 

And  long  may  England's  Thespian  springs  be  known 

By  lovely  Wither  and  by  bonny  Browne  ; 

Whilest  solid  Selden,  and  their  Cuddy  too, 

Sing  what  our  Swains  of  old  could  never  do. 


342  NOTES   TO    VOL.    II. 

P.  79.  TJ  Edward,  Lord  Zoitch.  To  him  Browne  had 
previously  dedicated  the  First  Book  of  Britannia 's  Pastorals.  See 
note  at  p.  321. 

P.  82.  E.  JOHNSON.  Edward  Johnson,  the  author  of  these 
execrable  lines,  was  the  eldest  son  of  Sir  Robert  Johnson,  Knt.,  of 
London.  Admitted  of  the  Inner  Temple  in  1609,  he  was  called  to 
the  bar  in  1617,  and  became  a  bencher  in  1635. 

P.  84.  JOHN  ONLEV,  of  Tottenham,  Middlesex.  He  was 
admitted  of  the  Inner  Temple  in  1605.  In  these  verses  he  evidently 
alludes  to  the  charming  song,  "  Shall  I  tell  you  whom  I  love?"  in 
Bk,  a,  Soug  2,  of  Britannia's  Pastorals,  particularly  to  the  lines  : — 

"  Such  she  is  :  and  if  you  know 
Such  a  one  as  I  have  sung  ; 
Be  she  brown,  or  fair,  or  so, 
That  she  be  but  somewhile  young." 

P.  85.  T/te  First  Eclogue,  a  dialogue  between  Roget  (Wither) 
and  Willie  (Browne),  touches  on  the  imprisonment  of  Wither  in  the 
Marshalsea,  after  the  publication  of  Abuses  Stript  and  VVhipt  in 
1613.  In  that  satire  were  many  passages  thought  to  aim  at  living 
persons,  which  Roget  (or  Wither)  alludes  to  in  11.  41-56. — HAZLITT. 

P.  88,  11.  83-108.  But  in  vain  then  shall  I  keep,  etc.  In  both 
editions  these  lines  form  part  of  Willie's  speech ;  they  clearly 
belong  to  Roget. 

P.  109,  1.  568.  The  charter  of  health.  Metaphorically  used  for 
a  "  complete  cure."  It  may  allude  to  the  charm  written  on  a  scrap 
of  parchment  or  paper  which  was  given  by  quacks  to  their  patients, 
to  be  worn  about  the  person  as  a  preventive  against  disease. 

P.  119,  1.  790. 

That  but  jar  as  Section's  reed. 

John  Skelton,  born  about  1460,  died  in  1529.  Browne,  by  this  dis- 
paraging allusion,  does  but  scant  justice  to  the  vigour  and  versa- 
tility of  Skelton's  verse.  On  the  other  hand,  the  graceful  compliment 
(11.  749-70)  which  he  pays  Occleve  is  far  beyond  that  dull  writer's 
deserts. 

P.  119,  note.  Thomas  Occleve,  or  Hoccleve  (13707-1450?)  was 
for  twenty-four  years  a  clerk  in  the  privy  seal  office.  His  poem  ot 
Jonathas,  which,  in  printing  for  the  first  time,  Browne  somewhnt 
modernized  and  abridged,  is  a  close  copy  of  the  Early  English 


NOTES   TO    VOL.    II.  343 

version  of  the  fable  in  the  Gesta  Romanorum,  entitled,  "  De 
niulierum  subtili  decepcione,"  where  the  "emperor"  is  called 
"  Darius,*  the  wicked  woman  being  nameless.  The  English  version 
is  entitled,  "  Godfridus,  a  wise  Emperor,"  and  the  lady  figures  in  it 
as  "Felicia,"  which  Occleve  has  changed  to  "Fellicula."  The 
fiction  may  hare  come  originally  from  the  East,  as  traces  of 
resemblance  are  to  be  found  in  the  Arab'um  Nights.  It  also  pre- 
sents, perhaps,  one  of  the  oldest  forms  of  the  popular  story  of 
Fortunatus,  respecting  which  see  DOUCK,  Illustrations,  ii.  391. 

P.  129, 1.  59.  Fla.-vns.  Us'ially  interpreted  "custards."'  Urayton, 
however,  distinguishes  between  the  two  dainties  : — 

"With  green  cheese,  clouted  cream,  with  flawns  and  custards  stor'd." 
— Muses'  Elysium  (1630),  Sixth  Nymphal,  p.  56. 

Kersey  defines  flawn  as  "  a  kind  of  dainty,  made  of  fine  flour,  eggs, 
and  butter." 

P.  134.  MR.  THOMAS  MANWOOD,  second  son  of  Sir  Peter  Man- 
wood,  K.B.,  of  St.  Stephen's,  otherwise  Hackington,  near  Canter- 
bury, entered  the  Inner  Temple  in  1610,  and  graduated  B.A.  from 
Lincoln  College,  Oxford,  on  5  June,  1611.  Was  drowned  in  France 
in  1613. 

P.  134.  T/te  fourth  Eclogue.  This  Elegy  is  also  found  in  Lans- 
tiowne  MS.  777,  and  in  the  Salisbury  Cathedral  Library  MS.  The 
more  important  variations  are  here  noted  : — 

P.  134,  1.  12.    And  echo  out  his  moan. — (Lansd.  MS.) 

P.  135,  1.  1 6.     And  mighty  forests  stood  with  sapless  flanks. 

—(Lansd.  MS.) 

— —      1.2r.     Against  the  broad-spread  oaks. — (Lansd.  MS.) 

1.  33.     Broke  lay  his  tuneful  pipe. 

—{Lansd.  &  Salisb.  MSS.) 
P.  136,  1.  55.     Green  fitteth  best  a  lover's  heat. 

-  -(Lansd.  &  Salisb.  MSS.) 

1.  64.    Cease  with  dear  Philaret  for  evermore. 

—(Lansd.  MS.) 
P.  137,  1.  }f.     Will  all  be  spent  ere  I  have  paid.—  (Lansd.  MS.) 

1.  89.     Though  we  poor  shepherds  all  should  strive. 

—(Lansd.  MS.) 
P.  138,  1.  93.    That  can  suppress  our  griefs. 

-(Langd.  &  Salisb.  MSS.) 


344  NOTES   TO    VOL.    II. 

P.  138,1.96.      Our  greatest  loss  of  thee. — (Lansd.   and   Salisb. 

MSS.) 

1.  100.     Or  else  through  time  be  rotten. — (Lansd.  and  Salisb. 

MSS.) 

P.  138,  1.  103.    These  have  their  sev'ral  fixed  date.— (Salisb.  MS.) 
P.  139,  1.  117.     So  stands  oiir  mournful  case. — (Lansd.  and  Salisb. 

MSS.) 
I.  121.      And  though   so   long  he  Hv'd   not  as  he  might.  — 

(Salisb.    MS.,   where  "  Yet,"  the   reading  of   the  printed  text,   is 

erased.) 

1.  128.     That  hath  more  years  allotted.— (Lansd.  MS.) 

1.  131.      Bemoan    oiir  hapless   loss   of    him. — (Lansd.   and 

Salisb.  MSS.) 
1.  134.    (Sweet  soul !)  this  comfort  only  seizeth  me.  —(Lansd. 

and  Salisb.  MSS.) 

1.  135.     That  so  few  years  did  make  thee  so  much  blest. — So 

Lansd.  and  Salisb.  MSS.     The  printed  text  has  should. 

1.  141.     So  fled  dear  Philaret.— (Lansd.  and  Salisb.  MSS.) 

1.  143.     While  others  have  a  longer  time. —(Salisb.  MS.) 

P.  140,  1.  147.     'Tis  for  myself  I  moan,  and  /  lament.— (Lansd. 

and  Salisb.  MSS.) 

1.  151.     And  glorious  days  seem  ugly  nights.— (Lansd.  MS.) 

11.  154-6.     But  briny   tears  distil,   etc.        For  these  three 

lin»s   the   following  are   substituted   in   both   Lansd.   and    Salisb. 

MSS.  :— 

No  bird  his  ditty  move, 

No  pretty  spring  smi'e  on  the  vales, 
No  shepherd  on  his  love. 

11.  163-4. 

Melt  into  tears  if  he  unkind 
,To  rase  it  put  his  hand. 

—(Lansd.  and  Salisb.  MSS.)  In  the  Salisb.  MS.  the  lines  as  they 
stand  in  the  printed  text  have  been  erased  and  the  above  substituted 
for  them. 

11.  165-8.    And  thou,  my  loved  Muse,  etc.     The  reading  of 

the  Lansd.  and  Salisb.  MSS.  is  quite  different : 

Ye  Nymphs  of  mighty  woods, 
With  flowers  his  grave  betrim, 


NOTES   TO    VOL.   II.  345 

And  humbly  pray  the  earth  he  hath 

Would  gently  cover  him. 

In  the  Salisb.  MS.  the  lines  as  they  occur  in  the  printed  version  are 
erased,  and  the  above  lines  written  over  the  erasure. 

P.  141,  1.  171.  Then  from  the  ground,  etc.  The  printed  text  has 
"earth,"  for  which  I  have  substituted  "ground,"  the  reading  of  the 
Salisb.  MS. 

P.  142.     This  address  is  wanting  in  the  Lansd.  and  Salisb.  MSS. 

P.  165.     Non  [Nee]  semper  Gnosius  arcu,  etc.     The  tag  is  from 

a  panegyric  on  a  certain  Calpurnius  Piso,  the  authorship  of  which 

has  been  variously  attributed  to  Virgil,  Ovid,  Statius,  Lucan,  and 

Saleius  Bassus. 

P.  165.      Tlie  Inner  Temple  Masque,     I  have  adopted  the  follow- 
ing readings  from  the  Hopton  Hall  MS.  in  preference  to  those  of 
the  Emmanuel  College  MS. : — 
P.  167.    Dedication.    Our  Society  for  tlte  Society. 
P.  172,  11.  49-50. 

And  till  some  greater  power  her  hand  can  stay, 
Whoe'er  commands, 

for 

And  till  some  greater  hand  her  power  can  stay, 
Whoe'er  command. 
P.  175,  1.  101. 

What  doth  each  wind  breathe  as  it  fleets? 

for 

What  doth  each  wind  breathe  us  that  fleets  ? 
P.  179,  1.  169.     Griltus.     See  Index  of  Names,  s.  v. 
P.  179,  1.  173. 

No  gin  shall  snare  you, 

for 

Nor  gin  shall  snare  you. 
P.  183,  1.  227. 

Let  not  the  sad  chance  of  distressed  Greeks 

for 
Let  yet  the  sad  chance  of  distressed  Greeks. 

P.  201,  1.  8.  The  fleet  that  went  out  last.  As  "A  Sigh  from 
Oxford  "  was  probably  written  in  1624  or  1625,  the  poet's  reference, 
in  these  lines,  may  be,  as  Mr.  Hazlitt  suggests,  to  the  fleet 


346  NOTES   TO   VOL.    IT. 

despatched  by  James  I.,  under  the  command  of  Sir  Robert  Mansel, 
against  the  pirates  of  Algiers.  Mansel  had  also  instructions  to  visit 
the  Court  of  Spain.  After  considerable  delay  he  set  sail  on  October 
12,  1620,  and  returned  on  August  3,  1621,  without  having  accom- 
plished aught.  "Sir  Robert  Mansel  and  his  fleet,"  writes  John 
Chamberlain  to  Sir  Dudley  Carleton,  "  have  done  nothing  but 
negociate  with  the  pirates  of  Algiers  for  the  liberation  of  some 
slaves.  They  had  many  discourtesies  in  Spain  "  (Cat.  State  Paper.;, 
Dom.  Ser.  1619-23).  An  account  of  the  voyage  was  published  in 
1621  by  one  of  the  Captains  (J.  Button).  Or  the  allusion  may  be  to 
the  long-delayed  expedition  against  Cadiz,  1625,  for  hindering 
which  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  was  severely  blamed  by  Sir  John 
Eliot  in  the  House  of  Commons. 

P.  209.  Cielia  is  gone,  etc.  These  verses  are  inserted  in  the 
first  song  of  the  third  book  of  Britannia's  Pastorals,  11.  45-86, 
Marina  being  there  substituted  for  "  Caeha." 

P.  214,  st.  3.     Not  I,  by  tliis  good  wine.     MS.  has  nor. 

P.  229.  MR.  BRYAN  PALMES.  Born  in  1599,  the  eldest  son  of 
Sir  Guy  Palmes,  knt.,  of  Lindley,  Yorkshire,  and  Ashwell,  Rut- 
landshire. Matriculated  at  Oxford  from  Trinity  College  on  March 
17,  1614-15.  Knighted  on  April  21,  1642.  Forced  to  compound 
for  his  estate  in  1647  for  £ijBi,  and  assessed  in  1651  at  .£200.  See 
Index  of  Names,  s.  v. 

P.  230,  1.  26.  My  friend  friar  Guy.  Mr.  Hazlitt's  conjecture 
that  allusion  is  here  made  to  Guy,  Bishop  of  Amiens,  author  of  a 
poem  on  the  battle  of  Hastings,  who  died  about  1076,  is  unfor- 
tunate. Friar  Guy  was  probably  a  monk  of  Thouars.  who  may 
have  acted  as  Browne's  cicerone,  and  probably  begged  of  him  for 
his  convent. 

P.  240,  1.  106.  Palmerin  or  Amadis.  Translations  of  these 
favourite  romances,  Palmerin  of  England,  Palmerin  d'Oli'a, 
and  Amadis  de  Gauli,  had  been  published  by  Anthony  Munday. 
Browne  seems  to  have  had  the  following  passage  in  his  mind  :  — 
"  She  reads  Greene's  works  over  and  over,  but  is  so  carried  away 
with  The  Mirror  of  Knightlwod,  she  is  many  times  resolved  to  run 
out  of  herself,  and  become  a  Lady  Errant." — Character  of  a 
Chambermaid,  from  Characters  appended  to  Sir  T/tomas  Overbury 
his  Wife,  the  ninth  impression,  1616.  (Cited  by  Mr.  Hazlitt.) 

P.  246.     MR.  WILLIAM  HOPTON.     See  Index  of  Names,  s.  v. 


NOTES   TO    VOL.    II.  347 

P.  248.  THE  COUNTESS  DOWAGER  OF  PEMBROKE.  Mary, 
third  daughter  of  Sir  Henry  Sidney  by  Mary,  eldest  daughter  of 
John  Dudley,  Duke  of  Northumberland.  Born  about  1555;  died 
September  25,  1621.  Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  her  eldest  brother. 

P.  250, 11. 43-46.  Is  that  man  alive,  etc.  Galileo  Galilei  invented 
the  telescope  in  1609. 

P.  253,  1.  125.   The  Plagite  of  Sweat  was  prevalent  during  1582-3. 

P.  256.  CHARLES,  LORD  HERBERT  OF  CARDIFF  AND  SHUR- 
LAND.  Eldest  surviving  son  of  Philip,  fourth  Earl  of  Pembroke, 
by  his  first  wife  Susan,  third  daughter  of  Edward  Vere,  Earl  of 
Oxford.  He  was  made  Knight  of  the  Bath  at  the  coronation  of 
Charles  I.,  and  was  married  at  Christmas,  1634,  to  Mary,  daughter 
of  George  Villiers,  Duke  of  Buckingham,  but  died  of  the  small-pox 
at  Florence,  in  January,  1635. 

P.  258.  An  Epiccd  on  Mr.  Fishbourne.  This  was  Richard 
Fishbourne,  citizen  and  mercer  of  London,  who  is  said  to  have 
been  found  as  an  infant  floating  in  a  basket  on  the  river  which  runs 
through  Huntingdon.  He  was  placed  at  Christ's  Hospital,  and 
subsequently  acquired  considerable  wealth.  To  the  Mercers'  Com- 
pany and  the  town  of  Huntingdon  he  was  a  generous  benefactor. 
In  1617  he,  along  with  his  partner  and  brother-in-law,  John  Browne, 
gave  the  altar  of  St.  Bartholomew,  Broad  Street  Ward,  two  silver 
flagons,  and  during  1623-24  he  acted  as  Surveyor-Accountant  of  St. 
Paul's  School.  He  died  in  May,  1625,  and  by  his  desire  was 
buried  in  the  Mercers'  chapel.  In  his  published  funeral  sermon, 
preached  by  Nathaniel  Shute,  rector  of  St.  Mildred  in  the  Poultry, 
his  legacies  are  enumerated.  The  Poet  is  not  mentioned  in  his  will, 
proved  in  P.  C.  C.  (57,  Clarke)  on  14  May,  1625. 

P.  260.  His  dear  Btvivnc.  John  Browne,  citizen  and  merchant 
taylor  of  London,  who  died  in  1629,  his  nuncupative  will  being 
proved  on  28  April  of  that  year  (P.  C.  C.  34,  Ridley).  He  was 
apparently  not  related  to  the  Poet,  but  he  and  his  partner,  Richard 
Fishbourne,  may  have  become  known  to  him  through  their  mutual 
friend,  Thomas  Gardiner,  of  the  Inner  Temple,  who  prefixed  verses 
to  the  first  book  of  Britannia's  Pastorals.  Gardiner  was  John 
Browne's  cousin  and  executor.  From  him  was  also  descended  John 
Browne,  Clerk  of  the  Parliaments,  1640-48,  and  another  of  his 
connections,  John  Chalkhill,  author  of  Theahna  and  Clearchus, 
was  a  party  to  a  dispute  over  his  will. 


348  NOTES   TO    VOL.    II. 

P.  263.  An  Elegy  on  Mr.  Thomas  Ayleworth.  Thomas  Ayle- 
worth,  the  eldest  son  of  Peter  Ayleworth,  of  Kineton.  Warwickshire, 
was  admitted  a  member  of  the  Middle  Temple  on  January  24, 
1603-6.  He  was  a  cousin  of  the  Sir  Thomas  Eversfield,  whose 
daughter,  Timothy,  Browne  afterwards  married.  As  may  be 
gathered  from  the  poem  Ayleworth  was  stabbed  in  some  affray. — 
"  1615,  June  21.  Thomas  Aylworth,  gent.,  '  wounded  the  xvij. 
day  of  May,  lay  long  languishing  under  the  hands  of  surgeons 
unto  the  xx.  day  of  June,  and  then  died,  and  was  buried  the  x.\i. 
day,  1615,  in  the  middle  chancel  in  Croydon  Church.'  " — Entry  in 
the  Parish  Register  of  Croydon,  printed  by  Nichols  (Collectanea. 
Topograph.  et  Genealog.  ii.  295). 

P.  266.  An  Elegy.  This  poem  was  first  printed  under  the  title 
of  Elegeia  by  F.  G.  Waldron  in  A  Collection  of  Miscellaneous 
Poetry  (1802)  from  a  MS.  in  his  possession  dated  1625,  the  author- 
ship being  assigned  to  Donne.  Dr.  Grosart  reprinted  it  in  his 
edition  of  Donne's  Poems  (ii.  347-50)  and  gave  it  the  title  of 
"  Lament  for  his  Wife."  The  principal  variants  of  Waldron 's  MS. 
may  be  here  noted  : — 1.  2,  must  I  e^!er  lose  for  must  I  still  lose  ; 
1.  19,  should  all  lose  for  sliould  they  lose ;  1.  21,  those  for  these  ; 
1.  26,  than  now  at  twenty  for  than  now  at  fifteen ;  1.  29,  so  pure 
for  most  pure;  1.  32,  Countries  which  ask' d  for  people  from  her 
store  for  Countries  and  islands  which  she  was  to  store  ;  1.  36.  fi tie 
foot  for  sweet  eyes;  11.  37-8  are  wanting;  1.  39,  And  seld'  for 
Seldom  ;  1.  40,  All  others'  lands  for  All  other  lands  ;  1.  45,  Dead, 
a!  my  joys  for  ever,  ever  be .'  for  Dettd  as  a  blossom  forced  from 
the  tree;  1.  46,  woman  for  maiden;  11.  47-8,  Tread  on  her,  grant 
O  may  she  there  become,  A  statue  like  Lot's  wife,  and  be  her  tomb ! 
for  Tread  on  thy  grave,  O  let  her  there  profess  Herself  for  ever- 
more an  anchoress;  11.  49-52  are  entirely  omitted  ;  1.  54,  know  for 
Jeel;  1.  57,  murders  for  murd'rers;  1.  62,  Nor  shall  I  see  thee  for 
Nor  shall  I  see,  the  ;  1.  71,  win  for  draw  ;  1.  73,  did  for  used  ;  \.  74, 
shouldst  for  might' st;  1.  75,  lov'd (which  is  of  course  the  true  read- 
ing) for  love;  \.  80,  we'd  for  I'd;  1.  82,  Knows  for  Knew;  1.  83, 
crimes  for  days. 

P.  267,  1.  3.     Tarriers,  i.e.,  terri;rs,  hillocks,  mounds. 

P.  267,  11.  3-8.  Are  we  all  but  as  tarriers  first  begun,  etc. 
These  lines  occur  also  as  11.  3-8  of  the  Elegy  on  Thomas  Ayle- 
worth (p.  263). 


NOTES   TO    VOL.    II,  349 

P.  279.  Visions.  Closely  imitated  from  Spenser's  "Visions  of 
the.  World's  Vanity  "  and  his  translation  of  ''  Visions  of  Bellay." 

P.  284.  On  the  Countess  of  Somerset's  Picture.  Frances,  a 
younger  daughter  of  Thomas  Howard,  first  Earl  of  Suffolk,  married, 
first,  on  January  15,  1606,  Robert  Devereux,  third  Earl  of  Essex, 
from  whom  she  obtained  a  divorce  in  1613  ;  and  secondly,  in  1613, 
Robert  Carr,  Earl  of  Somerset.  She  was  sent  to  the  J bwer  in  1615, 
and  convicted  with  her  husband  of  the  murder  of  Sir  Thomas 
Overbury  in  1613,  Overbury  having  incurred  her  resentment  by 
reflecting  on  her  character.  Pardoned,  but  kept  in  the  Tower 
until  January,  1622.  Died  August  23,  1632. 

P.  284.  To  Don  Antonio,  King  of  Portugal.  Dom  Antonio 
(1531-1595),  prior  of  Crato,  illegitimate  son  of  Louis,  Duke  of  Beja. 
He  assumed  the  crown  of  Portugal  upon  the  death  of  Henry  I.  in, 
1580,  but  was  easily  defeated  by  the  Duke  of  Alva  at  Alcantara, 
after  which  Philip  II.  of  Spain  was  declared  king  of  Portugal,  and 
then  began  the  "  sixty  years'  captivity,"  as  the  domination  of 
Spain  over  Portugal  (from  1580  to  1640)  was  called. 

P.  285.  [Man.]  Lines  similar  to  these  occur  in  the  first  song  of 
the  third  book  of  Britannia's  Pastorals  (11.  552-63). 

P.  287.  On  Mrs.  Anne  Prideaux,  etc.  Her  father,  John 
Prideaux,  born  of  humble  parentage  in  1578  at  Stowford,  in  the 
parish  of  Harford,  Devonshire,  became  rector  of  Exeter  College, 
Oxford,  in  1612,  and  regius  professor  of  divinity  in  1615.  In 
December,  1641,  he  was  consecrated  bishop  of  Worcester.  Died  in 
1650. 

P.  288.  SIR  JOHN  PROWDE.  Son  of  Serle  Proude,  of  Kent. 
Knighted  in  1622. 

P.  289.     In  Obitutn  M.  S.     See  Introduction. 

P.  289.  On  Mr.  Vaux,  the  Physician.  Perhaps  Francis  Vaux, 
or  Vaulx,  born  in  Gloucester  in  1601,  the  son  of  James  Vaux,  gent., 
of  Marston-Meysey,  Wilts.  He  matriculated  at  Oxford  from 
Hroadgates  Hall  (afterwards  Pembroke  College)  on  December  12, 
1623,  and  proceeded  M.B.  on  April  28,  1626.  His  estate  was 
administered  to  on  February  5,  1631-2,  by  his  widow  Catherine 
(Administration  Act  Book,  P.  C.  C.,  1631-33,  f.  80). 

P.  291.  On  Mr.  John  Deane.  Born  in  1596  or  1598,  a  native  of 
Newbury,  Berkshire.  Admitted  to  Winchester  College  in  1610. 
Matriculated  at  Oxford  as  a  scholar  of  New  College  in  1615,  and 


350  NOTES   TO    VOL.    II. 

elected  fellow  in  1617.  Graduated  B.C.L.  on  January  iS,  1622-3. 
Died  in  1626-7  >  buried  in  New  College  chapel. 

P.  292.  On  Mr.  Francis  Lee.  A  kinsman  of  Browne's.  Second 
son  of  Sir  Francis  Leigh,  Knt.,  of  Addington,  Surrey,  and  grand- 
son of  Sir  Olliph  Leigh,  Knt.,  of  Addington  and  East  Wickham, 
who  married  in  1578  Jane,  daughter  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  Knt., 
of  Betchworth.  Entered  the  Inner  Temple  in  1633.  Died  in  1637. 

P.  294.  On  the  Countess  Dowager  of  Pembroke.  These  famous 
lines  occur  in  exactly  the  same  form  in  the  middle  seventeenth-cen- 
tury MS.  in  the  Library  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  and  are  there 
signed  "  William  Browne."  They  appear  to  have  been  first  printed 
in  Osborne's  Traditional  Memoirs  on  the  Reign  of  King  James,  in 
1658  (p.  78),  and  were  also  included  in  the  Poems  of  the  Countess  s 
son,  William,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  and  Sir  Benjamin  Rudyerd  in 
1660  (p.  66) ;  but  in  neither  volume  is  there  any  indication  of  the 
authorship.  Writing  about  the  same  time  Aubrey,  in  his  Natural 
H istory  of  Wiltshire  (ed.  Britton,  1847,  p.  90),  cited  the  first  sex- 
tain, and  stated  that  the  verses  were  "  made  by  Mr.  Browne,  who 
wrote  the  Pastorals."  But  in  1756  Peter  Whalley  printed  a  garbled 
version  of  the  first  six  lines  in  his  edition  of  Ben  Jonson's  Works 
(vi.  297),  giving  as  his  reason  that  they  were  "  universally  assigned  " 
to  Jonson,  and  they  appear  in  all  editions  of  Jonson  since  Whalley's 
time,  and  are  commonly  attributed  to  him.  The  epitaph  is  certainly 
more  effective  as  a  single  sextain  ;  and  Mr.  Hazlitt  suggests  that 
"  whoever  composed  the  original  sextain,  the  addition  is  the  work 
of  another  pen,  namely,  Lord  Pembroke's."  Still,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  Browne  has  occasionally  marred  his  work  by  not 
knowing  when  to  stay  his  hand,  and  the  epitaph,  as  it  appears  in 
the  Lansdowne  and  Dublin  MSS.,  reflects  him  at  his  best  and  at 
his  worst. 

It  may  be  worth  noting  that  Browne  thus  pointedly  refers  to  this 
very  epitaph  in  his  Elegy  on  Charles,  Lord  Herbert  of  Cardiff  and 
Shurland  (p.  257),  which  is  written  in  the  same  metre  : — 

"  And  since  my  weak  and  saddest  verse 
Was  worthy  thought  thy  grandam's  herse  ; 
Accept  of  this  !  " 

The  variants  of  the  Trinity  College  MS.  are  "killed  " 

for  "  slain  "  (1.  4)  and  " his  dart  "  for  "a  dart "  ;1.  6). 


NOTES   TO    VOL.    II.  351 

P.  294.  On  Susan,  Countess  of  Montgomery.  Third  daughter 
of  Edward  Vere,  T7th  Earl  of  Oxford.  Married  in  1604  Philip,  ist 
Earl  of  Montgomery  and  Baron  Herbert  of  Shurland.  Her  hus- 
band afterwards  succeeded  his  brother  William  in  the  Earldom  of 
Pembroke.  Lady  Montgomery  died  in  January,  1628-9.  Browne 
also  commemorated  the  death  of  her  son  Charles  (p.  256). 

P.  295.  On  Mr.  Turner.  He  was  Richard  Turner,  born  in 
1607,  the  son  of  Ricnard  Turner,  of  Hendon,  Middlesex.  Matricu- 
lated at  Oxford  from  St.  Mary  Hall  on  October  17,  1623  (B.A. 
January  30,  1626-7  ;  M.A.  June  13,  1629).  Vicar  of  Burford, 
Oxfordshire,  1626-7.  L)ied  in  1637. 

P.  296.  On  Goodman  Hurst.  According  to  the  Horsham 
register  the  baptismal  name  of  this  worthy  was  Richard,  and  his 
burial  took  place  on  August  28.  The  "George"  Inn  has  long 
since  disappeared  ;  it  U  not  mentioned  in  the  list  of  hostelries  given 
in  Howard  Dudley's  History  of  Horsham,  1836. 

P.  300.  lit  Urbem  Romam.  These  lines  are  a  translation  by 
the  Sicilian  poet  Janus  Vitalis  of  Du  Bellay's  third  sonnet  in  the 
series  called  Antiyiiitez  de  Rome,  the  greater  part  of  which  had 
been  previously  translated  into  English  by  Spenser.  They  are  in- 
cluded in  Delitia  CC.  Italorum  Poetantm,  1608,  edited  by  Ranu- 
tius  Gherus  (i.e.,  Janus  Gruterus),  ii.  1433,  where  the  title  is  simply 
"De  Rom&."  Vitalis  omits  11.  7-8  of  his  original,  which  are  here 
supplied  by  Browne.  In  the  Delitite  the  reading  of  11.  11-12  is 
Albula  Romani  restat  «««fnoiiiinis  index,  Qui  quoque  nunc  rapidis 
fertur  in  zequor  aqnis. 

P.  302.  On  a  Dream.  These  lines  are  also  inserted,  with 
variants,  in  the  first  song  of  the  third  book  of  Britannia's  Pas- 
torals, 11.  159-234. 

P.  305.  Lydford  Journey.  The  Cornish  antiquary,  William 
Hals,  in  a  letter  in  the  possession  of  William  Chappie,  the  editor  of 
Risdon's  Survey  of  Devonshire,  sta'ed  thaUthis  poem  was  written 
in  1644,  after  Browne  had  paid  a  visit  to  his  friend  Lieut.-Col. 
James  Hals,  who  hid  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  Royalists  and 
confined  in  Lydford  Castle  in  the  custody  of  Sir  Richard  Gren- 
ville,  and  that  Browne,  "soon  after  his  return  to  Tavistock," 
forwarded  the  verses  to  Hals  (Mrs.  BRAV,  The  Tamar  and  the 
Tavy,  iii.  u).  There  is,  however,  no  allusion  in  the  poem  to 
justify  the  conclusion  that  it  was  written  in  1644  ;  it  had,  in  fact, 


352  NOTES  TO    VOL.    II. 

been  inserted  by  Westcote  in  his  View  of  Devonshire  in  1630(61). 
1845,  p.  360)  in  precisely  the  same  form  as  that  mentioned  by  HaK 
as  being  correct.  Of  Lydford,  which  is  about  seven  miles  from 
Tavistock,  Westcote  writes  :  "  It  hath  neither  fair  nor  market  to 
comfort  itself  withal,  and  little  fruitful  land.  It  is  only  entrusted 
with  the  keeping  of  the  prince's  prisoners,  for  stannary  causes  " 
(p.  359).  He  adds  that  Browne's  verses  were  "  commonly  sung  by 
many  a  fiddler."  Portions  of  them  have  become  proverbial  iu 
Devonshire. 

The  chief  variants  of  Westcote's  version  are  as  follows  : — 

LI.  5-6  :  But  since  I  find  the  matter  such, 
•As  it  deserves  no  laughter. 

L.  8,  some  for  an  ;  I.  10,  to  for  than ;  1.  n,  'twere  for  'tis ;  I.  12 
ere  you  come  hither  for  now  choose  you  whether;  1.  15,  too  (or  t/uy. 

LI.  21-2  :  Hath  Lydford  castle's  high  hall! 

I  know  none  gladly  there  would  stay. 

L.  24,  a  for  tlie ;  1.  25,  Prince  Charles  for  The  Prince  ;  1.  37 
Near  these  poor  men  for  Near  to  the  men  ;  1.  38,  See  a  dire  bridge, 
a  little  church;  1.  39,  one  for  an;  1.  41,  Rector  for  Parson;  1.  51, 
Or  drown  d  with  snow  or  rain  ;  1.  55,  'Twas  for  One  ;  1.  59,  have 
for  were  ;  \.  64,  For  if  thou  stay'st  a  little  fit ;  1.  65,  will  for  may  ; 
1.  66,  to  a  for  into;  1.  87,  it  much  for  that  nought;  1.  95,  in  for  the; 
1.  100,  Wide  and  ope  the  winds  so  roar. 

P.  307.     Stanzas  9,  10,  n. 

This  town's  enclos'd  with  desert  moors,  etc. 

These  verses  are  not  in  the  Lansdowne  MS.  nor  in  the  copy  in 
Prince's  Worthies  of  Devon  (1701).  But  they  were  in  the  author's 
original  manuscript,  Hals  tells  us,  and  they  are  given  by  Westcote. 
They  afford  the  first  reference  to  that  singular  tribe  of  savages  the 
Gubbinses,  of  whom  a  graphic  account  maybe  found  in  Fuller '^ 
Worthies  (edit.  1662,  p.  248,  art.  "  Devonshire  ").  They  infested 
the  borders  of  the  moor,  near  Brent  Tor,  the  district  occupied  by 
them  being  called  Gubbins's  land.  Mrs.  Bray,  in  her  romance  of 
IV'arleigh,  and  Kingsley  in  Westward  Ho  !  have  introduced  the 
legend  of  the  Gubbinses,  and  their  leader,  Roger  Rowle. 

P.  308.     Stanza  16. 

Sure  I  believe  it  then  did  reign,  etc., 
is  not  in  Westcote  or  Prince. 


CORRIGENDA. 

Vol.  I.,  p.  44,  for  '•  malum  meat" (side-note)  read  "malum  cacat." 
!•>  59>  '•  355>  r*ad  "  pyramides "'  (quadrisyllable).  I.,  152,  1.  408, 
read  "perfumed  Flora,"  I.,  203,  1.  409,  for  "left"  read  "lest." 
Vol.  II.,  p.  n,  st.  14,  for  "lands"  read  "  hands."  II.,  23,  1.  8,  for 
"  Then  "  read  "  Than."  II.,  269,  1.  75,  for  "  love  "  read  "  lov'd." 


ALCIBIADES,  I.,  41. 
Antonio,  Dom,  II.,  284. 
Antony,  Mark,  II.,  254. 
Aretino,  Pietro,  I.,  75. 
Ariosto,  L.,  I.,  223. 
Ayleworth,  Thomas,  II.,  263,  a6£. 

B.  W.  (?  WILLIAM  BASSE),  I.,  185;  II.,  314- 
Beloe,  William,  II.,  3. 
Bonaventura,  II.,  230. 

Brooke,  Christopher,  I.,  13,  239;  II.,  13,  M3.  312- 
Browne  [John],  II.,  260. 

Browne,  William,  I.,  4,  5,  138,  238,  289;  II.,  28,  34,  61,  75,  85, 
143.  293- 

CAN  ACE,  II.,  291. 
Caesar,  Augustus,  I.,  184. 
Chapman,  George,  I.  141    »7*>  239- 
Charles,  Prince  of  Wales,  II.,  306. 
Charles  I.,  II.,  31°- 
Chaucer,  Geoffrey,  II.,  66,  118. 
Columbus,  Christopher,  II.,  35- 
Copernicus,  N.,  II.,  35- 

Crewes, ,  II.,  3°6- 

Croke,  Charles,  I.,  181. 


356  INDEX  OF  NAMES. 

Croke,  Union,  I.,  182. 
Croker,  T.  Crofton,  II.,  3. 

DANIEL,  Samuel,  I.,  239. 

Davies,  John,  of  Hereford,  I.,  181,  240. 

Davies,  Captain  John,  I.,  284. 

Davies,  Thomas,  II.,  169. 

Deane,  John,  II.,  291. 

Doble,  John,  II.,  306. 

Downey,  Nicholas,  II.,  18,  ig. 

Drake,  Sir  Francis,  I.,  142,  284,  319  ;  II.,  43,  61,  253. 

Drayton,  Michael,  I.,  10,  171,  239;  II.,  211,  313. 

Du  Bartas,  G.  de  Saluste,  I.,  223. 

Dynham,  John,  II.,  7. 

Dynne,  Francis,  I.,  13. 

ELIZABETH,  Queen,  I.,  129,  150,  222  ;  II.,  61,  313. 
Essex,  Earl  of  (Robert  Devereux),  I.,  129,  146  ;  II.,  276 

FERRAR,  William,  I.,  15,  referred  to  as  "Alexis,"  199. 
Fishbourne  [Richard],  II.,  258. 

GARDINER,  Thomas,  I.,  14. 

Gamier,  Robert,  I.,  223. 

Gewen,  Christopher,  II.,  12. 

Gilbert,  Sir  Humphrey,  I.,  284. 

Glanvill,  John,  I.,  177. 

Gondomar,  Count,  II.,  208. 

Grenville,  Sir  Richard,  I.,  284,  319  ;  II.,  57. 

Grillus  \cf.  Plutarch's  Dialogue  (Works,  ed.  Dttbner,  ii.  1206- 
14),  where  Grillus,  one  of  the  companions  of  Ulysses, 
transformed  into  a  hog  by  Circe,  holds  a  discourse 
with  Ulysses,  and  refuses  to  be  restored  to  his  human 
shape  :  also  Spenser's  Faery  Queen,  Bk.  ii.,  c.  xii.,  st. 
86-87],  II-,  i79- 

Gubbins,  the,  II.,  307. 

Guy,  Friar,  II.,  230. 

HALL,  Edward,  II.,  6. 


INDEX  OF  NAMES.  357 

Hardinge,  Samuel,  II.,  n. 

Hawkins,  Sir  John,  I.,  284. 

Helmes,  John,  II.,  231. 

Henrietta  Maria,  II.,  310. 

Henry,  Prince  of  Wales,  I.,  142  ;  II.,  271. 

Herbert,  William,  I.,  179. 

Herbert  of  Cardiff  and  Shurl.ind,  Charles,  Lord,  II.,  256. 

Heygate,  Thomas,  I.,  183. 

Heyward,  Edward,  I.,  12. 

Hopton,  William  [probably  second  son  of  Sir  Owen  Hopton, 
M.P.,  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower  of  London,  who  died 
in  September,  1591 :  seated  at  Langley-Burrel,  Wilts], 
II.,  246,  288. 

Horace,  II.,  298,  299. 

Huist  [Richard],  II.,  296. 

JOHN,  King  of  England,  I.,  266. 
Johnson,  Edward,  II.,  82. 
Jonson,  Ben,  I.,  186,  239. 
Joseph  of  Exeter,  I.,  284. 

LEE  [Leigh],  Francis,  II.,  292. 

Leicester,  Earl  of  (Robert  Dudley),  I.,  131 

MACHIAVELLI,  N.,  II.,  46. 

Mahomet,  II.,  240. 

Manwood,  Thomas,  II.,  134. 

Manwood,  Thomas,  Sisters  of,  II.,  142. 

Marot,  C.,  I.,  223. 

Martial,  I.,  202  ;  II.,  291. 

Massinger,  Philip,  II.,  314,  316. 

Michael  [Blaumpain],  "  Cornish  Michael,"  I.,  319. 

Montgomery,  Countess  of  (Susan  Herbert),  II.,  294. 

Morgan,  Sir  Charles,  II.,  288. 

Morgan,  John,  I.,  183. 

N.  B.  [?  NICHOLAS  BRETON],  II.,  14. 


358  INDEX  OF  NAMES. 

OCCLEVE,  Thomas,  II.,  117,  119. 
Olney,  John,  II.,  84. 
Ordgar,  I.,  312. 
Ordulf,  I.,  312. 
Guide,  Francis,  I.,  15. 
Overbury,  Sir  Thomas,  II.,  261. 

PALMES,  Bryan  [was  M.P.  for  Stamford  in  1625-6,  and  for 
Aldborough,  Yorkshire,  in  1639-40.  Died  a  widower 
at  Lindley  about  Aug.  1654.  his  estate  being  adminis- 
tered to  by  his  son  Francis  {Administration  Act  Book, 
P.  C.  C.,  1653-4,  H-.  647],  II.,  229. 

Papillon,  Philip,  II.,  4. 

Pembroke,  Countess  Dowager  of  (Mary  Sidney),  II.,  248,  294. 

Pembroke,  Earl  of  (William  Herbert),  I.,  175,  179;  II.,  248. 

Perigot  [a  pseudonym],  II.,  22. 

Petrarca,  F.,  I.,  223. 

Philip  II.,  King  of  Spain,  I.,  132,  142. 

Prideaux,  Anne,  II.,  287. 

Prideaux,  John,  II.,  287. 

Prowde  [Proude],  Sir  John,  II.,  288. 

RALEIGH,  Sir  Walter,  I.,  129. 
Robert  of  Gloucester,  I.,  320. 
Ronsard,  P.  de,  I.,  223. 
Rowle,  Roger,  II.,  307. 

S.,  P.  [PETER  or  PAUL  SPECCOTT],  II.,  4. 

Selden,  John,  I.,  9,  17. 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  I.,  171,  237  ;  II.,  3,  8,  81,  313. 

Smyth,  Rev.  John,  II.,  287. 

Somerset,  Countess  of  (Frances  Carr),  II.,  284. 

Spenser,  Edmund,  I.,  88,  187,  222,  225,  313;  II.,  3,  8,  51,  81, 

213,  219,  237,  313. 
Syms, ,  II.,  303. 

TASSO,  T.,  I.,  223. 


INDEX   OF  NAMES.  359 

Tayler,  or  Taylor,  Robert,  II.,  15- 
Tooth,  John,  II.,  284. 
Turner  [Richard],  II.,  295. 

VAUGHAN,  John,  II.,  306. 
Vaux,  Mr.,  II.,  289. 
Vincent,  Anthony,  I.,  182. 
Virgil,  I.,  250,  313. 

WENMAN,  Thomas,  I.,  178. 

Wither,  George,  I.,  185,  240,  referred  to  as  "  Roget,"  310  ;  II., 
12,  85. 

XERXES  [reference  is  here  made  to  a  passage  in  Herodotus,  vii. 
27-3i],  I.,  343,  side-note. 

Y.,  MRS.  Ei..,  II.,  295. 

ZOUCH,  Edward,  Lord,  I.,  3  •  II.,  79. 


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