An Elegie vpon the death of the Lady PENELOPE CLIFTON

Must I needes write, who's hee that can refuse, He wants a minde, for her that hath no Muse, The thought of her doth heau'nly rage inspire, Next powerfull, to those clouen tongues of fire. Since I knew ought time neuer did allowe Me stuffe fit for an Elegie, till now; When France and England's HENRIES dy'd, my quill, Why, I know not, but it that time lay still. 'Tis more then greatnesse that my spirit must raise, To obserue custome I vse not to praise; 10 Nor the least thought of mine yet ere depended, On any one from whom she was descended; That for their fauour I this way should wooe, As some poor wretched things (perhaps) may doe; I gaine the end, whereat I onely ayme, If by my freedome, I may giue her fame. Walking then forth being newly vp from bed, O Sir (quoth one) the Lady CLIFTON'S dead. When, but that reason my sterne rage withstood, My hand had sure beene guilty of his blood. 20 If shee be so, must thy rude tongue confesse it (Quoth I) and com'st so coldly to expresse it. Thou shouldst haue giuen a shreeke, to make me feare thee; That might haue slaine what euer had beene neere thee. Thou shouldst haue com'n like Time with thy scalpe bare, And in thy hands thou shouldst haue brought thy haire, Casting vpon me such a dreadfull looke, As seene a spirit, or th'adst beene thunder-strooke, And gazing on me so a little space, Thou shouldst haue shot thine eye balls in my face, 30 Then falling at my feet, thou shouldst haue said, O she is gone, and Nature with her dead. With this ill newes amaz'd by chance I past, By that neere Groue, whereas both first and last, I saw her, not three moneths before shee di'd. When (though full Summer gan to vaile her pride, And that I sawe men leade home ripened Corne, Besides aduis'd me well,) I durst haue sworne The lingring yeare, the Autumne had adiourn'd, And the fresh Spring had beene againe return'd, 40 Her delicacie, louelinesse, and grace, With such a Summer brauery deckt the place: But now alas, it lookt forlorne and dead; And where she stood, the fading leaues were shed, Presenting onely sorrowe to my sight, O God (thought I) this is her Embleme right. And sure I thinke it cannot but be thought, That I to her by prouidence was brought. For that the Fates fore-dooming, shee should die, Shewed me this wondrous Master peece, that I 50 Should sing her Funerall, that the world should know it, That heauen did thinke her worthy of a Poet; My hand is fatall, nor doth fortune doubt, For what it writes, not fire shall ere race out. A thousand silken Puppets should haue died, And in their fulsome Coffins putrified, Ere in my lines, you of their names should heare To tell the world that such there euer were, Whose memory shall from the earth decay, Before those Rags be worne they gaue away: 60 Had I her god-like features neuer seene, Poore slight Report had tolde me she had beene A hansome Lady, comely, very well, And so might I haue died an Infidell, As many doe which neuer did her see, Or cannot credit, what she was, by mee. Nature, her selfe, that before Art prefers To goe beyond all our Cosmographers, By Charts and Maps exactly that haue showne, All of this earth that euer can be knowne, 70 For that she would beyond them all descrie What Art could not by any mortall eye; A Map of heauen in her rare features drue, And that she did so liuely and so true, That any soule but seeing it might sweare That all was perfect heauenly that was there. If euer any Painter were so blest, To drawe that face, which so much heau'n exprest, If in his best of skill he did her right, I wish it neuer may come in my sight, 80 I greatly doubt my faith (weake man) lest I Should to that face commit Idolatry. Death might haue tyth'd her sex, but for this one, Nay, haue ta'n halfe to haue let her alone; Such as their wrinkled temples to supply, Cyment them vp with sluttish Mercury, Such as vndrest were able to affright, A valiant man approching him by night; Death might haue taken such, her end deferd, Vntill the time she had beene climaterd; 90 When she would haue bin at threescore yeares and three, Such as our best at three and twenty be, With enuie then, he might haue ouerthrowne her, When age nor time had power to ceaze vpon her. But when the vnpittying Fates her end decreed, They to the same did instantly proceed, For well they knew (if she had languish'd so) As those which hence by naturall causes goe, So many prayers, and teares for her had spoken, As certainly their Iron lawes had broken, 100 And had wak'd heau'n, who clearely would haue show'd That change of Kingdomes to her death it ow'd; And that the world still of her end might thinke, It would haue let some Neighbouring mountaine sinke. Or the vast Sea it in on vs to cast, As Seuerne did about some fiue yeares past: Or some sterne Comet his curld top to reare, Whose length should measure halfe our Hemisphere. Holding this height, to say some will not sticke, That now I raue, and am growne lunatique: 110 You of what sexe so ere you be, you lye, 'Tis thou thy selfe is lunatique, not I. I charge you in her name that now is gone, That may coniure you, if you be not stone, That you no harsh, nor shallow rimes decline, Vpon that day wherein you shall read mine. Such as indeed are falsely termed verse, And will but sit like mothes vpon her herse; Nor that no child, nor chambermaide, nor page, Disturbe the Rome, the whilst my sacred rage, 120 In reading is; but whilst you heare it read, Suppose, before you, that you see her dead, The walls about you hung with mournfull blacke, And nothing of her funerall to lacke, And when this period giues you leaue to pause, Cast vp your eyes, and sigh for my applause.

Vpon the noble Lady ASTONS departure for Spaine

I many a time haue greatly marueil'd, why Men say, their friends depart when as they die, How well that word, a dying, doth expresse, I did not know (I freely must confesse,) Till her departure: for whose missed sight, I am enforc'd this Elegy to write: But since resistlesse fate will haue it so, That she from hence must to Iberia goe, And my weak wishes can her not detaine, I will of heauen in policy complaine, 10 That it so long her trauell should adiourne, Hoping thereby to hasten her returne. The witches Can those of Norway for their wage procure, of the By their blacke spells a winde that shall endure Northerly Till from aboard the wished land men see, legions sell And fetch the harbour, where they long to be, windes to Can they by charmes doe this and cannot I passengers. Who am the Priest of Phoebus, and so hie, Sit in his fauour, winne the Poets god, To send swift Hermes with his snaky rod, 20 To AEolus Caue, commanding him with care, His prosperous winds, that he for her prepare, And from that howre, wherein shee takes the seas, Nature bring on the quiet Halcion dayes, And in that hower that bird begin her nest, Nay at that very instant, that long rest May seize on Neptune, who may still repose, And let that bird nere till that hower disclose, Wherein she landeth, and for all that space Be not a wrinkle seene on Thetis face, 30 Onely so much breath with a gentle gale, As by the easy swelling of her saile, The nearest May at *Sebastians safely set her downe Harbour of Where, with her goodnes she may blesse the towne. Spaine. If heauen in iustice would haue plagu'd by thee Some Pirate, and grimme Neptune thou should'st be His Executioner, or what is his worse, The gripple Merchant, borne to be the curse Of this braue Iland; let them for her sake, Who to thy safeguard doth her selfe betake, 40 Escape vndrown'd, vnwrackt, nay rather let Them be at ease in some safe harbour set, Where with much profit they may vent their wealth That they haue got by villany and stealth, Rather great Neptune, then when thou dost raue, Thou once shouldst wet her saile but with a waue. Or if some proling Rouer shall but dare, To seize the ship wherein she is to fare, Let the fell fishes of the Maine appeare, And tell those Sea-thiefes, that once such they were 50 As they are now, till they assaid to rape An Ile for Grape-crowned Bacchus in a striplings shape, the abundance That came aboard them, and would faine haue saild, of wine To vine-spread *Naxus but that him they faild, supposed to Which he perceiuing, them so monstrous made, be the And warnd them how they passengers inuade. habitation Ye South and Westerne winds now cease to blow of Bachus. Autumne is come, there be no flowers to grow, Yea from that place respire, to which she goes, And to her sailes should show your selfe but foes, 60 But Boreas and yee Esterne windes arise, To send her soon to Spaine, but be precise, That in your aide you seeme not still so sterne, As we a summer should no more discerne, For till that here againe, I may her see, It will be winter all the yeare with mee. Castor and Ye swanne-begotten lonely brother-stars, Polox begot So oft auspicious to poore Mariners, by Ioue on Ye twin-bred lights of louely Leda's brood, Leda in the Ioues egge-borne issue smile vpon the flood, 70 forme of a And in your mild'st aspect doe ye appeare Swanne. A To be her warrant from all future feare. constellation And if thou ship that bear'st her, doe proue good, ominous to May neuer time by wormes, consume thy wood Mariners. Nor rust thy iron, may thy tacklings last, Till they for reliques be in temples plac't; Maist thou be ranged with that mighty Arke, Wherein iust Noah did all the world imbarque, With that which after Troyes so famous wracke, From ten yeares trauell brought Vlisses backe, 80 That Argo which to Colchos went from Greece, And in her botome brought the goulden fleece Vnder braue Iason; or that same of Drake, Wherein he did his famous voyage make About the world; or Candishes that went As far as his, about the Continent. And yee milde winds that now I doe implore, Not once to raise the least sand on the shore, Nor once on forfait of your selues respire: When once the time is come of her retire, 90 If then it please you, but to doe your due, What for these windes I did, Ile doe for you; Ile wooe you then, and if that not suffice, My pen shall prooue you to haue dietyes, Ile sing your loues in verses that shall flow, And tell the storyes of your weale and woe, Ile prooue what profit to the earth you bring, And how t'is you that welcome in the spring; Ile raise vp altars to you, as to show, The time shall be kept holy, when you blow. 100 O blessed winds! your will that it may be, To send health to her, and her home to me.

To my most dearely-loued friend HENERY REYNOLDS Esquire, of Poets & Poesie

My dearely loued friend how oft haue we, In winter evenings (meaning to be free,) To some well-chosen place vs'd to retire; And there with moderate meate, and wine, and fire, Haue past the howres contentedly with chat, Now talk of this, and then discours'd of that, Spoke our owne verses 'twixt our selves, if not Other mens lines, which we by chance had got, Or some Stage pieces famous long before, Of which your happy memory had store; 10 And I remember you much pleased were, Of those who liued long agoe to heare, As well as of those, of these latter times, Who have inricht our language with their rimes, And in succession, how still vp they grew, Which is the subiect, that I now pursue; For from my cradle, (you must know that) I, Was still inclin'd to noble Poesie, And when that once Pueriles I had read, And newly had my Cato construed, 20 In my small selfe I greatly marueil'd then, Amonst all other, what strange kinde of men These Poets were; And pleased with the name, To my milde Tutor merrily I came, (For I was then a proper goodly page, Much like a Pigmy, scarse ten yeares of age) Clasping my slender armes about his thigh. O my deare master! cannot you (quoth I) Make me a Poet, doe it if you can, And you shall see, Ile quickly bee a man, 30 Who me thus answered smiling, boy quoth he, If you'le not play the wag, but I may see You ply your learning, I will shortly read Some Poets to you; Phoebus be my speed, Too't hard went I, when shortly he began, And first read to me honest Mantuan, Then Virgils Eglogues, being entred thus, Me thought I straight had mounted Pegasus, And in his full Careere could make him stop, And bound vpon Parnassus' by-clift top. 40 I scornd your ballet then though it were done And had for Finis, William Elderton. But soft, in sporting with this childish iest, I from my subiect haue too long digrest, Then to the matter that we tooke in hand, Ioue and Apollo for the Muses stand. Then noble Chaucer, in those former times, The first inrich'd our English with his rimes, And was the first of ours, that euer brake, Into the Muses treasure, and first spake 50 In weighty numbers, deluing in the Mine Of perfect knowledge, which he could refine, And coyne for currant, and as much as then The English language could expresse to men, He made it doe; and by his wondrous skill, Gaue vs much light from his abundant quill. And honest Gower, who in respect of him, Had only sipt at Aganippas brimme, And though in yeares this last was him before, Yet fell he far short of the others store. 60 When after those, foure ages very neare, They with the Muses which conuersed, were That Princely Surrey, early in the time Of the Eight Henry, who was then the prime Of Englands noble youth; with him there came Wyat; with reuerence whom we still doe name Amongst our Poets, Brian had a share With the two former, which accompted are That times best makers, and the authors were Of those small poems, which the title beare, 70 Of songs and sonnets, wherein oft they hit On many dainty passages of wit. Gascoine and Churchyard after them againe In the beginning of Eliza's raine, Accoumpted were great Meterers many a day, But not inspired with braue fier, had they Liu'd but a little longer, they had seene, Their works before them to have buried beene. Graue morrall Spencer after these came on Then whom I am perswaded there was none 80 Since the blind Bard his Iliads vp did make, Fitter a taske like that to vndertake, To set downe boldly, brauely to inuent, In all high knowledge, surely excellent. The noble Sidney with this last arose, That Heroe for numbers, and for Prose. That throughly pac'd our language as to show, The plenteous English hand in hand might goe With Greek or Latine, and did first reduce Our tongue from Lillies writing then in vse; 90 Talking of Stones, Stars, Plants, of fishes, Flyes, Playing with words, and idle Similies, As th' English, Apes and very Zanies be, Of euery thing, that they doe heare and see, So imitating his ridiculous tricks, They spake and writ, all like meere lunatiques. Then Warner though his lines were not so trim'd, Nor yet his Poem so exactly lim'd And neatly ioynted, but the Criticke may Easily reprooue him, yet thus let me say; 100 For my old friend, some passages there be In him, which I protest haue taken me, With almost wonder, so fine, cleere, and new As yet they haue bin equalled by few. Neat Marlow bathed in the Thespian springs Had in him those braue translunary things, That the first Poets had, his raptures were, All ayre, and fire, which made his verses cleere, For that fine madnes still he did retaine, Which rightly should possesse a Poets braine. 110 And surely Nashe, though he a Proser were A branch of Lawrell yet deserues to beare, Sharply Satirick was he, and that way He went, since that his being, to this day Few haue attempted, and I surely thinke Those wordes shall hardly be set downe with inke; Shall scorch and blast, so as his could, where he, Would inflict vengeance, and be it said of thee, Shakespeare, thou hadst as smooth a Comicke vaine, Fitting the socke, and in thy naturall braine, 120 As strong conception, and as Cleere a rage, As any one that trafiqu'd with the stage. Amongst these Samuel Daniel, whom if I May spake of, but to sensure doe denie, Onely haue heard some wisemen him rehearse, To be too much Historian in verse; His rimes were smooth, his meeters well did close But yet his maner better fitted prose: Next these, learn'd Johnson, in this List I bring, Who had drunke deepe of the Pierian spring, 130 Whose knowledge did him worthily prefer, And long was Lord here of the Theater, Who in opinion made our learn'st to sticke, Whether in Poems rightly dramatique, Strong Seneca or Plautus, he or they, Should beare the Buskin, or the Socke away. Others againe here liued in my dayes, That haue of vs deserued no lesse praise For their translations, then the daintiest wit That on Parnassus thinks, he highst doth sit, 140 And for a chaire may mongst the Muses call, As the most curious maker of them all; As reuerent Chapman, who hath brought to vs, Musaeus, Homer and Hesiodus Out of the Greeke; and by his skill hath reard Them to that height, and to our tongue endear'd, That were those Poets at this day aliue, To see their bookes thus with vs to suruiue, They would think, hauing neglected them so long, They had bin written in the English tongue. 150 And Siluester who from the French more weake, Made Bartas of his sixe dayes labour speake In naturall English, who, had he there stayd, He had done well, and neuer had bewraid His owne inuention, to haue bin so poore Who still wrote lesse, in striuing to write more. Then dainty Sands that hath to English done, Smooth sliding Ouid, and hath made him run With so much sweetnesse and vnusuall grace, As though the neatnesse of the English pace, 160 Should tell the Ietting Lattine that it came But slowly after, as though stiff and lame. So Scotland sent vs hither, for our owne That man, whose name I euer would haue knowne, To stand by mine, that most ingenious knight, My Alexander, to whom in his right, I want extreamely, yet in speaking thus I doe but shew the loue, that was twixt vs, And not his numbers which were braue and hie, So like his mind, was his clear Poesie, 170 And my deare Drummond to whom much I owe For his much loue, and proud I was to know, His poesie, for which two worthy men, I Menstry still shall loue, and Hauthorne-den. Then the two Beamounts and my Browne arose, My deare companions whom I freely chose My bosome friends; and in their seuerall wayes, Rightly borne Poets, and in these last dayes, Men of much note, and no lesse nobler parts, Such as haue freely tould to me their hearts, 180 As I have mine to them; but if you shall Say in your knowledge, that these be not all Haue writ in numbers, be inform'd that I Only my selfe, to these few men doe tye, Whose works oft printed, set on euery post, To publique censure subiect haue bin most; For such whose poems, be they nere so rare, In priuate chambers, that incloistered are, And by transcription daintyly must goe; As though the world vnworthy were to know, 190 Their rich composures, let those men that keepe These wonderous reliques in their iudgement deepe; And cry them vp so, let such Peeces bee Spoke of by those that shall come after me, I passe not for them: nor doe meane to run, In quest of these, that them applause haue wonne, Vpon our Stages in these latter dayes, That are so many, let them haue their bayes That doe deserue it; let those wits that haunt Those publique circuits, let them freely chaunt 200 Their fine Composures, and their praise pursue And so my deare friend, for this time adue.

Vpon the death of his incomparable friend Sir HENRY RAYNSFORD of CLIFFORD

Could there be words found to expresse my losse, There were some hope, that this my heauy crosse Might be sustained, and that wretched I Might once finde comfort: but to haue him die Past all degrees that was so deare to me; As but comparing him with others, hee Was such a thing, as if some Power should say I'le take Man on me, to shew men the way What a friend should be. But words come so short Of him, that when I thus would him report, 10 I am vndone, and hauing nought to say, Mad at my selfe, I throwe my penne away, And beate my breast, that there should be a woe So high, that words cannot attaine thereto. T'is strange that I from my abundant breast, Who others sorrowes haue so well exprest: Yet I by this in little time am growne So poore, that I want to expresse mine owne. I thinke the Fates perceiuing me to beare My worldly crosses without wit or feare: 20 Nay, with what scorne I euer haue derided, Those plagues that for me they haue oft prouided, Drew them to counsaile; nay, conspired rather, And in this businesse laid their heads together To finde some one plague, that might me subuert, And at an instant breake my stubborne heart; They did indeede, and onely to this end They tooke from me this more then man, or friend. Hard-hearted Fates, your worst thus haue you done, Then let vs see what lastly you haue wonne 30 By this your rigour, in a course so strict, Why see, I beare all that you can inflict: And hee from heauen your poore reuenge to view; Laments my losse of him, but laughes at you, Whilst I against you execrations breath; Thus are you scorn'd aboue, and curst beneath. Me thinks that man (vnhappy though he be) Is now thrice happy in respect of me, Who hath no friend; for that in hauing none He is not stirr'd as I am, to bemone 40 My miserable losse, who but in vaine, May euer looke to find the like againe. This more then mine own selfe; that who had seene His care of me where euer I had beene, And had not knowne his actiue spirit before, Vpon some braue thing working euermore: He would haue sworne that to no other end He had been borne: but onely for my friend. I had been happy if nice Nature had (Since now my lucke falls out to be so bad) 50 Made me vnperfect, either of so soft And yeelding temper, that lamenting oft, I into teares my mournefull selfe might melt; Or else so dull, my losse not to haue felt. I haue by my too deare experience bought, That fooles and mad men, whom I euer thought The most vnhappy, are in deede not so: And therefore I lesse pittie can bestowe (Since that my sence, my sorrowe so can sound) On those in Bedlam that are bound, 60 And scarce feele scourging; and when as I meete A foole by Children followed in the Streete, Thinke I (poor wretch) thou from my griefe art free, Nor couldst thou feele it, should it light on thee; But that I am a Christian, and am taught By him who with his precious bloud me bought, Meekly like him my crosses to endure, Else would they please me well, that for their cure, When as they feele their conscience doth them brand, Vpon themselues dare lay a violent hand; 70 Not suffering Fortune with her murdering knife, Stand like a Surgeon working on the life, Deserting this part, that ioynt off to cut, Shewing that Artire, ripping then that gut, Whilst the dull beastly World with her squint eye, Is to behold the strange Anatomie. I am persuaded that those which we read To be man-haters, were not so indeed, The Athenian Timon, and beside him more Of which the Latines, as the Greekes haue store; 80 Nor not did they all humane manners hate, Nor yet maligne mans dignity and state. But finding our fraile life how euery day, It like a bubble vanisheth away: For this condition did mankinde detest, Farre more incertaine then that of the beast. Sure heauen doth hate this world and deadly too, Else as it hath done it would neuer doe, For if it did not, it would ne're permit A man of so much vertue, knowledge, wit, 90 Of naturall goodnesse, supernaturall grace, Whose courses when considerately I trace Into their ends, and diligently looke, They serue me for Oeconomike booke. By which this rough world I not onely stemme, In goodnesse but grow learn'd by reading them. O pardon me, it my much sorrow is, Which makes me vse this long Parenthesis; Had heauen this world not hated as I say, In height of life it had not, tane away 100 A spirit so braue, so actiue, and so free, That such a one who would not wish to bee, Rather then weare a Crowne, by Armes though got, So fast a friend, so true a Patriot. In things concerning both the worlds so wise, Besides so liberall of his faculties, That where he would his industrie bestowe, He would haue done, e're one could think to doe. No more talke of the working of the Starres, For plenty, scarcenesse, or for peace, or Warres: 110 They are impostures, therefore get you hence With all your Planets, and their influence. No more doe I care into them to looke, Then in some idle Chiromantick booke, Shewing the line of life, and Venus mount, Nor yet no more would I of them account, Then what that tells me, since what that so ere Might promise man long life: of care and feare, By nature freed, a conscience cleare, and quiet, His health, his constitution, and his diet; 120 Counting a hundred, fourscore at the least, Propt vp by prayers, yet more to be encreast, All these should faile, and in his fiftieth yeare He should expire, henceforth let none be deare, To me at all, lest for my haplesse sake, Before their time heauen from the world them take, And leaue me wretched to lament their ends As I doe his, who was a thousand friends.

Vpon the death of the Lady OLIVE STANHOPE

Canst thou depart and be forgotten so, STANHOPE thou canst not, no deare STANHOPE, no: But in despight of death the world shall see, That Muse which so much graced was by thee Can black Obliuion vtterly out-braue, And set thee vp aboue thy silent Graue. I meruail'd much the Derbian Nimphes were dumbe, Or of those Muses, what should be become, That of all those, the mountaines there among, Not one this while thy Epicediumsung; 10 But so it is, when they of thee were reft, They all those hills, and all those Riuers left, And sullen growne, their former seates remoue, Both from cleare Darwin, and from siluer Doue, And for thy losse, they greeued are so sore, That they haue vow'd they will come there no more; But leaue thy losse to me, that I should rue thee, Vnhappy man, and yet I neuer knew thee: Me thou didst loue vnseene, so did I thee, It was our spirits that lou'd then and not wee; 20 Therefore without profanenesse I may call The loue betwixt vs, loue spirituall: But that which thou affectedst was so true, As that thereby thee perfectly I knew; And now that spirit, which thou so lou'dst, still mine, Shall offer this a Sacrifice to thine, And reare this Trophe, which for thee shall last, When this most beastly Iron age is past; I am perswaded, whilst we two haue slept, Our soules haue met, and to each other wept, 30 That destenie so strongly should forbid, Our bodies to conuerse as oft they did: For certainly refined spirits doe know, As doe the Angels, and doe here belowe Take the fruition of that endlesse blisse, As those aboue doe, and what each one is. They see diuinely, and as those there doe, They know each others wills, so soules can too. About that dismall time, thy spirit hence flew, Mine much was troubled, but why, I not knew, 40 In dull and sleepy sounds, it often left me, As of it selfe it ment to haue bereft me, I asked it what the cause was, of such woe, Or what it might be, that might vexe it so, But it was deafe, nor my demand would here, But when that ill newes came, to touch mine eare, I straightwayes found this watchfull sperit of mine, Troubled had bin to take it leaue of thine, For when fate found, what nature late had done, How much from heauen, she for the earth had won 50 By thy deare birth; said, that it could not be In so yong yeares, what it perceiu'd in thee, But nature sure, had fram'd thee long before; And as Rich Misers of their mighty store, Keepe the most precious longst, so from times past, She onely had reserued thee till the last; So did thy wisedome, not thy youth behold, And tooke thee hence, in thinking thou wast old. Thy shape and beauty often haue to me Bin highly praysed, which I thought might be, 60 Truely reported, for a spirit so braue, Which heauen to thee so bountifully gaue; Nature could not in recompence againe, In some rich lodging but to entertaine. Let not the world report then, that the Peake, Is but a rude place only vast and bleake; And nothing hath to boast of but her Lead, When she can say that happily she bred Thee, and when she shall of her wonders tell Wherein she doth all other Tracts excell, 70 Let her account thee greatst, and still to time Of all the rest, accord thee for the prime.

To Master WILLIAM IEFFREYS, Chaplaine to the Lord Ambassadour in Spaine

My noble friend, you challenge me to write To you in verse, and often you recite, My promise to you, and to send you newes; As 'tis a thing I very seldome vse, And I must write of State, if to Madrid, A thing our Proclamations here forbid, And that word State such Latitude doth beare, As it may make me very well to feare To write, nay speake at all, these let you know Your power on me, yet not that I will showe 10 The loue I beare you, in that lofty height, So cleere expression, or such words of weight, As into Spanish if they were translated, Might make the Poets of that Realme amated; Yet these my least were, but that you extort These numbers from me, when I should report In home-spunne prose, in good plaine honest words The newes our wofull England vs affords. The Muses here sit sad, and mute the while A sort of swine vnseasonably defile 20 Those sacred springs, which from the by-clift hill Dropt their pure Nectar into euery quill; In this with State, I hope I doe not deale, This onely tends the Muses common-weale. What canst thou hope, or looke for from his pen, Who liues with beasts, though in the shapes of men, And what a poore few are we honest still, And dare to be so, when all the world is ill. I finde this age of our markt with this Fate, That honest men are still precipitate 30 Vnder base villaines, which till th' earth can vent This her last brood, and wholly hath them spent, Shall be so, then in reuolution shall Vertue againe arise by vices fall; But that shall I not see, neither will I Maintaine this, as one doth a Prophesie, That our King Iames to Rome shall surely goe, And from his chaire the Pope shall ouerthrow. But O this world is so giuen vp to hell, That as the old Giants, which did once rebell, 40 Against the Gods, so this now-liuing race Dare sin, yet stand, and Ieere heauen in the face. But soft my Muse, and make a little stay, Surely thou art not rightly in thy way, To my good Ieffrayes was not I about To write, and see, I suddainely am out, This is pure Satire, that thou speak'st, and I Was first in hand to write an Elegie. To tell my countreys shame I not delight. But doe bemoane 't I am no Democrite: 50 O God, though Vertue mightily doe grieue For all this world, yet will I not beleeue But that shees faire and louely, and that she So to the period of the world shall be; Else had she beene forsaken (sure) of all, For that so many sundry mischiefes fall Vpon her dayly, and so many take Armes vp against her, as it well might make Her to forsake her nature, and behind, To leaue no step for future time to find, 60 As she had neuer beene, for he that now Can doe her most disgrace, him they alow The times chiefe Champion, and he is the man, The prize, and Palme that absolutely wanne, For where Kings Clossets her free seat hath bin She neere the Lodge, not suffered is to Inne, For ignorance against her stands in state, Like some great porter at a Pallace gate; So dull and barbarous lately are we growne, And there are some this slauery that haue sowne, 70 That for mans knowledge it enough doth make, If he can learne, to read an Almanacke; By whom that trash of Amadis de Gaule, Is held an author most authenticall, And things we haue like Noblemen that be In little time, which I haue hope to see Vpon their foot-clothes, as the streets they ride To haue their hornebookes at their girdles ti'd. But all their superfluity of spite On vertues hand-maid Poesy doth light, 80 And to extirpe her all their plots they lay, But to her ruine they shall misse the way, For his alone the Monuments of wit, Aboue the rage of Tyrants that doe sit, And from their strength, not one himselfe can saue, But they shall tryumph o'r his hated graue. In my conceipt, friend, thou didst neuer see A righter Madman then thou hast of me, For now as Elegiack I bewaile These poor base times; then suddainely I raile 90 And am Satirick, not that I inforce My selfe to be so, but euen as remorse, Or hate, in the proud fulnesse of their hight Master my fancy, iust so doe I write. But gentle friend as soone shall I behold That stone of which so many haue vs tould, (Yet neuer any to this day could make) The great Elixar or to vndertake The Rose-crosse knowledge which is much like that A Tarrying-iron for fooles to labour at, 100 As euer after I may hope to see, (A plague vpon this beastly world for me,) Wit so respected as it was of yore; And if hereafter any it restore, It must be those that yet for many a yeare, Shall be vnborne that must inhabit here, And such in vertue as shall be asham'd Almost to heare their ignorant Grandsires nam'd, With whom so many noble spirits then liu'd, That were by them of all reward depriu'd. 110 My noble friend, I would I might haue quit This age of these, and that I might haue writ, Before all other, how much the braue pen, Had here bin honoured of the English men; Goodnesse and knowledge, held by them in prise, How hatefull to them Ignorance and vice; But it falls out the contrary is true, And so my Ieffreyes for this time adue.

Vpon the death of Mistris ELIANOR FALLOWFIELD

Accursed Death, what neede was there at all Of thee, or who to councell thee did call; The subiect whereupon these lines I spend For thee was most vnfit, her timelesse end Too soone thou wroughtst, too neere her thou didst stand; Thou shouldst haue lent thy leane and meager hand To those who oft the help thereof beseech, And can be cured by no other Leech. In this wide world how many thousands be, That hauing past fourescore, doe call for thee. 10 The wretched debtor in the Iayle that lies, Yet cannot this his Creditor suffice Doth woe thee oft with many a sigh and teare, Yet thou art coy, and him thou wilt not heare. The Captiue slaue that tuggeth at the Oares, And vnderneath the Bulls tough sinewes rores, Begs at thy hand, in lieu of all his paines, That thou wouldst but release him of his chaines; Yet thou a niggard listenest not thereto, With one short gaspe which thou mightst easily do, 20 But thou couldst come to her ere there was neede, And euen at once destroy both flower and seede. But cruell Death if thou so barbarous be, To those so goodly, and so young as shee; That in their teeming thou wilt shew thy spight; Either from marriage thou wilt Maides affright, Or in their wedlock, Widowes liues to chuse Their Husbands bed, and vtterly refuse, Fearing conception; so shalt thou thereby Extirpate mankinde by thy cruelty. 30 If after direfull Tragedy thou thirst, Extinguish Himens Torches at the first; Build Funerall pyles, and the sad pauement strewe, With mournfull Cypresse, and the pale-leau'd Yewe. Away with Roses, Myrtle, and with Bayes; Ensignes of mirth, and iollity, as these; Neuer at Nuptials vsed be againe, But from the Church the new Bride entertaine With weeping Nenias, euer and among, As at departings be sad Requiems song. 40 Lucina by th' olde Poets that wert sayd, Women in Childe-birth euermore to ayde, Because thine Altars, long haue layne neglected: Nor as they should, thy holy fiers reflected Vpon thy Temples, therefore thou doest flye, And wilt not helpe them in necessitie. Thinking vpon thee, I doe often muse, Whether for thy deare sake I should accuse Nature or Fortune, Fortune then I blame, And doe impute it as her greatest shame, 50 To hast thy timelesse end, and soone agen I vexe at Nature, nay I curse her then, That at the time of need she was no stronger, That we by her might haue enioy'd thee longer. But whilst of these I with my selfe debate, I call to minde how flinty-hearted Fate Seaseth the olde, the young, the faire, the foule, No thing on earth can Destinie controule: But yet that Fate which hath of life bereft thee, Still to eternall memory hath left thee, 60 Which thou enioy'st by the deserued breath, That many a great one hath not after death.



NIMPHIDIA

THE COVRT OF FAYRIE

Olde CHAVCER doth of Topas tell, Mad RABLAIS of Pantagruell, A latter third of Dowsabell, With such poore trifles playing: Others the like haue laboured at Some of this thing, and some of that, And many of they know not what, But that they must be saying.

Another sort there bee, that will Be talking of the Fayries still, 10 Nor neuer can they have their fill, As they were wedded to them; No Tales of them their thirst can slake, So much delight therein they take, And some strange thing they fame would make, Knew they the way to doe them.

Then since no Muse hath bin so bold, Or of the Later, or the ould, Those Eluish secrets to vnfold, Which lye from others reading, 20 My actiue Muse to light shall bring, The court of that proud Fayry King, And tell there, of the Reuelling, Ioue prosper my proceeding.

And thou NIMPHIDIA gentle Fay, Which meeting me vpon the way, These secrets didst to me bewray, Which now I am in telling: My pretty light fantastick mayde, I here inuoke thee to my ayde, 30 That I may speake what thou hast sayd, In numbers smoothly swelling.

This Pallace standeth in the Ayre, By Nigromancie placed there, That it no Tempests needs to feare, Which way so ere it blow it. And somewhat Southward tow'rd the Noone, Whence lyes a way vp to the Moone, And thence the Fayrie can as soone Passe to the earth below it. 40

The Walls of Spiders legs are made, Well mortized and finely layd, He was the master of his Trade It curiously that builded: The Windowes of the eyes of Cats, And for the Roofe, instead of Slats, Is couer'd with the skinns of Batts, With Mooneshine that are guilded.

Hence Oberon him sport to make, (Their rest when weary mortalls take) 50 And none but onely Fayries wake, Desendeth for his pleasure. And Mab his meerry Queene by night Bestrids young Folks that lye vpright, (In elder Times the Mare that hight) Which plagues them out of measure.

Hence Shaddowes, seeming Idle shapes, Of little frisking Elues and Apes, To Earth doe make their wanton skapes, As hope of pastime hasts them: 60 Which maydes think on the Hearth they see, When Fyers well nere consumed be, Their daunsing Hayes by two and three, Iust as their Fancy casts them.

These make our Girles their sluttery rue, By pinching them both blacke and blew, And put a penny in their shue, The house for cleanely sweeping: And in their courses make that Round, In Meadowes, and in Marshes found, 70 Of them so call'd the Fayrie ground, Of which they haue the keeping.

Thus when a Childe haps to be gott, Which after prooues an Ideott, When Folke perceiue it thriueth not, The fault therein to smother: Some silly doting brainlesse Calfe, That vnderstands things by the halfe, Say that the Fayrie left this Aulfe, And tooke away the other. 80

But listen and I shall you tell, A chance in Fayrie that befell, Which certainly may please some well; In Loue and Armes delighting: Of Oberon that Iealous grewe, Of one of his owne Fayrie crue, Too well (he fear'd) his Queene that knew, His loue but ill requiting.

Pigwiggen was this Fayrie knight, One wondrous gratious in the sight 90 Of faire Queene Mab, which day and night, He amorously obserued; Which made king Oberon suspect, His Seruice tooke too good effect, His saucinesse, and often checkt, And could have wisht him starued.

Pigwiggen gladly would commend, Some token to queene Mab to send, If Sea, or Land, him ought could lend, Were worthy of her wearing: 100 At length this Louer doth deuise, A Bracelett made of Emmotts eyes, A thing he thought that shee would prize, No whitt her state impayring.

And to the Queene a Letter writes, Which he most curiously endites, Coniuring her by all the rites Of loue, she would be pleased, To meete him her true Seruant, where They might without suspect or feare, 110 Themselues to one another cleare, And haue their poore hearts eased.

At mid-night the appointed hower, And for the Queene a fitting bower, (Quoth he) is that faire Cowslip flower, On Hipcut hill that groweth, In all your Trayne there's not a Fay, That euer went to gather May, But she hath made it in her way, The tallest there that groweth. 120

When by Tom Thum a Fayrie Page, He sent it, and doth him engage, By promise of a mighty wage, It secretly to carrie: Which done, the Queene her maydes doth call, And bids them to be ready all, She would goe see her Summer Hall, She could no longer tarrie.

Her Chariot ready straight is made, Each thing therein is fitting layde, 130 That she by nothing might be stayde, For naught must be her letting, Foure nimble Gnats the Horses were, Their Harnasses of Gossamere, Flye Cranion her Chariottere, Vpon the Coach-box getting.

Her Chariot of a Snayles fine shell, Which for the colours did excell: The faire Queene Mab, becomming well, So liuely was the limming: 140 The seate the soft wooll of the Bee; The couer, (gallantly to see) The wing of a pyde Butterflee, I trowe t'was simple trimming.

The wheeles compos'd of Crickets bones, And daintily made for the nonce, For feare of ratling on the stones, With Thistle-downe they shod it; For all her Maydens much did feare, If Oberon had chanc'd to heare, 150 That Mab his Queene should haue bin there, He would not haue aboad it.

She mounts her Chariot with a trice, Nor would she stay for no advice, Vntill her Maydes that were so nice, To wayte on her were fitted, But ranne her selfe away alone; Which when they heard there was not one, But hasted after to be gone, As she had beene diswitted. 160

Hop, and Mop, and Drop so cleare, Pip, and Trip, and Skip that were, To Mab their Soueraigne euer deare: Her speciall Maydes of Honour; Fib, and Tib, and Pinck, and Pin, Tick, and Quick, and Iill, and Iin, Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win, The Trayne that wayte vpon her.

Vpon a Grashopper they got, And what with Amble, and with Trot, 170 For hedge nor ditch they spared not, But after her they hie them. A Cobweb ouer them they throw, To shield the winde if it should blowe, Themselues they wisely could bestowe, Lest any should espie them.

But let vs leaue Queene Mab a while, Through many a gate, o'r many a stile, That now had gotten by this wile, Her deare Pigwiggin kissing, 180 And tell how Oberon doth fare, Who grew as mad as any Hare, When he had sought each place with care, And found his Queene was missing.

By grisly Pluto he doth sweare, He rent his cloths, and tore his haire, And as he runneth, here and there, An Acorne cup he greeteth; Which soone he taketh by the stalke About his head he lets it walke, 190 Nor doth he any creature balke, But lays on all he meeteth.

The Thuskan Poet doth aduance, The franticke Paladine of France, And those more ancient doe inhaunce, Alcides in his fury. And others Aiax Telamon, But to this time there hath bin non, So Bedlam as our Oberon, Of which I dare assure you. 200

And first encountring with a waspe, He in his armes the Fly doth claspe As though his breath he forth would graspe, Him for Pigwiggen taking: Where is my wife thou Rogue, quoth he, Pigwiggen, she is come to thee, Restore her, or thou dy'st by me, Whereat the poore waspe quaking,

Cryes, Oberon, great Fayrie King, Content thee I am no such thing, 210 I am a Waspe behold my sting, At which the Fayrie started: When soone away the Waspe doth goe, Poore wretch was neuer frighted so, He thought his wings were much to slow, O'rioyd, they so were parted.

He next vpon a Glow-worme light, (You must suppose it now was night), Which for her hinder part was bright, He tooke to be a Deuill. 220 And furiously doth her assaile For carrying fier in her taile He thrasht her rough coat with his flayle, The mad King fear'd no euill.

O quoth the Gloworme hold thy hand, Thou puisant King of Fayrie land, Thy mighty stroaks who may withstand, Hould, or of life despaire I: Together then her selfe doth roule, And tumbling downe into a hole, 230 She seem'd as black as any Cole, Which vext away the Fayrie.

From thence he ran into a Hiue, Amongst the Bees he letteth driue And downe their Coombes begins to riue, All likely to haue spoyled: Which with their Waxe his face besmeard, And with their Honey daub'd his Beard It would haue made a man afeard, To see how he was moyled. 240

A new Aduenture him betides, He mett an Ant, which he bestrides, And post thereon away he rides, Which with his haste doth stumble; And came full ouer on her snowte, Her heels so threw the dirt about, For she by no meanes could get out, But ouer him doth tumble.

And being in this piteous case, And all be-slurried head and face, 250 On runs he in this Wild-goose chase As here, and there, he rambles Halfe blinde, against a molehill hit, And for a Mountaine taking it, For all he was out of his wit, Yet to the top he scrambles.

And being gotten to the top, Yet there himselfe he could not stop, But downe on th' other side doth chop, And to the foot came rumbling: 260 So that the Grubs therein that bred, Hearing such turmoyle ouer head, Thought surely they had all bin dead, So fearefull was the Iumbling.

And falling downe into a Lake, Which him vp to the neck doth take, His fury somewhat it doth slake, He calleth for a Ferry; Where you may some recouery note, What was his Club he made his Boate, 270 And in his Oaken Cup doth float, As safe as in a Wherry.

Men talke of the Aduentures strange, Of Don Quishott, and of their change Through which he Armed oft did range, Of Sancha Panchas trauell: But should a man tell euery thing, Done by this franticke Fayrie king. And them in lofty numbers sing It well his wits might grauell. 280

Scarse set on shore, but therewithall, He meeteth Pucke, which most men call Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall, With words from frenzy spoken; Hoh, hoh, quoth Hob, God saue thy grace, Who drest thee in this pitteous case, He thus that spoild my soueraignes face, I would his necke were broken.

This Puck seemes but a dreaming dolt, Still walking like a ragged Colt, 290 And oft out of a Bush doth bolt, Of purpose to deceiue vs. And leading vs makes vs to stray, Long Winters nights out of the way, And when we stick in mire and clay, Hob doth with laughter leaue vs.

Deare Puck (quoth he) my wife is gone As ere thou lou'st King Oberon, Let euery thing but this alone With vengeance, and pursue her; 300 Bring her to me aliue or dead, Or that vilde thief, Pigwiggins head, That villaine hath defil'd my bed He to this folly drew her.

Quoth Puck, My Liege Ile neuer lin, But I will thorough thicke and thinne, Vntill at length I bring her in, My dearest Lord nere doubt it: Thorough Brake, thorough Brier, Thorough Muck, thorough Mier, 310 Thorough Water, thorough Fier, And thus goes Puck about it.

This thing Nimphidia ouer hard That on this mad King had a guard Not doubting of a great reward, For first this businesse broching; And through the ayre away doth goe Swift as an Arrow from the Bowe, To let her Soueraigne Mab to know, What perill was approaching. 320

The Queene bound with Loues powerfulst charme Sate with Pigwiggen arme in arme, Her Merry Maydes that thought no harme, About the roome were skipping: A Humble-Bee their Minstrell, playde Vpon his Hoboy; eu'ry Mayde Fit for this Reuells was arayde, The Hornepype neatly tripping.

In comes Nimphidia, and doth crie, My Soueraigne for your safety flie, 330 For there is danger but too nie, I posted to forewarne you: The King hath sent Hobgoblin out, To seeke you all the Fields about, And of your safety you may doubt, If he but once discerne you.

When like an vprore in a Towne, Before them euery thing went downe, Some tore a Ruffe, and some a Gowne, Gainst one another iustling: 340 They flewe about like Chaffe i' th winde, For hast some left their Maskes behinde; Some could not stay their Gloues to finde, There neuer was such bustling.

Forth ranne they by a secret way, Into a brake that neere them lay; Yet much they doubted there to stay, Lest Hob should hap to find them: He had a sharpe and piercing sight, All one to him the day and night, 350 And therefore were resolu'd by flight, To leave this place behind them.

At length one chanc'd to find a Nut, In th' end of which a hole was cut, Which lay vpon a Hazell roote, There scatt'red by a Squirill: Which out the kernell gotten had; When quoth this Fay deare Queene be glad, Let Oberon be ne'r so mad, Ile set you safe from perill. 360

Come all into this Nut (quoth she) Come closely in be rul'd by me, Each one may here a chuser be, For roome yee need not wrastle: Nor neede yee be together heapt; So one by one therein they crept, And lying downe they soundly slept, And safe as in a Castle.

Nimphidia that this while doth watch, Perceiu'd if Puck the Queene should catch 370 That he should be her ouer-match, Of which she well bethought her; Found it must be some powerfull Charme, The Queene against him that must arme, Or surely he would doe her harme, For throughly he had sought her.

And listning if she ought could heare, That her might hinder, or might feare: But finding still the coast was cleare, Nor creature had discride her; 380 Each circumstance and hauing scand, She came thereby to vnderstand, Puck would be with them out of hand When to her Charmes she hide her:

And first her Ferne seede doth bestowe, The kernell of the Missletowe: And here and there as Puck should goe, With terrour to affright him: She Night-shade strawes to work him ill, Therewith her Veruayne and her Dill, 390 That hindreth Witches of their will, Of purpose to dispight him.

Then sprinkles she the iuice of Rue, That groweth vnderneath the Yeu: With nine drops of the midnight dewe, From Lunarie distilling: The Molewarps braine mixt therewithall; And with the same the Pismyres gall, For she in nothing short would fall; The Fayrie was so willing. 400

Then thrice vnder a Bryer doth creepe, Which at both ends was rooted deepe, And ouer it three times shee leepe; Her Magicke much auayling: Then on Proserpyna doth call, And so vpon her spell doth fall, Which here to you repeate I shall, Not in one tittle fayling.

By the croking of the Frogge; By the howling of the Dogge; 410 By the crying of the Hogge, Against the storme arising; By the Euening Curphewe bell; By the dolefull dying knell, O let this my direfull Spell, Hob, hinder thy surprising.

By the Mandrakes dreadfull groanes; By the Lubricans sad moans; By the noyse of dead mens bones, In Charnell houses ratling: 420 By the hissing of the Snake, The rustling of the fire-Drake, I charge thee thou this place forsake, Nor of Queene Mab be pratling.

By the Whirlwindes hollow sound, By the Thunders dreadfull stound, Yells of Spirits vnder ground, I chardge thee not to feare vs: By the Shreech-owles dismall note, By the Blacke Night-Rauens throate, 430 I charge thee Hob to teare thy Coate With thornes if thou come neere vs,

Her Spell thus spoke she stept aside, And in a Chincke her selfe doth hide, To see there of what would betyde, For shee doth onely minde him: When presently shee Puck espies, And well she markt his gloating eyes, How vnder euery leafe he spies, In seeking still to finde them. 440

But once the Circle got within, The Charmes to worke doe straight begin, And he was caught as in a Gin; For as he thus was busie, A paine he in his Head-peece feeles, Against a stubbed Tree he reeles, And vp went poore Hobgoblins heeles, Alas his braine was dizzie.

At length vpon his feete he gets, Hobgoblin fumes, Hobgoblin frets, 450 And as againe he forward sets, And through the Bushes scrambles; A Stump doth trip him in his pace, Down comes poore Hob vpon his face, And lamentably tore his case, Amongst the Bryers and Brambles.

A plague vpon Queene Mab, quoth hee, And all her Maydes where ere they be, I thinke the Deuill guided me, To seeke her so prouoked. 460 Where stumbling at a piece of Wood, He fell into a dich of mudd, Where to the very Chin he stood, In danger to be choked.

Now worse than e're he was before: Poore Puck doth yell, poore Puck doth rore; That wak'd Queene Mab who doubted sore Some Treason had been wrought her: Vntill Nimphidia told the Queene What she had done, what she had seene, 470 Who then had well-neere crack'd her spleene With very extreame laughter.

But leaue we Hob to clamber out: Queene Mab and all her Fayrie rout, And come againe to haue about With Oberon yet madding: And with Pigwiggen now distrought, Who much was troubled in his thought, That he so long the Queene had sought, And through the Fields was gadding. 480

And as he runnes he still doth crie, King Oberon I thee defie, And dare thee here in Armes to trie, For my deare Ladies honour: For that she is a Queene right good, In whose defence Ile shed my blood, And that thou in this iealous mood Hast lay'd this slander on her.

And quickly Armes him for the Field, A little Cockle-shell his Shield, 490 Which he could very brauely wield: Yet could it not be pierced: His Speare a Bent both stiffe and strong, And well-neere of two Inches long; The Pyle was of a Horse-flyes tongue, Whose sharpnesse nought reuersed.

And puts him on a coate of Male, Which was of a Fishes scale, That when his Foe should him assaile, No poynt should be preuayling: 500 His Rapier was a Hornets sting, It was a very dangerous thing: For if he chanc'd to hurt the King, It would be long in healing.

His Helmet was a Bettles head, Most horrible and full of dread, That able was to strike one dead, Yet did it well become him: And for a plume, a horses hayre, Which being tossed with the ayre, 510 Had force to strike his Foe with feare, And turne his weapon from him.

Himselfe he on an Earewig set, Yet scarce he on his back could get, So oft and high he did coruet, Ere he himselfe could settle: He made him turne, and stop, and bound, To gallop, and to trot the Round, He scarce could stand on any ground, He was so full of mettle. 520

When soone he met with Tomalin, One that a valiant Knight had bin, And to King Oberon of kin; Quoth he thou manly Fayrie: Tell Oberon I come prepar'd, Then bid him stand vpon his Guard; This hand his basenesse shall reward, Let him be ne'r so wary.

Say to him thus, that I defie, His slanders, and his infamie, 530 And as a mortall enemie, Doe publickly proclaime him: Withall, that if I had mine owne, He should not weare the Fayrie Crowne, But with a vengeance should come downe: Nor we a King should name him.

This Tomalin could not abide, To heare his Soueraigne vilefide: But to the Fayrie Court him hide; Full furiously he posted, 540 With eu'ry thing Pigwiggen sayd: How title to the Crowne he layd, And in what Armes he was aray'd, As how himselfe he boasted.

Twixt head and foot, from point to point, He told th'arming of each ioint, In every piece, how neate, and quaint, For Tomalin could doe it: How fayre he sat, how sure he rid, As of the courser he bestrid, 550 How Mannag'd, and how well he did; The King which listened to it,

Quoth he, goe Tomalin with speede, Prouide me Armes, prouide my Steed, And euery thing that I shall neede, By thee I will be guided; To strait account, call thou thy witt, See there be wanting not a whitt, In euery thing see thou me fitt, Just as my foes prouided. 560

Soone flewe this newes through Fayrie land Which gaue Queene Mab to vnderstand, The combate that was then in hand, Betwixt those men so mighty: Which greatly she began to rew, Perceuing that all Fayrie knew, The first occasion from her grew, Of these affaires so weighty.

Wherefore attended with her maides, Through fogs, and mists, and dampes she wades, 570 To Proserpine the Queene of shades To treat, that it would please her, The cause into her hands to take, For ancient loue and friendships sake, And soone therof an end to make, Which of much care would ease her.

A While, there let we Mab alone, And come we to King Oberon, Who arm'd to meete his foe is gone, For Proud Pigwiggen crying: 580 Who sought the Fayrie King as fast, And had so well his iourneyes cast, That he arriued at the last, His puisant foe espying:

Stout Tomalin came with the King, Tom Thum doth on Pigwiggen bring, That perfect were in euery thing, To single fights belonging: And therefore they themselues ingage, To see them exercise their rage, 590 With faire and comely equipage, Not one the other wronging.

So like in armes, these champions were, As they had bin, a very paire, So that a man would almost sweare, That either, had bin either; Their furious steedes began to naye That they were heard a mighty way, Their staues vpon their rests they lay; Yet e'r they flew together, 600

Their Seconds minister an oath, Which was indifferent to them both, That on their Knightly faith, and troth, No magicke them supplyed; And sought them that they had no charmes, Wherewith to worke each others harmes, But came with simple open armes, To haue their causes tryed.

Together furiously they ran, That to the ground came horse and man, 610 The blood out of their Helmets span, So sharpe were their incounters; And though they to the earth were throwne, Yet quickly they regain'd their owne, Such nimblenesse was neuer showne, They were two Gallant Mounters.

When in a second Course againe, They forward came with might and mayne, Yet which had better of the twaine, The Seconds could not iudge yet; 620 Their shields were into pieces cleft, Their helmets from their heads were reft, And to defend them nothing left, These Champions would not budge yet.

Away from them their Staues they threw, Their cruell Swords they quickly drew, And freshly they the fight renew; They euery stroke redoubled: Which made Proserpina take heed, And make to them the greater speed, 630 For fear lest they too much should bleed, Which wondrously her troubled.

When to th' infernall Stix she goes, She takes the Fogs from thence that rose, And in a Bagge doth them enclose; When well she had them blended: She hyes her then to Lethe spring, A Bottell and thereof doth bring, Wherewith she meant to worke the thing, Which onely she intended. 640

Now Proserpine with Mab is gone Vnto the place where Oberon And proud Pigwiggen, one to one, Both to be slaine were likely: And there themselues they closely hide, Because they would not be espide; For Proserpine meant to decide The matter very quickly.

And suddainly vntyes the Poke, Which out of it sent such a smoke, 650 As ready was them all to choke, So greeuous was the pother; So that the Knights each other lost, And stood as still as any post, Tom Thum, nor Tomalin could boast Themselues of any other.

But when the mist gan somewhat cease, Proserpina commanded peace: And that a while they should release, Each other of their perill: 660 Which here (quoth she) I doe proclaime To all in dreadfull Plutos name, That as yee will eschewe his blame, You let me heare the quarrell,

But here your selues you must engage, Somewhat to coole your spleenish rage: Your greeuous thirst and to asswage, That first you drinke this liquor: Which shall your vnderstanding cleare, As plainely shall to you appeare; 670 Those things from me that you shall heare, Conceiuing much the quicker.

This Lethe water you must knowe, The memory destroyeth so, That of our weale, or of our woe, It all remembrance blotted; Of it nor can you euer thinke: For they no sooner tooke this drinke, But nought into their braines could sinke, Of what had them besotted. 680

King Oberon forgotten had, That he for iealousie ranne mad: But of his Queene was wondrous glad, And ask'd how they came thither: Pigwiggen likewise doth forget, That he Queene Mab had euer met; Or that they were so hard beset, When they were found together.

Nor neither of them both had thought, That e'r they had each other sought; 690 Much lesse that they a Combat fought, But such a dreame were lothing: Tom Thum had got a little sup, And Tomalin scarce kist the Cup, Yet had their braines so sure lockt vp, That they remembred nothing.

Queene Mab and her light Maydes the while, Amongst themselues doe closely smile, To see the King caught with this wile, With one another testing: 700 And to the Fayrie Court they went, With mickle ioy and merriment, Which thing was done with good intent, And thus I left them feasting.

FINIS.



THE QVEST OF CYNTHIA

What time the groues were clad in greene, The Fields drest all in flowers, And that the sleeke-hayred Nimphs were seene, To seeke them Summer Bowers.

Forth rou'd I by the sliding Rills, To finde where CYNTHIA sat, Whose name so often from the hills, The Ecchos wondred at.

When me vpon my Quest to bring, That pleasure might excell, 10 The Birds stroue which should sweetliest sing, The Flowers which sweet'st should smell.

Long wand'ring in the Woods (said I) Oh whether's CYNTHIA gone? When soone the Eccho doth reply, To my last word, goe on.

At length vpon a lofty Firre, It was my chance to finde, Where that deare name most due to her, Was caru'd vpon the rynde. 20

Which whilst with wonder I beheld, The Bees their hony brought, And vp the carued letters fild, As they with gould were wrought.

And neere that trees more spacious roote, Then looking on the ground, The shape of her most dainty foot, Imprinted there I found.

Which stuck there like a curious seale, As though it should forbid 30 Vs, wretched mortalls, to reueale, What vnder it was hid.

Besides the flowers which it had pres'd, Apeared to my vew, More fresh and louely than the rest, That in the meadowes grew:

The cleere drops in the steps that stood, Of that dilicious Girle, The Nimphes amongst their dainty food, Drunke for dissolued pearle. 40

The yeilding sand, where she had troad, Vntutcht yet with the winde, By the faire posture plainely show'd, Where I might Cynthia finde.

When on vpon my waylesse walke, As my desires me draw, I like a madman fell to talke, With euery thing I saw:

I ask'd some Lillyes why so white, They from their fellowes were; 50 Who answered me, that Cynthia's sight, Had made them looke so cleare:

I ask'd a nodding Violet why, It sadly hung the head, It told me Cynthia late past by, Too soone from it that fled:

A bed of Roses saw I there, Bewitching with their grace: Besides so wondrous sweete they were, That they perfum'd the place, 60

I of a Shrube of those enquir'd, From others of that kind, Who with such virtue them enspir'd, It answer'd (to my minde).

As the base Hemblocke were we such, The poysned'st weed that growes, Till Cynthia by her god-like tuch, Transform'd vs to the Rose:

Since when those Frosts that winter brings Which candy euery greene, 70 Renew vs like the Teeming Springs, And we thus Fresh are scene.

At length I on a Fountaine light, Whose brim with Pincks was platted; The Banck with Daffadillies dight, With grasse like Sleaue was matted,

When I demanded of that Well, What power frequented there; Desiring, it would please to tell What name it vsde to beare. 80

It tolde me it was Cynthias owne, Within whose cheerefull brimmes, That curious Nimph had oft beene knowne To bath her snowy Limmes.

Since when that Water had the power, Lost Mayden-heads to restore, And make one Twenty in an howre, Of Esons age before.

And told me that the bottome cleere, Now layd with many a fett 90 Of seed-pearle, ere shee bath'd her there: Was knowne as blacke as Jet,

As when she from the water came, Where first she touch'd the molde, In balls the people made the same For Pomander, and solde.

When chance me to an Arbour led, Whereas I might behold: Two blest Elizeums in one sted, The lesse the great enfold. 100

The place which she had chosen out, Her selfe in to repose; Had they com'n downe, the gods no doubt The very same had chose.

The wealthy Spring yet neuer bore That sweet, nor dainty flower That damask'd not, the chequer'd flore Of CYNTHIAS Summer Bower.

The Birch, the Mirtle, and the Bay, Like Friends did all embrace; 110 And their large branches did display, To Canapy the place.

Where she like VENVS doth appeare, Vpon a Rosie bed; As Lillyes the soft pillowes weare, Whereon she layd her head.

Heau'n on her shape such cost bestow'd, And with such bounties blest: No lim of hers but might haue made A Goddesse at the least. 120

The Flyes by chance mesht in her hayre, By the bright Radience throwne From her cleare eyes, rich Iewels weare, They so like Diamonds shone.

The meanest weede the soyle there bare, Her breath did so refine, That it with Woodbynd durst compare, And beard the Eglantine.

The dewe which on the tender grasse, The Euening had distill'd, 130 To pure Rose-water turned was, The shades with sweets that fill'd.

The windes were husht, no leafe so small At all was scene to stirre: Whilst tuning to the waters fall, The small Birds sang to her.

Where she too quickly me espies, When I might plainely see, A thousand Cupids from her eyes Shoote all at once at me. 140

Into these secret shades (quoth she) How dar'st thou be so bold To enter, consecrate to me, Or touch this hallowed mold.

Those words (quoth she) I can pronounce, Which to that shape can bring Thee, which the Hunter had who once Sawe Dian in the Spring.

Bright Nimph againe I thus replie, This cannot me affright: 150 I had rather in thy presence die, Then liue out of thy sight.

I first vpon the Mountaines hie, Built Altars to thy name; And grau'd it on the Rocks thereby, To propogate thy fame.

I taught the Shepheards on the Downes, Of thee to frame their Layes: T'was I that fill'd the neighbouring Townes, With Ditties of thy praise. 160

Thy colours I deuis'd with care, Which were vnknowne before: Which since that, in their braded hayre The Nimphes and Siluans wore.

Transforme me to what shape you can, I passe not what it be: Yea what most hatefull is to man, So I may follow thee.

Which when she heard full pearly floods, I in her eyes might view: 170 (Quoth she) most welcome to these Woods, Too meane for one so true.

Here from the hatefull world we'll liue, A den of mere dispight: To Ideots only that doth giue, Which be her sole delight.

To people the infernall pit, That more and more doth striue; Where only villany is wit, And Diuels only thriue. 180

Whose vilenesse vs shall neuer awe: But here our sports shall be: Such as the golden world first sawe, Most innocent and free.

Of Simples in these Groues that growe, Wee'll learne the perfect skill; The nature of each Herbe to knowe Which cures, and which can kill.

The waxen Pallace of the Bee, We seeking will surprise 190 The curious workmanship to see, Of her full laden thighes.

Wee'll suck the sweets out of the Combe, And make the gods repine: As they doe feast in Ioues great roome, To see with what we dine.

Yet when there haps a honey fall, Wee'll lick the sirupt leaues: And tell the Bees that their's is gall, To this vpon the Greaues. 200

The nimble Squirrell noting here, Her mossy Dray that makes, And laugh to see the lusty Deere Come bounding ore the brakes.

The Spiders Webb to watch weele stand, And when it takes the Bee, Weele helpe out of the Tyrants hand, The Innocent to free.

Sometime weele angle at the Brooke, The freckled Trout to take, 210 With silken Wormes, and bayte the hooke, Which him our prey shall make.

Of medling with such subtile tooles, Such dangers that enclose, The Morrall is that painted Fooles, Are caught with silken showes.

And when the Moone doth once appeare, Weele trace the lower grounds, When Fayries in their Ringlets there Do daunce their nightly rounds. 220

And haue a Flocke of Turtle Doues, A guard on vs to keepe, A witnesse of our honest loues, To watch vs till we sleepe.

Which spoke I felt such holy fires To ouerspred my breast, As lent life to my Chast desires And gaue me endlesse rest.

By Cynthia thus doe I subsist, On earth Heauens onely pride, 230 Let her be mine, and let who list, Take all the world beside.

FINIS.



THE SHEPHEARDS SIRENA

DORILVS in sorrowes deepe, Autumne waxing olde and chill, As he sate his Flocks to keepe Vnderneath an easie hill: Chanc'd to cast his eye aside On those fields, where he had scene, Bright SIRENA Natures pride, Sporting on the pleasant greene: To whose walkes the Shepheards oft, Came her god-like foote to finde, 10 And in places that were soft, Kist the print there left behinde; Where the path which she had troad, Hath thereby more glory gayn'd, Then in heau'n that milky rode, Which with Nectar Hebe stayn'd: But bleake Winters boystrous blasts, Now their fading pleasures chid, And so fill'd them with his wastes, That from sight her steps were hid. 20 Silly Shepheard sad the while, For his sweet SIRENA gone, All his pleasures in exile: Layd on the colde earth alone. Whilst his gamesome cut-tayld Curre, With his mirthlesse Master playes, Striuing him with sport to stirre, As in his more youthfull dayes, DORILVS his Dogge doth chide, Layes his well-tun'd Bagpype by, 30 And his Sheep-hooke casts aside, There (quoth he) together lye. When a Letter forth he tooke, Which to him SIRENA writ, With a deadly down-cast looke, And thus fell to reading it. DORILVS my deare (quoth she) Kinde Companion of my woe, Though we thus diuided be, Death cannot diuorce vs so: 40 Thou whose bosome hath beene still, Th' onely Closet of my care, And in all my good and ill, Euer had thy equall share: Might I winne thee from thy Fold, Thou shouldst come to visite me, But the Winter is so cold, That I feare to hazard thee: The wilde waters are waxt hie, So they are both deafe and dumbe, 50 Lou'd they thee so well as I, They would ebbe when thou shouldst come; Then my coate with light should shine, Purer then the Vestall fire: Nothing here but should be thine, That thy heart can well desire: Where at large we will relate, From what cause our friendship grewe, And in that the varying Fate, Since we first each other knewe: 60 Of my heauie passed plight, As of many a future feare, Which except the silent night, None but onely thou shalt heare; My sad hurt it shall releeue, When my thoughts I shall disclose, For thou canst not chuse but greeue, When I shall recount my woes; There is nothing to that friend, To whose close vncranied brest, 70 We our secret thoughts may send, And there safely let it rest: And thy faithfull counsell may, My distressed case assist, Sad affliction else may sway Me a woman as it list: Hither I would haue thee haste, Yet would gladly haue thee stay, When those dangers I forecast, That may meet thee by the way, 80 Doe as thou shalt thinke it best, Let thy knowledge be thy guide, Liue thou in my constant breast, Whatsoeuer shall betide. He her Letter hauing red, Puts it in his Scrip againe, Looking like a man halfe dead, By her kindenesse strangely slaine; And as one who inly knew, Her distressed present state, 90 And to her had still been true, Thus doth with himselfe debate. I will not thy face admire, Admirable though it bee, Nor thine eyes whose subtile fire So much wonder winne in me: But my maruell shall be now, (And of long it hath bene so) Of all Woman kind that thou Wert ordain'd to taste of woe; 100 To a Beauty so diuine, Paradise in little done, O that Fortune should assigne, Ought but what thou well mightst shun, But my counsailes such must bee, (Though as yet I them conceale) By their deadly wound in me, They thy hurt must onely heale, Could I giue what thou do'st craue To that passe thy state is growne, 110 I thereby thy life may saue, But am sure to loose mine owne, To that ioy thou do'st conceiue, Through my heart, the way doth lye, Which in two for thee must claue Least that thou shouldst goe awry. Thus my death must be a toy, Which my pensiue breast must couer; Thy beloued to enioy, Must be taught thee by thy Louer. 120 Hard the Choise I haue to chuse, To my selfe if friend I be, I must my SIRENA loose, If not so, shee looseth me. Thus whilst he doth cast about, What therein were best to doe, Nor could yet resolue the doubt, Whether he should stay or goe: In those Feilds not farre away, There was many a frolike Swaine, 130 In fresh Russets day by day, That kept Reuells on the Plaine. Nimble TOM, sirnam'd the Tup, For his Pipe without a Peere, And could tickle Trenchmore vp, As t'would ioy your heart to heare. RALPH as much renown'd for skill, That the Taber touch'd so well; For his Gittern, little GILL, That all other did excell. 140 ROCK and ROLLO euery way, Who still led the Rusticke Ging, And could troule a Roundelay, That would make the Feilds to ring, COLLIN on his Shalme so cleare, Many a high-pitcht Note that had, And could make the Eechos nere Shout as they were wexen mad. Many a lusty Swaine beside, That for nought but pleasure car'd, 150 Hauing DORILVS espy'd, And with him knew how it far'd. Thought from him they would remoue, This strong melancholy fitt, Or so, should it not behoue, Quite to put him out of 's witt; Hauing learnt a Song, which he Sometime to Sirena sent, Full of Iollity and glee, When the Nimph liu'd neere to Trent 160 They behinde him softly gott, Lying on the earth along, And when he suspected not, Thus the Iouiall Shepheards song.

Neare to the Siluer Trent, Sirena dwelleth: Shee to whom Nature lent All that excelleth: By which the Muses late, And the neate Graces, 170 Haue for their greater state Taken their places: Twisting an Anadem, Wherewith to Crowne her, As it belong'd to them Most to renowne her. Cho. On thy Bancke, In a Rancke, Let the Swanes sing her, And with their Musick, 180 Along let them bring her.

Tagus and Pactolus Are to thee Debter, Nor for their gould to vs Are they the better: Henceforth of all the rest, Be thou the Riuer, Which as the daintiest, Puts them downe euer, For as my precious one, 190 O'r thee doth trauell, She to Pearl Parragon Turneth thy grauell. Cho. On thy Bancke, In a Rancke, Let thy Swanns sing her, And with their Musicke, Along let them bring her.

Our mournefull Philomell, That rarest Tuner, 200 Henceforth in Aperill Shall wake the sooner, And to her shall complaine From the thicke Couer, Redoubling euery straine Ouer and ouer: For when my Loue too long Her Chamber keepeth; As though it suffered wrong, The Morning weepeth. 210 Cho. On thy Bancke, In a Rancke, Let thy Swanes sing her, And with their Musick, Along let them bring her.

Oft have I seene the Sunne To doe her honour. Fix himselfe at his noone, To look vpon her, And hath guilt euery Groue, 220 Euery Hill neare her, With his flames from aboue, Striuing to cheere her, And when shee from his sight Hath her selfe turned, He as it had beene night, In Cloudes hath mourned. Cho. On thy Bancke, In a Rancke, Let thy Swanns sing her, 230 And with their Musicke, Along let them bring her.

The Verdant Meades are seene, When she doth view them, In fresh and gallant Greene, Straight to renewe them, And euery little Grasse Broad it selfe spreadeth, Proud that this bonny Lasse Vpon it treadeth: 240 Nor flower is so sweete In this large Cincture But it upon her feete Leaueth some Tincture. Cho. On thy Bancke, In a Rancke, Let thy Swanes sing her, And with thy Musick, Along let them bring her.

The Fishes in the Flood, 250 When she doth Angle, For the Hooke striue a good Them to intangle; And leaping on the Land From the cleare water, Their Scales vpon the sand, Lauishly scatter; Therewith to paue the mould Whereon she passes, So her selfe to behold, 260 As in her glasses. Cho. On thy Bancke, In a Ranke, Let thy Swanns sing her, And with their Musicke, Along let them bring her.

When shee lookes out by night, The Starres stand gazing, Like Commets to our sight Fearefully blazing, 270 As wondring at her eyes With their much brightnesse, Which to amaze the skies, Dimming their lightnesse, The raging Tempests are Calme, When shee speaketh, Such most delightsome balme From her lips breaketh. Cho. On thy Banke, In a Rancke, &c. 280

In all our Brittany, Ther's not a fayrer, Nor can you fitt any: Should you compare her. Angels her eye-lids keepe All harts surprizing, Which looke whilst she doth sleepe Like the Sunnes rising: She alone of her kinde Knoweth true measure 290 And her vnmatched mind Is Heauens treasure: Cho. On thy Bancke, In a Rancke Let thy Swanes sing her, And with their Musick, Along let them bring her.

Fayre Doue and Darwine cleere Boast yee your beauties, To Trent your Mistres here 300 Yet pay your duties, My Loue was higher borne Tow'rds the full Fountaines, Yet she doth Moorland scorne, And the Peake Mountaines; Nor would she none should dreame, Where she abideth, Humble as is the streame, Which by her slydeth, Cho. On thy Bancke, 310 In a Rancke, Let thy Swannes sing her, And with their Musicke, Along let them bring her.

Yet my poore Rusticke Muse, Nothing can moue her, Nor the means I can vse, Though her true Louer: Many a long Winters night, Haue I wak'd for her, 320 Yet this my piteous plight, Nothing can stirre her. All thy Sands siluer Trent Downe to the Humber, The sighes I haue spent Neuer can number. Cho. On thy Banke In a Ranke, Let thy Swans sing her And with their Musicke 330 Along let them bring her.

Taken with this suddaine Song, Least for mirth when he doth look His sad heart more deeply stong, Then the former care he tooke. At their laughter and amaz'd, For a while he sat aghast But a little hauing gaz'd, Thus he them bespake at last. Is this time for mirth (quoth he) 340 To a man with griefe opprest, Sinfull wretches as you be, May the sorrowes in my breast, Light vpon you one by one, And as now you mocke my woe, When your mirth is turn'd to moane; May your like then serue you so. When one Swaine among the rest Thus him merrily bespake, Get thee vp thou arrant beast 350 Fits this season loue to make? Take thy Sheephooke in thy hand, Clap thy Curre and set him on, For our fields 'tis time to stand, Or they quickly will be gon. Rougish Swinheards that repine At our Flocks, like beastly Clownes, Sweare that they will bring their Swine, And will wroote vp all our Downes: They their Holly whips haue brac'd, 360 And tough Hazell goades haue gott; Soundly they your sides will baste, If their courage faile them not. Of their purpose if they speed, Then your Bagpypes you may burne, It is neither Droane nor Reed Shepheard, that will serue your turne: Angry OLCON sets them on, And against vs part doth take Euer since he was out-gone, 370 Offring Rymes with us to make. Yet if so our Sheepe-hookes hold, Dearely shall our Downes be bought, For it neuer shall be told, We our Sheep-walkes sold for naught. And we here haue got vs Dogges, Best of all the Westerne breed, Which though Whelps shall lug their Hogges, Till they make their eares to bleed: Therefore Shepheard come away. 380 When as DORILVS arose, Whistles Cut-tayle from his play, And along with them he goes.

FINIS.



THE MVSES ELIZIVM

The Description of Elizium

A Paradice on earth is found, Though farre from vulgar sight, Which with those pleasures doth abound That it Elizium hight.

Where, in Delights that neuer fade, The Muses lulled be, And sit at pleasure in the shade Of many a stately tree,

Which no rough Tempest makes to reele Nor their straight bodies bowes, 10 Their lofty tops doe neuer feele The weight of winters snowes;

In Groues that euermore are greene, No falling leafe is there, But Philomel (of birds the Queene) In Musicke spends the yeare.

The Merle vpon her mertle Perch, There to the Mavis sings, Who from the top of some curld Berch Those notes redoubled rings; 20

There Daysyes damaske euery place Nor once their beauties lose, That when proud Phoebus hides his face Themselues they scorne to close.

The Pansy and the Violet here, As seeming to descend, Both from one Root, a very payre, For sweetnesse yet contend,

And pointing to a Pinke to tell Which beares it, it is loath, 30 To iudge it; but replyes for smell That it excels them both.

Wherewith displeasde they hang their heads So angry soone they grow And from their odoriferous beds Their sweets at it they throw.

The winter here a Summer is, No waste is made by time, Nor doth the Autumne euer misse The blossomes of the Prime. 40

The flower that Iuly forth doth bring In Aprill here is seene, The Primrose that puts on the Spring In Iuly decks each Greene.

The sweets for soueraignty contend And so abundant be, That to the very Earth they lend And Barke of euery Tree:

Rills rising out of euery Banck, In wild Meanders strayne, 50 And playing many a wanton pranck Vpon the speckled plaine,

In Gambols and lascivious Gyres Their time they still bestow Nor to their Fountaines none retyres, Nor on their course will goe.

Those Brooks with Lillies brauely deckt, So proud and wanton made, That they their courses quite neglect: And seeme as though they stayde, 60

Faire Flora in her state to viewe Which through those Lillies looks, Or as those Lillies leand to shew Their beauties to the brooks.

That Phoebusin his lofty race, Oft layes aside his beames And comes to coole his glowing face In these delicious streames;

Oft spreading Vines clime vp the Cleeues, Whose ripned clusters there, 70 Their liquid purple drop, which driues A Vintage through the yeere.

Those Cleeues whose craggy sides are clad With Trees of sundry sutes, Which make continuall summer glad, Euen bending with their fruits,

Some ripening, ready some to fall, Some blossom'd, some to bloome, Like gorgeous hangings on the wall Of some rich princely Roome: 80

Pomegranates, Lymons, Cytrons, so Their laded branches bow, Their leaues in number that outgoe Nor roomth will them alow.

There in perpetuall Summers shade, Apolloes Prophets sit, Among the flowres that neuer fade, But flowrish like their wit;

To whom the Nimphes vpon their Lyres, Tune many a curious lay, 90 And with their most melodious Quires Make short the longest day.

The thrice three Virgins heavenly Cleere, Their trembling Timbrels sound, Whilst the three comely Graces there Dance many a dainty Round,

Decay nor Age there nothing knowes, There is continuall Youth, As Time on plant or creatures growes, So still their strength renewth. 100

The Poets Paradice this is, To which but few can come; The Muses onely bower of blisse Their Deare Elizium.

Here happy soules, (their blessed bowers, Free from the rude resort Of beastly people) spend the houres, In harmelesse mirth and sport,

Then on to the Elizian plaines Apollo doth invite you 110 Where he prouides with pastorall straines, In Nimphals to delight you.

The first Nimphall

RODOPE and DORIDA.

This Nimphall of delights doth treat, Choice beauties, and proportions neat, Of curious shapes, and dainty features Describd in two most perfect creatures.

When Phoebus with a face of mirth, Had flong abroad his beames, To blanch the bosome of the earth, And glaze the gliding streames. Within a goodly Mertle groue, Vpon that hallowed day The Nimphes to the bright Queene of loue Their vowes were vsde to pay. Faire Rodope and Dorida Met in those sacred shades, 10 Then whom the Sunne in all his way, Nere saw two daintier Maids. And through the thickets thrild his fires, Supposing to haue seene The soueraigne Goddesse of desires, Or Ioves Emperious Queene: Both of so wondrous beauties were, In shape both so excell, That to be paraleld elsewhere, No iudging eye could tell. 20 And their affections so surpasse, As well it might be deemd, That th' one of them the other was, And but themselues they seem'd. And whilst the Nimphes that neare this place, Disposed were to play At Barly-breake and Prison-base, Doe passe the time away: This peerlesse payre together set, The other at their sport, 30 None neare their free discourse to let, Each other thus they court,

Dorida. My sweet, my soueraigne Rodope, My deare delight, my loue, That Locke of hayre thou sentst to me, I to this Bracelet woue; Which brighter euery day doth grow The longer it is worne, As its delicious fellowes doe, Thy Temples that adorne. 40

Rodope. Nay had I thine my Dorida, I would them so bestow, As that the winde vpon my way, Might backward make them flow, So should it in its greatst excesse Turne to becalmed ayre, And quite forget all boistrousnesse To play with euery hayre.

Dorida. To me like thine had nature giuen, A Brow, so Archt, so cleere, 50 A Front, wherein so much of heauen Doth to each eye appeare, The world should see, I would strike dead The Milky Way that's now, And say that Nectar Hebe shed Fell all vpon my Brow.

Rodope. O had I eyes like Doridaes, I would inchant the day And make the Sunne to stand at gaze, Till he forget his way: 60 And cause his Sister Queene of Streames, When so I list by night; By her much blushing at my Beames T' eclipse her borrowed light.

Dorida. Had I a Cheeke like Rodopes, In midst of which doth stand, A Groue of Roses, such as these, In such a snowy land: I would then make the Lilly which we now So much for whitenesse name, 70 As drooping downe the head to bow, And die for very shame.

Rodope. Had I a bosome like to thine, When I it pleas'd to show, T' what part o' th' Skie I would incline I would make th' Etheriall bowe, My swannish breast brancht all with blew, In brauery like the spring: In Winter to the generall view Full Summer forth should bring. 80

Dorida. Had I a body like my deare, Were I so straight so tall, O, if so broad my shoulders were, Had I a waste so small; I would challenge the proud Queene of loue To yeeld to me for shape, And I should feare that Mars or Iove Would venter for my rape.

Rodope. Had I a hand like thee my Gerle, (This hand O let me kisse) 90 These Ivory Arrowes pyl'd with pearle, Had I a hand like this; I would not doubt at all to make, Each finger of my hand To taske swift Mercury to take With his inchanting wand.

Dorida. Had I a Theigh like Rodopes; Which twas my chance to viewe, When lying on yon banck at ease, The wind thy skirt vp blew, 100 I would say it were a columne wrought To some intent Diuine, And for our chaste Diana sought, A pillar for her shryne.

Rodope. Had I a Leg but like to thine That were so neat, so cleane, A swelling Calfe, a Small so fine, An Ankle, round and leane, I would tell nature she doth misse Her old skill; and maintaine, 110 She shewd her master peece in this, Not to be done againe.

Dorida. Had I that Foot hid in those shoos, (Proportion'd to my height) Short Heele, thin Instep, euen Toes, A Sole so wondrous straight, The Forresters and Nimphes at this Amazed all should stand, And kneeling downe, should meekely kisse The Print left in the sand. 120

By this the Nimphes came from their sport, All pleased wondrous well, And to these Maydens make report What lately them befell: One said the dainty Lelipa Did all the rest out-goe, Another would a wager lay She would outstrip a Roe; Sayes one, how like you Florimel There is your dainty face: 130 A fourth replide, she lik't that well, Yet better lik't her grace, She's counted, I confesse, quoth she, To be our onely Pearle, Yet haue I heard her oft to be A melancholy Gerle. Another said she quite mistoke, That onely was her art, When melancholly had her looke Then mirth was in her heart; 140 And hath she then that pretty trick Another doth reply, I thought no Nimph could haue bin sick Of that disease but I; I know you can dissemble well Quoth one to giue you due, But here be some (who Ile not tell) Can do't as well as you, Who thus replies, I know that too, We haue it from our Mother, 150 Yet there be some this thing can doe More cunningly then other: If Maydens but dissemble can Their sorrow and ther ioy, Their pore dissimulation than, Is but a very toy.