follow'd still by others from their spring And in the Sea haue all their burying Right so our times are knowne our ages found Nothing is permanent within this Round One age is now another that succeeds Extirping all things which the former breeds Another followes that doth new times raise New yeers new months new weeks new houres new daies Mankinde thus goes like Riuers from their spring And in the Earth haue all their burying Thus sate the old man counselling the young Whilst vnderneath a tree which ouer-hung The siluer streame as some delight it tooke To trim his thicke boughes in the Crystall Brooke Were set a iocund crew of youthfull Swaines Wooing their sweetings with delicious straines Sportiue Oreades the hils descended The Hamadryades their hunting ended And in the high woods left the long-liu'd Harts To feed in peace free from their winged Darts Floods Mountains Vallies Woods each vacant lies Of Nimphs that by them danc'd their Haydigyes For all those Powers were ready to embrace The present meanes to giue our Shepherds grace And vnderneath this tree till Thetis came Many resorted where a Swaine of name Lesse then of worth and we doe neuer owne Nor apprehend him best that most is knowne Fame is vncertaine who so swiftly flyes By th'vnregarded shed where Vertue lies Shee ill inform'd of Vertues worth pursu'th In haste Opinion for the simple Truth True Fame is euer likened to our shade He soonest misseth her that most hath made To ouer-take her who so takes his wing Regardlesse of her shee 'll be following Her true proprietie she thus discouers Loues her contemners and contemnes her louers Th' applause of common people neuer yet Pursu'd this Swaine he knew 't the counterfeit Of setled praise and therefore at his songs Though all the Shepherds and the gracefull throngs Of Semigods compar'd him with the best That euer touch'd a Reed or was addrest In shepherds coat he neuer would approue Their Attributes giuen in sincerest loue Except he truly knew them as his merit Faâ—â—e giues a second life to such a spirit This Swaine intreated by the mirthfull rout That with intwined armes lay round about The tree 'gainst which he lean'd So haue I seene Tom Pipeâ— stand vpon our village greene Backt with the May-pole whilst a iocund crew In gentle motion circularly threw Themselues about him To his fairest Ring Thus 'gan in numbers well according sing VEnus by Adonis side Crying kist and kissing cride Wrung her hands and tore her haire For Adonis dying there Stay quoth shee ô stay and liue Nature surely doth not giue To the Earth her sweetest flowres To be seene but some few houres On his face still as he bled For each drop a teare she shed Which she kist or wip't away Else had drown'd him where he lay Faire Proserpina quoth shee Shall not haue thee yet from mee Nor thy soule to flie begin While my lips can keepe it in Here she clos'd againe And some Say Apollo would haue come To haue cur'd his wounded lym But that shee had smother'd him Looke as a Traueller in Summers day Nye choakt with dust and molt with Titans ray Longs for a spring to coole his inward heat And to that end with vowes doth heauen intreat When going further finds an Apple-tree Standing as did old Hospitalitie With ready armes to succour any needs Hence plucks an Apple tastes it and it breeds So great a liking in him for his thirst That vp he climbs and gathers to the first A second third nay will not cease to pull Till he haue got his cap and pockets full Things long desir'd so well esteemed are That when they come we hold them better farre There is no meane 'twixt what we loue and want Desire in men is so predominant No â—esse did all this quaint assembly long Then doth the Traueller this Shepherds Song Had so ensnar'd each acceptable eare That but a second nought could bring them cleare From an affected snare had Orpheus beene Playing some distance from them he had seene Not one to stirre a foot for his rare straine But left the Thracian for the English Swaine Or had suspicious Iuno when her Ioue Into a Cowe transform'd his fairest Loue Great Inachus sweet Stem in durance giuen To this young Lad the Messenger of heauen Faire Maia's off-spring with the depth of Art That euer Ioue to Hermes might impart In fingring of a Reed had neuer won Poore Io's freedome And though Arctors son Hundred-ey'd Argus might be lull'd by him And loose his pris'ner yet in euery lym That God of wit had felt this Shepherds skill And by his charmes brought from the Muses hill Inforc'd to sleepe then rob'd of Pipe and Rod And vanquish'd so turne Swaine this Swaine a God Yet to this Lad not wanted Enuies sting He 's not worth ought that 's not worth enuying Since many at his praise were seene to grutch For as a Miller in his boulting hutch Driues out the pure meale neerly as he can And in his sister leaues the courser bran So doth the canker of a Poets name Let slip such lines as might inherit Fame And from a Volume câ—ls some small amisse To fire such dogged spleenes as mate with his Yet as a man that by his Art would bring The ceaslesse current of a Crystall Spring To ouer-looke the lowly flowing head Sinkes by degrees his soder'd Pipes of Lead Beneath the Fount whereby the water goes High as a Well that on a mountaine flowes So when Detraction and a Cynnicks tongue Haue sunke Desert vnto the depth of wrong By that the eye of skill True Worth shall see To braue the Stars though low his passage be But here I much digresse yet pardon Swaines For as a Maiden gath'ring on the Plaines A senâ—full Nosegay to set neere her pap Or as a fauour for her Shepherds cap Is seene farre off to stray if she haue spide A Flower that might increase her Posies pride So if â—o wander I am sometimes prest 'T is for a straine that might adorne the rest Requests that with deniall could not meet Flew to our Shepherd and the voices sweet Of fairest Nymphes intreating him to say What wight he lou'd he thus began his lay SHall I tell you whom I loue Hearken then a while to me And if such a woman moue As I now shall versiâ—ie Be assur'd 't is she or none That I loue and loue alone Nature did her so much right As she scornes the helpe of Art In as many Vertues dight As e're yet imbrac'd a heart So much good so truly tride Some for lesse were deiside Wit she hath without desire To make knowne how much she hath And her anger flames no higher Then may sitly sweeten wrath Full of pitty as may be Though perhaps not so to me Reason masters euery sense And her vertues grace her birth Louely as all excellence Modest in her most of mirth Likelihood enough to proue Onely worth could kindle
but as much As one poore drop hath left to ease his heart Why should he keepe it since the time doth call That he ne'er better can bestow it in If so he feares That others teares In greater number greatest prizes winne Know nâ—ne giues more then he which giueth all Then he which hath but one poore teare in store O let him spend that drop and weepe no more Why flowes not Helicon beyond her strands Is Henry dead and doe the Muses sleepe Alas I see each one amazed stands Shallow foords mutter silent are the deepe Faine would they tell their griefes but know not where All are so full nought can augment their store Then how should they Their griefes display To men so cloâ—d they â—aine would heare no more Though blaming those whose plaints they cannot heare And with this wish their passions I allow May that Muse neuer speake that 's silent now Is Henry dead alas and doe I liue To sing a Scrich-owles Note that he is dead If any one a fitter Theame can giue Come giue it now or neuer to be read Buâ— let him see it doe of horror tast Anguish destruction could it rend in sunder With fearefull grones The senselesse stones Yet should we hardly be enforc'd to wonder Ouâ— former griefes would so exceed their last Time cannot make our sorrowes ought compleater Nor adde one griefe to make our mourning greater England was ne'er ingirt with waues till now Till now it held part with the Continent Aye me some one in pitty shew me how I might in dolefull numbers so lament That any one which lou'd him hated me Might dearely loue me for lamenting him Alas my plaint In such constraint Breaks forth in rage that though my passions swimme Yeâ— are they drowned ere they landed be Imperfect lines O happy were I hurld And cut from life as England from the world O happier had we beene if we â—ad beene Neuer made happie by enioying thee Where hath the glorious eye of heauen seene A spectacle of greater miserie Time turne thy course and bring againe the Spring Breake Natures lawes search the records of old If ought befell Might paralell Sad Britain's case weepe Rocks and Heauen behold What Seas of sorrow she is plunged in Where stormes of woe so mainly haue beset her She hath no place for worse nor hope for better Britaine was whilome knowne by more then fame To be one of the Ilands fortunate What franticke man would giue her now that name Lying so rufull and disconsolate Hath not her watry Zone in murmuring Fill'd euery shoare with Ecchoes of her crie Yes Thetis raues And bids her waues Bring all the Nymphes within her Emperie To be assistant in her sorrowing See where they sadly sit on Isis shore And rend their haires as they would ioy no more Isis the glory of the Westerne world When our Heroë honour'd Essex dy'd Strucken with wonder backe againe she hurld And sill'd her banckes with an vnwoonted Tyde As if she stood in doubt if it were so And for the certaintie had turn'd her way Why doe not now Her waues reflow Poor Nymph her sorrowes will not let her stay Or flâ—es to tell the world her Countries woe Or cares not to come backe perhaps as showing Our teares should make the flood not her reflowing Sometimes a Tyrant held the reynes of Rome Wishing to all the City but one head That all at once might vndergoe his doome And by one blow from life be seuered Fate wisht the like on England and 't was giuen O miserable men enthral'd to Fate Whose heauy hand That neuer sâ—and The misery of Kingdomes ruinate Miâ—ding to leaue her of all ioyes bereauen With one sad blow Alas can worser fall Hath giuen this little Ile her Funerall O come yee blessed Impes of Memory Ereâ—â— a new Parnassus on his graue There tune your voices to an Elegy The saddest Note that ere Apollo gaue Let euery Accent make the sâ—ander by Keepe time vnto your Song with dropping teares Till drops that fell Haue made a well To swallow him which still vnmoued heares And though my selfe proue senselesse of your cry Yet gladly should my light of life grow diâ— To be iâ—tomb'd in teares are wept for him When last he sickned then we first began To tread the Labyrinth of Woe about And by degrees we further inward ran Hauing his thread of life to guide vs out But Destinie no sooner saw vs enter Sad Sorrowes Maze immured vp in night Where nothing dwels But cryes and yels Throwne from the hearts of men depriu'd of light When we were almost come into the Center Fate cruelly to barre our ioyes returning Cut off our Thread and left vs all in mourning If you haue seene at foot of some braue hill Two Springs arise and delicately trill In gentle chidings through an humble dale Where tufty Daizies nod at euery gale And on the bankes a Swaine with Lawrell crown'd Marying his sweet Notes with their siluer sound When as the spongy clouds swolne big with water Throw their conception on the worlds Theater Downe from the hils the rained waters roare Whilst euery leafe drops to augment their store Grumbling the stones fall o'er each others backe Rending the greene turfes with their Cataract And through the Meadowes run with such a noise That taking from the Swaine the fountaines voice Inforce him leaue their margent and alone Couple his base Pipe with their baser Tone Know Shepherdesse that so I lent an eare To those sad wights whose plaints I told whileare But when this goodly Lady gan addresse Her heauenly voyce to sweeten heauinesse It drown'd the rest as torrents little Springs And strucken mute at her great sorrowings Lay still and wondred at her pitious mone Wept at her griefes and did forget their owne Whilst I attentiue â—aâ—e and did impart Teares when they wanted drops and from a hart As hiâ— in sorrow as e'er creature wore Lent thrilling grones to such as had no more Had wise Vlysses who regardlesse flung Along the Ocean when the Syrens sung Pass'd by and seene her on the sea torne cleeues Waile her lost Loue while Neptunes watry Theeues Durst not approach for Rockes to see her face He would haue hazarded his Grecian race Thrust head long to the shore and to her eyes Offer'd his Vessell as a Sacrifice Or had â—lie Syrens on a neighbour shore Heard in what raping Notes she did deplore Her buried Glory they had left their shelues And to come neere her would haue drown'd them Now silence lock'd the organs of that voyce Whereat each merry Syluan wont reioyce When with a bended knee to her I came And did impart my griefe and hateâ— name But first a pardon begg'd iâ— that my cause So much constrain'd me as to breake the Lawes Of her wish'd sequestration or ask'd Bread To saue a life from her whose life was dead But lawlesse famine selfe-consuming hunger Alas compel'd me had I stayed
excellence of men Nay they would thinke their states for euer raised But once to looke on one so highly praised Out of whose Maiden brests which sweetly rise The Seers suckt their hidden Prophecies And told that for her loue in times to come Many should seeke the Crowne of Martyrdome By fire by sword by tortures dungeons chaines By stripes by famine and a world of paines Yet constant still remaine to her they loued Like Syon Mount that cannot be remoued Proportion on her armes and hands recorded The world for her no fitter place afforded Praise her who list he still shall be her debter For Art ne'er fain'd nor Nature fram'd a better As when a holy Father hath began To offer sacrifice to mighty Pan Doâ—h the request of euery Swaine assume To scale the Welkin in a sacred fume Made by a widow'd Turtles louing mate Or Lamkin or some Kid immaculate The offring heaues aloft with both his hands Which all adore that neere the Altar stands So was her heauenly body comely rais'd On two faire columnes those that Ouid prais'd In Iulia's borrowed name compar'd with these Were Crabs to Apples of th' Hespherides Or stumpe-foot Vulcan in comparison With all the height of true perfection Nature was here so lauish of her store That she bestow'd vntill she had no more VVhose Treasure being weakned by this Dame She thrusts into the world so many lame The highest Synode of the glorious Skie I heard a VVood-Nymph sing sent Mercurie To take a suruay of the fairest faces And to describe to them all womens graces VVho long time wandring in a serious quest Noting what parts by Beauty were possest At last he saw this Maid then thinking fit To end his iourney here Nil-vltra writ â—ida in adoration kiss'd her knee And thus bespake Haile glorious Deitie If such thou art and who can deeme you lesse VVhether thou raign'st Queene of the Wildernesse Or art that Goddesse 't is vnknowne to me Which from the Ocean drawes her pettigree Or one of those who by the mossie bankes Of drisling Hellicon in airie rankes Tread Roundelayes vpon the siluer sands Whilst shaggy Satyres tripping o're the strands Stand still at gaze and yeeld their senses thrals To the sweet cadence of your Madrigals Or of the Faiery troope which nimbly play And by the Springs dance out the Summers day Teaching the little birds to build their nests And in their singing how to keepen rests Or one of those who watching where a Spring Out of our Grandame Earth hath issuing With your attractiue Musicke wooe the streame As men by Faiâ—ries led falne in a dreame To follow you which sweetly trilling wanders In many Mazes intricate Meanders Till at the last no mocke th'enamour'd rill Ye bend your traces vp some shady hill And laugh to see the waue no further tread But in a chafe run soaming on his head Being enforc'd a channell new to frame Leauing the other destitute of name If thou be one of these or all or more Succour a seely Maid that doth implore Aid on a bended heart vnfain'd and meeke As true as blushes of a Maiden cheeke Maiden arise repli'd the new-borne Maid Pure Innocence the senslesse stories will aide Nor of the Fairie troope nor Muses nine Nor am I Venus nor of Proserpine But daughter to a lusty aged Swaine That cuts the greene tufts off th'enamel'd plaine And with his Sythe hath many a Summer shorne The plow'd-lands lab'ring with a crop of corne Who from the cloud-clipt mountaine by his stroake Fels downe the lofty Pine the Cedar Oake He opes the flood-gates as occasion is Sometimes on that mans land sometimes on this When Verolame a stately Nymph of yore Did vse to decke her selfe on Isis shore One morne among the rest as there she stood Saw the pure Channell all besmear'd with blood Inquiring for the cause one did impart Those drops came from her holy Albans hart Here with in griefe she gan intreat my Syre That Isis streame which yeerely did attire Those gallant fields in changeable array Might turne her course and run some other way Lest that her waues might wash away the guilt From off their hands which Albans blood had spilt He condescended and the nimble waue Her Fisâ— no more within that channell draue But as a witnesse left the crimson gore To slaine the earth as they their hands before He had a being ere there was a birth And shall not cease vntill the Sea and Earth And what they both containe shall cease to be Nothing confines him but Eternitie By him the names of good men euer liue Which short liu'd men vnto Obliuion giue And in forgetfulnesse he lets him fall That is no other man then naturall 'T is he alone that rightly can discouer Who is the true and who the fained Louer In Summers heat when any Swaine to sleepe Doth more addict himselfe then to his sheepe And whilst the Leaden God sits on his eyes If any of his Fold or strayes or dyes And to the waking Swaine it be vnknowne Whether his sheepe be dead or straid or stolne To meet my Syre he bends his course in paine Either where some high hill suruaies the plaine Or takes his step toward the flowrie vallies Where Zephyre with the Cowslip hourely dallies Or to the groues where birds from heat or weather Sit sweetly tuning of their noates together Or to a Mead a wanton Riuer dresses With richest Collers of her turning Esses Or where the Shepherds sit old stories telling Chronos my Syre hath no set place of dwelling But if the Shepherd meet the aged Swaine He tels him of his sheepe or shewes them slaine So great a gift the sacred Powers of heauen Aboue all others to my Syre haue giuen That the abhorred Stratagems of night Lurking in cauernes from the glorious light By him perforce are from their dungeons hurl'd And shew'd as monsters to the wondring World What Mariner is he sailing vpon The watry Desart clipping Albion Heare 's not the billowes in their dances roare Answer'd by Eccoes from the neighbour shoare To whose accord the Maids trip from the Downes And Riuers dancing come ycrown'd with Townes All sâ—nging forth the victories of Time Vpon the Monsters of the Westerne Clime VVhose horrid damned bloody plots would bring Confusion on the Laureate Poets King VVhose Hell-fed hearts deuis'd how neuer more A Swan might singing sit on Isis shore But croaking Rauens and the Scrich-owles crie The â—at Musitians for a Tragedie Should euermore be heard about her strand To fâ—ight all Passengers from that sad Land Long Summers dayes I on his worth might spend And yet begin againe when I would end All Ages since the first age first begun Ere they could know his worth their age was done VVhose absence all the Treasury of earth Cannot buy out From farre-fam'd Tagus birth Not all the golden grauell he treads ouer One minute past that minute can recouer I am his onely Childe he hath no
strong 〈◊〉 When if a Carriers 〈◊〉 be brought vnto him His Mans â—an hold his â—oor whilst 〈…〉 him Remorce was so inforc'd to binde him stronger Because his faults requiâ—â—d infliction longer Then any 〈◊〉 prest wighâ— which many a day Since 〈…〉 himselfe had past that way When all the cruell tormentâ— he had burne Galâ—ed with chaines and on the 〈◊〉 high 〈◊〉 Pinching with glowing pincers his owne heart All â—ame and restlesse full of woundâ— and smart He 〈◊〉 Posterne 〈◊〉 â—o inward hiâ—s And from the gate a two-fold path describe One leading vp a hill Repentance way And as more worthy on the right hand lay The other head-long steepe and lik'ned well Vnto the path which tendeth downe to hellâ— All steps that thither went shew'd no returning The port to paines and to eternall mourning Where certaine Death liu'd in an Ebon chaire The soules blacke homicide meager Despaire Had his abodes there gainst the craggie rocks Some dasht their 〈…〉 with relentlesse 〈◊〉 Others on trees ô most accursed elites Are fastening knots so to vndâ—â— themselues Here one in sinne not daring to appeare At Mercies seat with one 〈◊〉 or â—eare Within 〈…〉 was 〈…〉 an eye That vnto God it might for 〈…〉 cry There from a Rocke a 〈…〉 newly fell All torne in peeces to goâ— whole to Hell Here with a sleepie Potion one thinkes fit To graspt with death but 〈…〉 know 〈…〉 There in â— gool◠〈◊〉 their liues 〈◊〉 And die in water to reuiue in fire Here hangs the bloud upon the guiltlesse stones There wormes 〈…〉 Here lyes and 〈…〉 Without 〈◊〉 her liâ—â—s of 〈…〉 Scattring the ground and as 〈…〉 As they at vertue spurâ—ed in the world Fye haplesse wretch ô that 〈…〉 Measur'st Gods mercy by thine owne deseruing Which cry'st distrustfull of the power of 〈◊〉 My sinnes are greater then can be forgiueâ— Which still are ready 〈…〉 At euery stripe of worldly miserie O learne thou in whose 〈◊〉 the Dragon liâ—kâ—s Gods Mercy 〈◊〉 is o'erall hiâ— workes Know he is pitifull apt to forgiue Would not a sinners death but that he liue O euer euer rest vpon that word Which doth assure thee though his two edg'd Sword Be drawne in Iustice gainst thy sinfull soule To separate the rotten from the whole Yet if a sacrifice of prayer be sent him He will not strike or if he strike repent him Let none despaire for cursed Iudas sinne Was not so much in yeelding vp the King Of life to death as when he thereupon Wholy dispair'd of Gods remission 〈◊〉 long doubting stood which way were best To leade his steps at last preferring rest As foolishly he thought before the paine Was to be past ere he could well attaine The high-built Palace 〈◊〉 aduenture on Thaâ— path which led to 〈◊〉 confusion When sodainly a voice as sweet as 〈◊〉 With words diuine began entice his 〈◊〉 Whereat as in a rapture on the ground 〈…〉 lay and all his senses 〈◊〉 A time of rest onely that facultie Which neuer can be seene nor euer dye That in the essence of an endlesse Nature Doâ— sympathize with the All-good Creator That onely wak'd which cannot be inâ—err'd And from a heauenly Quire this diâ—ty heard Vaine man doe not mistrust Of heauen winning Nor though the most vniust Despaire for sinning God will be seene his sentence changing If he behold thee wicked wayes estranging Climbe vp where pleasures dwell In flowry Allies And taste the liuing â—ell That decks the Vallies Faire Metanoia is attending To crowne thee with those ioyes which know 〈◊〉 ending Herewith on leaden wings Slâ—â—pe from him flew When on his arme he rose and sadly threw Shrill acclamationâ— while an hollow caue Or hanging hill or heauen 〈◊〉 answer gaue O sacred Essence lightning me this houre How may I lightly stilâ— thy great Power Eccâ— Power Power but of whence vnder the green-wood spray Or liu'st in heaâ—'n say Eccâ— In Heauens 〈◊〉 In heauens aye â— tell may I it obtaine By almes by fasting prayer by paine Ecch. By paine Shew me the paine it shall be vndergone I to mine end will still goe on Ecch. Goe on But whither On Shew me the place the time What if the Mountain I do climbe Ecch. Doe climbe Is that the way to ioyes which still endure O bid my soule of it be sure Ecch. Be sure Then thus assured doe I climbe the hill Heauen be my guide in this thy will Ecch. I will As when a maid taught from her mother wing To tune her voyce vnto a siluer string When she should run she rests rests when should run And ends her lesson hauing now begun Now misseth she her stop then in her song And doing of her best she still is wrong Begâ—ns againe and yet againe strikes false Then in a chafe forsakes her Virginals And yet within an houre she tries anew That with her daily paines Arts chiefest due She gaines that charming skill and can no lesse Taâ—e the fierce walkers of the wildernesse Then that Oâ—agrin Harpist for whose lay Tigers with hunger pinde and left their pray So Riot when he gan to climbe the hill Here maketh haste and there long standeth still Now getteth vp a step then fals againe Yet not despairing all his nerues doth straine To clamber vp a new then slide his feet And downe he comes but giues not ouer yet For with the maid he hopes a time will be When merit shall be linkt with industry Now as an Angler melancholy standing Vpon a greene banke yeelding roome for landing A wrigling yellow worme thrust on his hooke Now in the midst he throwes then in a nooke Here puls his line there throwes it in againe Mâ—ndeth his Corke and Bait but all in vaine He long stands viewing of the curled streame At last a hungry Pike or well-growne Breame Snatch at the worme and hasting fast away He knowing it a Fish of stubborne sway Puls vp his rod but soft as hauing skill Wherewith the hooke fast holds the Fishes gill Then all his line he freely yeeldeth him Whilst furiously all vp and downe doth swim Th'insnared Fish here on the top doth sâ—ud There vnderneath the banks then in the mud And with his franticke fits so scares the shole That each one takes his hyde or starting hole By this the Pâ—ke cleane wearied vnderneath A Willow lyes and pants if Fishes breath Wherewith the Angler gently puls him to him And least his haste might happen to vndoe him Layes downe his rod then takes his line in hand And by degrees getting the Fish to land Walkes to another Poole at length is winner Of such a dish as serues him for his dinner So when the Climber halfe the way had got Musing he stood and busily gan plot How since the mount did alwaies steeper tend He might with steps secure his iourney end At last as wandring Boyes to gather Nuts A hooked Pole he from a Hasell cuts Now throwes it here then there to take some hold But bootlesse
and in vaine the rockie mold Admits no cranny where his Hasell-hooke Might promise him a step till in a nooke Somewhat aboue his reach he hath espide A little Oake and hauing often tride To catch a bough with standing on his toe Or leaping vp yet not preuailing so Ho◠〈…〉 towards the little 〈◊〉 The 〈…〉 His â—ole vnto 〈…〉 his drawing The early rising 〈…〉 Leauing the greene â—ough â—â—yes a boâ—â— the Rocke Whilst 〈…〉 to him flocke And now within his 〈…〉 With one hand on â—ly 〈◊〉 he hold 〈…〉 And with the 〈◊〉 grasping first the 〈◊〉 A pretty bough he â—n his 〈…〉 Then to his girdâ—â— be making 〈◊〉 the hooâ—â— His other hand another bough hâ—t bâ—ooke His first â— third and that another giuâ—â— To bring him to the place where 〈…〉 Then as a nimble Sqâ—irrill from the wood Ranging the hedâ—es for his Filberdâ—ood â—ood Sits peartly on a bough his browne Nuts cracking And from the shell the sweet white kernell â—aking Till with their crookeâ— and bags 〈…〉 Boyes To share with him come with so 〈…〉 That he is forc'd to leaue a Nut nigh broke And for his life leape to a neighbour 〈◊〉 Thence to a Beech thence to a row of Aâ—hes Whilst th'row the Qâ—agmires and red water plashes The Boyes run dabling thorow thicke and thin One teares his hose another breakes his 〈◊〉 This torne and â—atter'd hath with 〈…〉 Goâ— by the Bryers and that hath lost his shooe This drops his band that head-long 〈◊〉 for haste Another â—ries behinde for being last With sticks and stones 〈…〉 a sounding hollow The little foole with no small sport they follow Whilst he fro◠〈◊〉 to 〈◊〉 from spray to spray Gets to the wood and hides him in his Dray Such shiâ—â— mâ—de Ryâ—t ere he could get vp And so from bough to bough he won the top Though hindâ—â—◠〈◊〉 for euer comming there Were often â—hrâ—t vpon him by Dispaire Now at hi◠〈◊〉 the staâ—ely mountaine lay And with a gladsome eye began suruay What perils he had â—rod on since the time His weary feâ—â— and armes â—ssâ—id to climbe When with a humble voyce withouten feare Though he look'd wilde and ouer grown with haire A gentle Nymph in russet course array Comes and directs him onward in his way First brings she him into a goodly Hall Faire yet not beautified with Minerall But in a carelesse Art and artlesse care Made loose neglect more louely farre then rare Vpon the floore â—ypau'd with Marble slate With Sack-cloth cloth'd many in ashes sate And round about the wals for many yeares Hung Crystall Vials of repentant teares And Books of vowes and many a heauenly deed Lay ready open for each one to read Some were immured vp in little sheads There to contemplate Heauen and bid their Beads Others with garments thin of Cammels-haire With head and armes and legs and feet all bare Were singing Hymnes to the Eternall Sagâ— For sa 〈◊〉 from their Pilgrimage Some with a whip their pamper'd bodies beat Others in fasting liue and seldome 〈◊〉 But as those Trees which doe in Indiâ— grow And call'd of elder Swaineâ— full long agoe The Sun and Moones faire Trees full goodly deight And 〈…〉 challenging their height Hauing no helpe to ouer looke braue Towers From coole refreshing dâ—w or drisling showers Wheâ— as the Earth as oftentimes i◠〈◊〉 Is interpos'd â—wixt Saâ—â— and Nights pale Queenâ— Or whâ—â— the Mooneâ—â—clipseth â—â—clipseth Titans light The Trees all comfortlesse rob'd of their sight Weepe liquid drops which plentifully shooâ— Along the outward baâ—ke downe to the root And by their owne shed teares they euer flourish So their own sorrowes their owne ioyes doe nourish And so within this placefull many a wight Did make his teares his food both day and night And had it ganted from th' Almighty great To swim th'row them vnto his Mercy-sâ—â—s Faire Metaâ—aiâ— in a chaiâ—e of earth With count'nance sad yet sadnesse promis'd mirth Sate vail'd in coursest weeds of Cammels hayre Inriching pouertie yet neuer â—aire Waâ— like to her nor since the world begun A louelier Lady kist the glorious Sun For her the God of Thunder mighty great Whose Foot-stoole is the Earth and Heauen his Seaâ— Vnto a man who from hiâ— crying birth Went on still shunning what he carried 〈◊〉 VVhen he could walke no further for his graue Nor could step ouer but he there must haue A seat to rest when he would faine gâ—â—on But age in euery nerue in euery bone For â—ad his passage for her salte hath heauen Fill'd vp the graue and made his path so euen That fifteene courses had the bright Steeds run And he was weary 〈◊〉 his course was done For scorning her the Courts of Kings which throw A proud raâ—â—'d pinnacle to rest the Crow And on a Plaine out bâ—aue a neighbour Rocke In stout resistance of a Tempests shockâ— For her contempt heauen reiâ—ing his disasters Haue made these Towers but piles to burne their masters To her the lowly Nymph Humblessâ— hight Brought aâ— her office this deformed wight To whom the Lady courteous semblance shewes And pittying his estate in sacred thewes And Letters worthily yâ— leâ—p'd diuine Resolu'd t' instruct him but her discipline She knew of true effect would surely misse Except 〈◊〉 first his Metamorphosis Should cleane exile and knowing that his birth VVas to inherit reason though on earâ—h Some VVitch had thus transform'd him by her skill Expert in changing euen the very will In few dayes labours with continuall prayer A sacrifice transcends the buâ—ome ayre His gâ—isly shape his soule deformed feature His hâ—rrid lookes worse then a sauage creature By Metanoiâ—'s hand from heauen began Receiue their sentence of diuorce from man And as a louely Maiden pure and chaste VVith naked Iuâ—ie necke and gowne vnlac'd VVithin her chamber when the day is fled Makes poore her garments to enrich her bed First 〈◊〉 she off her lilly silken gowne That â—rikeâ— for sorrow aâ— she layes it downe And with her armes graceth a VVast coat fine Imbracing her as it would ne'er vntwine Her 〈◊〉 haire in snaring beholders She next permits to waue about her shoulders And â—â—ough-she cast it backe the silken slips Still forward steale and hang vpon her lips VVhereat she sweetly angry with her laces Bindes vp the wanton loâ—ks in curious â—races VVhilst twisting with her ioynts each haire long lingers As loâ—h to be inchain'd but with her fingers Then on her head a dressing like a Crowne Her breasts all bare her Kirâ—le slipping downe And all things off which rightly euer be Call'd the foule-faire markes of our miserie Except her last which enuiously doth seize her Least any eye partake with it in pleasure Prepares for sweetest rest while Siluans greet her And longingly the down-bed swels to meet her So by degrees his shape all brutish vilde Fell from him as loose-skin from some yong childe In lieu whereof a man-like shape appeares And gallant youth scarce skill'd in
Cernaâ—Ile in Affricks siluer maine Nor lustfull-bloodyâ— Tereus Thracian straine Nor any other Lording of the ayre Durst with this Eirie for their wing compare About his sides a thousand Seaguls bred The Mâ—uy and the Halcyon famosed For colours rare and for the peacefull Seas Round the Sicilian coast her brooding dayes Pussins as thicke as Starlings in a Fen Were fetcht from thence there sate the Pewet hen And in the clefts the Martin built his nest But those by this curst caitife dispossest Of roost and nest the least of life the most All left that place and sought a safer coast In stead of them the Caterpiller hants And Canâ—re-worme among the tender plants That here and there in nooks and corners grew Of Cormorants and Locusts not a few The cramming Rauen and a hundred more Deuouring creatures yet when from the shore Limos came wading as he easily might Except at high tydes all would take their flighâ— Or hide themselues in some deepe hole or other Lest one deuourer should deuoure another Neere to the shore that bord'red on the Rocke No merry Swaine was seene to feed his Flocke No lusty Neat-heard thither droue his Kine Nor boorish Hog-heard fed his rooting Swine A stony ground it was sweet Herbage fail'd Nought there but weeds which Limos strongly nail'd Tore from their mothers brest to stuffe his maw No Crab-tree bore his load nor Thorne his haw As in a Forest well compleat with Deere We see the Hollies Ashes euery where Rob'd of their cloathing by the browsing Game So neere the Rocke all trees where e're you came To cold Decembers wrath stood void of barke Here danc'd no Nymph no early-rising Larke Sung vp the Plow-man and his drowsie mate All round the Rocke barren and desolate In midst of that huge pile was Limos Caue Full large and round wherein a Millers knaue Might for his Horse and Querne haue roome at will Where was out-drawne by some inforced skill What mighty conquests were atchieu'd by him First stood the siege of great Ierusalem Within whose triple wall and sacred Citie Weepe ye stone-hearted men oh read and pittie 'T is Sions cause inuokes your briny teares Can any dry eye be when she appeares As I must sing her oh if such there be Flie flie th' abode of men and hasten thee Into the Desart some high Mountaine vnder Or at thee boyes will hisse and old men wonder Here sits a mother weeping pale and wan With fixed eyes whose hopelesse thoughts seem'd ran How since for many daies no food she casted Her Meale her Oyle consum'd all spent all wasted For one poore day she might attaine supply And desp'rate of ought else sit pine and dye At last her minde meets with her tender childe That in the cradle lay of Oziers wilde Which taken in her armes she giues the teat From whence the little wretch with labour great Not one poore drop can sucke whereat she wood Cries out ô heauen â—are all the founts of food Exhausted quite and must my Infanâ— yong Be fed with shooes yet wanting those ere â—ong Feed on it selfe No first the roome that gaue Him soule and life shall be his timelesse graue My dugs thy best reliefe through griping hunger Flow now no more my babe Then since no longer By râ—e thou canst be fed nor any other Be thou the Nurse and feed thy dying Mother Thâ—n in another place she straight appeares Seeâ—hing her suckling in her scalding teares From whence not farre the Paintâ—r made her stand Tearing his sod flesh with her cruell hand In gobbets which she ate O cursed wombe That to thy selfe art both the graue and tombe A little sweet lad there seemes to intreat With held vp hands his famisht Sire for meat Who wanting ought to giue his hoped ioy But throbs and sighes the ouer-hungry boy For some poore bit in darke nooks making quest His Sachell finds which growes a gladsome feast To him and both his Parents Then next day He chewes the points wherewith he vs'd to play Deuouring last his Books of euery kinde They fed his body which should feede his minde But when his Sachell Points Books all were gone Before his Sire he droopes and dies anon In height of Art then had the Work-man done A pious zealous most religious sonne Who on the enemy excursion made And spight of danger strongly did inuade Their victuals conuoy bringing from them home Dri'd figs Dates Almonds and such fruits as come To the beleagring foe and sate's the want Therewith of those who from a tender plant Bred him a man for armes thus oft he went And Storke-like sought his Parents nourishment Till Fates decreed he on the Roman Speares Should giue his bloud for them who gaue him theirs A Million of such throes did Famine bring Vpon the Citie of the mighty King Till as her people all her buildings rare Consum'd themselues and dim'd the lightsome ayre Neere this the curious Pencell did expresse A large and solitary wildernesse Whose high well limmed Oakes in growing show'd As they would case strong Atâ—as of his load Here vnderneath a tree in heauy plight Her bread and pot of water wasted quite Aegyptian Hagar nipt with hunger fell Sate rob'd of hope her Infant Ishmael Farre from her being laid full sadly seem'd To cry for meat his cry she nought esteem'd But kept her still and turn'd her face away Knowing all meanes were bootlesse to assay In such a Desert and since now they must Sleepe their eternall sleepe and cleane to dust She chose apart to graspe one death alone Rather then by her babe a million Then Eresichthons case in Ouids Song Was portraied out and many moe along The insides of the Caue which were descride By many loope-holes round on euery side These faire Marina view'd left all alone The Caue fast shut Limos for pillage gone Neere the wash'd shore mong roots and breers and thorns A Bullocke findes who deluing with his hornes The hurtlesse earth the while his tough hoofe tore The yeelding turffe in furious rage he bore His head among the boughs that held it round While with his bellowes all the shores resound Him Limos kil'd and hal'd with no small paine Vnto the Rocke fed well then goes againe Which seru'd Marina fit for had his food Fail'd him her veines had fail'd their deerest blood Now great Hyperion left his golden throne That on the dancing waues in glory shone For whose declining on the Westerne shore The orientall hils blacke mantles wore And thence apace the gentle Twi-light fled That had from hideous cauernes vshered All-drowsie Night who in a Carre of Iet By Sâ—eeds of Iron-gray which mainly swet Moist drops on all the world drawne through the skie The helps of darknesse waited orderly First thicke clouds rose from all the liquid plaines Then mists from Marishes and grounds whose veines Were Conduit-pipes to many a crystall spring From standing Pooles and Fens were following Vnhealthy fogs each Riuer