vvhen he seeth him take his foode and yet his chaps can chevv no hay at all Borrill euen so it fareth novv vvith thee And vvith these vvisards of thy mysterie Borrill Sharpe is the thorne full soone I see by thee bitter the blossome vvhen the fruite is sovver And early crook d that vvill a Camock bee rough is the vvinde before a sodayne shovver Pittie thy vvit should be so vvrong mislead And thus be guyded by a giddie head Ah foolish else I inly pittie thee misgouerned by thy lewd brainsick will The hidden baytes ah fond thou do'st not see nor find'st the cause which breedeth all thy ill Thou think'st all golde that hath a golden shew And art deceiu'd for it is nothing soe Such one art thou as is the little flie who is so crowse and gamesome with the flame Till vvith her busines and her nicetie her nimble vvings are scorched vvith the same Then fals she dovvne vvith pitteous buzzing note And in the fier doth sindge her mourning cote Batte Alas good man I see thou ginst to raue thy vvits done erre and misse the cushen quite Because thy head is gray and vvordes been graue Thou think'st thereby to dravv me from delight What I am young a goodly Batcheler And must liue like the lustie limmeter Thy legges been crook'd thy knees done bend for age and I am svvift and nimble as the Roe Thou art ycouped like a bird in cage and in the field I vvander too and froe Thou must doe penance for thy olde misdeedes And make amends vvith Auies and vvith creedes For al that thou canst say I will not let for why my fancie strayneth me so sore That day and night my minde is wholy set on iollie Loue and iollie Paramore Only on loue I set my whole delight The summers day and all the winters night That pretie Cupid little god of loue whose imped wings with speckled plumes been dight Who striketh men below and Gods aboue Rouing at randon with his feathered flight When louely Uenus sits and giues the ayme And smiles to see her little Bantlings game Vpon my staffe his statue will I carue his bowe and quiuer on his winged backe His forked heads for such as them deserue and not of his an implement shall lacke And Uenus in her Litter all of loue Drawne with a Swanne a Sparrow and a Doue And vnder him Thesby of Babylon and Clcopatra somtime of renovvne Phillis that died for loue of Demophôon Then louely Dido Queen of Carthage towne Which euer held god Cupids lawes so deare And been canoniz'd in Loues Calendere Borrill Ah wilfull boy thy follie now I finde and hard it is a fooles talke to endure Thou art as deafe euen as thy god is blinde sike as the Saint sike is the seruiture But wilt thou heare a good olde Minstrels song A medicine for such as been vvith loue ystong Batte Borrill sing on I pray thee let vs heare that I may laugh to see thee shake thy beard But take heede Borrill that thy voyce be cleare or by my hood thou'lt make vs all afeard Or els I doubt that thou wilt fright our flockes When they shall heare thee barke so like a foxe Borrill Oh spight full way ward wretched loue VVoe to Venus which did nurse thee Heauens and earth thy plagues do proue Gods and men haue cause to curse thee Thoughts griefe hearts woe Hopes paine bodies languish Enutes rage sleepes foe Fancies fraud soules anguish Desires dread mindes madnes Secrets be wrayer natures error Sights deceit sullens sadnes Speeches expence Cupids terror Malcontents melancholly Liues slaughter deaths nurse Cares slaue dotards folly Fortunes bayte worlds curse Lookes theft eyes blindnes Selfes will tongues treason Paynes pleasure wrongs kindnes Furies frensie follies reason VVith cursing thee as I began Cursing thee I make an end Neither God neither man Neither Fayrie neither Feend Batte Ah worthy Borrill here's a goodly song now by my belt I neuer heard a worse Olde doting foole for shame hold thou thy tongue I would thy clap were shut vp in my purse It is thy life if thou mayst scolde and braule Yet in thy words there is no wit at all And for that wrong which thou to loue hast done I will aueng me at this present time And in such forte as now thou hast begonne I will repeat a carowlet in rime Where Borrill I vnto thy teeth will proue That all my good consisteth in my loue Borrill Come on good Batte I pray thee let vs heare Much will be sayd and neuer a vvhit the near Batte Loue is the heauens fayre aspect loue is the glorie of the earth Loue only doth our liues direct loue is our guyder from our birth Loue taught my thoughts at first to flie loue taught mme eyes the way to loue Loue raysed my conceit so hie loue framd my hand his arte to proue Loue taught my Muse her perfect skill loue gaue me first to Poesies Loue is the Soueraigne of my will loue bound me first to loyalty Loue was the first that fram'd my speech loue was the first that gaue me grace Loue is my life and fortunes leech loue made the vertuous giue me place Loue is the end of my desire loue is the loadstarre of my loue Loue makes my selfe my selfe admire loue seated my delights aboue Loue placed honor in my brest loue made me learnings fauoret Loue made me liked of the best loue first my minde on vertue set Loue is my life life is my loue loue is my whole felicity Loue is my sweete sweete is my loue I am in loue and loue in me Borrill Is loue in thee alas poore sillie lad thou neuer couldst haue lodg'd a worser guest For where he rules no reason can be had so is he still sworne enemie to rest It pitties me to thinke thy springing yeares Should still be spent with woes with sighes with teares Batte Gramercy Borrill for thy company for all thy iestes and all thy merrie Bourds I still shall long vntill I be with thee because I find some wisdome in thy words But I will watch the next time thou doost ward heard And sing thee such a lay of loue as neuer shepheard THE EIGHTH EGLOG. Good Gorbo of the golden world and Saturns raigne doth tell And afterward doth make reporte of bonnie Dovvsabell Motto SHepheard why creepe we in this lowly vaine as though our muse no store at all affordes Whilst others vaunt it with the frolicke swayne and strut the stage with reperfumed wordes See how these yonkers raue it out in rime who make a traffique of their rarest wits And in Bellonas buskin tread it fine like Bacchus priests raging in franticke fits Those mirtle Groues decay'd done growe againe their rootes refresht with Heliconas spring Whose pleasant shade inuites the homely swayne to sit him dovvne and heare the Muses sing Then if thy Muse hath spent her wonted zeale with Iuie twist thy temples shall be crownd Or
windvfallen branches fold by tempest stroke His barcke consumes with canker wormed rust And though thou seemst like to the bragging bryer As gay as is the mornings Marygolde Yet shortly shall thy sap be drie and seere Thy gaudy Blossomes blemished with colde Euen such a wanton an vnruly swayne was little Rowland vvhen of yore as he Vpon the Beechen tree on yonder playne Carued this rime of loues Idolatrie The Gods delight the heauens hie spectacle Earths greatest glory worlds rarest miracle Fortunes fayr'st mistresse vertues surest guide Loues Gouernesse and natures chiefest pride Delights owne darling honours cheefe defence Chastities choyce and wisdomes quintessence Conceipts sole Riches thoughts only treasure Desires true hope loyes sweetest pleasure Mercies due merite valeurs iust reward Times fayrest fruite fames strongest guarde Yea she alone next that eternall he The expresse Image of eternitie Motto Oh diuine loue which so aloft canst raise And lift the minde out of this earthly mire And do'st inspire the pen with so hie prayse As with the heauens doth equal mans desire Thou lightning flame of sacred Poesie Whose furie doth incense the swelling braines As drawes to thee by heauen-bred Sympathie The sweete delights of highest soaring vaines Who doth not helpe to deck thy holy Shrine With Mirtle and triumphant Lawrell tree Who will not say that thou art most diuine Or who doth not confesse thy deitie Wynken A foolish boy full ill is he repayed For now the wanton pines in endles paine And sore repents what he before missaide So may they be which can so lewdly faine Now hath this yonker torne his tressed lockes And broke his pipe which sounded erst so sweete Forsaking his companions and their flocks And casts his gayest garland at his feete And being shrowded in a homely cote And full of sorrow as a man might be He tun'd his Rebeck with a mournfull note And thereto sang this dolefull elegie Tell me fayre flocke if so you can conceaue The sodaine cause of my night-sunnes eclipse If this be wrought me my light to bereaue By Magick spels from some inchanting lips Or vgly Saturne from his combust sent This fat all presage of deaths dreryment Oh cleerest day-starre honored of mine eyes Yet sdaynst mine eyes should gaze vpon thy light Bright morning sunne who with thy sweet arise Expell'st the clouds of my harts lowring might Goddes reiecting sweetest sacrifice Of mine eyes teares ay offered to thine eyes May purest heauens scorne my soules pure desires Or holy shrines hate Pilgrims orizons May sacred temples gaynsay sacred prayers Or Saints refuse the poores deuotions Then Orphane thoughts with sorrow be you waind VVhen loues Religion shalbe thus prophayn'd Yet needes the earth must droupe with visage sad VVhen siluer dewes been turn'd to bitter stormes The Cheerefull Welkin once in sables clad Her frownes foretell poore humaine creatures harmes And yet for all to make amends for this The clouds sheed teares and weepen at my misse Motto Woe's me for him that pineth so in payne Alas poore Rowland how it pities me So faire a baite should breed so foule a bayne Or humble shewes should couer crueltie VVinken Beware by him thou foolish wanton svvayne By others harmes thus maist thou learne to heede Beautie and wealth been fraught vvith hie disdaine Beleeue it as a Maxim of thy Creede Motto If that there be such woes and paines in loue Woe be to him that list the same to proue VVynken Yes thou shalt find if thou desir'st to proue There is no hell vnto the paines in loue THE THIRD EGLOG. Rowland and Perkin both Ifeere in field vpon a day VVith little Robin redbrests Round doe passe the time away Perkin ROwland for shame awake thy drowsie muse Time plaies the hunts-vp to thy sleepie head Why li'st thou here as thou hadst long been dead foule idle swayne Who euer heard thy pipe and pleasing vaine And doth but heare this scurrill minstralcy These noninos of filthie ribauldry that doth not muse Then slumber not with foule Endymion But tune thy reede to dapper virelayes And sing a while of blessed Betas prayse faire Beta she In thy sweete song so blessed may'st thou bee For learned Collin laies his pipes to gage And is to fayrie gone a Pilgrimage the more our mone Rowland What Beta shepheard she is Pans belou'd Faire Betas praise beyond our straine doth stretch Her notes too hie for my poore pipe to reach poore oten reede So farre vnfit to speake of vvorthies deede But set my stops vnto a lovver kay Whereas a horne-pipe I may safelie play yet vnreproou'd With flatterie my muse could neuer fage Nor could affect such vaine scurrility To please lewd Lorrels in their foolery too base and vile Nor but a note yet will I raise my stile My selfe aboue VVill Piper to aduance Which so bestirs him at the morris dance for pennie wage Perkin Rowland so toyes oft times esteemed are And fashions euer changing with the time Then frolick it a while in lustie rime with mirth and glee And let me heare that Roundelay of thee Which once thou sangst to me in Ianeueer VVhen Robin-redbrest sitting on a breere the burthen bare Rowland VVell needes I must yet with a heauie hart But were not Beta sure I would not sing VVhose praise the ecchoes neuer cease to ring vnto the skies Pirken Be blith good Rowland then and cleere thine eyes And now sith Robin to his roost is gone Good Rowland then supplie the place alone and shew thy arte O thou fayre siluer Thames ô cleerest chrystall flood Beta alone the Phenix is of all thy watery brood The Queene of Uirgins onely she And thou the Queene of floods shalt be Let all thy Nymphes be ioyfull then to see this happy day Thy Beta now alone shalbe the subiect of my laye VVith daintie and delight some straines of sweetest virelayes Come louely shepheards sit we down chant our Betas prayse And let vs sing so rare a verse Our Betas prayses to reheaerse That little Birds shall silent be to heare poore shepheards sing And riuers backward bend their course flow vnto the spring Range all thy swannes faire Thames together on a rancke And place them duely one by one vpon thy stately banck Then set together all a good Recording to the siluer stood And craue the tunefull Nightingale to helpe you with her lay The Osel the Throstlecocke chiefe musick of our maye O see what troups of Nimphs been sporting on the strands And they been blessed Nimphs of peace with Oliues in their How meryly the Muses sing hands That all the flowry Medowesring And Beta sits vpon the banck in purple and in pall And she the Queene of Muses is and weares the Corinall Trim vp her Golden tresses with Apollos sacred tree ô happy sight vnto all those that loue and honor thee The Blessed Angels haue prepar'd A glorious Crowne for thy reward Not such a golden Crowne as haughtie Caesar weares But such a glittering
on thy mourning Gaberdine And set thy song vnto the dolefull Base And with thy sable vayle shadow thy face with weeping verse attend his hearse VVhose blessed soule the heauens doe now enshrine Come Nymphs and with your Rebecks ring his knell VVarble forth your wamenting harmony And at his drery fat all obsequie with Cypres bowes maske your fayre Browes And beat your breasts to chyme his burying peale Thy birth-day was to all our ioye the euen And on thy death this dolefull song we sing Sweet Child of Pan and the Castalian spring vnto our endles mone from vs why art thou gone To fill vp that sweete Angels quier in heauen O whylome thou thy lasses dearest loue VVhen with greene Lawrell she hath crowned thee Immortall mirror of all Poesie the Muses treasure the Graces pleasure Reigning with Angels now in heauen aboue Our mirth is now depriu'd of all her glory Our Taburins in dolefull dumps are drownd Our viols want their sweet and pleasing sound our melodie is mar'd and we of ioyes debard Oh wicked world so mutable and transitory O dismall day bereauer of delight O stormy winter sourse of all our sorrow ô most vntimely and eclipsed morrow to rob vs quite of all delight Darkening that starre which euer shone so bright Oh Elphin Elphin Though thou hence be gone In spight of death yet shalt thou liue for aye Thy Poesie is garlanded with Baye and still shall blaze thy lasting prayse VVhose losse poore shepherds euer shall bemone Come Girles and with Carnations decke his graue VVith damaske Roses and the hyacynt Come with sweete VVilliams Marioram and Mynt with precious Balmes with hymnes and psalmes His funerall deserues no lesse at all to haue But see where Elphin sits in fayre Elizia Feeding his flocke on yonder heauenly playne Come and behold yon louely shepheards swayne piping his fill on yonder hill Tasting sweete Nectar and Ambrosia Gorbo Oh how thy plaints sweete friend renew my payne In listning thus to thy lamenting cries That from the tempest of my troubled brayne See how the floods been risen in mine eyes And being now a full tide of our teares It is full time to stop the streame of griefe Lest drowning in the floods of our despaires We want our liues wanting our soules reliefe But now the sunne beginneth to decline And whilest our woes been in repeating here Yon little eluish moping Lamb of mine Is all betangled in yon crawling Brier Optima prima ferè manibus rapiuntur auaris Implentur numer is deteriora suis. THE FIFTH EGLOG. This lustie swayne bis lowly quill to higher notes doth rayse And in Ideas person paynts his louely lasses prayse Motto COme frolick it a while my lustie swayne Let's see if time haue yet reuiu'd in thee Or if there be remayning but a grayne Of the olde stocke of famous poesie Or but one slip yet left of this same sacred tree Or if reseru'd from elds deuouring rage Recordes of vertue Aye memoriall Left to the world as learnings lasting gage Or if the prayse of worthy pastorall May tempt thee now or mooue thee once at all To Fortunes Orphanes Nature hath bequeath'd That mighty Monarchs seldome haue possest From highest Heauen this influence is breath'd A most diuine impression in the breast feast And those whom Fortune pines doth Nature often Ti's not the troupes of paynted Imagerie Nor these worlds Idols our worlds Idiots gazes Our forgers of suppos'd Gentillitie When he his great great Grand-sires glory blases And paints out fictions in base coyned Phrases For honour naught regards nor followeth fame These silken pictures shewed in euery streete Of Idlenes comes euill of pride ensueth shame And blacke obliuion is their winding sheete And all their glory troden vnder feete Though Enuie sute her seuen-times poysned dartes Yet purest golde is seuen times try'd in fier True valeur lodgeth in the lowlest harts Vertue is in the minde not in th'attyre Nor stares at starres nor stoups at filthy myre Rowland I may not sing of such as fall nor clyme Nor chaunt of armes nor of heroique deedes It fitteth not poore shepheards rurall rime Nor is agreeing with my oaten reedes Nor from my quill grosse flatterie proceedes Vnsitting tearmes nor false dissembling smiles Shall in my lines nor in my stile appeare Worlds fawning fraud nor like deceitfull guiles No no my muse none such shall soiourne here Nor any bragges of hope nor signes of base despaire No fatall dreades nor fruitles vaine desires Nor caps nor curtsies to a paynted wall Nor heaping rotten sticks on needles fires Ambitious thoughts to clime nor fearcs to fall A minde voyd of mistrust and free from seruile thral Foule slander thou suspitions Bastard Child Selfe-eating Impe from vipers poysned wombe Foule swelling to ade with lothly spots defil'd Vile Aspis bred within the ruinde tombe Eternall death for euer be thy doombe Still be thou shrouded in blacke pitchie night Luld with the horror of night-rauens song Let foggie mistes clowd and eclipse thy light Thy wooluish teeth chew out thy venomd tongue With Snakes and adders be thy body stong Motto Nor these nor these may like thy lowlie quill As of too hie or of too base a straine Vnfitting thee and sdeyned ofthy skill Nor yet according with a shepheards vayne Nor no such subiect may beseeme a swayne Then tune thy reede vnto Ideas prayse And teach the woods to wonder at her name Thy lowlie notes here mayst thou learne to rayse And make the ecchoes blazen out her name The lasting trumpe of Phebes lasting fame Thy Temples then shall with greene bayes be dight Thy Egle-soring muse vpon her wing With her fayre siluer wings shall take her flight To that hie welked tower where Angels sing From thence to fetch the tutch of her sweete string Rowland Oh hie inthronized Ioue in thy Olympicke raigne Oh battel-waging Marte oh sage-saw'd Mercury Oh Golden shrined Sol Uenus loues soueraigne Oh dreadfull Saturne flaming aye with furie Moyst-humord Cinthya Author of Lunacie Conioyne helpe to erect our faire Ideas trophie Oh Tresses of faire Phoebus stremed die Oh blessed load-starre lending purest light Oh Paradice of heauenly tapistrie Angels sweete musick ô my soules delight ô fayrest Phebe passing euery other light Whose presence ioyes the earths decayed state Whose counsels are registred in the sphere Whose sweete reflecting clearenes doth amate The starrie lights and makes the Sunne more fayre Whose breathing sweete perfumeth all the ayre Thy snowish necke fayre Natures tresurie Thy swannish breast the hauen of lasting blisse Thy cheekes the bancks of Beauties vsurie Thy heart the myne where goodnes gotten is Thy lips those lips which Cupid ioyes to kisse And those fayre hands within whose louely palmes Fortune diuineth happie Augurie Those straightest fingers dealing heauenly almes Pointed with pur'st of Natures Alcumie Where loue sits looking in loues palmistrie And those fayre Iuorie columnes which vpreare That Temple built by heauens Geometrie And holiest Flamynes sacrifizen theare Vnto that