  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, 10Came her god-like foote to finde, 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, 20That from sight her steps were hid. 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, 30Layes his well-tun'd Bagpype by, And his Sheep-hooke casts aside, There (quoth he) together lye. 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, 40Death cannot diuorce vs so: 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, 50So they are both deafe and dumbe, 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, 60Since we first each other knewe: 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, 70To whose close vncranied brest, We our secret thoughts may send, And there safely let it rest: 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, 80That may meet thee by the way, 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, 90Her distressed present state, 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 100Wert ordain'd to taste of woe; 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 110To that passe thy state is growne, I thereby thy life may saue, But am sure to loose mine owne, 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, 120Must be taught thee by thy Louer. 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, 130There was many a frolike Swaine, 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, Decorative
O whylome thou thy lasses dearest loue, 20When with greene Lawrell she hath crowned thee, Immortal 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, 30O wicked world so mutable and transitory. O dismall day, bereauer of delight, O stormy winter, sourse of all our sorrow, O most vntimely and eclipsed morrow, to rob us 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: 40and still shalt blaze thy lasting prayse: Whose losse poore shepherds euer shall bemone. Come Girles, and with Carnations decke his graue, With damaske Roses and the hyacynt: Come with sweete Williams, Marioram and Mynt, with precious Balmes, with hymnes and psalmes, This funerall deserues no lesse at all to haue. 50Feeding his flocke on yonder heauenly playne, Come and behold, you louely shepheards swayne, piping his fill on yonder hill, Tasting sweete Nectar, and Ambrosia. From Eclogue vijBorrill. Oh spightfull wayward wretched loue, Woe to Venus which did nurse thee, Heauens and earth thy plagues doe proue, Gods and men haue cause to curse thee. Thoughts griefe, hearts woe, Hopes paine, bodies languish, Enuies rage, sleepes foe, Fancies fraud, soules anguish, Desires dread, mindes madnes, 10Secrets bewrayer, natures error, Sights deceit, sullens sadnes, Speeches expence, Cupids terror, Malcontents melancholly, Liues slaughter, deaths nurse, Cares slaue, dotard's folly, Fortunes bayte, world's curse, Lookes theft, eyes blindnes, Selfes will, tongues treason, Paynes pleasure, wrongs kindnes, 20Furies frensie, follies reason: With cursing thee as I began, Neither God, neither man, Neither Fayrie, neither Feend. 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 mine eyes the way to loue, 30Loue 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 Poesie: 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. 40Loue 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 virtue set. Loue is my life, life is my loue, loue is my whole felicity, 50Loue is my sweete, sweete is my loue, I am in loue, and loue in mee. From Eclogue viijFarre in the countrey of Arden There wond a knight hight Cassemen, as bolde as Isenbras: Fell was he and eger bent, In battell and in Tournament, as was the good sir Topas. He had as antique stories tell, A daughter cleaped Dowsabell, a mayden fayre and free: Full well she was ycond the leyre, of mickle curtesie. The silke wel couth she twist and twine, And make the fine Marchpine, and with the needle werke, And she couth helpe the priest to say His Mattens on a holyday, and sing a Psalme in Kirke. She ware a frocke of frolicke greene, 20Might well beseeme a mayden Queene, which seemly was to see. A hood to that so neat and fine, In colour like the colombine, ywrought full featously. Her feature all as fresh aboue, As is the grasse that grows by Doue, as lyth as lasse of Kent: Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll, As white as snow on peakish hull, 30or Swanne that swims in Trent. This mayden in a morne betime, Went forth when May was in her prime, to get sweet Cetywall, The hony-suckle, the Harlocke, The Lilly and the Lady-smocke, to decke her summer hall. |
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