The Shepheard's Calender: Twelve Aeglogues Proportionable to the Twelve Monethes :: APRIL

APRIL - AEGLOGA QUARTA

april

APRIL. ÆGLOGA QUARTA. ARGUMENT.

This Æglogue is purposely intended to the honour and praise of our most gracious sovereign, Queen Elizabeth. The speakers hereof be Hobbinol and Thenot, two shepheards: the which Hobbinol, being beforementioned greatly to have loved Colin, is here set forth more largely, complaining him of that boy's great misadventure in love; whereby his mind was alienated and withdrawn not only from him, who most loved him, but also from all former delights and studies, as well in pleasant piping, as cunning rhyming and singing, and other his laudable exercises. Whereby he taketh occasion, for proof of his more excellency and skill in poetry, to record a song, which the said Colin sometime made in honour of her Majesty, whom abruptly he termeth Elisa.

THENOT. HOBBINOL.

THENOT.

Tell me, good Hobbinol, what gars thee greet?

What! hath some wolf thy tender lambs ytorn?

Or is thy bagpipe broke, that sounds so sweet?

Or art thou of thy loved lass forlorn?

Or be thine eyes attemper'd to the year,

Quenching the gasping furrows' thirst with rain?

Like April shower, so stream the trickling tears

Adown thy cheek, to quench thy thirsty pain.

HOB. Nor this, nor that, so much doth make me mourn,

But for the lad, whom long I lov'd so dear,

Now loves a lass that all his love doth scorn:

He, plunged in pain, his tressed locks doth tear;

Shepheard's delights he doth them all forswear;

His pleasant pipe, which made us merriment,

He wilfully hath broke, and doth forbear

His wonted songs wherein he all outwent.

THE. What is he for a lad you so lament?

Is love such pinching pain to them that prove?

And hath he skill to make so excellent,

Yet hath so little skill to bridle love?

HOB. Colin thou kenst, the southern shepheard's boy;

Him Love hath wounded with a deadly dart:

Whilome on him was all my care and joy,

Forcing with gifts to win his wanton heart.

But now from me his madding mind is start,

And wooes the widow's daughter of the glen;

So now fair Rosalind hath bred his smart;

So now his friend is changed for a frenne.

THE. But if his ditties be so trimly dight,

I pray thee, Hobbinol, record some one,

The whiles our flocks do graze about in sight,

And we close shrouded in this shade alone.

HOB. Contented I: then will I sing his lay

Of fair Elisa, queen of shepheards all,

Which once he made as by a spring he lay,

And tuned it unto the waters' fall.

"Ye dainty Nymphs, that in this blessed brook

Do bathe your breast,

Forsake your watry bowers, and hither look,

At my request.

And eke you virgins, that on Parnass dwell,

Whence floweth Helicon, the learned well,

Help me to blaze

Her worthy praise,

Which in her sex doth all excel.

"Of fair Elisa be your silver song,

That blessed wight,

The flower of virgins; may she flourish long

In princely plight!

For she is Syrinx' daughter without spot,

Which Pan, the shepheards' god, of her begot:

So sprung her grace

Of heavenly race,

No mortal blemish may her blot.

"See, where she sits upon the grassy green,

(O seemly sight!)

Yclad in scarlet, like a maiden queen,

And ermines white:

Upon her head a crimson coronet,

With damask roses and daffadillies set;

Bay leaves between,

And primroses green,

Embellish the sweet violet.

"Tell me, have ye seen her angelic face,

Like Phoebe fair?

Her heavenly haveour, her princely grace,

Can you well compare?

The red rose medled with the white yfere,

In either cheek depeincten lively cheer:

Her modest eye,

Her majesty,

Where have you seen the like but there?

"I saw Phoebus; thrust out his golden head,

Upon her to gaze;

But, when he saw how broad her beams did spread,

It did him amaze.

He blush'd to see another sun below,

Ne durst again his fiery face out show.

Let him, if he dare,

His brightness compare

With hers, to have the overthrow.

"Shew thyself, Cynthia, with thy silver rays,

And be not abash'd:

When she the beams of her beauty displays,

O how art thou dash'd!

But I will not match her with Latona's seed;

Such folly great sorrow to Niobe did breed.

And she is a stone,

And makes daily moan,

Warning all other to take heed.

"Pan may be proud that ever he begot

Such a bellibone;

And Syrinx rejoice, that ever was her lot

To bear such an one.

Soon as my younglings crying for the dam,

To her will I offer a milkwhite lamb;

She is my goddess plain,

And I her shepheard's swain,

Albe forswonk and forswat I am.

"I see Calliope speed her to the place,

Where my goddess shines;

And after her the other Muses trace,

With their violins.

Be they not bay-branches which they do bear,

All for Elisa in her hand to wear?

So sweetly they play,

And sing all the way,

That it a heaven is to hear.

"Lo, how finely the Graces can it foot

To the instrument:

They dancen deftly, and singen soote,

In their merriment.

Wants not a fourth Grace, to make the dance even?

Let that room to my Lady be yeven

She shall be a Grace,

To fill the fourth place,

And reign with the rest in heaven.

"And whither runs this bevy of ladies bright,

Ranged in a row?

They be all Ladies of the Lake behight,

That unto her go.

Chloris, that is the chiefest nymph of all,

Of olive branches bears a coronal:

Olives be for peace

When wars do surcease:

Such for a princess be principal.

"Ye shepheards' daughters, that dwell on the green,

Hie you there apace:

Let none come there but that virgins bene,

To adorn her grace:

And, when you come whereas she is in place,

See that your rudeness do not you disgrace:

Bind your fillets fast,

And gird in your waist,

For more fineness, with a tawdry5 lace.

"Bring hither the pink and purple columbine,

With gelliflowers;

Bring coronations, and sops-in-wine,

Worn of paramours:

Strow me the ground with daffadowndillies,

And cowslips, and kingcups, and loved lillies:

The pretty paunce,

And the chevisance,

Shall match with the fair flower delice.

"Now rise up, Elisa, decked as thou art

In royal array;

And now ye dainty damsels may depart

Each one her way.

I fear I have troubled your troops too long;

Let Dame Elisa thank you for her song:

And, if you come hither

When damsines I gather,

I will part them all you among."

THE. And was thilk same song of Colin's own making?

Ah! foolish boy! that is with love yblent;

Great pity is, he be in such taking,

For naught caren that be so lewdly bent.

HOB. Sicker I hold him for a greater fon,

That loves the thing he cannot purchase.

But let us homeward, for night draweth on,

And twinkling stars the daylight hence chase.

THENOT'S EMBLEME.6
O quam et memorem virgo!

HOBBINOL'S EMBLEME.
O Dea certe!

thenot's emblemhobbinol's emblem

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