The First Eclogues

THYRSIS and DORUS

THYRSIS

Come Dorus, come, let songs thy sorrows signify,

And if for want of use thy mind ashamed is,

That very shame with love’s high title dignify.

No style is held for base where love well named is:

Each ear sucks up the words a true-love scattereth,

And plain speech oft, than quaint phrase better framed is.

DORUS

Nightingales seldom sing, the pie still chattereth,

The wood cries most, before it thoroughly kindled be,

Deadly wounds inward bleed, each slight sore mattereth.

Hardly they heard, which by good hunters singled be:

Shallow brooks murmur most, deep, silent slide away,

Nor true-love, his love with others mingled be.

THYRSIS

If thou wilt not be seen, thy face go hide away,

Be none of us, or else maintain our fashion:

Who frowns at others’ feasts, doth better bide away.

But if thou hast a love, in that love’s passion,

I challenge thee by show of her perfection,

Which of us two deserveth most compassion.

DORUS

Thy challenge great, but greater my protection:

Sing then, and see (for now thou hast inflamed me)

Thy health too mean a match for my infection.

No, though the heaven’s for high attempts have blamed me,

Yet high is my attempt. O Muse historify

Her praise, whose praise to learn your skill hath framed me.

THYRSIS

Muse hold your peace, but thou my god Pan glorify

My Kala’s gifts, who with all good gifts filled is.

Thy pipe, O Pan, shall help, though I sing sorrily.

A heap of sweets she is, where nothing spilled is;

Who though she be no Bee, yet full of honey is:

A Lily-field, with plough of Rose which tilled is:

Mild as a lamb, more dainty than a coney is:

Her eyes my eye-sight is, her conversation

More glad to me than to a miser money is.

What coy account she makes of estimation?

How nice to touch? how all her speeches poised be?

A nymph thus turned, but mended in translation.

DORUS

Such Kala is: but ah my fancies raised be

In one, whose name to name were high presumption,

Since virtue’s all, to make her title pleased be.

O happy gods, which by inward assumption

Enjoy her soul, in body’s fair possession,

And keep it join’d, fearing your seat’s consumption.

How oft with rain of tears skies make confession,

Their dwellers wrapt with sight of her perfection,

From heav’nly throne to her heav’n use digression?

Of best things then what world shall yield confection

To liken her? deck yours with your comparison:

She is herself of best things the collection.

THYRSIS

How oft my doleful sire cry’d to me, “Tarry son,”

When first he spied my love! how oft he said to me,

“Thou art no soldier fit for Cupid’s garrison?

My son keep this, that my long toil hath laid to me:

Love well thine own, methinks wool’s whiteness passeth all:

I never found long love such wealth hath paid to me.”

This wind he spent: but when my Kala glasseth all

My sight in her fair limbs, I then assure myself,

Not rotten sheep, but high crowns she surpasseth all.

Can I be poor, that her gold hair procure myself?

Want I white wool, whose eyes her white skin garnished?

’Till I get her, shall I to keep inure myself?

DORUS

How oft, when reason saw, love of her harnessed

With armour of my heart, he cried, “O vanity!

To set a pearl in steel so meanly varnished?

Look to thyself, reach not beyond humanity.

Her mind, beams, state, far from the weak wings banished;

And love which lover hurts is inhumanity.”

Thus reason said: but she came, reason vanished;

Her eyes so mastering me, that such objection

Seem’d but to spoil the food of thoughts long famished.

Her peerless height my mind to high erection

Draws up; and if hope-failing end life’s pleasure,

Of fairer death how can I make election?

THYRSIS

Once my well-waiting eyes espy’d my treasure,

With sleeves turn’d up, loose hair, and breasts enlarged,

Her father’s corn, moving her fair limbs, measure.

“O,” cried I, “if so mean work be discharged:

Measure my case how by thy beauty’s filling,

With seed of woes my heart brim-full is charg’d.

Thy father bids thee save, and chides for spilling;

Save then my soul, spill not my thoughts well heap’d,

No lovely praise was ever got by killing.”

Those bold words she did bear, this fruit I reaped,

That she whose look alone might make me blessed,

Did smile on me, and then away she leaped.

DORUS

Once, O sweet once, I saw with dread oppressed

Her whom I dread, so that with prostrate lying

Her length, the earth in love’s chief clothing dressed,

I saw that riches fall, and fell a crying:

“Let not dead earth enjoy so dear a cover,

But deck therewith my soul for your sake dying:

Lay all your fear upon your fearful lover:

Shine eyes on me that both our lives be guarded;

So I your sight, you shall yourselves recover.”

I cry’d, and was with open eyes rewarded:

But straight they fled summon’d by cruel honour,

Honour, the cause desert is not regarded.

THYRSIS

This maid, thus made for joys, O Pan! bemoan her,

That without love she spends her years of love:

So fair a field would well become an owner.

And if enchantment can a hard heart move,

Teach me what circle may acquaint her sprite,

Affection’s charms in my behalf to prove.

The circle is my, round about her, sight,

The power I will invoke dwells in her eyes:

My charm should be, she haunt me day and night.

DORUS

Far other case, O Muse, my sorrow tries,

Bent to such one in whom myself must say,

Nothing can mend one point that in her lies.

What circle then in so rare force bears sway?

Whose sprite all sprites can foil, raise, damn, or save:

No charm holds her, but well possess she may,

Possess she doth, and makes my soul her slave,

My eyes the bands, my thoughts the fatal knot.

No thrall like them that inward bondage have.

THYRSIS

Kala, at length conclude my ling’ring lot:

Disdain me not, although I be not fair,

Who is an heir of many hundred sheep,

Doth beauties keep which never sun can burn,

Nor storms do turn: fairness serves oft to wealth,

Yet all my health I place in your good will:

Which if you will, O do, bestow on me

Such as you see; such still you shall me find,

Constant and kind, my sheep your food shall breed,

Their wool your weed, I will you music yield

In flow’ry field; and as the day begins

With twenty gins we will the small birds take,

And pastimes make, as nature things hath made.

But when in shade we meet of myrtle boughs,

Then love allows our pleasures to enrich,

The thought of which doth pass all worldly pelf.

DORUS

Lady yourself whom neither name I dare,

And titles are but spots to such a worth,

Here plaints come forth from dungeon of my mind,

The noblest kind rejects not others’ woes.

I have no shows of wealth: my wealth is you,

My beauties hue your beams, my health your deeds;

My mind for weeds your virtue’s livery wears.

My food is tears, my tunes lamenting yield,

Despair my field, the flowers spirit’s wars:

My day new cares, my gins my daily sight,

In which do light small birds of thoughts o’erthrown:

My pastimes none: time passeth on my fall:

Nature made all, but me of dolours made,

I find no shade, but where my sun doth burn:

No place to turn; without, within it fries:

Nor help by life or death, who living dies.

THYRSIS

But if my Kala thus my suit denies,

Which so much reason bears:

Let crows pick out mine eyes, which too much saw.

If she still hate love’s law,

My earthly mould doth melt in wat’ry tears.

DORUS

My earthly mould doth melt in wat’ry tears,

And they again resolve

To air of sighs, sighs to the heart fire turn,

Which doth to ashes burn.

Thus doth my life within itself dissolve.

THYRSIS

Thus doth my life within itself dissolve

That I grow like the beast,

Which bears the bit a weaker force doth guide,

Yet patient must abide.

Such weight it hath, which once is full possess’d.

DORUS

Such weight it hath, which once is full possess’d,

That I become a vision,

Which hath in others held his only being,

And lives in fancy’s seeing,

O wretched state of man in self-division!

THYRSIS

O wretched state of man in self-division!

O well thou say’st! a feeling declaration!

Thy tongue hath made, of Cupid’s deep incision.

But now hoarse voice, doth fail this occupation,

And others long to tell their loves’ condition:

Of singing thou hast got the reputation.

DORUS

Of singing thou hast got the reputation,

Good Thyrsis mine, I yield to thy ability;

My heart doth seek another estimation.

But ah, my Muse, I would thou had’st facility

To work my Goddess so by thy invention,

On me to cast those eyes where shine nobility:

Seen and unknown; heard, but without attention.

Dorus did so well in answering Thyrsis that everyone desired to hear him sing something alone. Seeing therefore a lute lying under the Princess Pamela’s feet, glad to have such an errand to approach her, he came, but came with a dismayed grace, all his blood stirred betwixt fear and desire, and playing upon it with such sweetness, as everybody wondered to see such skill in a shepherd, he sung unto it with a sorrowing voice, these elegiac verses:

DORUS

Fortune, Nature, Love, long have contended about me,

Which should most miseries cast on a worm that I am,

Fortune thus gan say, “Misery and misfortune is all one,

And of misfortune, Fortune hath only the gift

With strong foes on land, on sea with contrary tempests,

Still do I cross this wretch, what so he taketh in hand.”

“Tush, tush,” said Nature, “this is all but a trifle, a man’s self

Gives haps or mishaps, even as he ordereth his heart.

But so his humour I frame, in a mould of choler adusted,

That the delights of life shall be to him dolorous.”

Love smiled, and thus said: “Want join’d to desire is unhappy:

But if he nought do desire, what can Heraclitus ail?

None but I work by desire: by desire have I kindled in his soul

Infernal agonies into a beauty divine:

Where thou poor nature left’st all thy due glory, to Fortune

Her virtue’s sovereign, Fortune a vassal of hers.”

Nature abash’d went back: Fortune blush’d: yet she replied thus:

“And even in that love shall I reserve him a spite.”

Thus, thus, alas! woeful by Nature, unhappy by Fortune,

But most wretched I am, now Love awakes my desire.

Dorus when he had sung this, having had all the while a free beholding of the fair Pamela (who could well have spared such honour; and defended the assault he gave unto her face with bringing a fair stain of shamefacedness unto it) let fall his arms, and remained so fastened in his thoughts as if Pamela had grafted him there to grow in continual imagination. But Zelmane espying it, and fearing he should too much forget himself, she came to him, and took out of his hand the lute, and laying fast hold of Philoclea’s face with her eyes, she sung these sapphics, speaking as it were to her own hope:

If mine eyes can speak to do hearty errand,

Or mine eyes’ language she do hap to judge of,

So that eyes’ message be of her received,

Hope we do live yet.

But if eyes fail then, when I most do need them,

Or if eyes’ language be not unto her known,

So that eyes’ message do return rejected,

Hope we do both die.

Yet dying, and dead, do we sing her honour;

So becomes our tombs monuments of our praise;

So becomes our loss the triumph of her gain;

Hers be the glory.

If the spheres senseless do yet hold a music,

If the swan’s sweet voice be not heard, but as death,

If the mute timber when it hath the life lost

Yieldeth a lute’s tune.

Are then human lives privileg’d so meanly,

As that hateful death can abridge them of power

With the vow of truth to record to all worlds

That we be her spoils?

Thus not ending, ends the due praise of her praise:

Fleshly veil consumes; but a soul hath his life,

Which is held in love; love it is, that hath join’d

Life to this our soul.

But if eyes can speak to hearty errand,

Or mine eyes’ language she doth hap to judge of,

So that eyes’ message be of her received

Hope we do live yet.

Great was the pleasure of Basilius, and greater would have been Gynecia’s but that she found too well it was intended to her daughter. As for Philoclea, she was sweetly ravished withal. When Dorus, desiring in a secret manner to speak of their cases, as perchance the parties intended might take some light of it, making low reverence to Zelmane, began this provoking song in Hexameter verse unto her. Whereunto she soon finding whether his words were directed, in like tune and verse, answered as followeth:

DORUS ZELMANE

DORUS

Lady reserved by the heavens to do pastor’s company honour,

Joining your sweet voice to the rural muse of a desert,

Here you fully do find the strange operation of love,

How to the woods love runs as well as rides to the palace,

Neither he bears reverence to a prince, nor pity to a beggar,

But, like a point in midst of a circle, is still of a nearness,

All to a lesson he draws; neither hills nor caves can avoid him.

ZELMANE

Worthy shepherd by my song to myself all favour is happ’ned,

That to the sacred Muse my annoys somewhat be revealed,

Sacred Muse, who in one contains what nine do in all them.

But O happy be you, which safe from fiery reflection

Of Phoebus’ violence in shade of sweet Cyparissus,

Or pleasant myrtle, may teach the unfortunate Echo

In these woods to resound the renowned name of goddess.

Happy be you that may to the saint, your only Idea,

(Although simply attir’d) your manly affection utter.

Happy be those mishaps which justly proportion holding,

Give right sound to the ears, and enter aright to the judgment:

But wretched be the souls, which veil’d in a contrary subject,

How much more we do love, so the less our loves be believed.

What skill salveth a sore of wrong infirmity judged?

What can justice avail to a man that tells not his own case?

You though fears do abash, in you still possible hopes be:

Nature against we do seem to rebel, seem fools in a vain suit.

But so unheard, condemn’d, kept thence we do seek to abide in,

Self-lost in wand’ring, banished that place we do come from,

What mean is there alas, we can hope our loss to recover?

What place is there left, we may hope our woes to recomfort?

Unto the heav’ns? our wings be too short: earth thinks us a burden,

Air? we do still with sighs increase: to the fire? we do want none,

And yet his outward heat our tears would quench, but an inward

Fire no liquor can cool: Neptune’s realm would not avail us.

Happy shepherd, with thanks to the Gods, still think to be thankful,

That to thy advancement their wisdoms have thee abased.

DORUS

Unto the gods with a thankful heart all thanks I do render,

That to my advancement their wisdoms have me abased.

But yet, alas! O but yet alas! our haps be but hard haps,

Which must frame contempt to the fittest purchase of honour.

Well may a pastor plain, but alas his plaints be not esteem’d:

Silly shepherd’s poor pipe, when his harsh sound testifies anguish,

Into the fair looking on, pastime, not passion, enters.

And to the woods or brooks, who do make such dreary recital?

What be the pangs they bear, and whence those pangs be derived,

Pleas’d to receive that name by rebounding answer of Echo,

May hope thereby to ease their inward horrible anguish,

When trees dance to the pipe, and swift streams stay by the music,

Or when an Echo begins unmov’d to sing them a love-song;

Say then, what vantage do we get by the trade of a pastor?

(Since no estates be so base, but love vouchsafeth his arrow,

Since no refuge doth serve from wounds we do carry about us,

Since outward pleasures be but halted helps to decayed Souls)

Save that daily we may discern what fire we do burn in.

Far more happy be you, whose greatness gets a free access;

Whose fair bodily gifts are fram’d most lovely to each eye,

Virtue you have, of virtue you have left proof to the whole world.

And virtue is grateful, with beauty and richness adorn’d.

Neither doubt you a whit; time will your passion utter.

Hardly remains fire hid where skill is bent to the hiding,

But in a mind that would his flames should not be repressed,

Nature worketh enough with a small help for the revealing:

Give therefore to the Muse great praise, in whose very likeness

You do approach to the fruit your only desires be to gather.

ZELMANE

First shall fertile grounds not yield increase of a good seed,

First the rivers shall cease to repay their floods to the ocean:

First may a trusty greyhound transform himself to a tiger.

First shall virtue be vice, and beauty be counted a blemish,

Ere that I leave with song of praise her praise to solemnize,

Her praise, whence to the world all praise hath his only beginning:

But yet well I do find each man most wise in his own case.

None can speak of a wound with skill, if he have not a wound felt.

Great to thee my state seems, thy state is bless’d by my judgment:

And yet neither of us great or blest deemeth his own self.

For yet (weigh this alas!) great is not great to the greater.

What judge you doth a hillock show, by the lofty Olympus?

Such my minute greatness, doth seem compar’d to the greatest.

When cedars to the ground fall down by the weight of an emmot,

Or when a rich ruby’s price be the worth of a walnut,

Or to the sun for wonders seem small sparks of a candle:

Then by my high cedar, rich ruby, and only shining sun,

Virtue, riches, beauties of mine shall great be reputed.

Oh, no, no, worthy shepherd, worth can never enter a title,

Where proofs justly do teach, thus match’d, such worth to be nought worth:

Let not a puppet abuse thy sprite, kings’ crowns do not help them

From the cruel headache, nor shoes of gold do the gout heal:

And precious couches full oft are shak’d with a fever.

If then a bodily ill in a bodily gloze be not hidden,

Shall such morning dews be an ease to the heat of a love’s fire?

DORUS

O glittering miseries of man, if this be the fortune

Of those fortunes’ lulls? so small rests, rest in a kingdom?

What marvel tho’ a prince transform himself to a pastor?

Come from marble bowers many times the gay harbour of anguish,

Unto a silly caban, thought weak, yet stronger against woes.

Now by the words I begin, most famous lady, to gather

Comfort into my soul, I do find what a blessing

Is chanced to my life, that from such muddy abundance

Of carking agonies, to states which still be adherent,

Destiny keeps me aloof, for if all this state to thy virtue

Join’d by thy beauty adorn’d be no means those griefs to abolish:

If neither by that help, thou canst climb up thy fancy,

Nor yet fancy so dress’d do receive more plausible hearing:

Then do I think indeed, that better it is to be private

In sorrow’s torments, than, tied to the pomps of a palace,

Nurse inward maladies, which have not scope to be breath’d out:

But perforce digest all bitter joys of horror

In silence, from a man’s own self with company robbed.

Better yet do I live, that though by my thoughts I be plunged

Into my life’s bondage, yet may I disburden a passion

(Oppress’d with ruinous conceits) by the help of an out-cry:

Not limited to a whispering note, the lament of a courtier.

But sometimes to the woods, sometimes to the heav’n do decipher

With bold clamour unheard, unmark’d, what I seek, what I suffer:

And when I meet those trees, in the earth’s fair livery clothed,

Ease I do feel, such ease as falls to one wholly diseased,

For that I find in them part of my state represented.

Laurel shows what I seek, by the myrrh is shown how I seek it,

Olive paints me the peace that I must aspire to by conquest:

Myrtle makes my request; my request is crown’d with a willow.

Cypress promiseth help, but a help where comes no recomfort:

Sweet juniper saith this, “Though I burn, yet I burn in a sweet fire.”

Yew doth make me think what kind of bow the boy holdeth,

Which shoots strongly without any noise, and deadly without smart,

Fir-trees great and green, fix’d on a high hill but a barren,

Like to my noble thoughts, still new, well plac’d to me fruitless.

Fig that yields most pleasant fruits, his shadow is hurtful:

Thus be her gifts most sweet, thus more danger to be near her.

Now in a palm when I mark, how he doth rise under a burden,

And may I not, say then, get up though grief be so weighty?

Pine is a mast to a ship, to my ship shall hope for a mast serve.

Pine is high, hope is as high, sharp leav’d, sharp, yet be my hopes buds.

Elm embrac’d by a vine, embracing fancy reviveth:

Poplar changeth his hue from a rising sun to a setting:

Thus to my sun do I yield, such looks her beams do afford me.

Old aged oak cut down, of new work serves to the building:

So my desires by my fear cut down, be the frames of her honour.

As he makes spears which shields do resist, her force no repulse takes.

Palms do rejoice to be join’d by the match of a male to a female,

And shall sensitive things be so senseless as to resist sense?

Thus be my thoughts dispers’d, thus thinking nurseth a thinking.

Thus both trees and each thing else, be the books of a fancy.

But to the cedar, queen of woods, when I left my betear’d eyes,

Then do I shape to myself that form which reigns so within me,

And think there she doth dwell and hear what plaints I do utter:

When that noble top doth nod, I believe she salutes me,

When by the wind it maketh a noise, I do think she doth answer.

Then kneeling to the ground, oft thus do I speak to that image:

Only jewel, O only jewel, which only deservest,

That men’s hearts be thy seat, and endless fame be thy servant,

O descend for a while, from this great height to behold me,

But nought else to behold, else is nought worth the beholding,

Save what a work by thyself is wrought: and since I am alter’d

Thus by thy work, disdain not that which is by thyself done,

In mean caves oft treasure abides, to an hostry a king comes.

And so behind foul clouds full oft fair stars do lie hidden.

ZELMANE

Hardy shepherd, such as thy merits, such may be her insight

Justly to grant thee reward, such envy I hear to thy fortune.

But to myself what wish can I make for a salve to my sorrows,

Whom both nature seems to debar from means to be helped,

And if a mean were found, fortune th’ whole course of it hinders?

Thus plagu’d how can I frame to my sore any hope of amendment?

Whence may I show to my mind any light of possible escape?

Bound, and bound by so noble bands, as loth to be unbound,

Jailer I am to myself, prison and pris’ner to mine own self.

Yet by my hopes thus plac’d, here fix’d lives all my comfort,

That that dear diamond, where wisdom holdeth a sure seat,

Whose force had such force so to transform, nay to reform me,

Will at length perceive those flames by her beams to be kindled,

And will pity the wound festered so strangely within me.

O be it so, grant such an event, O gods, that event give,

And for a sure sacrifice I do daily oblation offer

Of mine own heart, where thoughts be the temple, sight is an altar.

But cease worthy shepherd, now cease we to weary the hearers

With mournful melodies; for enough our griefs be revealed,

If the parties meant our meanings rightly be marked,

And sorrows do require some respite unto the senses.

What exclaiming praises Basilius gave to this Eclogue any man may guess that knows love is better than a pair of spectacles to make everything seem greater which is seen through it: and then is never tongue-tied where fit commendation, whereof womankind is so liquorish, is offered unto it. But before any other came in to supply the place, Zelmane having heard some of the shepherds by chance name Strephon and Claius, supposing thereby they had been present, was desirous both to hear them for the fame of their friendly love, and to know them for their kindness towards her best loved friend. Much grieved was Basilius, that any desire of his mistress should be unsatisfied, and therefore to represent them unto her, as well as in their absence it might be, he commanded one Lamon, who had at large set down their country pastimes and first love to Urania, to sing the whole discourse which he did in this manner.

A shepherd’s tale no height of style desires,

To raise in words what in effect is low:

A plaining song plain singing voice requires,

For warbling notes from cheering spirit flow.

I then whose burd’ned breast but thus aspires

Of shepherds two the silly cause to show.

Need not the stately Muse’s help invoke,

For creeping rhymes, which often sighings choke.

But you, O you, that think not tears too dear,

To spend for harms, although they touch you not:

And deign to deem your neighbours’ mischief near,

Although they be of meaner parents got:

You I invite with easy ear’s to hear

The poor-clad truth of love’s wrong-order’d lot.

Who may be glad, be glad you be not such:

Who share in woe, weigh others have as much.

There was (O seldom blessed word of was!)

A pair of friends, or rather one call’d two,

Train’d in the life which no short-bitten grass

In shine or storm must set the clouted shoe:

He, that the other in some years did pass,

And in those gifts that years distribute do,

Was Claius call’d (ah Claius, woeful weight!)

The latter born, yet too soon Strephon height.

Epirus high was honest Claius’s nest,

To Strephon Aeoles’s land first breathing lent:

But east and west were join’d by friendship’s hest.

As Strephon’s ear and heart to Claius bent,

So Claius’s soul did in his Strephon rest.

Still both their flocks flocking together went,

As if they would of owners’ humour be,

As eke their pipes did well, as friends agree.

Claius for skill of herbs and shepherd’s art,

Among the wisest was accounted wise,

Yet not so wise, as of unstained heart:

Strephon was young, yet marked with humble eyes

How elder rul’d their flocks and cur’d their smart,

So that the grave did not his words despise.

Both free of mind, both did clear dealing love,

And both had skill in verse their voice to move.

Their cheerful minds, ’till poison’d was their cheer,

The honest sports of earthly lodging prove;

Now for a clod-like hare in form they peer,

Now bolt and cudgel squirrels’ leap do move:

Now the ambitious lark with mirror clear

They catch, while he (fool!) to himself makes love:

And now at keels they try a harmless chance,

And now their cur they teach to fetch and dance.

When merry May first early calls the morn,

With merry maids a maying they do go:

Then do they pull from sharp and niggard thorn

The plenteous sweets (can sweets so sharply grow?)

Then some green gowns are by the lasses worn

In chastest plays, ’till home they walk arow,

Whilst dance about the may-pole is begun,

When, if need were, they could at Quintain[5] run:

While thus they ran a low, but levell’d race,

While thus they liv’d, this was indeed a life,

With nature pleas’d, content with present case,

Free of proud fears, brave begg’ry, smiling strife,

Of climb-fall court, the envy hatching place:

While those restless desires in great men rise,

To visit so low of folks did much disdain,

This while, though poor, they in themselves did reign.

One day (O day, that shin’d to make them dark!)

While they did ward sun-beams with shady bay,

And Claius taking for his youngling cark,

(Lest greedy eyes to them might challenge lay)

Busy with ochre did their shoulders mark,

(His mark a pillar was devoid of stay,

As bragging that free of all passions’ moan,

Well might he others bear, but lean to none:)

Strephon with leafy twigs of laurel tree,

A garland made on temples for to wear,

For he then chosen was, the dignity

Of village lord, that Whitsuntide to bear:

And full, poor fool, of boyish bravery,

With triumph’s shows would show he nought did fear.

But fore-accounting oft makes builders miss:

They found, they felt, they had no lease of bliss.

For ere that either had his purpose done,

Behold, beholding well it doth deserve,

They saw a maid who thitherward did run,

To catch her Sparrow which from her did swerve,

As she a black-silk cap on him begun

To set for foil of his milk-white to serve,

She chirping ran, he peeping flew away,

’Till hard by them both he and she did stay.

Well for to see, they kept themselves unseen,

And saw this fairest maid of fairer mind:

By fortune mean; in nature born a queen,

How well apaid she was her bird to find:

How tenderly her tender hands between

In ivory cage she did the micher bind:

How rosy moist’ned lips about his beak

Moving, she seem’d at once to kiss, and speak.

Chast’ned but thus, and thus his lesson taught,

The happy wretch she put into her breast,

Which to their eyes the bowels of Venus brought,

For they seem’d made even of sky metal best,

And that the bias of her blood was wrought.

Betwixt them two the peeper took his nest,

Where snugging well he well appear’d content,

So to have done amiss, so to be shent.

This done, but done with captive-killing grace,

Each motion seeming shot from beauty’s bow,

With length laid down, she deck’d the lovely place.

Proud grew the grass that under her did grow,

The trees spread out their arms to shade her face,

But she on elbow lean’d, with sighs did show

No grass, no trees, nor yet her sparrow might

The long-perplexed mind breed long delight.

She troubled was (alas that it might be!)

With tedious brawlings of her parents dear,

Who would have her in will and word agree

To wed Antaxius their neighbour near.

A herdman rich, of much account was he,

In whom no evil did reign, nor good appear.

In some such one she lik’d not his desire,

Fain would be free, but dreadeth parents’ ire.

Kindly (sweet soul!) she did unkindness take

That bagged baggage of a miser’s mud,

Should price of her, as in a market, make;

But gold can gild a rotten piece of wood;

To yield she found her noble heart to ache,

To strive she fear’d how it with virtue stood,

Thus doubtings clouds o’ercasting heav’nly brain,

At length in rows of kiss-cheeks tears they rain.

Cupid the wag, that lately conquer’d had

Wise counsellors, stout captains, puissant kings,

And tied them fast to lead his triumph had,

Glutted with them, now plays with meanest things:

So oft in feasts with costly changes clad

To crammed maws a sprat new stomach brings.

So lords with sport of stag and heron full,

Sometimes we see small birds from nests do pull.

So now for prey those shepherds two he took,

Whose metal stiff he knew he could not bend

With hear-say pictures, or a window-look;

With one good dance, or letter finely penn’d

That were in court a well proportion’d hook,

Where piercing wits do quickly apprehend,

Their senses rude plain objects only move,

And so must see great cause before they love.

Therefore love arm’d in her now takes the field,

Making her beams his bravery and might:

Her hands which pierc’d the soul’s sev’n double shield,

Were now his darts leaving his wonted fight.

Brave crest to him her scorn gold hair did yield,

His complete harness was her purest white.

But fearing lest all white might seem too good,

In cheeks and lips the tyrant threatens blood.

Besides this force, within her eyes he kept

A fire, to burn the prisoners he gains,

Whose boiling heart increased as she wept:

For ev’n in forge, cold water fire maintains.

Thus proud and fierce unto the hearts he stepp’d

Of them poor souls: and cutting reason’s reins,

Made them his own before they had it wist.

But if they had, could sheep-hooks thus resist?

Claius straight felt, and groaned at the blow,

And call’d, now wounded, purpose to his aid:

Strephon, fond boy, delighted did not know

That it was love that shin’d in shining maid:

But lick’rous, poison’d, fain to her would go,

If him new learned manners had not stay’d.

For then Urania homeward did arise,

Leaving in pain their well-fed hungry eyes.

She went, they stay’d, or rightly for to say,

She stay’d with them, they went in thought with her:

Claius indeed would fain have pull’d away

This mote from out his eye, this inward bur,

And now proud rebel ’gan for to gainsay

The lesson which but late he learn’d too far:

Meaning with absence to refresh the thought

To which her presence such a fever brought.

Strephon did leap with joy and jollity,

Thinking it just more therein to delight,

Than in good dog, fair field, or shading tree.

So have I seen trim-books in velvet dight,

With golden leaves, and painted babery

Of silly boys, please unacquainted sight:

But when the rod began to play his part,

Fain would, but could not, fly from golden smart.

He quickly learn’d Urania was her name,

And straight, for failing, grav’d it in his heart:

He knew her haunt, and haunted in the same,

And taught his sheep her sheep in food to thwart,

Which soon as it did hateful question frame,

He might on knees confess his faulty part,

And yield himself unto her punishment,

While nought but game, the self-hurt wanton meant.

Nay, even unto her home he oft would go,

Where bold and hurtless many play he tries,

Her parents liking well it should be so,

For simple goodness shined in his eyes.

There did he make her laugh in spite of woe,

So as good thoughts of him in all arise,

While into none doubt of his love did sink,

For not himself to be in love did think.

But glad desire, his late embosom’d guest

Yet but a babe, with milk of sight he nurst

Desire the more he suck’d, more sought the breast,

Like dropsy-folk still drink to be a thirst,

’Till one fair ev’n an hour ere sun did rest,

Who then in lion’s cave did enter first,

By neighbours pray’d she went abroad thereby,

At Barley-break[6] her sweet swift foot to try.

Never the earth on his round shoulders bare

A maid train’d up from high or low degree,

That in her doings better could compare

Mirth with respect, from words with courtesy,

A careless comliness with comely care.

Self-guard with mildness, sport with majesty:

Which made her yield to deck this shepherd’s band,

And still, believe me, Strephon was at hand.

Afield they go, where many lookers be,

And thou seek-sorrow Claius them among:

Indeed thou said’st it was thy friend to see

Strephon, whose absence seem’d unto thee long,

While most with her he less did keep with thee.

No, no, it was in spite of wisdom’s song

Which absence wish’d: love play’d a victor’s part:

The heav’n-love load-stone drew thy iron heart.

Then couples there, be straight allotted there,

They of both ends the middle two do fly,

They two that in mid-place, hell called were,

Must strive with waiting foot, and watching eye

To catch of them, and them to hell to bear,

That they, as well as they, hell may supply:

Like some which seek to salve their blotted name

With others’ blot, ’till all do taste of shame.

There may you see, soon as the middle two

Do coupled towards either couple make,

They false and fearful do their hands undo,

Brother his brother, friend doth friend forsake,

Heeding himself, cares not how fellow do,

But of a stranger mutual help doth take:

As perjur’d cowards in adversity

With sight of fear, from friends, to friend, do fly.

These sports shepherds devis’d such faults to show.

Geron, though old, yet gamesome, kept one end

With Cosma, for whose love Pas passed in woe.

Fair Nous with Pas the lot to hell did send:

Pas thought it hell, while he was Cosma fro.

At other end Uran did Strephon lend

Her happy making hand, of whom one look

From Nous and Cosma all their beauty took.

The play began: Pas durst not Cosma chase,

But did intend next bout with her to meet,

So he with Nous to Geron turn’d their race,

With whom to join, fast ran Urania sweet:

But light legg’d Pas had got the middle space.

Geron strove hard, but aged were his feet,

And therefore finding force now faint to be,

He thought gray hairs afforded subtlety.

And so when Pas’s hand reached him to take,

The fox on knees and elbows tumbled down;

Pas could not stay, but over him did rake,

And crown’d the earth with his first touching crown:

His heels grown proud did seem at heav’n to shake,

But Nous that slipp’d from Pas, did catch the clown.

So laughing all, yet Pas to ease some dell

Geron with Uran were condemn’d to hell.

Cosma this while to Strephon safely came,

And all to second Barley-break are bent:

The two in hell did toward Cosma frame;

Who should to Pas, but they would her prevent.

Pas mad with fall, and madder with the shame,

Most mad with beams which we thought Cosma sent,

With such mad haste he did to Cosma go,

That to her breast he gave a noisome blow.

She quick, and proud, and who did Pas despise,

Up with her fist, and took him on the face,

“Another time,” quoth she, “become more wise.”

Thus Pas did kiss her hand with little grace,

And each way luckless, yet in humble guise

Did hold her fast for fear of more disgrace,

While Strephon might with pretty Nous have met,

But all this while another course be set.

For as Urania after Cosma ran;

He ravished with sight how gracefully

She mov’d her limbs, and drew the aged man,

Left Nous to coast the loved beauty nigh:

Nous cry’d and chaf’d, but he no other can.

’Till Uran seeing Pas to Cosma fly,

And Strephon single, turn’d after him:

Strephon so chas’d did seem in milk to swim.

He ran, but ran with eye o’er shoulder cast,

More marking her, than how himself did go,

Like Numid lions by the hunters chas’d,

Though they do fly, yet backwardly do glow

With proud aspect, disdaining greatest haste:

What rage in them, that love in him did show.

But God gives them instinct the man to shun,

And he by law of Barley-break must run.

But as his heat with running did augment,

Much more his sight increas’d his hot desire:

So is in her the best of nature spent,

The air her sweet race mov’d doth blow the fire,

Her feet be pursuivants from Cupid sent,

With whose fine steps all loves and joys conspire.

The hidden beauties, seem’d in wait to lie,

To down proud hearts that would not willing die.

That, fast he fled from her he follow’d sore,

Still shunning Nous to lengthen pleasing race,

’Till that he spied old Geron could no more,

Than did he stack his love-instructed pace.

So that Uran, whose arm old Geron bore,

Laid hold on him with most lay-holding grace.

So caught, him seem’d he caught of joys the bell,

And thought it heav’n so to be drawn to hell:

To hell he goes, and Nous with him must dwell,

Nous sware it was no right; for his default

Who would be caught, that she should go to hell:

But so she must. And now the third assault

Of Barley-break among the six befell,

Pas Colma match’d, yet angry with his fault,

The other end Geron with guard:

I think you think Strephon bent thitherward.

Nous counsell’d Strephon Geron to pursue,

For he was old, and easy would be caught:

But he drew her as love his fancy drew,

And so to take the gem Urania sought,

While Geron old came safe to Cosma true,

Though him to meet at all she stirred nought.

For Pas, whether it were for fear or love,

Mov’d not himself, nor suffer’d her to move.

So they three did together idly stay,

While dear Uran, whose course was Pas to meet,

(He staying thus) was fain abroad to stray

With larger round, to shun the following feet.

Strephon, whose eyes on her back parts did play,

With love drawn on so fast with pace unmeet,

Drew dainty Nous, that she not able so

To run, brake forth his hands, and let him go,

He single thus hop’d soon with her to be,

Who nothing earthly, but of fire and air,

Though with soft legs did run as fast as he.

He thrice reach’d, thrice deceiv’d, when her to bear

He hopes, with dainty turns she doth him flee.

So on the Downs we see, near Wilton fair,

A hasten’d hare from greedy greyhound go,

And past all hope his chaps to frustrate so.

But this strange race more strange conceits did yield;

Who victor seem’d, was to his ruin brought:

Who seem’d o’erthrown was mistress of the field:

She fled, and took; he followed and was caught.

She have I heard to pierce pursuing shield,

By parents train’d the Tartars wild are taught,

With shafts shot out from their back-turned bow.

But ah! her darts did far more deeply go.

As Venus’s bird, the white, swift, lovely Dove,

(O happy Doves that are compar’d to her!)

Doth on her wings her utmost swiftness prove,

Finding the gripe of Falcon fierce not furr:

So did Uran: the nar, the swifter move,

(Yet beauty still as fast as she did stir)

’Till with long race dear she was breathless brought,

And then the Phoenix feared to be caught.

Among the rest that there did take delight

To see the sports of double shining day:

And did the tribute of their wond’ring sight

To nature’s heir, the fair Urania pay,

I told you Claius was the hapless wight,

Who earnest found what they accounted play.

He did not there do homage of his eyes,

But on his eyes his heart did sacrifice.

With gazing looks, short sighs, unsettled feet,

He stood, but turn’d, as Gyrosol, to sun:

His fancies still did her in half-way meet,

His soul did fly as she was seen to run.

In sum, proud Boreas never ruled fleet

(Who Neptune’s web on danger’s distaff spun)

With greater power, than she did make them wend

Each way, as she that ages praise, did bend.

’Till ’spying well, she well nigh weary was,

And surely taught by his love-open eye,

His eye, that ev’n did mark her trodden grass,

That she would fain the catch of Strephon fly,

Giving his reason passport for to pass

Whither it would, so it would let him die;

He that before shunn’d her, to shun such harms:

Now runs, and takes her in his clipping arms.

For with pretence from Strephon her to guard,

He met her full, but full of warefulness,

Within bow’d-bosom well for her prepar’d,

When Strephon cursing his own backwardness,

Came to her back, and so with double ward

Imprison’d her who both them did possess

As heart-bound slaves: and happy then embrace

Virtue’s proof, fortune’s victor, beauty’s place.

Her race did not her beauty’s beams augment,

For, they were ever in the best degree,

But yet a setting forth it someway lent,

As rubies lustre when they rubbed be.

The dainty dew on face and body went

As on sweet flowers, when morning’s drops we see.

Her breath then short, seem’d loth from home to pass,

Which more it mov’d, the more it sweeter was.

Happy, O happy! if they so might bide

To see their eyes, with how true humbleness,

They looked down to triumph over pride:

With how sweet sauce she blam’d their sauciness,

To feel the panting heart, which through her side,

Did beat their hands, which durst so near to press,

To see, to feel, to hear, to taste, to know

More, than besides her, all the earth could show.

But never did Medea’s golden weed

On Creon’s child his poison sooner throw,

Than those delights through all their sinews breed,

A creeping serpent like of mortal woe,

’Till she broke from their arms (although indeed

Going from them, from them she could not go)

And fare-welling the flock, did homeward wend,

And so that even the Barley-break did end.

It ended, but the other woe began,

Began at least to be conceiv’d as woe,

For then wise Claius found no absence can

Help him who can no more her sight forego.

He found man’s virtue is but part of man,

And part must follow where whole man doth go.

He found that reason’s self now reasons found

To fasten knots, which fancy first had bound.

So doth he yield, so takes he on his yoke,

Not knowing who did draw with him therein;

Strephon, poor youth, because he saw no smoke,

Did not conceive what fire he had within:

But after this to greater rage it broke,

’Till of his life it did full conquest win,

First killing mirth, then banishing all rest,

Filling his eyes with tears, with sighs his breast,

Then sports grow pains, all talking tedious:

On thoughts he feeds, his looks their figure change,

The day seems long, but night is odious,

No sleeps, but dreams; no dreams, but visions strange,

’Till finding still his evil increasing thus,

One day he with his flock abroad did range:

And coming where he hop’d to be alone,

Thus on a hillock set, he made his moan:

“Alas! what weights are these that load my heart!

I am as dull as winter-starved sheep,

Tir’d as a jade in over-laden cart,

Yet thoughts do fly, though I can scarcely creep.

All visions seem, at every bush I start:

Drowsy am I, and yet can rarely sleep.

Sure I bewitched am, it is even that,

Late near a cross, I met an ugly cat.

For, but by charms, how fall these things on me,

That from those eyes, where heav’nly apples been,

Those eyes, which nothing like themselves can see,

Of fair Urania, fairer than a green,

Proudly bedeck’d in April’s livery,

A shot unheard gave me a wound unseen;

He was invincible that hurt me so,

And none invisible, but spirits can go.

When I see her, my sinews shake for fear,

And yet, dear soul, I know she hurteth none:

Amid my flock with woe my voice I tear,

And, but bewitch’d, who to his flock would moan?

Her cherry lips, milk hands, and golden hair

I still do see, though I be still alone.

Now make me think that there is not a fiend,

Who hid in angel’s shape my life would end.

The sports wherein I wonted to do well,

Come she, and sweet the air with open breast,

Then so I fail, when most I would do well,

That at my so amaz’d my fellows jest:

Sometimes to her news of myself to tell

I go about, but then is all my best

Wry words, and stammering, or else doltish dumb;

Say then, can this but of enchantment come?

Nay each thing is bewitched to know my case:

The Nightingales for woe their songs refrain:

In river as I look’d my pining face,

As pin’d a face as mine I saw again,

The courteous mountains griev’d at my disgrace

Their snowy hair tear off in melting pain.

And now the dropping trees do weep for me,

And now fair evenings blush my shame to see.

But you my pipe whilom my chief delight,

’Till strange delight, delight to nothing wear,

And you my flock, care of my careful sight,

While I was I, and so had cause to care:

And thou my dog, whose truth and valiant might

Made wolves, not inward wolves, my ewes to spare.

Go you not from your master in his woe,

Let it suffice that he himself forego.

For though like wax this magic makes me waste,

Or like a lamb, whose Dam away is set,

(Stolen from her young by Thieves’ unchosing haste)

He treble baa’s for help, but none can get,

Though thus, and worse, though now I am at last,

Of all the games that here ere now I met,

Do you remember still you once were mine,

’Till mine eyes had their curse from blessed eye.

Be you with me while I unheard do cry,

While I do score my losses on the wind,

While I in heart my will write ere I die.

In which, by will, my will and wits I bind,

Still to be hers, about her aye to fly.

As this same sprite about my fancies blind

Doth daily haunt, but so, that mine become

As much more loving, as less cumbersome.

Alas! a cloud hath overcast mine eyes:

And yet I see her shine amid the cloud.

Alas! of ghosts I hear the ghastly cries:

Yet there, meseems, I hear her singing loud.

This song she sings in most commanding wise:

‘Come shepherd’s boy, let now thy heart be bow’d

To make itself to my least look a slave:

Leave sleep, leave all, I will no piecing have.’

I will, I will, alas, alas, I will:

Wilt thou have more? more have, if more I be.

Away ragg’d rams, care I what murrain kill?

Our shrieking pipe, made of some witched tree:

Go bawling cur, thy hungry maw go fill

On your foul flock, belonging not to me.”

With that his dog he henc’d, his flock he curs’d,

With that, yet kissed first, his pipe he burst.

This said, this done, he rose, even tir’d with rest,

With heart as careful, as with careless grace,

With shrinking legs, but with a swelling breast,

With eyes which threat’ned they would drown his face.

Fearing the worst, not knowing what were best,

And giving to his sight a wand’ring race,

He saw behind a bush where Claius sat:

His well-known friend, but yet his unknown mate.

Claius the wretch, who lately yielden was

To bear the bonds which time nor wit could break,

(With blushing soul at sight of judgment’s glass,

While guilty thoughts accus’d his reason weak)

This morn alone to lovely walk did pass,

Within himself of her dear self to speak,

’Till Strephon’s plaining voice him nearer drew,

Where by his words his self-like case he knew.

For hearing him so oft with words of woe

Urania name, whose force he knew so well,

He quickly knew what witchcraft gave the blow,

Which made his Strephon think himself in hell.

Which when he did in perfect image show

To his own wit, thought upon thought, did swell,

Breeding huge storms within his inward part,

Which thus breath’d out, with earth-quake of his heart.

As Lamon would have proceeded, Basilius knowing, by the wasting of the torches that the night also was far wasted, and withal remembering Zelmane’s hurt, asked her whether she thought it not better to reserve the complaint of Claius till another day. Which she, perceiving the song had already worn out much time, and not knowing when Lamon would end, being even now stepping over to a new matter, though much delighted with what was spoken, willingly agreed unto. And so of all sides they went to recommend themselves to the elder brother of death.

[End of Book I]