What time the groues were clad in greene,
The Fields drest all in flowers,
And that the sleeke-hayred Nimphs were seene,
To seeke them Summer Bowers.
Forth rou'd I by the sliding Rills,
To finde where Cynthia sat,
Whose name so often from the hills,
The Ecchos wondred at.
When me vpon my Quest to bring,
10That pleasure might excell,
The Birds stroue which should sweetliest sing,
The Flowers which sweet'st should smell.
Long wand'ring in the Woods (said I)
Oh whether's Cynthia gone?
When soone the Eccho doth reply,
To my last word, goe on.
At length vpon a lofty Firre,
It was my chance to finde,
Where that deare name most due to her,
20Was caru'd vpon the rynde.
Which whilst with wonder I beheld,
The Bees their hony brought,
And vp the carued letters fild,
As they with gould were wrought.
And neere that trees more spacious roote,
Then looking on the ground,
The shape of her most dainty foot,
Imprinted there I found.
Which stuck there like a curious seale,
30As though it should forbid
Vs, wretched mortalls, to reueale,
What vnder it was hid.
Besides the flowers which it had pres'd,
Apeared to my vew,
More fresh and louely than the rest,
That in the meadowes grew:
The cleere drops in the steps that stood,
Of that dilicious Girle,
The Nimphes amongst their dainty food,
40Drunke for dissolued pearle.
The yeilding sand, where she had troad,
Vntutcht yet with the winde,
By the faire posture plainely show'd,
Where I might Cynthia finde.
When on vpon my waylesse walke,
As my desires me draw,
I like a madman fell to talke,
With euery thing I saw:
I ask'd some Lillyes why so white,
50They from their fellowes were;
Who answered me, that Cynthia's sight,
Had made them looke so cleare:
I ask'd a nodding Violet why,
It sadly hung the head,
It told me Cynthia late past by,
Too soone from it that fled:
A bed of Roses saw I there,
Bewitching with their grace:
Besides so wondrous sweete they were,
60That they perfum'd the place,
I of a Shrube of those enquir'd,
From others of that kind,
Who with such virtue them enspir'd,
It answer'd (to my minde).
As the base Hemblocke were we such,
The poysned'st weed that growes,
Till Cynthia by her god-like tuch,
Transform'd vs to the Rose:
Since when those Frosts that winter brings
70Which candy euery greene,
Renew vs like the Teeming Springs,
And we thus Fresh are scene.
At length I on a Fountaine light,
Whose brim with Pincks was platted;
The Banck with Daffadillies dight,
With grasse like Sleaue was matted,
When I demanded of that Well,
What power frequented there;
Desiring, it would please to tell
80What name it vsde to beare.
It tolde me it was Cynthias owne,
Within whose cheerefull brimmes,
That curious Nimph had oft beene knowne
To bath her snowy Limmes.
Since when that Water had the power,
Lost Mayden-heads to restore,
And make one Twenty in an howre,
Of Esons age before.
And told me that the bottome cleere,
90Now layd with many a fett
Of seed-pearle, ere shee bath'd her there:
Was knowne as blacke as Jet,
As when she from the water came,
Where first she touch'd the molde,
In balls the people made the same
For Pomander, and solde.
When chance me to an Arbour led,
Whereas I might behold:
Two blest Elizeums in one sted,
100The lesse the great enfold.
The place which she had chosen out,
Her selfe in to repose;
Had they com'n downe, the gods no doubt
The very same had chose.
The wealthy Spring yet neuer bore
That sweet, nor dainty flower
That damask'd not, the chequer'd flore
Of Cynthias Summer Bower.
The Birch, the Mirtle, and the Bay,
110Like Friends did all embrace;
And their large branches did display,
To Canapy the place.
Where she like Venvs doth appeare,
Vpon a Rosie bed;
As Lillyes the soft pillowes weare,
Whereon she layd her head.
Heau'n on her shape such cost bestow'd,
And with such bounties blest:
No lim of hers but might haue made
120A Goddesse at the least.
The Flyes by chance mesht in her hayre,
By the bright Radience throwne
From her cleare eyes, rich Iewels weare,
They so like Diamonds shone.
The meanest weede the soyle there bare,
Her breath did so refine,
That it with Woodbynd durst compare,
And beard the Eglantine.
The dewe which on the tender grasse,
130The Euening had distill'd,
To pure Rose-water turned was,
The shades with sweets that fill'd.
The windes were husht, no leafe so small
At all was scene to stirre:
Whilst tuning to the waters fall,
The small Birds sang to her.
Where she too quickly me espies,
When I might plainely see,
A thousand Cupids from her eyes
140Shoote all at once at me.
Into these secret shades (quoth she)
How dar'st thou be so bold
To enter, consecrate to me,
Or touch this hallowed mold.
Those words (quoth she) I can pronounce,
Which to that shape can bring
Thee, which the Hunter had who once
Sawe Dian in the Spring.
Bright Nimph againe I thus replie,
150This cannot me affright:
I had rather in thy presence die,
Then liue out of thy sight.
I first vpon the Mountaines hie,
Built Altars to thy name;
And grau'd it on the Rocks thereby,
To propogate thy fame.
I taught the Shepheards on the Downes,
Of thee to frame their Layes:
T'was I that fill'd the neighbouring Townes,
160With Ditties of thy praise.
Thy colours I deuis'd with care,
Which were vnknowne before:
Which since that, in their braded hayre
The Nimphes and Siluans wore.
Transforme me to what shape you can,
I passe not what it be:
Yea what most hatefull is to man,
So I may follow thee.
Which when she heard full pearly floods,
170I in her eyes might view:
(Quoth she) most welcome to these Woods,
Too meane for one so true.
Here from the hatefull world we'll liue,
A den of mere dispight:
To Ideots only that doth giue,
Which be her sole delight.
To people the infernall pit,
That more and more doth striue;
Where only villany is wit,
180And Diuels only thriue.
Whose vilenesse vs shall neuer awe:
But here our sports shall be:
Such as the golden world first sawe,
Most innocent and free.
Of Simples in these Groues that growe,
Wee'll learne the perfect skill;
The nature of each Herbe to knowe
Which cures, and which can kill.
The waxen Pallace of the Bee,
190We seeking will surprise
The curious workmanship to see,
Of her full laden thighes.
Wee'll suck the sweets out of the Combe,
And make the gods repine:
As they doe feast in Ioues great roome,
To see with what we dine.
Yet when there haps a honey fall,
Wee'll lick the sirupt leaues:
And tell the Bees that their's is gall,
200To this vpon the Greaues.
The nimble Squirrell noting here,
Her mossy Dray that makes,
And laugh to see the lusty Deere
Come bounding ore the brakes.
The Spiders Webb to watch weele stand,
And when it takes the Bee,
Weele helpe out of the Tyrants hand,
The Innocent to free.
Sometime weele angle at the Brooke,
210The freckled Trout to take,
With silken Wormes, and bayte the hooke,
Which him our prey shall make.
Of medling with such subtile tooles,
Such dangers that enclose,
The Morrall is that painted Fooles,
Are caught with silken showes.
And when the Moone doth once appeare,
Weele trace the lower grounds,
When Fayries in their Ringlets there
220Do daunce their nightly rounds.
And haue a Flocke of Turtle Doues,
A guard on vs to keepe,
A witnesse of our honest loues,
To watch vs till we sleepe.
Which spoke I felt such holy fires
To ouerspred my breast,
As lent life to my Chast desires
And gaue me endlesse rest.
By Cynthia thus doe I subsist,
230On earth Heauens onely pride,
Let her be mine, and let who list,
Take all the world beside.
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.
When a Letter forth he tooke,
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:
And thy faithfull counsell may,
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,
To that ioy thou do'st conceiue,
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,
As t'would ioy your heart to heare.
Ralph as much renown'd for skill,
That the Taber touch'd so well;
For his Gittern, little Gill,
140That all other did excell.
Rock and Rollo euery way,
Who still led the Rusticke Ging,
And could troule a Roundelay,
That would make the Feilds to ring,
Collin on his Shalme so cleare,
Many a high-pitcht Note that had,
And could make the Eechos nere
Shout as they were wexen mad.
Many a lusty Swaine beside,
150That for nought but pleasure car'd,
Hauing Dorilvs espy'd,
And with him knew how it far'd.
Thought from him they would remoue,
This strong melancholy fitt,
Or so, should it not behoue,
Quite to put him out of 's witt;
Hauing learnt a Song, which he
Sometime to Sirena sent,
Full of Iollity and glee,
160When the Nimph liu'd neere to Trent
They behinde him softly gott,
Lying on the earth along,
And when he suspected not,
Thus the Iouiall Shepheards song.
Neare to the Siluer Trent,
Sirena dwelleth:
Shee to whom Nature lent
All that excelleth:
By which the Muses late,
170And the neate Graces,
Haue for their greater state
Taken their places:
Twisting an Anadem,
Wherewith to Crowne her,
As it belong'd to them
Most to renowne her.
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let the Swanes sing her,
180And with their Musick,
Along let them bring her.
Tagus and Pactolus
Are to thee Debter,
Nor for their gould to vs
Are they the better:
Henceforth of all the rest,
Be thou the Riuer,
Which as the daintiest,
Puts them downe euer,
190For as my precious one,
O'r thee doth trauell,
She to Pearl Parragon
Turneth thy grauell.
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swanns sing her,
And with their Musicke,
Along let them bring her.
Our mournefull Philomell,
200That rarest Tuner,
Henceforth in Aperill
Shall wake the sooner,
And to her shall complaine
From the thicke Couer,
Redoubling euery straine
Ouer and ouer:
For when my Loue too long
Her Chamber keepeth;
As though it suffered wrong,
210The Morning weepeth.
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swanes sing her,
And with their Musick,
Along let them bring her.
Oft have I seene the Sunne
To doe her honour.
Fix himselfe at his noone,
To look vpon her,
220And hath guilt euery Groue,
Euery Hill neare her,
With his flames from aboue,
Striuing to cheere her,
And when shee from his sight
Hath her selfe turned,
He as it had beene night,
In Cloudes hath mourned.
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
230Let thy Swanns sing her,
And with their Musicke,
Along let them bring her.
The Verdant Meades are seene,
When she doth view them,
In fresh and gallant Greene,
Straight to renewe them,
And euery little Grasse
Broad it selfe spreadeth,
Proud that this bonny Lasse
240Vpon it treadeth:
Nor flower is so sweete
In this large Cincture
But it upon her feete
Leaueth some Tincture.
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swanes sing her,
And with thy Musick,
Along let them bring her.
250The Fishes in the Flood,
When she doth Angle,
For the Hooke striue a good
Them to intangle;
And leaping on the Land
From the cleare water,
Their Scales vpon the sand,
Lauishly scatter;
Therewith to paue the mould
Whereon she passes,
260So her selfe to behold,
As in her glasses.
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Ranke,
Let thy Swanns sing her,
And with their Musicke,
Along let them bring her.
When shee lookes out by night,
The Starres stand gazing,
Like Commets to our sight
270Fearefully blazing,
As wondring at her eyes
With their much brightnesse,
Which to amaze the skies,
Dimming their lightnesse,
The raging Tempests are Calme,
When shee speaketh,
Such most delightsome balme
From her lips breaketh.
Cho. On thy Banke,
280In a Rancke, &c.
In all our Brittany,
Ther's not a fayrer,
Nor can you fitt any:
Should you compare her.
Angels her eye-lids keepe
All harts surprizing,
Which looke whilst she doth sleepe
Like the Sunnes rising:
She alone of her kinde
290Knoweth true measure
And her vnmatched mind
Is Heauens treasure:
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke
Let thy Swanes sing her,
And with their Musick,
Along let them bring her.
Fayre Doue and Darwine cleere
Boast yee your beauties,
300To Trent your Mistres here
Yet pay your duties,
My Loue was higher borne
Tow'rds the full Fountaines,
Yet she doth Moorland scorne,
And the Peake Mountaines;
Nor would she none should dreame,
Where she abideth,
Humble as is the streame,
Which by her slydeth,
310Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swannes sing her,
And with their Musicke,
Along let them bring her.
Yet my poore Rusticke Muse,
Nothing can moue her,
Nor the means I can vse,
Though her true Louer:
Many a long Winters night,
320Haue I wak'd for her,
Yet this my piteous plight,
Nothing can stirre her.
All thy Sands siluer Trent
Downe to the Humber,
The sighes I haue spent
Neuer can number.
Cho. On thy Banke
In a Ranke,
Let thy Swans sing her
330And with their Musicke
Along let them bring her.
Taken with this suddaine Song,
Least for mirth when he doth look
His sad heart more deeply stong,
Then the former care he tooke.
At their laughter and amaz'd,
For a while he sat aghast
But a little hauing gaz'd,
Thus he them bespake at last.
Is this time for mirth (quoth he)
340To a man with griefe opprest,
Sinfull wretches as you be,
May the sorrowes in my breast,
Light vpon you one by one,
And as now you mocke my woe,
When your mirth is turn'd to moane;
May your like then serue you so.
When one Swaine among the rest
Thus him merrily bespake,
350Get thee vp thou arrant beast
Fits this season loue to make?
Take thy Sheephooke in thy hand,
Clap thy Curre and set him on,
For our fields 'tis time to stand,
Or they quickly will be gon.
Rougish Swinheards that repine
At our Flocks, like beastly Clownes,
Sweare that they will bring their Swine,
And will wroote vp all our Downes:
360They their Holly whips haue brac'd,
And tough Hazell goades haue gott;
Soundly they your sides will baste,
If their courage faile them not.
Of their purpose if they speed,
Then your Bagpypes you may burne,
It is neither Droane nor Reed
Shepheard, that will serue your turne:
Angry Olcon sets them on,
And against vs part doth take
370Euer since he was out-gone,
Offring Rymes with us to make.
Yet if so our Sheepe-hookes hold,
Dearely shall our Downes be bought,
For it neuer shall be told,
We our Sheep-walkes sold for naught.
And we here haue got vs Dogges,
Best of all the Westerne breed,
Which though Whelps shall lug their Hogges,
Till they make their eares to bleed:
380Therefore Shepheard come away.
When as Dorilvs arose,
Whistles Cut-tayle from his play,
And along with them he goes.
A Paradice on earth is found,
Though farre from vulgar sight,
Which with those pleasures doth abound
That it Elizium hight.
Where, in Delights that neuer fade,
The Muses lulled be,
And sit at pleasure in the shade
Of many a stately tree,
Which no rough Tempest makes to reele
10Nor their straight bodies bowes,
Their lofty tops doe neuer feele
The weight of winters snowes;
In Groues that euermore are greene,
No falling leafe is there,
But Philomel (of birds the Queene)
In Musicke spends the yeare.
The Merle vpon her mertle Perch,
There to the Mavis sings,
Who from the top of some curld Berch
20Those notes redoubled rings;
There Daysyes damaske euery place
Nor once their beauties lose,
That when proud Phœbus hides his face
Themselues they scorne to close.
The Pansy and the Violet here,
As seeming to descend,
Both from one Root, a very payre,
For sweetnesse yet contend,
And pointing to a Pinke to tell
30Which beares it, it is loath,
To iudge it; but replyes for smell
That it excels them both.
Wherewith displeasde they hang their heads
So angry soone they grow
And from their odoriferous beds
Their sweets at it they throw.
The winter here a Summer is,
No waste is made by time,
Nor doth the Autumne euer misse
40The blossomes of the Prime.
The flower that Iuly forth doth bring
In Aprill here is seene,
The Primrose that puts on the Spring
In Iuly decks each Greene.
The sweets for soueraignty contend
And so abundant be,
That to the very Earth they lend
And Barke of euery Tree:
Rills rising out of euery Banck,
50In wild Meanders strayne,
And playing many a wanton pranck
Vpon the speckled plaine,
In Gambols and lascivious Gyres
Their time they still bestow
Nor to their Fountaines none retyres,
Nor on their course will goe.
Those Brooks with Lillies brauely deckt,
So proud and wanton made,
That they their courses quite neglect:
60And seeme as though they stayde,
Faire Flora in her state to viewe
Which through those Lillies looks,
Or as those Lillies leand to shew
Their beauties to the brooks.
That Phœbusin his lofty race,
Oft layes aside his beames
And comes to coole his glowing face
In these delicious streames;
Oft spreading Vines clime vp the Cleeues,
70Whose ripned clusters there,
Their liquid purple drop, which driues
A Vintage through the yeere.
Those Cleeues whose craggy sides are clad
With Trees of sundry sutes,
Which make continuall summer glad,
Euen bending with their fruits,
Some ripening, ready some to fall,
Some blossom'd, some to bloome,
Like gorgeous hangings on the wall
80Of some rich princely Roome:
Pomegranates, Lymons, Cytrons, so
Their laded branches bow,
Their leaues in number that outgoe
Nor roomth will them alow.
There in perpetuall Summers shade,
Apolloes Prophets sit,
Among the flowres that neuer fade,
But flowrish like their wit;
To whom the Nimphes vpon their Lyres,
90Tune many a curious lay,
And with their most melodious Quires
Make short the longest day.
The thrice three Virgins heavenly Cleere,
Their trembling Timbrels sound,
Whilst the three comely Graces there
Dance many a dainty Round,
Decay nor Age there nothing knowes,
There is continuall Youth,
As Time on plant or creatures growes,
100So still their strength renewth.
The Poets Paradice this is,
To which but few can come;
The Muses onely bower of blisse
Their Deare Elizium.
Here happy soules, (their blessed bowers,
Free from the rude resort
Of beastly people) spend the houres,
In harmelesse mirth and sport,
Then on to the Elizian plaines
110Apollo doth invite you
Where he prouides with pastorall straines,
In Nimphals to delight you.