m

She was to weet that jolly shepherd's lass, As he this way coming from feastful glee
Which piped there unto that merry rout;

Of Thetis wedding with Æacidee,
That jolly shepherd, which there piped, was

In summer's shade himself here rested weary. Poor Colin Clout (who knows not Colin Clout?) The first of them hight mild Euphı rosyne; He pip'd apace, while they him danc'd about. Next fair Aglaia ; last Thalia merry, [cherry. Pipe, jolly shepherd, pipe thou now apace

Sweet goddesses all three which me in mirth do Unto thy love, that made thee low to lout; Thy love is present there with thee in place,

“ These three on men all gracious gifts bestow, Thy love is there advanc'd to be another Grace. Which deck the body or adorn the mind,

To make them lovely or well favoured show: Much wonder'd Calidore at this strange sight, As comely carriage, entertainment kind, Whose like before his eye had never seen:

Sweet semblant, friendly offices that bind, And standing long astonished in spright,

And all the compliments of courtesy: And rapt with pleasance, wist not what to ween; They teach us, how to each degree and kind Whether it were the train of beauty's queen, We should ourselves demean, to low, to high; Or nymphs, or fairies, or enchanted show,

To friends, to foes: which skill men call civility. With which his eyes might have deluded been. Therefore resolving, what it was, to know,

“ Therefore they always smoothly seem to smile, Out of the wood he rose, and toward them did go. That we likewise should mild and gentle be;

And also naked are, that without guile But soon as he appeared to their view,

Or false dissemblance all them plain may see, They vanish'd all away out of his sight,

Simple and true from covert malice free: And clean were gone, which way he never knew; And eke themselves so in their dance they bore, All save the shepherd, who for fell despite

That two of them still forward seem'd to be, Of that displeasure, broke his bagpipe quite, But one still towards shew'd herself afore; [store. And made great moan for that unhappy turn. That good should from us go, then come in greater But Calidore, though no less sorry wight, For that mishap, yet seeing him to mourn, [learn. “Such were those goddesses which ye did see; Drew near, that he the truth of all by him might But that fourth maid, which there amidst them

Who can aread, what creature might she be, (traced, And first him greeting, thus unto him spake; Whether a creature or a goddess graced “ Hail, jolly shepherd! which thy joyous days With heavenly gifts from heaven first enraced ? Here leadest in this goodly merry-make,

But whatso'er she was, she worthy was Frequented of these gentle nymphs always, To be the fourth, with those three other placed: Which to thee flock, to hear thy lovely lays; Yet was she certes but a country lass, Tell me what might these dainty damsels be, Yet she all other country lasses far did pass. Which here with thee do make their pleasant plays? Right happy thou, that mayst them freely see; “ So far as doth the daughter of the day, But why, when I them saw, fled they away from me?” All other lesser lights in light excel,

So far doth she in beautiful array, “Not I so happy," answered then that swain, Above all other lasses bear the bell : “As thou unhappy, which them thence didst chace, Nor less in virtue that beseems her well, Whom by no means thou canst recall again. Doth she exceed the rest of all her race; For, being gone, none can them bring in place, For which the Graces that here wont to dwell, But whom they of themselves list so to grace.” Have for more honour brought her to this place, “Right sorry I,” said then Sir Calidore,

And graced her so much to be another Grace. " That my ill fortune did them hence displace. But since things passed none may now restore,

“ Another Grace she well deserves to be, Tell me what were they all, whose lack thee grieves In whom so many graces gathered are,

[so sore?" Excelling much the mean of her degree; Then gan that shepherd thus for to dilate ;

Divine resemblance, beauty sovereign rare, " Then wot thou, shepherd, whatsoe'er thou be, Firm chastity, that spite nor blemish dare; That all those ladies, which thou sawest late, All which she with such courtesy doth grace, Are Venus' damsels, all within her fee,

That all her peers cannot with her compare, But differing in honour and degree;

But quite are dimmed, when she is in place. They all are Graces which on her depend,

She made me often pipe, and now to pipe apace. Besides a thousand more, which ready be Her to adorn, whenso she forth doth wend:

“Sun of the world, great glory of the sky, But these three in the midst do chief on her attend. That all the earth dost lighten with thy rays,

Great Gloriana, greatest Majesty, “ They are the daughters of sky-ruling Jove, Pardon thy shepherd ʼmongst so many lays, By him begot of fair Eurynome,

As he hath sung of thee in all his days, The Ocean's daughter, in this pleasant grove,

To make one minime of thy poor handmaid,

And underneath thy feet to place her praise ; Keeping your beasts in the budded brooms;
That when thy glory shall be far display'd

And when the shining sun laugheth once,
To future age, of her this mention may be made.” You deemen the spring is come at once:

Tho gin you, fond flies ! the cold to scorn, When thus that shepherd ended had his speech,

And, crowing in pipes made of green corn, Said Calidore, “Now sure it irketh me,

You thinken to be lords of the year; That to thy bliss I made this luckless breach,

But eft when ye count you freed from fear, As now the author of thy bale to be,

Comes the breme winter with chamfred brows, Thus to bereave thy love's dear sight from thee:

Full of wrinkles and frosty furrows, But, gentle shepherd, pardon thou my shame,

Drearily shooting his stormy dart, Who rashly sought that which I might not see.”

Which cruddles the blood and pricks the heart: Thus did the courteous knight excuse his blame,

Then is your careless courage accoyd, And to recomfort him all comely means did frame. Your careful herds with cold be annoyed: In such discourses they together spent

Then pay you the price of your surquedry, Long time, as fit occasion forth them led;

With weeping, and wailing, and misery. With which the knight himself did much content,

Cuddy. Ah, foolish old man! I scorn thy skill, And with delight his greedy fancy fed,

That wouldst me my springing youth to spill; Both of his words, which he with reason red;

I deem thy brain emperish'd be And also of the place, whose pleasures rare

Through rusty eld, that hath rotted thee; With such regard his senses ravished,

Or siker thy head very totty is, That thence he had no will away to fare, [ing share.

So on thy corb shoulder it leans amiss.
But wish'd that with that shepherd he might dwell-

Now thyself hath lost both lop and top,
Als my budding branch thou wouldest crop;

But were thy years green, as now been mine,
THE

To other delights they would incline:
FABLE OF THE OAK AND THE BRIAR.

Tho wouldest thou learn to carol of love, (FROM THE SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR.)

And hery with hymus thy lass's glove;
Cuddy. Ah, for pity! will rank winter's rage Tho wouldest thou pipe of Phillis' praise,
These bitter blasts never 'gin t' assuage?

But Phillis is mine for many days:
The keen cold blows through my beaten hide, I won her with a girdle of gelt,
All as I were through the body gride:

Emboss'd with bugle about the belt;
My ragged ronts all shiver and shake,

Such an one shepherds would make full fain, As done high towers in an earthquake:

Such an one would make thee young again. They wont in the wind wag their wriggle tails Thenot. Thou art a son of thy love to bost; Peark as a peacock; but now it avails.

All that is lent to love will be lost. Thenot. Leudly complainest, thou lazy lad,

Cuddy. Seest how brag yond bullock bears, Of winter's wrack for making thee sad?

So smirk, so smooth, his pricked ears? Must not the world wend in his common course,

His horns been as brade as rainbow bent, From good to bad, and from bad to worse,

His dewlap as lythe as lass of Kent? From worse unto that is worst of all,

See how he venteth into the wind, And then return to his former fall?

Weenest of love is not his mind? Who will not suffer the stormy time,

Seemeth thy flock thy counsel can, Where will he live till the lusty prime?

So lustless been they, so weak, so wan; Self have I worn out thrice thirty years,

Clothed with cold, and hoary with frost, Some in much joy, many in many tears,

Thy flock's father his courage hath lost. Yet never complained of cold nor heat,

Thy ewes that wont to have blown bags, Of summer's flame, nor of winter's threat,

Like wailful widows hanging their crags ; Ne never was to Fortune foe-man,

The rather lambs been starv'd with cold, But gently took that ungently came ;

All for their master is lustless and old. And ever my flock was my chief care,

Thenot. Cuddy, I wot thou kenst little good, Winter or summer they mought well fare.

So vainly to advance thy headless hood; Cuddy. No marvel, Thenot, if thou can bear For youth is a bubble blown up with breath, Chearfully the winter's wrathful chear,

Whose wit is weakness, whose wage is death; For age and winter accord full nigh,

Whose way is wilderness, whose inn penaunce, This chill, that cold; this crooked, that wry; And stoop gallant age, the host of grievaunce. And as the low'ring weather looks down,

But shall I tell thee a tale of truth So seemest thou like Good Friday to frown;

Which I cond of Tityrus in my youth, But my flow'ring youth is foe to frost,

Keeping his sheep on the hills of Kent?
My ship unwont in storms to be tost.

Cuddy. To nought more, Thenot, my mind is bent
Thenot. The sovereign of seas he blames in vain, Than to hear novels of his devise;
That once sea-beat will to sea again :

They been so well thewed, and so wise,
So loytrin glive you little heard-grooms,

What ever that good old man bespake.

a

a

Thenot. Many meet tales of youth did he make, With painted words tho gan this proud weed And some of love, and some of chivalry,

(As most usen ambitious folk) But none fitter than this to apply.

His colour'd crime with craft to cloke. Now listen a while and hearken the end.

Ah, my Sovereign! lord of creatures all, * There grew an aged tree on the green,

Thou placer of plants both humble and tall, A goodly Oak sometime had it been,

Was not I planted of thine own hand, With arms full strong and largely display'd, To be the primrose of all thy land, But of their leaves they were disaray’d:

With flowring blossoms to furnish the prime, The body big and mightily pight,

And scarlet berries in sommer-time? Throughly rooted, and of wondrous height;

How falls it then that this faded Oak, Whilom had been the king of the field,

Whose body is sere, whose branches broke, And mochel mast to the husband did yield, Whose naked arms stretch unto the fire, And with his nuts larded many swine,

Unto such tyranny doth aspire, But now the gray moss marred his rine,

Hindring with his shade my lovely light, His bared boughs were beaten with storms, And robbing me of the sweet sun's sight? His top was bald, and wasted with worms,

So beat his old boughs my tender side, His honour decay’d, his braunches sere.

That oft the bloud springeth from woundes wide ; Hard by his side grew a bragging Breere, Untimely my flowers forced to fall, Which proudly thrust into th’ element,

That been the honour of your coronal; And seemed to threat the firmament:

And oft he lets his canker-worms light It was embellisht with blossoms fair,

Upon my branches, to work me more spight; And thereto aye wonted to repair

And of his hoary locks down doth cast, The shepherd's daughters to gather flowres, Wherewith my fresh flowrets been defast : To paint their garlands with his colowres,

For this, and many more such outrage, And in his small bushes used to shroud,

Craving your godlyhead to assuage The sweet nightingale singing so loud,

The rancorous rigour of his might; Which made this foolish Breere wex so bold, Nought ask I, but onely to hold my right, That on a time he cast him to scold,

Submitting me to your good sufferaunce,
And sneb the good Oak, for he was old.

And praying to be guarded from grievaunce.
Why stand's there (quoth he) thou brutish block? To this this Oak cast him to reply
Nor for fruit nor for shadow serves thy stock; Well as he couth ; but his enemy
Seest how fresh my flowres been spread,

Had kindled such coles of displeasure,
Died in lily white and crimson red,

That the good man nould stay his leasure, With leaves engrained in lusty green,

But home him hasted with furious heat, Colours meet to cloath a maiden queen?

Encreasing his wrath with many a threat ; Thy waste bigness but cumbers the ground,

His harmful hatchet he hent in hand, And dirks the beauty of my blossoms round: (Alas! that it so ready should stand!) The mouldy moss, which thee accloyeth,

And to the field alone he speedeth, My cinnamon smell too much annoyeth:

(Aye little help to harm there needeth) Wherefore soon I rede thee hence remove,

Anger nould let him speak to the tree, Lest thou the price of my displeasure prove. Enaunter his rage mought cooled be, So spake this bold Breere with great disdain, But to the root bent his sturdy stroak, Little him answer'd the Oak again,

And made many wounds in the waste Oak. But yielded, with shame and grief adaw'd,

The axe's edge did oft turn again, That of a weed he was over-craw'd.

As half unwilling to cut the grain, It chaunced after upon a day,

Seemed the senseless iron did fear, The husband-man's self to come that way,

Or to wrong holy eld did forbear; Of custom to surview his ground,

For it had been an antient tree,
And his trees of state in compass round:

Sacred with many a mystery,
Him when the spightful Breere had espyed, And often crost with the priests' crew,
Causeless complained, and loudly cryed

And often hallowed with holy-water dew;
Unto his lord, stirring up stern strife :

But like fancies weren foolery, O my liege Lord! the god of my life,

And broughten this Oak to this misery; Please you pond your suppliant's plaint,

For nought mought they quitten him from decay, Caused of wrong and cruell constraint,

For fiercely the good man at him did lay. Which I your poor vassal daily endure;

The block oft groaned under his blow, And but your goodness the same recure,

And sighed to see his near overthrow. Am like for desperate dole to die,

In fine, the steel had pierced his pith, Through felonous force of mine enemy.

Tho down to the ground he fell forthwith. Greatly aghast with this piteous plea,

His wondrous weight made the ground to quake, Him rested the good man on the lea,

Th' earth shrunk under him, and seem'd to shake : And bad the Breere in his plaint proceed.

There lieth the Oak pitied of none.

Now stands the Breere like a lord alone,

Pay to her usury of long delight; Puff'd up with pride and vain pleasance;

And whilst she doth her dight, But all this glee had no continuance :

Do ye to her of joy and solace sing, For eftsoons winter 'gan to approach,

That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. The blustering Boreas did encroach, And beat upon the solitary Breere,

Bring with you all the nymphs that you can hear For now no succour was seen him neere.

Both of the rivers and the forests green, Now 'gan he repent his pride too late,

And of the sea that neighbours to her near, For naked left and disconsolate,

All with gay girlands goodly well beseen ; The biting frost nipt his stalk dead,

And let them also with them bring in hand The watry wet weighed down his head,

Another gay girland, And heaped snow burdned him so sore,

For my fair love, of lillies and of roses, That now upright he can stand no more ;

Bound true-love wise with a blue silk riband; And being down is trod in the durt

And let them make great store of bridal posies, Of cattel, and brouzed, and sorely hurt.

And let them eke bring store of other flowers Such was th' end of this ambitious Breere,

To deck the bridal bowers; For scorning eld"

And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread, Cuddy. Now I pray thee shepherd, tell it not forth: For fear the stones her tender foot should wrong, Here is a long tale and little worth.

Be strew'd with fragrant flowers all along, So long have I listened to thy speech,

And diapred like the discoloured meed: That graffed to the ground is my breech ;

Which done, do at her chamber-door await, My heart-blood is well nigh frozen I feel,

For she will waken strait; And my galage grown fast to my heel;

The whiles do ye this song unto her sing, But little ease of thy leud tale I tasted;

The woods shall to you answer, and your eccho ring. Hie thee home, shepherd, the day is nigh wasted.

“ Ye nymphs of Mulla, which with careful heed

The silver scaly trouts do tend full well,
EPITHALAMION.

And greedy pikes which use therein to feed,

(Those trouts and pikes all others do excel) Ye learned Sisters! which have oftentimes

And ye likewise, which keep the rushie lake, Been to me aiding, others to adorn,

Where none do fishes take, Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rimes, Bind up the locks the which hang scattered light, That ev'n the greatest did not greatly scorn

And in his waters, which your mirror make, To hear their names sung in your simple layes,

Behold your faces as the crystal bright, But joyed in their praise ;

That when you come whereas my love doth lie, And when ye list your own mishap to mourn,

No blemish she may spie. Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck, did raise, And eke, ye lightfoot Maids! which keep the door, Your string could soon to sadder tenour turn, That on the hoary mountain use to towre, And teach the woods and waters to lament

And the wild wolves which seek them to devour, Your doleful dreriment;

Which your steel darts do chace from coming near, Now lay those sorrowful complaints aside,

Be also present here And having all your heads with girlands crown'd, To help to deck her, and to help to sing, Help me mine own love's praises to resound, That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. Ne let the same of any be envide: So Orpheus did for his own bride;

“ Wake now, my Love! awake, for it is time; So I unto my self alone will sing,

The rosie morn long since left Tithon's bed, The woods shall to me answer, and my eccho ring. And ready to her silver coach to clime,

And Phæbus 'gins to shew his glorious head. Early before the world's light-giving lamp

Hark! how the chearful birds do chaunt their layes, His golden beam upon the hills doth spred,

Aud carrol of Love's praise.
Having disperst the night's unchearful damp, The merry lark her mattins sings aloft,
Do ye awake, and with fresh lustihed,

The thrush replies, the mevis descant plays,
Go to the bowre of my beloved love,

The ouzel shrills, the ruddock warbles soft; My truest turtle-dove,

So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
Bid her awake, for Hymen is awake,

To this day's merriment.
And long since ready forth his mask to move, Ah! my dear Love! why do you sleep thus long,
With his bright teade that flames with many a lake, When meeter were that ye should now awake,
And many a batchelor to wait on him,

T'await the coming of your joyous make,
In their fresh garments trim;

And hearken to the bird's love-learned song,
Bid her awake, therefore, and soon her dight, The dewie leaves among?
For loe, the wished day is come at last,

For they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
That shall for all the pains and sorrows past Thatallthewoods them answer, and their ecchoring.

е

“ My love is now awake out of her dreams, Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best:
And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were So well it her beseems, that ye would ween
With darksome cloud, now shew their goodly beams, Some angel she had been :
More bright than Hesperus his head doth rere. Her long loose yellow locks, like golden wire,
Come now, ye Damsels! daughters of delight, Sprinkled with pearl, and perling flowers atween,
Help quickly her to dight;

Do like a golden mantel her attire,
But first come, ye fair Houres ! which were begot And being crowned with a girland green,
In Jove's sweet paradise of day and night,

Seem like some maiden queen.
Which do the seasons of the year allot,

Her modest eyes, abashed to behold And all that ever in this world is fair

So many gazers as on her do stare, Do make and still repair :

Upon the lowly ground affixed are, And ye three Handmaids of the Cyprian queen,

Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, The which do still adorn her beauty's pride, But blush to hear her praises sung so loud, Help to adora my beautifullest bride,

So far from being proud. And as ye her array, still throw between

Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing, Some graces to be seen;

That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. And as ye use to Venus, to her sing, (ring. The whiles the woods shall answer, and your eccho « Tell me, ye merchants' daughters! did ye see

So fair a creature in your town before, « Now is my love all ready forth to come,

So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, Let all the virgins therefore well await;

Adorn'd with beauty's grace and vertue's store ? And ye, fresh Boys, that tend upon her groom, Her goodly eyes like saphires shining bright, Prepare yourselves, for he is coming strait:

Her forehead ivory white, Set all your things in seemly good array,

Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded, Fit for so joyful day,

Her lips like cherries, charming men to bite, The joyfulst day that ever sun did see.

Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded, Fair Sun! shew forth thy favourable ray,

Her paps like lillies budded, And let thy life-ful heat not fervent be,

Her snowy neck like to a marble towre, For fear of burning her sun-sbiny face,

And all her body like a palace fair, Her beauty to disgrace.

Ascending up with many a stately stair O fairest Phæbus ! father of the Muse,

To Honour's seat, and Chastity's sweet bowre. If ever I did honour thee aright,

Why stand ye still, ye virgins! in amaze,
Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight, Upon her so to gaze ;
Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse,

Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing,
But let this day, let this one day be mine,

To which the woods did answer, and your ecchoring. Let all the rest be thine: Then I thy soveraign praises loud will sing, “ But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, That all the woods shall answer and their ecchoring. The inward beauty of her lively spright,

Garnish'd with heavenly gifts of high degree, Hark! how the minstrels 'gin to shrill aloud Much more then would ye wonder at the sight, Their merry music that resounds from far,

And stand astonish'd like to those which red
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud, Medusa's mazeful head.
That well agree withouten breach or jar:

There dwells sweet Love and constant Chastity, But most of all the damzels do delite

Unspotted Faith and comely Womanhood, When they their timbrels smite,

Regard of Honour and mild Modesty ; And thereunto do daunce and carrol sweet, There Vertue reigns as queen of royal throne That all the senses they do ravish quite ;

And giveth laws alone, The whiles the boys run up and down the street,

The which the base affections do obey, Crying aloud, with strong confused noise,

And yield their services unto her will; As if it were one voice,

Ne thought of things uncomely ever may Hymen, lö Hymen! Hymen they do shout,

Thereto approach, to tempt her mind to ill. That even to the heavens their shouting shrill Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures, Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill;

And unrevealed pleasures, To which the people standing all about,

Then would ye wonder, and her praises sing, [ring. As in approvance, do thereto applaud,

That all the woods should answer, and your eccho And loud advance her laud. And even more they Hymen, Hymen sing,

“ Open the temple-gates upto my love, That all thewoods them answer, and their eccho ring. Open them wide that she may enter in,

And all the posts adorn as doth behove, « Loe, where she comes along with portly pace, And all the pillars deck with girlands trim, Like Phæbe, from her chamber of the East,

For to receive this saint with honour due, Arising forth to run her mighty race,

That cometh in to you.