An English Garner: Ingatherings from Our History and Literature (4 of 8) (part 2 of 2)

An English Garner: Ingatherings from Our History and Literature (4 of 8) (part 2 of 2)

MARTHA soon did it resign To the beauteous CATHARINE: Beauteous CATHARINE gave place (Though loath and angry she, to part With the possession of my heart) To ELIZA's conquering face.

III.

ELIZA, till this hour might reign, Had she not evil counsels ta'en. Fundamental laws she broke, And still new favourites she chose! Till up in arms my Passions rose, And cast away her yoke.

IV.

MARY then, and gentle ANNE Both to reign at once began: Alternately they swayed, And sometimes MARY was the Fair, And sometimes ANNE the Crown did wear, And sometimes both I obeyed.

V.

Another MARY then arose, And did rigorous laws impose. A mighty tyrant she! Long, alas, should I have been Under that iron sceptred Queen; Had not REBECCA set me free!

VI.

When fair REBECCA set me free, 'Twas then a golden time with me! But soon those pleasures fled; For the gracious Princess died, In her youth and beauty's pride: And JUDITH reigned in her stead!

VII.

One month, three days, and half an hour, JUDITH held the sovereign power. Wondrous beautiful her face; But so weak and small her wit, That she to govern was unfit: And so SUSANNA took her place!

VIII.

But when ISABELLA came, Armed with a resistless flame And th' artillery of her eye; Whilst she proudly march'd about, Greater conquests to find out, She beat out SUSAN by the bye.

IX.

But in her place, I then obeyed Black-eyed BESS, her Viceroy-maid: To whom ensued a Vacancy. Thousand worst passions then possess'd The interregnum of my breast. Bless me, from such an anarchy!

X.

Gentle HENRIETTE then, And a third MARY next began; Then JOAN, and JANE, and ANDRIA; And then a pretty THOMASINE, And then another KATHERINE, And then a long Et cetera!

XI.

But should I now to you relate The strength and riches of their State! The powder, patches, and the pins! The ribbons, jewels, and the rings! The lace, the paint, and warlike things, That make up all their magazines!

XII.

If I should tell their politic arts To take, and keep men's hearts! The letters! embassies! and spies! The frowns! and smiles! and flatteries! The quarrels! tears! and perjuries! Numberless, nameless mysteries!

XIII.

And all the little lime twigs laid By MACHIAVEL, the waiting maid! I, more voluminous should grow, (Chiefly if I, like them, should tell, All change of weathers that befell,) Than HOLINGSHED, or STOW!

XIV.

But I will briefer with them be; Since few of them were long with me! A higher and a nobler strain, My present Empress does claim; HELEONORA, First o' the name, Whom, GOD grant long to reign!

England's

WAY TO WIN

Wealth, and to employ Ships and Mariners;

OR,

A plain description what great profit it will bring into the Common Wealth of England, by the erecting, building, and adventuring of Busses to sea, a fishing.

With a true Relation of the inestimable wealth, that is yearly taken out of His Majesty's seas by the Hollanders, by their great number of Busses, Pinks, and Line-boats.

AND ALSO,

A Discourse of the sea coast towns of England, and the most fit and commodious places and harbours that we have for Busses; and of the small number of our fishermen; and also of the true valuation and whole charge of building and furnishing to sea, Busses and Pinks, after the Holland manner.

* * * * *

By TOBIAS GENTLEMAN, Fisherman and Mariner.

* * * * *

LONDON: Printed by NATHANIEL BUTTER. 1614.

[This is the tract referred to at Vol. III. p. 623. It appears from p. 623 of that Volume, that T. GENTLEMAN was a Yarmouth man.]

TO THE RIGHT NOBLE LEARNED AND TRULY HONOURABLE HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF NORTHAMPTON, BARON OF MARNHILL, Constable of the Castle of Dover, Lord Warden, Chancellor and Admiral of the Cinque Ports, Lord Privy Seal, Knight of the most noble Order of the Garter, and one of His Majesty's most honourable Privy Council.

RIGHT HONOURABLE,

Seeing that, by Nature, our country challengeth a greater interest in us, than our parents, friends, or children can; and that we ought for preservation thereof, oppose [expose] our lives unto the greatest dangers: it is the part of every native to endeavour something to the advancement and profit thereof: and not to affect it, for that we possess in it; but to love it for itself, as being the common Mother and Nourisher of us all. For mine own part, albeit my short fathom can compass no such great design as I desire: yet from a willing mind (as he that offered his hands full of water to great ARTAXERXES), I am bold to present this Project of my honest and homely labours; beseeching your Lordship, whose virtues have truly ennobled you, to take the same into your protection! and prefer it to the view of our most royal Sovereign, recommending the good effecting thereof to his gracious favour and furtherance! Doubtless your actions and endeavours, having all been full of virtue and goodness, are not the least prevailing motives whereby His Majesty hath so endeared you unto him. In this, then, you shall not think yourself disparaged! the matter being both honest and commendable; and in true value, of as great substance, as the offer of SEBASTIAN CABOTA to King HENRY the SEVENTH for the discovery of the West Indies.

Humbly at your Lordship's commandment,

TOBIAS GENTLEMAN.

England's Way to win Wealth, and to employ Ships and Mariners.

Noble Britons! Forasmuch as it hath pleased the Almighty GOD to make us a happy Nation, by blessing and enriching this noble Kingdom with the sweet dew of His heavenly Word truly and plentifully preached amongst us; and also in situating our country in a most wholesome climate, and stored with many rich and pleasant treasures for our benefit, which also yieldeth in abundance all things necessary, so that we do not only excel other nations in strength and courage, but also all other kingdoms far remote are by our English Commodities relieved and cherished: it seemeth also that the wisdom of our gracious GOD hath reserved us, as some precious gem, unto Himself; in environing our country with the plenteous ocean sea, and dividing of us from the whole Continent of the rest of the inferior world by our rich and commodious element of water, which in due seasons, yieldeth to us in abundance. For although our champion [champagne] soil, by the diligence of the husbandman, be plentiful unto us; yet doth these watery regions and dominions yield yearly great variety of all kind of most wholesome and dainty fishes: so that it may seem strange and disputable, and hard to determine, which of His Majesty's Dominions, of the Land or Seas, be richer? Myself being the most unworthiest of all, in that I am no scholar, but born a fisherman's son by the seaside, and spending my youthful time at sea about fisher [fishing] affairs, whereby now I am more skilful in nets, lines, and hooks, than in rhetoric, logic, or learned books: yet in those few which I have read, besides the instinct of Nature, which maketh me to know that every one should endeavour himself (the best he is able) to be beneficial and profitable to the kingdom and common wealth wherein he is born; which was a forcible motive to incite me to think of this present Discourse, the penning whereof was thus occasioned.

It was my fortune, some two years past [i.e., in 1611], to be sent for into the company of one Master JOHN KEYMAR, who is a man very well deserving of his country; and he, knowing me to have experience in fisher [fishing] affairs, demanded of me the Charge both of Busses and Line-boats, after the Hollanders' fashion: and showed unto me some few notes that he had gathered and gotten from other men of my trade, which he seemed greatly to esteem of, for that himself was altogether unexperimented in such business. And further I delivered to him certain principal notes which he seemed greatly to esteem; for that, he said, that "He did mind to show them unto the right honourable Council."

Whereupon I entered into the cogitation of writing this True Relation out of my own experience and knowledge, touching the inestimable sums of money taken yearly for fish and herrings out of His Majesty's seas by strangers. Whereby they have not only maintained their wars against the Spaniard, both by land and sea, he being one of the great Monarchs of the world; and at length they have not only wearied him in the wars and brought him to good terms and reasonable Composition: but also, it is most apparent, notwithstanding the huge charge of their wars, so long continued, which would have made any other nation poor and beggarly; they, to the contrary, are grown exceeding rich and strong in fortified towns and beautiful buildings, in plenty of money and gold, in trade and traffic with all other nations, and have so increased and multiplied their shipping and mariners, that all other nations and countries in the world do admire [wonder at] them.

Moreover, whereas one haven in one of their towns did, in former times, contain their ships and shipping; with infinite cost, now they have cut out two havens more to a town: and at this present, are all three havens scarce sufficient with room enough to contain their ships and shipping. And by reason of their industrious fisher-trade, not one of their people is idle, nor none seen to beg amongst them, except they be some of our own English nation.

And what their chiefest trade is, or the principal Gold Mine, is well known to all merchants that have used those parts, and to myself and all fishermen: namely, that His Majesty's Seas are their chiefest, principal, and only rich Treasury; whereby they have so long time maintained their wars, and have so greatly prospered and enriched themselves.

If that their little country of the United Provinces can do this (as is most manifest before our eyes they do), then what may we His Majesty's subjects do, if this trade of fishing were once erected among us? We having in our own countries [counties], sufficient store of all necessaries to accomplish the like business.

For the Hollanders have nothing growing in their own land for that business; but they are compelled to fetch all their wood, timber, and plank, wherewith they build and make all their ships of, out of divers countries: their iron out of other places; their hemp and cordage out of the Eastern [Baltic] Countries; the hoops and barrel-boards out of Norway and Sprucia [Prussia]; their bread-corn out of Poland and the East Parts; their malt, barley, and best Double Drink from England; and also all their fish and chiefest wealth out of His Majesty's seas.

The which they do transport unto the foresaid countries; and return for the procedue [proceeds] of fish and herrings, the forenamed commodities: whereby their ships and mariners are set on work, and continually multiplied; and into their countries is plentiful store of money and gold daily brought, only [solely] for the sales of fish and herrings.

And their country being, as it were, a small plot of ground in comparison of Great Britain; for two of His Majesty's counties, Suffolk and Norfolk, do equal, if not exceed, in spaciousness, all their Provinces: and yet it is manifest, that for shipping and seafaring men, all England, Scotland, France, and Spain, for quantity of shipping and fishermen, cannot make so great a number.

Howsoever this may seem strange unto many that do not know it; yet do I assure myself, that a great number besides myself, know I affirm nothing herein but the truth. Wherefore seeing the great benefit that this business by the Busses, bonadventures, or fisherships; by erecting of this profitable and new trade, which will bring plenty unto His Majesty's Kingdoms and be for the general good of the Common wealth; in setting of many thousands of poor people on work, which now know not how to live; and also for the increasing of ships and fishermen, which shall be employed about the taking of fish and herrings out of His Majesty's own streams; and also for the employing of ships, and increasing of mariners for the strengthening of the Kingdom against all foreign invasions; and for the enriching of Merchants with transportation of fish and herrings into other countries; and also for the bringing in of gold and money: which now is grown but scarce, by reason that the Dutch and Hollanders have so long time been suffered to carry away our money and best gold for fish and herrings taken out of His Majesty's own streams; which His Majesty's own subjects do want and still are like[ly] to do, if that they be not forbidden for bringing us fish and herrings; and this worthy common wealth's business of Busses fostered and furthered by His Majesty's honourable Council, and the worshipful and wealthy subjects; by putting to their helping Adventures now at the first, for that those that be now the fishermen, of themselves be not able to begin.

Those poor boats and sorry nets that our fishermen of England now have, are all their chiefest wealth; but were their ability better, they would soon be employing themselves: for that it is certain that all the fishermen of England do rejoice now at the very name and news of building of Busses, with a most joyful applaud, praying to GOD to further it! for what great profit and pleasure it will bring they do well understand, and I will hereafter declare.

First, I shall not need to prove that it is lawful for us that be His Majesty's own subjects, to take with all diligence the blessings that Almighty GOD doth yearly send unto us, at their due times and seasons; and which do offer themselves freely and abundantly to us, in our own seas and nigh our own shores.

Secondly, to prove that it is feasible for us; for what can be more plain than that we see daily done before our eyes by the Hollanders! that have nothing that they use, growing in their own land, but are constrained to fetch all out of other countries: whereas we have all things that shall be used about that business growing at home in our own land; pitch and tar only excepted.

Thirdly, to prove it will be profitable, no man need to doubt; for that we see the Hollanders have long maintained their wars: and are nevertheless grown exceeding rich: which are things to be admired, insomuch that themselves do call it their chiefest trade, and principal Gold Mine; whereby many thousands of their people of trades and occupations be set on work, well maintained, and do prosper. These be the Hollanders' own words in a Dutch Proclamation, and translated into English; and the copy of that Proclamation is here annexed unto the end of my book [see p. 350].

And shall we neglect so great blessings! O slothful England, and careless countrymen! look but on these fellows, that we call the plump Hollanders! Behold their diligence in fishing! and our own careless negligence!

In the midst of the month of May, do the industrious Hollanders begin to make ready their Busses and fisher-fleets; and by the first of their June [i.e., N.S.] are they yearly ready, and seen to sail out of the Maas, the Texel, and the Vlie, a thousand Sail together; for to catch herrings in the North seas.

Six hundred of these fisherships and more, be great Busses some six score tons, most of them be a hundred tons, and the rest three score tons, and fifty tons: the biggest of them having four and twenty men; some twenty men, and some eighteen, and sixteen men a piece. So that there cannot be in this Fleet of People, no less than twenty thousand sailors.

These having with them bread, butter, and Holland cheese for their provision, do daily get their other diet out of His Majesty's seas; besides the lading of this Fleet three times a piece commonly before Saint Andrew['s day, October 24] with herrings, which being sold by them but at the rate of Ten Pounds the Last, amounteth unto much more than the sum of one million of pounds [= £4,500,000 in present value] sterling; only [solely] by this fleet of Busses yearly. No King upon the earth did ever see such a fleet of his own subjects at any time; and yet this Fleet is, there and then, yearly to be seen. A most worthy sight it were, if they were my own countrymen; yet have I taken pleasure in being amongst them, to behold the neatness of their ships and fishermen, how every man knoweth his own place, and all labouring merrily together: whereby the poorest sort of themselves, their wives and children, be well maintained; and no want seen amongst them.

[Sidenote: Shetland is the greatest Isle of all the Oreades, and lieth in the height of 60° N. Lat.]

And thus North-West-and-by-North hence along they steer, then being the very heart of summer and the very yolk of all the year, sailing until they do come unto the Isle of Shetland, which is His Majesty's dominions. And with this gallant fleet of Busses, there have been seen twenty, thirty, and forty ships of war to waft [convoy] and guard them from being pillaged and taken by their enemies and Dunkirkers: but now the wars be ended, they do save that great charge, for they have not now about four or six to look unto them, for [from] being spoiled by rovers and pirates.

Now if that it happen that they have so good a wind as to be at Shetland before the 14th day of their June [i.e., N.S.] as most commonly they have, then do they all put into Shetland, nigh Swinborough [Sumburgh] Head; into a sound called Bracies [Bressa] Sound, and there they frolic it on land, until that they have sucked out all the marrow of the malt and good Scotch ale, which is the best liquor that the island doth afford: but the 14th day of June being once come, then away all of them go, for that is the first day, by their own law, before which time they must not lay a net; for until then the herrings be not in season, nor fit to be taken to be salted.

From this place, being nigh two hundred leagues from Yarmouth, do they now first begin to fish, and they do never leave the shoals of herrings, but come along amongst them, following the herrings as they do come, five hundred miles in length [along], and lading their ships twice or thrice before they come to Yarmouth, with the principal and best herrings, and sending them away by the merchant ships that cometh unto them, that bringeth them victuals, barrels, and more salt, and nets if that they do need any, the which ships that buyeth their herrings they do call Herring Yagers [now spelt Jagers]: and these Yagers carry them, and sell them in the East [Baltic] Countries, some to Revel and to Riga, and some so far as Narva and Russia, Stockholm in Sweden, Quinsborough [? Konigsberg], Dantsic, and Elving [Elbing], and all Poland, Sprucia, and Pomerland, Letto [Lithuania], Burnt-Hollume, Stettin, Lubeck, and Jutland and Denmark. Returning hemp, flax, cordage, cables, and iron; corn, soap ashes, wax, wainscot, clapholt [? clap-boards], pitch, tar, masts, and spruce deals, hoops and barrel-boards [staves]; and plenty of silver and gold: only [solely] for their procedue [proceeds] of herrings.

Now besides this great Fleet of the Busses, the Hollanders have a huge number more of smaller burden, only for to take herrings also; and these be of the burden from fifty tons unto thirty tons, and twenty tons. The greatest of them have twelve men a piece, and the smallest eight and nine men a piece; and these are vessels of divers fashions and not like unto the Busses, yet go they only for herrings in the season, and they be called, some of them, Sword-Pinks, Flat-Bottoms, Holland-Toads, Crab-Skuits, and Yevers: and all these, or the most part do go to Shetland; but these have no Yagers to come unto them; but they go themselves home when they be laden, or else unto the best market. There have been seen and numbered of Busses and these, in braces [rigged], sound, and going out to sea; and at sea in sight at one time, two thousand Sail, besides them that were at sea without [out of] sight, which could not be numbered.

It is Bartholomewtide [August 24] yearly, before that they be come from Shetland with the herrings so high as [down to] Yarmouth: and all those herrings that they do catch in the Yarmouth seas from Bartholomewtide until Saint Andrew['s day, October 24], the worst that be, the roope-sick herrings that will not serve to make barrelled herrings by their own law, they must not bring home into Holland; wherefore they do sell them for ready money or gold unto the Yarmouth men, that be no fishermen, but merchants and engrossers of great quantities of herrings, if that, by any means, they can get them. So that the Hollanders be very welcome guests unto the Yarmouthian [!] herring-buyers, and the Hollanders do call them their "hosts," and they do yearly carry away from Yarmouth many a thousand pounds, as it is well known.

But these Hollanders, with the ladings of the best, which they make their best brand herrings to serve for Lenten store, they send some for Bordeaux, some for Rochelle, Nantes, Morlaix; and Saint Malo and Caen in Normandy; Rouen, Paris, Amiens, and all Picardy and Calais: and they do return from these places wines, salt, feathers, rosin, woad, Normandy canvas, and Dowlais cloth, and money and French crowns. But out of all the Archduke's countries they return nothing from thence but ready money, in my own knowledge; and their ready payment was all double Jacobuses, English twenty-[five] shilling pieces. I have seen more there, in one day, than ever I did in London at any time.

[Sidenote: I have seen a small haddock sold there for two shillings [and] sixpence: and a turbot for a Jacobus.]

For at Ostend, Newport, and Dunkirk, where and when the Holland Pinks cometh in, there daily the Merchants, that be but women (but not such women as the fishwives of Billingsgate; for these Netherland women do lade away many waggons with fresh fish daily, some for Bruges, and some for Brussels, Yperen, Dixmuiden, and Rissels [Lille], and at Sas by Ghent), I have seen these Women-Merchants have their aprons full of nothing but English Jacobuses, to make all their payment of; and such heaps and budgetfuls in the counting-houses of the Fish Brokers, which made me much to wonder how they should come by them. And also I know that capons are not so dearly sold by the poulterers in Gratious [Gracechurch] Street in London, as fresh fish is sold by the Hollanders in all those Roman Catholic and Papistical countries.

* * * * *

And whereas I have made but a true relation of their Fleets of Busses, and only the herring fishermen that be on His Majesty's seas from June until November: I will here set down the fishermen that, all the year long, in the seasons, do fish for Cod and Ling continually, going and returning laden with barrelled fish.

And these be Pinks and Well-boats of the burden of forty tons, and the smallest thirty tons. These have some twelve men a piece, one with another. There is of this sort of fisherboats, beginning at Flushing, Camefere, Surwick Sea, the Maas, the Texel, and the Vlie, and the other sandy islands, about five hundred or six hundred Sail which, all the year long, are fishing for Cod; whereof they do make their barrelled fish, which they do transport in the summer into the East parts, but in winter all France is served by them and all the Archduke's countries before spoken of: both of barrelled fish and fresh fish, which they of purpose do keep alive in their boats in wells. And to us here in England, for love of our strong beer, they bring us barrelled fish in winter; and carry away our money and gold every day in great quantities.

Besides all these Pinks and Well-boats, the Hollanders have continually, in the season, another fleet of fishermen, at the north-east head of Shetland, which be of another quality: and there are more than two hundred of these, and these be called Fly-boats. These do ride at anchor all the season at Shetland, in the fishing grounds, and they have small boats within them, which be like unto Cobles, the which they do put out to lay and haul their lines, whereby they do take great store of Ling: the which they do not barrel, but split them and salt them in the ship's bulk [hold]; and these they sell commonly for four and five pounds the hundred. These go by the name of Holland Lings: but they are taken out of His Majesty's seas, and were Shetland Lings before they took them there; and for these Lings they do carry away abundance of England's best money daily.

* * * * *

Now having declared according unto truth, the numbers of their fishermen in Holland for herrings upon His Majesty's seas; and also of their Pinks and Well-boats; and their courses for taking, venting, and selling of their barrelled fish and fresh fish; and also of their Fly-boats at the north-east head of Shetland, for Shetland Lings: I think it now best, truly to show the true number of our English fishermen, and how they do employ themselves all the year long; first beginning at Colchester, nigh the mouth of the Thames, and so proceeding northward.

I can scarce afford these men of that Water the name of fishermen; for that their chiefest trade is dredging for oysters: yet have they, in the summer, some eight or ten boats in the North seas for Cod; which if that they happen to spend all their salt, and to speed well, they may get some twenty pounds in a summer clear.

But here, by the way, I will make known a great abuse that is offered to the common wealth, and especially to all the herring fishermen of England, only by those men of Colchester Water. For these men, from Saint Andrew [October 24] until Candlemas [February 2], and sometimes longer, do set forth Stale-boats, amongst the sands in the Thames' mouth, for to take sprats, with great stale-nets, with a great poke [bag]; and they standing in the Swinne or the King's Channel on the back of the Gunfleet, they do there take instead of sprats, infinite thousands of young herrings, smaller than sprats and not good to be eaten, for one sprat is better worth than twenty of those Bleaks or young herrings. But because they do fill the bushel at Billingsgate, where they do sell them for sprats; the which, if that they were let [a]live, would all be, at Midsummer, a fat Summer full Herring. And a peck is sometimes there sold for twopence; which number of herrings at Midsummer would make a barrel of summer herrings, worth twenty or thirty shillings.

If that they could take sprats it were good, for they be good victuals for the City; but for every cartload or bushel of sprats, they take a hundred cartloads or bushels of these young herrings; which be the very spawn of the shoals of the herrings that cometh from Shetland every summer: and whereas they come into Yarmouth seas yearly about Saint Luke's [day, September 21] and (sometimes before, if that it do blow a hard easterly wind) do always at that season become roope-sick and do spawn and become shotten [empty] betwixt Wintertonness and Orfordness. And those fry of that spawn, those young little creatures, by the wisdom of the great Creator, seeketh into the shore and shallow places, there to be nourished, and also into the Thames' mouth into the sweetest waters; for that the water nigh the shore and in the Thames' mouth is not so briny salt as it is farther off in the deep water. Where these Bleaks yearly seeking to be nourished, they be always at that season taken and destroyed. But if that these men will needs use their Stale-boats and nets, let them go where the good sprats be. They must then stand at Orfordness and in Dunwich bay, where there be excellent sprats: and for the good of all the herring fishermen of England, I wish that they might be prohibited to sell that which is not wholesome to be eaten; which is as much as to sell hemlock for parsnips.

The next to Colchester, is Harwich Water. A royal harbour and a proper town, fit for the use of Busses (no place in all Holland comparable to it, for there is both land and strand and dry beach enough for four hundred Sail); but the chiefest trade of the inhabitants of this place is with Caravels for Newcastle coals: but they have three or four ships yearly that they do send to Iceland for Cod and Ling from March until September; and some years they get, and some years they lose. But if that they had but once the trade of Busses, this would soon be a fine place: but those Caravels and Ships which they now have, be all their chiefest wealth.

Six miles up Harwich water stands Ipswich; which is a gallant town and rich. This Town is such a place for the Busses, as in all England and Holland I know no place so convenient. First, it is the best place in all England for the building of Busses; both for the plenty of timber and plank, and excellent workmen for making of ships. There are more there, than there are in six of the best towns in all England. Secondly, it is a principal place for good housewives for spinning of yarn, for the making of pouldavice [canvas]; for there is the best that is made. Which town with the use of the making of twine, will soon be the best place of all England for to provide nets for the Busses. It is also a most convenient place for the wintering of the Busses, for that all the shores of that river are altogether ooze and soft ground, fit for them to lie on in winter.

[Sidenote: This Town is most fit and convenient place to make a Staple Town for corn for all England, for the return and sale of the Busses' herrings from Dantsic and Poland.]

Also the Ipswich men be the chiefest Merchant Adventurers of all England, for all the East Lands [Baltic Countries], for the Suffolk cloths: and they have their factors lying, all the year long, in all those places where the Hollanders do vent their herrings, and where the best price and sale is continually. And although that yet there be no fishermen, yet have they store of seafaring men, and for Masters for the Busses, they may have enough from Yarmouth and So[uth]w[o]ld and the sea-coast towns [villages] down their river. From Nacton and Chimton, Holbroke, Shotley, and Cowlness they may get men that will soon be good fishermen with but little use. For understand thus much! that there is a kind of emulation in Holland between the fishermen that go to sea in Pinks and Line-boats, winter and summer; and those fishermen that go in the Busses. For they in the Pinks make a scorn of them in the Busses, and do call them koe-milkens or "cow-milkers": for indeed the most part of them be men of occupations [handicraftsmen] in winter, or else countrymen; and do milk the cows themselves and make all the Holland cheese, when they be at home.

This place is also most convenient for the erecting of salt-pans, for the making of "Salt upon Salt." For that the harbour is so good that, at all times, ships may come unto them with salt from Mayo, or Spanish salt, to make brine or pickle; and also the Caravels from Newcastle with coals for the boiling of it at the cheapest rates, at any time may come thither.

To the north-east of this place, three or four leagues, is Orford Haven; and in the towns of Orford and Aldborough especially be many good fishermen. And there are belonging to those towns some forty or fifty North Sea boats, that yearly go to sea, having seven men a piece; and ten or twelve Iceland barks, which sometimes get something, and sometimes little or nothing. If that these men's wealth were in Busses and nets, and had but once the trade, they would put down the Hollander! for they be great plyers of any voyage that they do undertake.

[Sidenote: Dunwich in ancient times hath been the seat of the Kings of the East Angles, but [is] now all ruined.]

About three leagues to the northward is So[uth]w[o]ld Haven, and in the towns of So[uth]w[o]ld, Dunwich, and Walderswick be a very good breed of fishermen; and there are belonging unto those three towns, of North Sea boats some twenty sail; and of Iceland barks some fifty sail, which yearly they send for Cod and Ling to Iceland.

[Sidenote: My father lived in this town until he was 98 years of age, and gave these Composition Ling seventy years unto four Princes, viz. King EDWARD, Queen MARY, Queen ELIZABETH, and until the sixth year [1609] of the reign of our most gracious Sovereign. Which cometh to much more than one thousand pounds, for one man of that town.]

This town of So[uth]w[o]ld, of a sea town, is the most beneficial unto His Majesty, of all the towns in England; by reason all their trade is unto Iceland for Ling, and His Majesty's Serjeant Caterer hath yearly gratis out of every ship and bark, one hundred of the choicest and fairest Lings, which be worth more than ten pound the hundred; and they call them "Composition Fish." But these men of this place are greatly hindered, and in a manner undone, by reason their haven is so bad, and in a manner often stopped up with beach and shingle stone that the wind and tide and the sea do beat thither, so that many time, in the season, when they be ready to go to sea; they cannot get out when time is to go to sea; neither can they get in when they return from sea, but oftentimes do cast away their goods and themselves. This haven if that it had but a south pier built of timber, would be a far better haven than Yarmouth haven, with one quarter of the cost that hath been bestowed on Yarmouth haven. They be now suitors unto His Majesty: GOD grant that they may speed! For it is pitiful, the trouble and damage that all the men of these three towns do daily sustain by their naughty [inadequate] harbour.

To the northward of So[uth]w[o]ld Haven three leagues, are Kirkley and Layestof [Lowestoft], decayed towns. They have six or seven North Sea boats: but they of Lowestoft make benefit yearly of buying of herrings of the Hollanders; for likewise these Hollanders be "hosted" with the Lowestoft men, as they be with the Yarmouthians.

[Sidenote: In all His Majesty's kingdoms, not any town, comparable unto it for brave buildings.]

To the northward, two leagues, is the town of Great Yarmouth, very beautifully built upon a very pleasant and sandy plain of three miles in length. This town is a place of great resort of all the herring fishermen of England. For thither do resort all the fishermen of the Cinque Ports and the rest of the West Country men of England, as far as Burport [Bridport], and Lyme [Regis] in Dorsetshire: and those herrings that they do take they do not barrel, because their boats be but small things, but they sell all unto the Yarmouth herring-buyers for ready money. And also the fishermen of the north countries, beyond Scarborough and Robin Hood's Bay, and some as far as the Bishopric of Durham do thither resort yearly, in poor little boats called "Five-Men Cobbles"; and all the herrings that they do take they do sell fresh unto the Yarmouth men, to make red herrings.

Also to Yarmouth, do daily come into the haven up to the quay, all or the most part of the great Fleet of Hollanders, which before I made relation of, that go in the Sword-Pinks, Holland-Toads, Crab-Skuits, Walnut-Shells, and great and small Yevers; one hundred and two hundred sail at one time together, and all their herrings that they do bring in, they do sell them all, for ready money, to the Yarmouth men.

And also the Frenchmen of Picardy and Normandy, some hundred sail of them at a time, do come thither; and all the herrings they catch, they sell fresh unto these Herring-mongers of Yarmouth, for ready money. So that it amounteth unto a great sum of money, that the Hollanders and Frenchmen do carry away from Yarmouth yearly into Holland and France: which money doth never come again into England.

This town is very well governed by wise and civil [prudent] Magistrates, and good orders carefully observed for the maintenance of their Haven and Corporation. And this town, by reason of the situation, and the fresh rivers that belong to it, one [the Wensum] up to the city of Norwich; and another [the Wavency] that runneth far up into Suffolk, a butter and cheese country, about Bunga [Bungay] and Betkels [Beccles]; and a third [the Bure] that runneth far up into Flegg [by Aylesham] a corn country; by reason whereof this town of Yarmouth is always well served with all kind of provision at good and cheap rates: whereby they of the town do relieve the strangers, and also do benefit themselves.

To this town belongeth some twenty Iceland barks, which yearly they do send for Cod and Ling, and some hundred and fifty sail of North Sea boats. They make a shift to live; but if that they had the use of Busses and also barrelled fish, they would excel all England and Holland. For they be the only fishermen for North seas, and also the best for the handling of their fish that be in all this land.

The herring buyers of Yarmouth doth profit more than doth the fishermen of Yarmouth, by reason of the resort of the Hollanders; for that they are suffered to sell all their roope-sick herrings at Yarmouth to the Merchants there. And also the barrelled fish that the Flemings do bring in winter to London, Ipswich, Lynn, and Hull do also gale [gaul] them: but for that [seeing that] our fishermen may, if they please, make barrelled fish themselves; and therefore I will not moan [bemoan] them!

[Sidenote: Yarmouth haven is the only refuge, in distress of weather, for all the fishermen of the Cinque Ports and all others that do fish in those seas: and it is built all of timber, against the violence of the main sea. It is now in great danger to come to ruin; if they have not help in time.]

The merchant herring buyer of Yarmouth that hath a stock of his own, so long as he can make his gains so certain with buying of roope-sick herrings of the Hollanders, will never lay out his money to build or set forth Busses; and the fishermen be now so poor, by reason that they only do bear the whole charge of that costly haven, the merchant herring buyers being not at any charge thereof: but all that great cost cometh out of the fishermen's labours for the maintenance of that wooden haven [pier], which amounteth to some five hundred pounds a year, and some years more. So that though they be willing, yet their ability will not suffer them to do it; neither can they forbear [invest] their money to adventure their herrings into the East [Baltic] Countries, where the best sales always be.

To the northward of Yarmouth eight leagues, are the towns of Blackney and Wells, good harbours and fit for Busses: and they have good store of fishermen. And these towns have some twenty Sail of barks that they do yearly send unto Iceland. But these towns be greatly decayed, to that they have been in times past: the which places, if that they had but twenty Busses belonging to them, would soon grow rich towns in short time.

Then is there [King's] Lynn, a proper gallant town for seafaring men, and for men for Iceland. This is a rich town, and they have some twenty Sail of Iceland ships, that they yearly send for Cod and Ling: and I am in hope to see them fall to the use of Busses as soon as any men.

To the northward is Boston, a proper town; and like unto Holland's soil, for low ground and sands coming in: but yet there are but few fishermen; but it is a most fit place for Busses. If that they had but once the taste of them, they would soon find good liking.

Next to Boston, some twenty leagues to the northward, is the great river of Humber, wherein there is Hull, a very proper town of sailors and shipping: but there be but few fishermen. But it is a most convenient place for to adventure Busses.

There are also Grimsby, Paul, and Patrington. In all these places now there is great store of poor and idle people, that know not how to live; and the most of all these places be decayed, and the best of them all grow worse and worse: which with the use of Busses would soon grow rich merchant towns, as is in Holland. For to these places would be transported of the East lands all manner of commodities for the use of Busses; and houses and work-yards erected for coopers, and ropemakers, and great numbers of net-makers. And with the recourse of the ships that shall bring salt and other commodities, and ships that shall lade away their herrings and fish, these places shall soon become populous; and money stirring plentifully in these places returned for the procedue [proceeds] of fish and herrings: which places now be exceeding poor and beggarly.

In all these fisher towns, that I have before named, as Colchester, Harwich, Orford, Aldborough, Dunwich, Walderswick, So[uth]w[o]ld, Yarmouth, Blackney, Wells, Lynn, Boston, and Hull--these be all the chiefest towns; and all that useth the North seas in summer: and all these towns, it is well known, be ruinated.

[Sidenote: I crave pardon, for that I omit the particular numbers and total sum; which I could here set down if I were commanded.[7]]

In all these towns I know to be ---- Iceland barks, and ---- North Sea boats; and all these fishermen having ---- men a piece amounteth to the sum of ----. But admit that there are in all the West Country of England of fisherboats, tag and rag, that bringeth home all fresh fish, which seldom or never useth any salt; say, that they have other ---- men a piece which makes the sum of ---- in all England.

But in all these I have not reckoned the fishermen, mackerel-catchers, nor the Cobble-men of the north country, which having ---- men a piece, cometh to ---- men in all England.

But so many in all England, and I have truly showed before, that the Hollander hath in one fleet of Busses, twenty thousand fishermen; besides all them that goeth in the Sword-Pinks, Flat-Bottoms, Crab-Skuits, Walnut-Shells, and Great Yevers, wherein there are not less than twelve thousand more: and all these are only for to catch herrings in the North seas. Besides all they that go in the Fly-boats for Shetland Ling, and the Pinks for barrelled fish, and Trammel-boats: which cometh unto five thousand more.

So that it is most true, that as they have the sum of ---- fishermen more than there is in all this land: and by reason of their Busses and Pinks and fishermen that set their Merchant-ships on work [a work]; so have they ---- ships and ---- mariners more than we.

* * * * *

Now in our sum of ---- fishermen; let us see what vent [sale] have we for our fish into other countries? and what commodities and coin is brought into this kingdom? and what ships are set on work by them, whereby mariners are bred or employed? Not one! It is pitiful!

For when our fishermen cometh home the first voyage [i.e., in the summer] from the North Seas, they go either to London, Ipswich, Yarmouth, Lynn, Hull, or Scarborough; and there they do sell, at good rates, the first voyage. But the second voyage (because that they which be now the fishermen, have not yet the right use of making of barrelled fish, wherewith they might serve France, as do the Hollanders) they be now constrained to sell in England. For that it is staple [standard] fish; and not being barrelled, the French will not buy it.

But if that our fishermen had but once the use of Pinks and Line-boats and barrelled fish; then they might serve France as well as the Hollanders: which by this new trade of Busses being once erected, and Pinks, and Line-boats after the Holland manner; there will be fishermen enough to manage the Pinks for barrelled fish, from November unto the beginning of May, only the most part of those men that shall be maintained by the Busses. For that, when the Busses do leave work, in the winter, their men shall have employment by the Pinks for barrelled fish; which men now do little or nothing. For this last winter at Yarmouth, there were three hundred idle men that could get nothing to do, living very poor for lack of employment; which most gladly would have gone to sea in Pinks, if there had been any for them to go in.

[Sidenote: No more English but two ships this year laded there.]

[Sidenote: Note here how the Hollanders employ themselves and their Ships! First, in taking of the herrings quick [alive]; and yet are not content! but catch them again, after they be dead! and do set both their ships and mariners on work: and English ships lie up a rotting!]

And whereas I said before, that there was not one ship set on work by our fishermen: there may be objected against me this. That there doth every year commonly lade at Yarmouth four or five London ships for the Straits [of Gibraltar], which is sometimes true. And the Yarmouth men themselves do yearly send two or three ships to Bordeaux, and two or three boats laden with herrings, to Rouen, or to Nantes, or Saint Malo: whereby there are returned salt, wines, and Normandy canvas; whereby the King hath some custom. But there is no money returned into England for these herrings, which cost the Yarmouthians ready gold, before that they had them of the Hollanders and Frenchmen to lade these ships: and therefore I may boldly say, Not one!

And this last year now the Hollanders themselves have also gotten that trade, for there did lade twelve sail of Holland ships with red herrings at Yarmouth for Civita Vecchia, Leghorn, Genoa, and Marseilles and Toulon. Most of them being ladened by the English merchants. So that if this be suffered, the English owners of ships shall have but small employment for theirs.

* * * * *

Now to show truly, what the whole charge of a Buss will be, with all her furniture, as masts, sails, anchors, cables, and with all her fisher's implements and appurtenances, at the first provided all new. It is a great charge, she being between thirty and forty Last [= 60 to 80 Tons] and will cost some five hundred pounds [= about £2,250 in present value].

By the grace of GOD, the Ship or Buss will continue twenty years, with small cost and reparations: but the yearly slite [fraying] and wear of her tackle and war-ropes and nets will cost some eighty pounds.

And the whole charge for the keeping of her at sea for the whole summer, or three voyages; for the fitting of a hundred Last of caske or barrels.

[Sidenote: If any will know all the particulars of Weys of Salt, or Barrels of Beer, or Hundred[weight]s of Biscuits, I will willingly resolve [explain to] him; but here is the whole charge, and with the most [at the outside.]]

100 Last of Barrels £72 For Salt, four months 88 Beer, four months 42 For Bread, four months 21 Bacon and Butter 18 For Pease, four months 3 For Billet, four months 3 For men's wages, four months 88 ---- £335

One hundred Last of herrings, filled and sold at £10 the Last, cometh to one thousand pounds.

Herrings £1000 The whole charge 335 ---- Gotten £665

[See full particulars in the later work Britain's Buss in Vol. III. p. 621.]

Here plainly appeareth that there is gotten £665 in one summer, whereout if that you do deduct £100 for the wear of the ship and the reparations of her nets against the next summer; yet still there £565 remaining for clear gains, by one Buss in one year.

[Sidenote: And I have rated the Herrings, but at £10 the Last; which is with the least. For they be commonly sold by the Hollanders at Dantsic for £15 and £20 the Last.]

The Hollanders do make [consider] the profit of their Busses so certain, that they do lay out their own children's money, given them by their deceased friends, in adventuring in the Busses; and also there is in Holland a Treasury for Orphans opened and laid out in adventuring in the Busses.

[Sidenote: Ready money; or tallies, which are as Bills of Exchange, to be paid at first sight.]

The Hollanders do make both a profitable and a pleasant trade of this summer fishing. For there was one of them that having a gallant great new Buss of his own, and he having a daughter married unto one that was his Mate in the Buss: the Owner that was Master of this Buss did take his wife with him aboard, and his Mate his wife; and so they did set sail for the North seas, with the two women with them, the mother and the daughter. Where, having a fair wind, and being fishing in the North seas, they had soon filled their Buss with herrings; and a Herring-Yager cometh unto them, and brings them gold and fresh supplies, and copeth [bargaineth] with them, and taketh in their herrings for ready money, and delivereth them more barrels and salt; and away goeth the Yager for the first market into Sprucia [Prussia]. And still is the Buss fishing at sea, and soon after again was full laden and boone [bound] home: but then another Yager cometh unto him as did the former, and delivering them more provision of barrels, salt, and ready money, and bids them farewell. And still the Buss lieth at sea, with the mother and daughter, so long, and not very long before they had again all their barrels full; and then they sailed home into Holland, with the two women, and the buss laden with herrings, and a thousand pounds of ready money.

If that any man should make question of the truth of this, it will be very credibly approved by divers of good credit that be now in the city of London.

Now to show the charge of a Pink of eighteen or twenty Last [= 36 to 40 tons]. The Pink being built new, and all things new into her, will not cost £260, with all her lines, hooks, and all her fisher appurtenances.

And

15 Last of barrels will cost £10 5 Weys of "Salt upon Salt" 15 For Beer and Cask 7 For Bread 3 For Butter 1 For the Petty Tally 1 For men's wages for two months, Master and all together 20 --- £57

Fifteen Last of barrelled fish at £14 8s. the Last, which is but twenty-four shillings the barrel, amounteth to £216; whereout if that you do deduct £57 for the charge of setting her to sea, there is still resting £159 clear gain by one Pink, with fifteen Last of fish, for two months.

Wherefore, seeing the profit so plain; and, by the grace of GOD, so certain; both by the Busses and Line-boats, whereby the Hollanders have so long gained by: let all noble, worshipful, and wealthy subjects put to their adventuring and helping hands, for the speedy launching and floating forward of this great good common wealth business, for the strengthening of His Majesty's dominions with two principal pillars, which are, with plenty of coin brought in for Fish and herrings from other nations, and also for the increasing of mariners against all common invasions. And also for the bettering of trades and occupations, and setting of thousands of poor and idle people on work, which now know not how to live; which by this Trade of Busses shall be employed: as daily we see is done, before our eyes, by the Hollanders. And, as always it hath been seen, that those that be now the fishermen of England have been always found to be sufficient to serve His Majesty's ships in former time, when there has been employment: which fellows, by this new trade of building and setting forth of Busses will be greatly multiplied and increased in this land. Which fellows, as we see the Hollanders, being well fed in fishing affairs, and strong[er] and lustier than the sailors that use the long southern voyages that sometimes are greatly surfeited and hunger-pined: but these courageous, young, lusty, fed-strong younkers, that shall be bred in the Busses, when His Majesty shall have occasion for their service in war against the enemy, will be fellows for the nonce! and will put more strength to an iron crow at a piece of great ordnance in traversing of a cannon or culvering, with the direction of the experimented [experienced] Master Gunner, than two or three of the forenamed surfeited sailors. And in distress of wind-grown sea, and foul winter's weather, for flying forward to their labour, for pulling in a topsail or a spritsail, or shaking off a bonnet in a dark night! for wet and cold cannot make them shrink, nor stain that the North seas and the Busses and Pinks have dyed in the grain, for such purposes.

And whosoever shall go to sea for Captain to command in martial affairs, or to take charge for Master in trade of merchandise (as in times past I have done both) will make choice of these fellows: for I have seen their resolution in the face of their enemy, when they have been legeramenta [Italian for light-hearted] and frolicsome, and as forward as about their ordinary labours or business.

[Sidenote: It is not unknown, that last year [1613] there was a general press along the coast of England, from Hull in Yorkshire unto St. Michael's Mount in Cornwall, only for sailors to furnish but seven ships, for the wafting over [conveying] of the Count Palantine and his noble Princess but twenty-eight leagues.]

And when His Majesty shall have occasion and employment for the furnishing of his Navy, there will be no want of Masters, Pilots, Commanders, and sufficient directors of a course and keeping of computation; but now there is a pitiful want of sufficient good men to do the offices and labours before spoken of. All which, these men of the Busses and Pinks will worthily supply.

And to the art of sailing they may happily attain. For hitherto it hath been commonly seen, that those men that have been brought up in their youth in fishery, have deserved as well as any in the land for artificial [scientific] sailing: for at this time is practised all the projections of circular and mathematical scales and arithmetical sailing by divers of the young men of the sea-coast towns, even as commonly amongst them, as amongst the Thamesers.

[Sidenote: Some of these be 60 and 80 tons, the burden.]

Besides all the Hollanders before spoken of, the Frenchmen of Picardy have also a hundred sail of fishermen, only [solely] for herrings on His Majesty's seas every year in the summer season; and they be almost like unto the Busses: but they have not any Yagers that cometh unto them, but they do lade themselves, and return home twice every year; and find great profit by their making but two voyages every summer season.

[Sidenote: The Hollanders do yearly take so many, as they do make more than two millions of pounds sterling. And we, his Majesty's subjects, do take no more than do bait our hooks!]

And it is much to be lamented that we, having such a plentiful country, and such store of able and idle people, that not one of His Majesty's subjects is there to be seen all the whole summer to fish or to take one herring; but only the North Sea boats of the sea-coast towns that go to take Cod, they do take so many as they do need to bait their hooks and no more.

We are daily scorned by these Hollanders for being so negligent of our profit, and careless of our fishing; and they do daily flout us that be the poor fishermen of England, to our faces at sea, calling to us and saying, Ya English! ya zall, or oud scove dragien, which in English is this, "You English! we will make you glad for to wear our old shoes."

And likewise the Frenchmen, they say, "We are apish," for that we do still imitate them in all needless and fantastical jags [tatters] and fashions. As it is most true indeed. For that they have no fashion amongst them in apparel nor lace, points, gloves, hilts, nor garters; even from the spangled shoe-latchet unto the spangled hat and hatband (be it never so idle and costly): but after that we do once get it, it is far bettered by our nation.

[Sidenote: The sailor's proverb, The sea and the gallows refuse none!]

Wherefore, seeing that we can excel all other nations, wastefully to spend money; let us in one thing learn of other nations! to get thousands out of His Majesty's sea! and to make a general profit of the benefits that Almighty GOD doth yearly send unto us, in far more greater abundance than the fruit of our trees! which although they [the fishes] be more changeable in the gathering together, yet is the profit far more greater unto this kingdom and common wealth of all His Majesty's subjects, increasing the wealth of the Adventurers; as also for the enriching of Merchants, and maintaining of trades, occupations, and employing of ships, and increasing of mariners which now do but little or nothing; as also for the setting of poor and idle people on work, which now know not how to live. And to teach many a tall fellow to know the proper names of the ropes in a ship, and to haul the bowline; that now for lack of employment many such, by the inconvenience of idle living, are compelled to end their days with a rope by an untimely death; which by the employment of the Busses might be well avoided, and they in time become right honest, serviceable, and trusty subjects.

* * * * *

Here since my book came to the press, I have been credibly certified by men[8] of good worth (being Fishmongers) that since Christmas last, unto this day; there hath been paid to the Hollanders, here in London, only for barrels of fish and Holland Ling, the sum of Twelve thousand pounds [= about £50,000 in the present day].

* * * * *

And last of all, if that there be any of worshipful Adventurers that would have any directions for the building of these Busses or fisherships, because I know that the ship carpenters of England be not yet skilful in this matter; wherefore if that any shall be pleased to repair to me, I will be willing to give them directions and plain projections and geometrical demonstrations for the right building of them, both for length, breadth, and depth, and also for their mould under water, and also for the contriving of their rooms and the laying of their gear,[9] according to the Hollanders' fashion. Any man shall hear of me at Master NATHANIEL BUTTER's, a Stationer's shop at Saint Austen's Gate in Paul's Churchyard. Farewell this 18th of February [1614].

FINIS.

The States Proclamation. Translated out of Dutch.

The States General of the United Provinces of the Low Countries, unto all those that shall see or hear these presents greeting. We let you to wit, that whereas it is well known, that the great fishing and catching of herrings is the chiefest trade and principal Gold Mine of these United Countries, whereby many thousands of households, families, handicrafts, trades, and occupations are set on work, well maintained, and prosper; especially the sailing and navigation, as well within as without these Countries, is kept in great estimation: moreover, many returns of money, with the increase of the means, convoys, customs, and revenues of these countries are augmented thereby and prosper. And forasmuch as there are made, from time to time, many good Orders concerning the catching, salting, and beneficial uttering [disposal] of the said herrings, to the end to preserve and maintain the said Chief Trade in the United Provinces; which trade, by divers encounters of some that seek their own gain, is envied in respect of the great good it bringeth to the United Countries; and We are informed that a device is put in practice to the prejudice of the trade, to transport out of the United Countries into other countries staves for herring-barrels made here, and half herring-barrels put into other barrels, and nets; to cross the good orders and policy here intended to them of these countries for the catching, salting, and selling the herrings dressed in other countries after the order of these countries, whereby this chief trade should be decayed here, and the inhabitants of these countries damnified [damaged] if we make not provision in time against such practices.

Therefore We, after mature judgement and deliberation, have forbidden and interdicted, and by these presents do forbid and interdict all and every one, as well home-born inhabitants as strangers frequenting these parts, to take up any herring-barrels or half ones prepared, or any kind of nets, in any ship, town, or haven of the United Provinces, to be sent into other countries or places; upon pain of confiscation of the same, and the ship also wherein they shall be found, besides a penalty of one hundred of Netherland Silver Royals, for the first time: and for the second time, above confiscation of ship and goods, and four hundred of the said Royals of Silver: and for the third time, above confiscation of ship and goods and six hundred of the said Royals of Silver, corporal punishment.

All which confiscations and penalties shall be distributed one third part to the profit of the plaintiff [informer--? including the corporal punishment]; one third part to the poor; and one third part to the Officers, where the said confiscation shall be demanded.

And not only they shall incur this penalty, which after shall be taken with the deed, but they also that within one year after the deed shall be convicted; and that none may pretend ignorance, and that this order may be in all places duly observed, and the offenders punished according to justice, We will and require, our dear and well beloved Estates, Governors, Deputies of the Council, and the Estates of the respective Provinces of Guelderland, and the county of Satfill in Holland, West Friesland, Zealand, Utrecht, Friesland, Merizel, the town of Groningen, and the circumjacent places: and to all Justices and Officers, that they cause to be published in all places and proclaimed where the usual proclamation and publication is made: We do charge also the Chancellors and Provincial Council, and the Council of Admiralty, the Advocatistical, and the Procurer General, and all other Officers, Judges, and Justices of these United Provinces, and to all general colonies, Admirals and Vice-Admirals, Captains, Officers, and Commanders, to perform and cause to be performed this order and commandment, and to proceed and cause to be proceeded against the offenders without grace, favour, dissimulation, or composition: because we have found it necessary for the good and benefit of the said United Provinces.

Dated in Hague, this 19th of July.

FINIS.

FOOTNOTES:

[7] Our Author has however already specified the number to be, at least, Iceland barks 126, and North Sea boats 237.

[8] Master WILLIAM SNELLING, Master STEPHEN TOPLEY, and divers others of the Company of Fishmongers.

[9] And for providing of their Cordage and Nets, after the most neatest and cheapest rates.

_FAIR VIRTUE, THE +MISTRESS+ OF PHIL'ARETE._

Written by GEO. WITHER.

* * * * *

CATUL. Carmen. XV.

nihil veremur Istos, quid in platea, modo huc, modo illuc In re pretereunt sua occupati.

* * * * *

LONDON.

Printed for John Grismand. M.DC.XXII.

[It is singular that this truly astonishing Poem, a poetical tour de force as it is, should not hitherto have obtained a universal acceptance and recognition. In it we see WITHER at his prime; and cannot but admire as much the sterling integrity of his Character, as the wonderful fertility of his poetical Invention.

His mastery herein over rhythm and rhyme, also amply vindicates the opinion of Dryden: who, considering himself unmatched by any in facility of versification, openly excepted WITHER, and F. QUARLES.

Well has our Poet said--

When other noble Dames, By greater men attended, Shall, with their lives and names, Have all their glories ended: With fairest Queens, shall She Sit, sharing equal glory; And Times to come shall be Delighted with our Story.

First stanza on p. 386.]

THE STATIONER TO THE READER.

This being one of the Author's first poems, was composed many years agone; and (unknown to him) gotten out of his custody by an acquaintance of his. And coming lately to my hands, without a name: it was thought to have so much resemblance of the Maker, that many, upon the first sight, undertook to guess who was the author of it; and [were] persuaded that it was likely also, to become profitable both to them and me.

Whereupon, I got it authorised, according to Order [It was entered at Stationers' Hall, on 31st January, 1622]; intending to publish it without further inquiry.

But attaining by chance, a more perfect knowledge, to whom it most properly belonged; I thought it fitting to acquaint him therewithal. And did so, desiring also both his good will to publish the same, and leave to pass it under his name. Both [of] which, I found him very unwilling to permit; least the seeming lightness of such a subject might somewhat disparage the more serious studies, which he hath since undertaken.

Yet doubting (this being got out of his custody) some more imperfect copies might be scattered abroad, in writing; or be (unknown to him) imprinted: he was pleased, upon my importunities, to condescend [agree] that it might be published without his name.

And his words were these:

"When," said he, "I first composed it, I well liked thereof; and it well enough became my years; but, now, I neither like nor dislike it. That, therefore, it should be divulged, I desire not! and whether it be; or whether, if it so happen, it be approved or not, I care not! For this I am sure of, howsoever it is valued, it is worth as much as I prize it at. Likely it is also, to be as beneficial to the world, as the world hath been to me; and will be more than those who like it not, ever deserved at my hands."

These were his speeches. And if you looked for a Prologue, thus much he wished me to tell you, instead thereof, "because," as he said, "he himself had somewhat else to do."

Yet, to acknowledge the truth, I was so earnest with him, that, busy as he would seem to be, I got him to write this Epistle for me. And have thereunto set my name: which he wished me to confess, partly, to avoid the occasion of belying my invention; and partly, because he thought some of you would suppose so much.

I entreated him to explain his meaning in certain obscure passages. But he told me how "that were to take away the employment of his interpreters [critics]: whereas he would, purposely, leave something remaining doubtful, to see what Sir POLITIC WOULD-BE and his companions would pick out of it."

I desired him also to set down, to what good purposes, this Poem would serve. But his reply was how "that would be well enough found out in the perusing, by all such as had honest understandings; and they who are not so provided, he hopes will not read it."

More, I could not get from him.

* * * * *

Whether, therefore, the Mistress of PHIL'ARETE be really a Woman, shadowed under the name of VIRTUE; or Virtue only, whose loveliness is represented by the beauty of an excellent Woman: or whether it mean both together, I cannot tell you!

But thus much dare I promise for your money, that, here, you shall find, familiarly expressed, both such beauties as young men are most entangled withal; and the excellency also of such as are most worthy their affection. That seeing both impartially set forth by him, that was capable of both; they might the better settle their love on the best.

Hereby, also, those women, who desire to be truly beloved, may know what makes them so to be: and seek to acquire those accomplishments of the Mind which may endear them, when the sweetest features of a beautiful Face shall be converted into deformities.

And here is described that Loveliness of theirs, which is the principal object of wanton affection, to no worse end, but that those (who would never have looked on this Poem, if Virtue and Goodness had been therein no otherwise represented, than as they are Objects of the Soul) might (where they expected the satisfaction of their sensuality only) meet with that also, which would insinuate into them an Apprehension of more reasonable, and most excellent perfections. Yea, whereas the common opinion of Youth hath been, that only old men, and such as are unable, or past delighting in a bodily loveliness, are those who are best capable of the Mind's perfections; and that they do, therefore, so much prefer them before the other, because their age or stupidity hath deprived them of being sensible what pleasures they yield: though this be the vulgar error; yet, here, it shall appear, that he who is able to conceive the most excellent Pleasingness which could be apprehended in a corpor[e]al Beauty, found it (even when he was most enamoured with it) far short of that inexpressible Sweetness, which he discovered in a virtuous and well tempered Disposition.

And if this be not worth your money; keep it!

JOHN MARRIOT.

PHIL'ARETE. To his Mistress.

Hail! thou Fairest of all Creatures, Upon whom the sun doth shine! Model of all rarest features, And perfections most divine! Thrice, All Hail! And blessed be, Those that love and honour thee!

Of thy worth, this rural Story, Thy unworthy Swain hath penned; And to thy ne'er-ending glory, These plain Numbers doth commend: Which ensuing Times shall warble, When 'tis lost, that's writ in marble.

Though thy praise, and high deservings, Cannot all, be here expressed; Yet my love and true observings Some way, ought to be professed! And where greatest love we see, Highest things attemptèd be.

By thy Beauty, I have gainèd To behold the best perfections; By thy Love, I have obtainèd To enjoy the best affections. And my tongue to sing thy praise! Love and Beauty thus doth raise.

What although in rustic shadows, I, a Shepherd's breeding had! And confinèd to these meadows, So in home-spun russet clad! Such as I, have, now and then, Dared as much as greater men.

Though a stranger to the Muses, Young, obscurèd, and despised; Yet such Art, thy love infuses! That I, thus, have poetised. Read! and be content to see Thy admirèd power in me!

And O grant, thou Sweetest Beauty! (Wherewith ever Earth was graced), That this Trophy of my duty May, with favour be embraced! And disdain not, in these rhymes, To be sung to after Times!

Let those doters on Apollo, That adore the Muses so, (And, like geese, each other follow) See what Love alone can do! For in love lays, Grove and Field; Nor to Schools, nor Courts will yield!

On this Glass of thy Perfection, If that any women pry; Let them, thereby, take direction To adorn themselves thereby! And if aught amiss they view; Let them dress themselves anew!

Young men shall, by this, acquainted With the truest Beauties, grow; So the counterfeit, or painted, They may shun, when them they know. But the Way, all will not find; For some eyes have, yet are blind.

Thee! entirely! I have loved: So thy Sweetness on me wrought. Yet thy Beauty never moved Ill temptations in my thought. But, still, did Beauty's ray Sun-like, drive those fogs away.

Those, that Mistresses are named; And for that, suspected be: Shall not need to be ashamed, If they pattern take, by Thee! Neither shall their Servants fear, Favours, openly to wear.

Thou, to no man favour deignest! But what's fitting to bestow. Neither Servants entertainest! That can ever wanton grow. For, the more they look on Thee, Their Desires still better be!

This, thy Picture, therefore, show I Naked unto every eye: Yet no fear of rival know I, Neither touch of jealousy. For the more make love to Thee! I, the more shall pleased be.

I am no Italian lover That will mew thee in a gaol; But thy Beauty I discover, English-like, without a veil. If thou mayest be won away: Win and wear thee, he that may!

Yet in this, Thou may'st believe me! (So indifferent, though I seem): Death with tortures would not grieve me More, than loss of thy esteem! For if VIRTUE me forsake! All a scorn of me will make.

Then, as I, on Thee relying, Do no changing fear in Thee! So, by my defects supplying; From all changing, keep thou me! That unmatched we may prove: Thou, for Beauty! I, for Love!

Then, while their loves are forgotten, Who to Pride and Lust were slaves; And their Mistresses, quite rotten, Lie, unthought on, in their graves: King and Queens, in their despite, Shall, to mind us, take delight.

FAIR VIRTUE,

OR THE MISTRESS OF PHIL'ARETE.

Two pretty rills do meet; and meeting, make Within one valley, a large silver lake: About whose banks, the fertile mountains stood In ages passèd, bravely crowned with wood; Which lending cold-sweet shadows, gave it grace To be accounted CYNTHIA's bathing-place. And from her father NEPTUNE's brackish Court, Fair THETIS thither, often, would resort; Attended by the fishes of the sea, Which, in these sweeter waters came to play. There, would the Daughter of the Sea God dive: And thither came the Land Nymphs, every eve, To wait upon her; bringing for her brows, Rich garlands of sweet flowers, and beechy boughs. For pleasant was that Pool;[10] and near it, then, Was neither rotten marsh, nor boggy fen. It was not overgrown with boisterous sedge, Nor grew there rudely, then, along the edge A bending willow, nor a prickly bush, Nor broad-leafed flag, nor reed, nor knotty rush: But here, well ordered, was a grove with bowers; There, grassy plots set round about with flowers. Here, you might, through the water, see the land Appear, strewed o'er with white or yellow sand. Yon, deeper was it; and the wind, by whiffs, Would make it rise, and wash the little cliffs; On which, oft pluming, sate, unfrighted then, The gagling wild goose, and the snow-white swan, With all those flocks of fowls, which, to this day, Upon those quiet waters breed and play. For, though those excellences wanting be Which once it had, it is the same that we, By transposition, name the Ford of Arle:[11] And out of which, along a chalky marl, That river trills, whose waters wash the fort In which brave ARTHUR kept his royal Court.[12]

North-east, not far from this great Pool, there lies A tract of beechy mountains, that arise, With leisurely ascending, to such height As from their tops, the warlike Isle of Wight You, in the Ocean's bosom, may espy: Though near two hundred furlongs thence it lie. The pleasant way, as up those hills you climb, Is strewed o'er with marjoram and thyme, Which grow unset. The hedgerows do not want The cowslip, violet, primrose; nor a plant That freshly scents: as birch, both green and tall; Low sallows, on whose bloomings, bees do fall; Fair woodbines which, about the hedges twine; Smooth privet, and the sharp-sweet eglantine; With many more, whose leaves and blossoms fair, The Earth adorn, and oft perfume the Air. When you, unto the highest do attain; An intermixture both of wood and plain, You shall behold! which, though aloft it lie, Hath downs for sheep, and fields for husbandry: So much, at least, as little, needeth more; If not enough to merchandise their store. In every row, hath Nature planted there; Some banquet for the hungry passenger. For here, the hasle-nut and filbird grows; There, bulloes; and little further, sloes. On this hand, standeth a fair wielding-tree; On that, large thickets of black cherries be. The shrubby fields are raspice orchards, there; The new felled woods, like strawberry gardens are. And had the King of Rivers blest those hills, With some small number of such pretty rills As flow elsewhere, Arcadia had not seen A sweeter plot of earth than this had been. For what offence, this place was scanted so Of springing waters, no record doth show; Nor have they old tradition left, that tells; But till this day, at fifty-fathom wells, The Shepherds drink. And strange it was, to hear Of any Swain that ever livèd there, Who, either in a Pastoral Ode had skill, Or knew to set his fingers to a quill: For rude they were, who there inhabited, And to a dull contentment being bred, They no such Art esteemed; nor took much heed Of anything the world without them, did. Ev'n there, and in the least frequented place Of all these mountains, is a little space Of pleasant ground hemmed in with dropping trees, And those so thick, that PHOEBUS scarcely sees The earth they grow on, once in all the year; Nor what is done among the shadows there: Along those lovely paths, (where never came Report of PAN's, or of APOLLO's name; Nor rumour of the Muses, till of late) Some Nymphs were wandering, and, by chance or fate, Upon a laund[13] arrived, where they met The little flock of Pastor PHILARET. They were a troop of Beauties known well nigh Through all the plains of happy Brittany. A Shepherd's Lad was He, obscure and young, Who, being first that ever there had sung, In homely verse, expressèd country loves, And only told them to the beechy groves; As if to sound his name, he never meant, Beyond the compass that his sheepwalk went. They saw him not, nor them perceivèd he; For in the branches of a maple tree, He shrouded sate: and taught the hollow hill To echo forth the music of his quill; Whose tattling voice redoubled so the sound, That where he was concealed, they quickly found. And there, they heard him sing a Madrigal That soon betrayed his cunning to them all. Full rude it was, no doubt, but such a Song, Those rustic and obscurèd shades among, Was never heard, they say, by any ear, Until his Muses had inspired him there. Though mean and plain, his country habit seemed, Yet by his Song, the Ladies rightly deemed That either he had travellèd abroad, Where Swains of better knowledge make abode; Or else, that some brave Nymph who used that grove, Had deignèd to enrich him with her love. Approaching nearer, therefore, to this Swain, Them, him saluted; and he, them again, In such good fashion, as well seemed to be According to their state, and his degree. Which greetings being passed, and much chat Concerning him, the place, with this and that; He, to an arbour doth those Beauties bring, Where he, them prays to sit; they, him to sing, And to express that untaught Country Art, In setting forth the Mistress of his heart; Which they o'erheard him practice, when unseen, He thought no ear had witness of it been. At first, as much unable, he refused, And seemèd willing to have been excused From such a task, "For trust me, Nymphs!" quoth he, "I would not purposely uncivil be, Nor churlish in denying what you crave! But, as I hope great PAN my flock will save! I rather wish that I might, heard of none, Enjoy my music by myself alone; Or that the murmurs of some little flood, Joined with the friendly echoes of the wood, Might be the impartial umpires of my wit; Than vent it where the world might hear of it. And doubtless, I had sung less loud while-ere, Had I but thought of any such so near. Not that I either wish obscurified Her matchless Beauty, or desire to hide Her sweet Perfections. For, by LOVE I swear! The utmost happiness I aim at here Is but to compass Worth enough to raise A high built Trophy equal to her praise. Which, fairest Ladies! I shall hope in vain, For I was meanly bred on yonder plain! And though I can well prove my blood to be Derived from no ignoble Stems, to me: Yet Fate and Time them so obscured and crosst That with their fortunes, their esteem is lost; And whatsoe'er repute I strive to win, Now from myself alone, it must begin. For I have no estate, nor friends, nor fame, To purchase either credit to my name, Or gain a good opinion; though I do Ascend the height I shall aspire unto. If any of those virtues yet I have Which honour to my predecessors gave; There's all, that's left me! And though some contemn Such needy jewels: yet it was for them, My Fair One did my humble suit affect; And deignèd my adventurous love, respect: And by their help, I passage hope to make, Through such poor things as I dare undertake. But, you may say, 'What goodly thing, alas, Can my despisèd meanness bring to pass? Or what great Monument of Honour raise To VIRTUE, in these vice abounding days? In which, a thousand times, more honour finds, Ignoble gotten Means, than noble Minds.' Indeed, the world affordeth small reward For honest minds, and therefore her regard I seek not after; neither do I care, If I have bliss, how others think I fare! For, so my thoughts have rest; it irks not me, Though none, but I, do know how blest they be. Here, therefore, in these groves and hidden plains, I pleasèd, sit alone, and many strains I carol to myself, these hills among, Where no man comes to interrupt my song. Whereas, if my rude Lays, make known I should, Beyond their home; perhaps, some carpers would (Because they have not heard from whence we be) Traduce, abuse, and scoff both them and me. For if our great and learned Shepherds (who Are graced with Wit, and Fame, and Favours too) With much ado, escape uncensured may; What hopes have I to pass unscorched, I pray! Who yet unto the Muses am unknown, And live unhonoured, here, among mine own? A gadding humour seldom taketh me, To range out further than yon mountains be; Nor hath applausive Rumour borne my name Upon the spreading wings of sounding Fame: Nor can I think, fair Nymphs! that you resort For other purpose, than to make a sport At that simplicity, which shall appear Among the rude untutored Shepherds here. I know, that you, my noble Mistress ween, At best, a homely milkmaid on the green, Or some such country lass as taskèd stays At servile labour until holidays. For poor men's virtues so neglected grow, And are now prizèd at a rate so low; As, 'tis impossible, you should be brought To let it with belief possess your thought, That any Nymph, whose love might worthy be, Would deign to cast respective eyes on me. You see I live, possessing none of those Gay things, with which the world enamoured grows. To woo a Courtly Beauty, I have neither Rings, bracelets, jewels; nor a scarf, nor feather. I use no double-dyèd cloth to wear; No scrip embroidered richly, do I bear: No silken belt, nor sheephook laid with pearls, To win me favour from the shepherds' girls. No Place of Office or Command I keep, But this my little flock of homely sheep. And, in a word; the sum of all my pelf Is this, I am the Master of myself! No doubt, in Courts of Princes you have been! And all the pleasures of the Palace seen! There, you beheld brave Courtly passages Between Heroes and their Mistresses. You, there, perhaps, in presence of the King, Have heard his learned Bards and Poets sing! And what contentment, then, can wood or field, To please your curious understandings yield? I know you walkèd hither, but to prove What silly Shepherds do conceive of love? Or to make trial how our simpleness, Can Passions' force, or Beauty's power express? And when you are departed, you will joy To laugh, or descant on the Shepherd's Boy! But yet, I vow! if all the Art I had Could any more esteem or glory add To her unmatchèd worth; I would not weigh What you intended," "Prithee, Lad!" quoth they, "Distrustful of our courtesy do not seem! Her nobleness can never want esteem, Nor thy concealèd Measures be disgraced; Though in a meaner person they were placed. If thy too modestly reservèd quill But reach that height, which we suppose it will; Thy meanness or obscureness cannot wrong The Nymph thou shalt eternize in thy Song. For, as it higher rears thy glory, that A noble Mistress thou hast aimèd at; So, more unto her honour it will prove That (whilst deceiving shadows others move) Her constant eyes could pass unmovèd by The subtle Time's bewitching bravery; And those obscurèd virtues love in thee, That with despisèd meanness clouded be. Now then, for Her sweet sake! whose beauteous eye Hath filled thy Soul with heavenly Poesy; Sing in her praise some new inspirèd Strain! And if, within our power, there shall remain A favour to be done to pleasure thee; Ask and obtain it, whatsoe'er it be!" "Fair Ladies!" quoth the Lad, "such words as those, Compel me can": and therewithal he rose, Returned them thanks, obeisance made; and then Down sate again, and thus to sing began.

[The Prologue.]

You that, at a blush, can tell Where the best perfections dwell! And the substance can conjecture, By a shadow or a picture! Come and try, if you, by this, Know my Mistress, who she is? For, though I am far unable Here to match APELLES' table; Or draw ZEUXES' cunning lines (Who so painted BACCHUS' vines That the hungry birds did muster Round the counterfeited cluster); Though I vaunt not to inherit PETRARCH's yet unequalled spirit; Nor to quaff the sacred well Half so deep as ASTROPHEL; Though the much-commended CELIA, Lovely LAURA, STELLA, DELIA, (Who, in former times, excelled) Live in lines unparalleled, Making us believe, 'twere much Earth should yield another such: Yet, assisted but by Nature, I assay to paint a Creature, Whose rare worth, in future years, Shall be praised as much as theirs.

Nor let any think amiss That I have presumèd this; For a gentle Nymph is She, And hath often honoured me. She's a noble spark of light In each part so exquisite; Had she, in times passèd been, They had made her, Beauty's Queen. Then, shall coward Despair Let the most unblemished Fair, (For default of some poor Art, Which her favour may impart) And the sweetest Beauty fade That was ever born or made? Shall, of all the fair ones, She, Only so unhappy be, As to live in such a Time, In so rude, so dull a clime; Where no spirit can ascend High enough, to apprehend Her unprizèd excellence, Which lies hid from common sense? Never shall a stain so vile Blemish this, our Poets' Isle! I myself will rather run And seek out for Helicon! I will wash, and make me clean In the waves of Hippocrene! And, in spite of Fortune's bars, Climb the Hill that braves the stars! Where, if I can get no Muse, That will any skill infuse, Or my just attempt prefer; I will make a Muse of Her! Whose kind heat shall soon distil Art into my ruder quill. By her favour, I will gain Help to reach so rare a Strain; That the Learned Hills shall wonder How the Untaught Valleys under, Met with raptures so divine; Without the knowledge of the Nine. I, that am a Shepherd's Swain Piping on the lowly plain, And no other music can Than what learned I have of PAN; I, who never sang the Lays, That deserve APOLLO's bays; Hope, not only here to frame Measures which shall keep Her name From the spite of wasting Times: But (enshrined in sacred rhymes) Place her, where her form divine Shall, to after ages, shine; And, without respect of odds, Vie renown with Demi-Gods.

Then, whilst of her praise I sing; Harken Valley! Grove! and Spring! Listen to me, sacred Fountains! Solitary Rocks! and Mountains! Satyrs! and you wanton Elves That do nightly sport yourselves! Shepherds! you that, on the reed, Whistle, while your lambs do feed! Agèd Woods and Floods! that know What hath been, long times, ago! Your more serious notes among, Hear, how I can, in my Song, Set a Nymph's perfection forth! And, when you have heard her worth, Say, if such another Lass Ever known to mortal was! Listen Lordlings! you that most Of your outward honours boast! And you Gallants! (that think scorn, We, to lowly fortunes born, Should attain to any graces, Where you look for sweet embraces) See! if all those vanities Whereon your affection lies; Or the titles, or the powers, (By your fathers' virtues, yours) Can your Mistresses enshrine In such State, as I will mine! Who am forced to importune Favours, in despite of Fortune. Beauties, listen! chiefly you That yet know not Virtue's due! You, that think there are no sports, Nor no honours, but in Courts! (Though of thousands, there live not Two, but die and are forgot). See, if any Palace yields Ought more glorious than the Fields! And consider well, if we May not, as high-flying be In our thoughts, as you that sing In the chambers of a King! See! if our contented minds, Whom Ambition never blinds, (We, that, clad in homespun gray, On our own sweet meadows play) Cannot honour, if we please, Where we list, as well as these! Or, as well, of worth approve! Or, with equal Passions, love! See, if beauties may not touch Our soon-loving hearts as much! Or our services effect Favours, with as true respect, In your good conceits to rise, As our painted butterflies! And you, Fairest! give her room, When your Sex's Pride doth come!

For that subject of my Song, I invoke these groves among To be witness of the Lays Which I carol in her praise. And because she soon will see If my Measures faulty be, Whilst I chant them, let each rhyme Keep a well-proportioned time; And with Strains, that are divine, Meet her thoughts in every line! Let each accent there, present To her soul, a new content! And, with ravishings, so seize her, She may feel the height of pleasure! You enchanting Spells, that lie Lurking in sweet Poesy! (And to none else will appear, But to those, that worthy are) Make Her know! there is a power Ruling in these charms of yours; That transcends, a thousand heights, Ordinary men's delights; And can leave within her breast Pleasures not to be exprest! Let her linger on each Strain As if She would hear't again! And were loath to part from thence Till She had the quintessence Out of each conceit, she meets! And had stored her, with those sweets! Make Her, by your Art to see! I, that am her Swain, was he Unto whom all beauties here, Were alike and equal dear: That I could of freedom boast, And of favours with the most; Yet, now, nothing more affecting, Sing of Her! the rest neglecting. Make her heart, with full compassion, Judge the merit of True Passion! And, as much my love prefer, As I strive to honour Her! Lastly, you that will, I know, Hear me, whe'er you should or no! You, that seek to turn all flowers, By your breath's infectious powers, Into such rank loathsome weeds, As your dunghill nature breeds! Let your hearts be chaste! or here Come not, till you purge them clear! Mark! and mark then, what is worst! For whate'er it seem at first, If you bring a modest mind, You shall nought immodest find! But if any, too severe, Hap to lend a partial ear, Or, out of his blindness, yawn Such a word as, O profane! Let him know thus much from me, If here's ought profane, 'tis he Who applies these excellences Only to the touch of Senses; And, dim sighted, cannot see Where the Soul of this may be! Yet, that no offence may grow; 'Tis their choice, to stay or go! Or if any for despite Rather comes, than for delight; For his presence, I'll not pray, Nor his absence. Come he may! Critics shall admitted be, Though I know they'll carp at me: For I neither fear nor care What in this, their censures are. If the Verse here used, be Their dislike. It liketh me! If my Method they deride, Let them know Love is not tied, In his free discourse, to choose Such strict Rules as Arts-men use. These may prate of LOVE, but they Know him not! For he will play From the matter, now and then! Off and on! and off again! If this Prologue, tedious seem, Or the rest too long they deem; Let them know my love they win, Though they go, ere they begin: Just as if they should attend me Till the last; and, there, commend me. For I will, for no man's pleasure, Change a Syllable or Measure; Neither for their praises add Ought to mend what they think bad. Since it never was my fashion To make Work of Recreation. Pedants shall not tie my strains To our antique Poets' veins; As if we, in latter days, Knew to love, but not to praise. Being born as free as these, I will Sing, as I shall please! Who, as well new paths may run, As the best before have done. I disdain to make my Song, For their pleasures, short or long; If I please, I'll end it here! If I list, I'll sing this year! And, though none regard of it, By myself, I pleased can sit; And, with that contentment, cheer me, As if half the world did hear me. But because I am assured All are either so conjured, As they will my Song attend, With the patience of a friend; Or, at least, take note that I Care not much. Now willingly, I, these goodly colours lay, Wind, nor rain shall wear away; But retain their purest glass, When the statues made of brass, For some Prince's more renown, Shall be wholly overthrown; Or consumed with cankered rust, Lie neglected in the dust.

And my Reason gives direction When I sing of such Perfection, First, those beauties to declare, Which (though hers) without her are. To advance her fame, I find, Those are of a triple kind. Privileges she hath store At her birth, since, and before. From before her birth, the fame, She of high descents may claim, Whose well-gotten honours may Her deserving more display, For, from heavenly race she springs, And from high and mighty Kings. At her birth, She was, by Fate, In those Parents fortunate, Whose estate and virtues stood Answerable to their blood. Then the Nation, Time, and Place To the rest, may add some grace. For the People, with the Clime, And the fashions of the Time; (In all which, she hath been blest, By enjoying them at best) Do not only mend the features, But, oft times, make better natures: Whereas, those who hap not so, Both deformed, and ruder grow. In these climes, and latter days, To deserve sweet Beauty's praise, (Where so many females dwell, That each seemeth to excel) In more glory twenty-fold Than it was in days of old: When our ordinary fair ones Might have been esteemèd rare ones; And have made a subject fit, For their bravest Poet's wit. Little rushlights, or a spark Sheweth fairly in the dark; And to him occasion gives, That from sight of greater, lives, To adore it. Yet the ray Of one torch will take away All the light of twenty more That shined very well before. So, those petty Beauties which Made the Times before us, rich; Though but sparkles, seemed a flame Which hath been increased by Fame, And their true affections, who, Better, never lived to know: Whereas, Her, if they had seen She had, sure, adorèd been! And taught Ages past, to sing Sweeter in the Sonneting. Such a Ray, so clear! so bright! Hath outshinèd all the light Of a thousand, such as theirs Who were then esteemèd Stars; And would have enlightened near Half the world's wide hemisphere.

She is fairest, that may pass For a fair one, where the Lass Trips it on the country green; That may equal Sparta's Queen. Where, in every street, you see Throngs of Nymphs and Ladies be, That are fair enough to move Angels, and enamour JOVE. She must matchless features bring That now moves a Muse to sing: When as one small Province may Shew more beauties in one day, Than the half of Europe could Breed them, in an age of old. Such is She! and such a lot Hath her rare perfection got!

Since her birth (to make the colour Of so true a Beauty fuller; And to give a better grace To that sweetness in the face) She hath all the furtherance had, Noble educations add. And not only knoweth all, Which our Ladies, Courtship call; With those knowledges that do Grace her sex, and suit thereto: But She hath attained to find (What is rare with Womankind) Excellences, whereby She May in Soul delighted be; And reap more contentment than One of twenty thousand can. By this means, hath bettered been All without her, and within; For it hath, by adding Arts, To adorn her native parts, Raised to a noble flame, (Which shall lighten forth her fame) Those dear sparks of sacred fire, Which the Muses did inspire At her birth: that She, complete, Might, with them befit a seat. But, perhaps, I do amiss, To insist so long on this. These are superficial things; And but slender shadowings To the work I have in hand. Neither can you understand What Her excellence may be, Till Herself described you see! Nor can mine or any pen Paint her half so lovely, than As She is indeed. For, here, Might those deities appear, Which young PARIS viewed at will, Naked, upon Ida hill! That I, from those Three might take All their beauties, One to make; (Those, no question! well compact, Would have made up one exact) Something, yet, we miss, of might To express her Sweetness right. JUNO's majesty would fit; VENUS' beauty, PALLAS' wit Might have brought to pattern hers In some shewed particulars; But they never can express Her whole frame or worthiness With those excellences, which Make both Soul and Body rich. PALLAS, sometimes, was untoward, VENUS wanton, JUNO froward: Yea all three, infected were With such faults as women are; And, though falsely deified, Frailties had, which She'll deride. By Her Self, must therefore She; Or by nothing patterned be! And I hope to paint her so, By Her Self, that you shall know I have served no common Dame, Of mean worth, or vulgar fame! But a Nymph, that's fairer than Pen or pencil, portrait can!

And to-morrow, if you stray Back again this uncouth way, I, my simple Art will show: But the time prevents me now. For, except at yonder glade, All the laund is under shade; That, before these ewes be told; Those my wethers, in the fold; Ten young weanlings driven down To the well beneath the town; And my lambkins changèd from Brome leaze, to the mead at home; 'Twill be far in night: and so, I shall make my father woe For my stay; and be in fear Somewhat is mischancèd here.

On your way, I'll, therefore, bring you! And a Song or two I'll sing you! Such as I, half in despair, Made when first I wooed my Fair: Whereunto, my boy shall play; That my voice assist, it may!

I.

Come, my Muse! If thou disdain! All my comforts are bereft me! No delight doth now remain; I, nor friend, nor flock have left me. They are scattered on the plain.

Men, alas, are too severe, And make scoffs at lovers' fortunes. Women, hearted like the bear; That regards not who importunes, But doth all in pieces tear.

If I should my sorrows shew Unto rivers, springs, or fountains; They are senseless to my woe: So are groves, and rocks, and mountains. Then, O, whither shall I go?

Means of harbour, me to shield From despair; ah, know you any? For no city, grange, nor field, Though they lend content to many, Unto me, can comfort yield.

I have kept, and sighèd too, For Compassion to make trial; Yea, done all that words can do, Yet have nothing but denial. What way is there, then, to woo?

Shall I swear, protest, and vow? So have I done, most extremely! Should I die? I know not how! For from all attempts unseemly, Love and Virtue keep me now.

I have heard that Time prevails; But I fear me, 'tis a fable. Time, and all Endeavour fails! To bear more, my heart's unable; Yet none careth what it ails!

Lines to some, have op'ed the door And got entrance for Affection. Words well spoken, much implore, By the Gestures' good direction: But a Look doth ten times more!

'Tis the Eye that only reads To the heart, Love's deepest Lectures! By a moving Look, it pleads More than common Sense conjectures, And a way to Pity leads.

This I knowing, did observe; Both by Words and Looks complaining: Yet, for Pity I may starve! There's no hope of my obtaining, Till I better can deserve.

Yea, and he that thinks to win By Desert, may be deceivèd! For they who have worthiest bin, Of their right, have been bereavèd; And a groom admitted in.

Wherefore, Muse! to thee I call! Thou, since nothing else avails me, Must redeem me from my thrall! If thy sweet enchantment fails me; Then, adieu Love, Life, and all!

II.

Tell me, my heart! What thoughts, these pantings move? My thoughts of Love! What flames are these, that set thee so on fire? Flames of Desire! What means hast thou, contentment's flower to crop? No means but Hope! Yet let us feed on Hope, and hope the best! For they, amid their griefs, are something blest, Whose thoughts, and flames, and means have such free scope, They may, at once, both Love, Desire, and Hope.

But say! What fruit will love at last obtain? Fruitless Disdain! What will those hopes prove, which yet seem so fair? Hopeless Despair! What end shall run those Passions, out of breath? An endless Death! O can there be such cruelty in love? And doth my fortune so ungentle prove, She will no fruit, nor hope, nor end bequeath, But cruelest Disdain, Despair, and Death?

Then what new study shall I now apply? Study to Die! How might I end my care, and die content? Care to Repent! And what good thoughts may make my end more holy? Think on thy Folly! Yes, so I will! and since my fate can give No hope, but ever without hope to live, My studies, cares, and thoughts, I'll all apply To weigh my Folly well! Repent! and Die!

III.

Sad Eyes! What do you ail, To be thus ill disposed? Why doth your sleeping fail, Now all men's else are closed? Was't I, that ne'er did bow In any servile duty! And will you make me, now, A slave to Love and Beauty?

What though my Mistress smile, And in her love affects thee! Let not her eye beguile; I fear she disrespects thee! Do not, poor Heart! depend On those vain thoughts that fill thee! They'll fail thee, in the end! So must thy Passions kill thee!

What hopes have I, that She Will hold her favours ever; When so few women be That constant can persèver? Whate'er She do protest! When fortunes do deceive me, Then She, with all the rest, I fear, alas, will leave me!

Whil'st Youth, and Strength remains, With Art that may commend her; Perhaps, She nought disdains Her Servant should attend her. But it is one to ten, If crosses overtake me, She will not know me, then; But scorn, and so forsake me!

Shall then, in earnest truth, My careful eyes observe her? Shall I consume my youth; And short' my time to serve her? Shall I, beyond my strength, Let Passions' torments prove me? To hear her say, at length, Away! I cannot love thee!

O, rather let me die Whil'st I, thus gentle find her! 'Twere worse than death, if I Should find She proves unkinder! One frown, though but in jest, Or one unkindness feignèd, Would rob me of more rest Than e'er could be regainèd.

But in her eyes, I find Such signs of pity moving; She cannot be unkind, Nor err, nor fail in loving: And on her forehead, this Seems written to relieve me, My heart, no joy shall miss That Love, or She can give me!

Which if I find, I vow My service shall persèver! The same that I am now; I will continue ever! No others' high degree, No beauteous look shall change me! My love shall constant be, And no estate estrange me!

When other noble Dames, By greater men attended, Shall, with their lives and names, Have all their glories ended: With fairest Queens, shall She Sit, sharing equal glory; And Times to come shall be Delighted with our Story.

In spite of others' hates, More honour I will do her! Than those that with estates And help of fortune woo her: Yea, that True Worth I spy; Though monarchs strove to grace it, They should not reach more high Than I dare hope to place it!

And though I never vaunt What favours are possessed; Much less content I want Than if they were expressed: Let others make their mirth, To blab each kiss or toying! I know no bliss on earth Like secret love enjoying.

And this shall be the worst Of all that can betide me. If I (like some accurst) Should find my hopes deride me; My cares will not be long; I know which way to mend them! I'll think, "Who did the wrong!" Sigh! break my heart! and end them!

[The Picture of Fair VIRTUE.]

Hail, fair Beauties! and again, Hail to all your goodly train!

What I promised yesterday, If it please you, hear ye may! For now, once begun have I, Sing I will, though none were by; And though freely on I run Yet confused paths to shun. First, that part shall be disclosed, That's of Elements composed.

There the two unequal pair, Water, Fire; Earth and Air (Each one suiting a complexion) Have so cunning a commixtion, As they, in proportion sweet, With the rarest temper meet! Either, in as much as needeth; So as neither, ought exceedeth. This pure substance is the same Which the Body we do name. Were that of immortal stuff, 'Tis refined and pure enough To be called a Soul! for, sure, Many souls are not so pure. I, that with a serious look Note of this rare Model took, Find that Nature in their places So well couchèd all the Graces, As the curious'st eyes that be Cannot blot, nor blemish see.

Like a pine it groweth straight, Reaching an approvèd height, And hath all the choice perfections That inflame her best affections. In the motions of each part, Nature seems to strive with Art; Which her gestures most shall bless, With the gifts of Pleasingness.

When She sits, methinks I see How all virtues fixèd be In a frame, whose constant mould Will the same unchangèd hold.

If you note her, when She moves: CYTHEREA, drawn with doves, May come learn such winning notions As will gain to love's devotions, More than all her painted wiles; Such as tears, or sighs, or smiles.

Some, whose bodies want true graces, Have sweet features in their faces: Others (that do miss them there), Lovely are, some other where, And to our desires, do fit In behaviour, or in wit; Or some inward worth appearing To the soul, the soul endearing. But in Her, your eye may find All that's good in Womankind. What in others, we prefer, Are but sundry parts of Her; Who, most perfect, doth present What might One and All content. Yea, he that, in love still ranges, And, each day, or hourly changes; (Had he judgement but to know What perfections in her grow) There, would find the spring of store, Swear a faith, and change no more. Neither, in the total Frame, Is She only void of blame; But each part, surveyed asunder Might beget both love and wonder. If you dare to look so high Or behold such majesty; Lift your wondering eyes, and see Whether ought can bettered be! There's her Hair, with which LOVE angles, And beholders' eyes entangles! For in those fair curlèd snares, They are hampered unawares; And compelled to swear a duty To her sweet enthralling beauty. In my mind, 'tis the most fair That was ever callèd hair: Somewhat brighter than a brown; And her tresses waving down At full length, and, so dispread, Mantles her, from foot to head. If you saw her archèd Brow; Tell me, pray! how Art knows how To have made it in a line More exact, or more divine! Beauty, there, may be descried In the height of all her pride. 'Tis a meanly rising plain, Whose pure white hath many a vein Interlacing, like the springs In the earth's enamellings. If the tale be not a toy, Of the little wingèd Boy: When he means to strike a heart, Thence! he throws the fatal dart, Which, of wounds still makes a pair; One of Love, one of Despair. Round, her Visage; or so near To a roundness, doth appear, That no more of length it takes, Than what best proportion makes. Short her Chin is; and yet so As it is just long enow. Loveliness doth seem to glory In that circling promontory, Pretty moving features skip 'Twixt that hillock and the lip, If you note her, but the while She is pleased to speak, or smile. And her Lips, that shew no dulness, Full are, in the meanest fulness. Those, the leaves be, whose unfolding Brings sweet pleasures to beholding: For such pearls they do disclose; Both the Indies match not those! Yet are so in order placed, As their whiteness is more graced. Each part is so well disposed And her dainty mouth composed, So as, there, is no distortion Misbeseems that sweet proportion. When her ivory Teeth she buries 'Twixt her two enticing cherries, There appears such pleasures hidden, As might tempt what were forbidden. If you look again the whiles, She doth part those lips in smiles; 'Tis as when a flash of light Breaks from heaven to glad the night. Other parts, my pencil crave; But those lips I cannot leave! For, methinks, [if] I should go And forsake those cherries so; There's a kind of excellence Holds me from departing hence. I would tell you, what it were; But my cunning fails me there. They are like, in their discloses, To the morning's dewy roses; That, besides the name of "fair," Cast perfumes that sweet the air. Melting soft her kisses be! And had I, now, two or three, More inspirèd by their touch, I had praised them twice as much! But, sweet Muses! mark ye how Her fair Eyes do check me now! That I seemed to pass them so, And their praises overgo: And yet, blame me not that I Would so fain have passed them by! For I fearèd to have seen them, Least there were some danger in them! Yet such gentle looks they lend, As might make her foe, a friend; And by their allurings move All beholders unto love. Such a power is also there, As will keep those thoughts in fear; And Command enough I saw, To hold impudence in awe. There, may he that knows to love, Read contents which are above Their ignoble aims, who know Nothing that so high doth grow. Whilst She, me beholding is, My heart dares not think amiss! For her sight, most piercing clear, Seems to see what's written there. Those bright Eyes (that, with their light, Oftentimes have blest my sight; And in turning thence their shining, Left me, in sad darkness, pining) Are the rarest, lovliest gray; And do cast forth such a ray As the man that black prefers, More would like, this gray of hers. When their matchless beams she shrouds; 'Tis like CYNTHIA hid in clouds! If again she shew them light, 'Tis like morning after night! And 'tis worthy well beholding With how many a pretty folding, Her sweet Eyelids grace that Fair, Meanly fringed with beaming hair, Whereby, neatly overspread, Those bright lamps are shadowèd. 'Twixt the eyes, no hollow place, Wrinkle, nor undecent space Disproportions Her in ought; Though by Envy, faults were sought! On those Eyebrows never yet, Did disdainful scowling sit. Love and Goodness gotten thither, Sit, on equal thrones together; And do throw just scorn on them, That their Government contemn. Then, almost obscured, appears Those her jewel-gracing Ears! Whose own beauties more adorn, Than the richest pearl that's worn By the proudest Persian dames, Or the best that Nature frames. There, the voice, in love's meanders, Through their pretty circlings, wanders! Whose rare turnings will admit No rude speech to enter it. Stretching from Mount Forehead lies Beauty's Cape, betwixt her eyes: Which two crystal-passing lakes, Love's delightful Isthmus makes! Neither more nor less extending Than most meriteth commending. Those in whom that part hath been Best deserving praises seen; Or, surveyed without affection, Came the nearest to perfection; Would scarce handsome ones appear If with Her, compared they were: For it is so much excelling, That it passeth means of telling! On the either side of this, Love's most lovely Prospect is! Those, her smiling Cheeks, whose colour Comprehends True Beauty fuller Than the curious'st mixtures can, That are made by Art of man. It is Beauty's Garden-knot, Where, as in a true-love-knot, So, the snowy Lily grows, Mixèd with the crimson Rose. That as friends they joinèd be. Yet they seem to disagree, Whether of the two shall reign? And the lilies oft obtain Greatest sway, unless a blush Help the roses at a push. Hollow fallings none there are! There's no wrinkle! there's no scar! Only there's a little Mole, Which from VENUS' cheek was stole. If it were a thing in Nature Possible, that any creature Might decaying life repair, Only by the help of air; There were no such salve for death, As the balm of her sweet Breath! Or, if any human power Might detain the soul an hour From the flesh, to dust bequeathing, It would linger on her breathing! And be half in mind, that there More than mortal pleasures were. And whose fortune were so fair As to draw so sweet an air, Would, no doubt, let slighted be The perfumes of Araby. For the English Eglantine Doth, through envy of Her, pine. Violets and Roses too Fear that She will them undo: And it seems that in her Breast Is composed the Phoenix's nest. But, descend a while, mine eye! See, if polished ivory, Or the finest fleecèd flocks, Or the whitest Albion rocks, For comparisons may stand, To express that snowy Hand! When She draws it from her glove It hath virtue to remove, Or disperse, if there be ought Cloudeth the beholder's thought. If that palm but toucheth yours, You shall feel a secret power Cheer your heart, and glad it more! Though it drooped with grief before. Through the Veins disposèd true Crimson, yields a sapphire hue, Which adds grace and more delight By embracing with the white. Smooth, and moist, and soft, and tender Are her Palms! the Fingers, slender, Tipt with mollifièd pearl! And if that transformèd girl, Whose much cunning made her dare With JOVE's daughter to compare, Had that hand worn, maugre spite, She had shamed the goddess quite! For, there is, in every part, Nature perfecter than Art. These were joinèd to those Arms, That were never made for harms! But possess the sweetest graces That may apt them for embraces. Like the silver streams they be, Which, from some high hill, we see Clipping-in a goodly vale, That grows proud of such a thrall. Neither alabaster rocks, Pearl-strewed shores, nor Cotswold flocks, Nor the mountains tipt with snow, Nor the milk-white swans of Po, Can appear so fair to me, As her spotless Shoulders be! They are like some work of state, Covered with the richest plate, And a presence have that strike With devotions, goddess-like. 'Twixt those shoulders, meanly spread To support that globe-like head, Riseth up her Neck! wherein Beauty seemeth to begin To disclose itself in more Tempting manner than before. How therein she doth excel, Though I would, I cannot tell! For I nought on earth espy That I may express it by. There, should lovers (as in duty) Hang rich Trophies up to Beauty! 'Tis proportioned to a height That is even with Delight. Yet is a great deal higher Than to answer base Desire. Where the neck hath end, begins That smooth path, where LOVE's close gins Are thick placèd, to enthrall Such as, that way straggle shall. There, a pleasing passage lies Far beyond the sight of eyes; And much more delight contains Than the old Elizian fields. Whatsoever others say There's alone the Milky Way! That to Beauty's Walks doth go; Which, if others came to know, In possessing their delight, They should never reach the height Of the pleasures, which I share: Whilst that those debarrèd are. Yet unspoken of, there rests Her two twin-like lovely Breasts! Whose round-rising, pretty panting I would tell, but Art is wanting! Words can never well declare Her fair sweet perfections there; For, would Measures give me leave To express what I conceive, I do know I should go near Half to ravish all that hear. And but that I learn to season What I apprehend with Reason, It had made my Passions' weight Sink me, through my own conceit. There, I find so large a measure Of an unexpressèd pleasure, That my heart, through strong surmise, In a pleasing fainting lies. He that there may rest to prove Softer finds those beds of love, That the cotton ripest grown; Or fine pillows of such down As, in time of moulting, fans From the breasts of silver swans. Those two sisters are a pair, Smooth alike, like soft, like fair, If together they be viewed: Yet if they apart be shewed; That you touch or see, seems smoother, Softer, fairer than the other. That the colour may delight; So much red as makes the white Purer seem, is shed among: And then, here and there, along Runs a sapphire-mine, whose blue Shadowed, makes so brave a show On those lily mounts, as though Beauty's simples there did grow. In the vale, 'twixt either hill, Lies Desire in ambush still, And surpriseth every eye Which doth that way dare to pry. There is, sure, the twi-top hill, Where the Poets learn their skill! That's Parnassus, where the Muses Chaste, and wise MINERVA uses! Her two Cherrilets are those Whence the pleasant'st nectar flows; And no fruits e'er equalled these, Fetched from the Hesperides. Once, as CYNTHIA's games she chased, And, for air, left half unlaced Her light summer robe of green (Beauty's safe, but slender screen!) Unawares, I partly spied, That fair lily-field unhid Which you may her Belly name! Yet, nor She, nor I to blame. For it was, but what mine eye Might behold with modesty. 'Tis a fair and matchless plain Where unknown delights remain! 'Tis the store-house wherein Pleasure Hides the richest of her treasure! Which, True Modesty, in ward, Keeps, with a continual guard Of such Virtues, as she's sure, No corruption can allure. There, they say, (for, mind it well! I do this, by hearsay tell) Grows her Navel, which doth seem Like some jewel of esteem: With so wondrous cunning wrought That an injury, 'tis thought, Such a beauty, with the rest, Should (unknown) be unexprest. Somewhat else there is, that's hidden Which to name I am forbidden; Neither have I ever pried After that should be unspied. Never shall my maiden Muse So herself, and me abuse As to sing what I may fear Will offend the choicest ear! Though I know, if none be by, But true friends to modesty; I might name each part at will, And yet no man's thought be ill. Yet, for fear loose hearers may Judge amiss, if more I say; I descend, to shun all blame, To the Pillars of the Frame. Where though I ne'er aimed so high As her dainty youthful Thigh; Whose rare softness, smoothness, fulness Being known, would teach my dulness Such a Strain as might befit Some brave Tuscan Poet's wit. Once a saucy bush, I spied Pluck her silken skirts aside, So discovered unto me All those beauties to the Knee: And before the thorns' entanglings Had let go the silver spanglings, I perceive the curious knitting Of those joints was well befiting Such a noble piece of work: 'Mongst whose turnings seem to lurk Much to entertain the sight With new objects of delight. Then the Leg, for shape as rare, Will admit of no compare! Straight it is; the Ankle lean! Full the Calf, but in the mean! And the slender Foot doth fit So, each way, to suit with it; As She nothing less excels Therein, than in all things else. Yea, from head to foot, her feature Shews her an Unblemished Creature, In whom, Love with Reason might Find so matchless a Delight, That more cannot be acquired; Nor a greater bliss desired.

Yet, if you will rest an hour Under yonder shady bower! I, anon, my Muse will raise To a higher pitch of praise! But a while with raspice-berries, Strawberries, ripe pears, and cherries, (Such as these our groves do bear) We will cool our palates there. And, those homely cates among Now and then, a Pastoral Song, Shall my lad, here, sing and play! Such as you had yesterday.

I.

A lad, whose faith will constant prove, And never know an end; Late, by an oversight in love, Displeased his dearest Friend: For which incensed, she did retake The favours which he wore; And said, "He never, for her sake, Should wear, or see them more!"

The grief whereof, how near it went, And how unkindly took, Was figured by the discontent Appearing in his look. At first, he could not silence break, So heavy sorrow lay; But when his sighs gave way to speak, Thus, sadly, did he say.

"My only Dear!" and with that speech, Not able to sustain The floods of grief at sorrow's breach, He paused awhile again. At length, nigh fainting, did express These words, with much ado, "O Dear! Let not my love's excess, Me, and my love undo!"

She, little movèd with his pain, His much distraction eyed; And changing love into disdain, Thus, still unkind, replied. "Forbear to urge one kindness more! Unless you long to see The good respect you had before, At once, all lost in me!"

With that dismayed, his suit he ceased, And down his head he hung; And as his Reason's strength decreased, His Passion grew more strong. But seeing she did slight his moan; With willow garlands wreathed, He sate him down, and all alone, This sad complaint he breathed.

"O Heavens!" quoth he, "Why do we spend Endeavours thus in vain? Since what the Fates do fore-intend They never change again. Nor Faith, nor Love, nor true Desert, Nor all that man can do, Can win him place within her heart, That is not born thereto!"

"Why do I fondly waste my youth In secret sighs and tears? Why to preserve a spotless truth, Taste I, so many cares? For women that no worth respect, Do so ungentle prove; That some shall win by their neglect, What others lose with love."

"Those that have set the best at naught, And no man could enjoy; At last, by some base gull are caught, And gotten with a toy. Yea, they that spend an Age's light, Their favours to obtain; For one unwilling oversight, May lose them all again!"

"How glad, and fain, alas, would I, For her, have underwent The greatest care, ere she should try The smallest discontent? Yet She, that may my life command, And doth those Passions know! Denieth me a poor demand, In height of all my woe."

"O, if the Noblest of her time, And best beloved of me: Could for so poor, so slight a crime So void of pity be! Sure, had it been some common one, Whose patience I had tried; No wonder I had been undone, Or unforgiven, died!"

"A thousand lives I would have laid! (So well I once believed) She would have deigned to lend me aid If she had seen me grieved. But now, I live to see the day, When I presumèd so, I neither dare for pity pray, Nor tell her of my woe!"

"Yet, let not, poor despised heart! Her worth ought questioned be! Hadst thou not failèd in desert She had not failèd thee! But lest, perhaps, they flout thy moan, That should esteem thee dear; Go, make it by thyself alone, Where none may come to hear!

"Still keep thy forehead crowned with smiles! What Passion e'er thou try; That none may laugh at thee, the whiles Thou discontented lie! And let no wrong, by change distain A love so truly fair; But rather, never hope again! And thou shall ne'er despair!"

II.

O'ertired by cruel Passions that oppress me, With heart nigh broken, Time, no hope would give me; Upon my bed: I laid me down to rest me: And gentle Sleep, I wooèd to relieve me. But O, alas! I found that, on the morrow, My sleeping Joys brought forth my waking Sorrow.

For, lo, a dream I had, so full of pleasure, That to possess, what to embrace I seemed, Could not effect my joy in higher measure, Than now it grieves me, that I have but dreamed. O let my dreams be Sighs and Tears hereafter! So I (that sleeping, weep) may wake in laughter.

Fain would I tell how much that Shadow pleased me, But tongue and pen want words, and art in telling; Yet this I'll say, to shew what horror seized me (When I was robbed of bliss, so much excelling), Might all my dreams be such; O, let me never Awake again! but sleep, and dream for ever!

For when I waking, saw myself deceivèd, And what an inward hell it had procurèd: To find myself of all my hopes bereavèd It brought on Passions not to be endurèd. And, knew I, next night had such dreams in keeping; I'd make my eyes foreswear, for ever, sleeping!

III.

You woody Hills! you Dales! you Groves! You Floods! and every Spring! You creatures come, whom nothing moves, And hear a Shepherd sing! For to Heroès, Nymphs, and Swains, I, long, have made my moan; Yet what my mournful Verse contains Is understood of none.

In song, APOLLO gave me skill; Their love, his Sisters deign: With those that haunt Parnassus' hill, I friendship entertain. Yet this is all in vain to me, So haplessly I fare! As those things which my glory be, My cause of ruin are.

For Love hath kindled in my breast, His never quenchèd fire: And I! who often have exprest What other men desire, (Because I could so dive into The depth of others' moan); Now, I, my own afflictions shew, I heeded am of none!

Oft have the Nymphs of greatest worth, Made suit, my Songs to hear; As oft (when I have sighèd forth, Such notes as saddest were): "Alas," said they, "poor gentle heart! Whoe'er that Shepherd be!" But none of them suspects my smart, Nor thinks, it meaneth Me!

When I have reached so high a Strain Of Passion in my Song, That they have seen the tears to rain And trill, my cheek along; Instead of sigh, or weeping eye To sympathise with Me! "O were he once in love!" they cry, "How moving would he be?"

O pity me, you Powers above! And take my skill away! Or let my hearers think I love And feign not what I say! For if I could disclose the snare Which I, unknown, do bear; Each line would make them sighs impart, And every word, a tear.

Had I a Mistress, some do think She should revealèd be; And I would favours wear, or drink Her health, upon my knee. Alas, poor fools! they aim awry! Their fancy flags too low! Could they, my love's rare course espy, They would amazèd grow.

But let nor Nymph, nor Swain conceive My tongue shall ever tell Who, of this rest doth me bereave; Or where I am not well. But if you, sighing me espy Where rarest features be; Mark where I fix a weeping eye, And swear you! "There is She!"

Yet, ere, my eyes betray me shall, I'll swell, and burst with pain! And for each drop they would let fall, My heart shall bleed me twain! For since my soul more sorrow bears Than common lovers know; I scorn my Passions should, like theirs, A common humour shew.

Ear never heard of, heretofore, Of any love like mine; Nor shall there be, for evermore, Affection so divine! And that to fain it, none may try, When I dissolved must be; The first I am, it livèd by! And die it shall, with me!

[Fair VIRTUE's sweet Graces.]

Boy! ha' done! For now my brain Is inspirèd fresh again; And new raptures pressing are, To be sung in praise of Her, Whose fair Picture lieth nigh, Quite unveiled to every eye. No small favour hath it been, That such Beauty might be seen; Therefore, ever may they rue it, Who, with evil eyes shall view it! Yea, what ancient stories tell Once to rude ACTEON fell (When, with evil thoughts, he stood Eying CYNTHIA in the flood); May that fatal hornèd curse Light upon them, or a worse! But, whatever others be, Lest some fault be found in me, If imperfect this remain; I will over-trim't again! Therefore, turn where we begun!

And, now all is overrun. Mark, if everything exprest Suit not so unto the rest, As if Nature would prefer All perfections unto her! Wherefore seems it strange to any That they daily see so many, Who were, else, most perfect creatures, In some one part, want true features; Since from all the fair'st that live, Nature took the best, to give Her, perfection in each part? I, alone except her heart; For, among all Womankind, Such as hers is hard to find! If you truly note her Face, You shall find it hath a grace, Neither wanton, nor o'er serious, Nor too yielding, nor imperious; But, with such a feature blest, It is that which pleaseth best, And delights each several eye That affects with modesty. Lowliness hath, in her look, Equal place with Greatness took: And if Beauty, anywhere, Claims prerogatives, 'tis there! For, at once, thus much 'twill do; Threat! command! persuade! and woo! In her Speech, there is not found Any harsh, unpleasing sound; But a well beseeming power, Neither higher, neither lower, Than will suit with her perfection. 'Tis the Loadstone of Affection! And that man, whose judging eyes, Could well sound such mysteries, Would in love, make her his choice, Though he did but hear her voice! For such accents breathe not, whence Beauty keeps non-residence. Never word of hers I hear, But 'tis music to mine ear, And much more contentment brings Than the sweetly-touchèd strings Of the pleasing Lute, whose strains Ravish hearers, when it 'plains. Raised by her Discourse, I fly In contented thoughts so high That I pass the common measures Of the dullèd senses' pleasures; And leave far below my sight Vulgar pitches of delight. If She smile, and merry be; All about her are as She! For each looker on takes part Of the joy that's in her heart. If She grieve, or you but spy Sadness peeping through her eye; Such a grace it seems to borrow That you'll fall in love with Sorrow; And abhor the name of Mirth, As the hateful'st thing on earth. Should I see her shed a tear, My poor eyes would melt, I fear: For much more in Hers appears, Than in other women's tears; And her look did never feign Sorrow, where there was no pain. Seldom hath She been espied, So impatient as to chide! For if any see her so, They'll in love with Anger grow. Sigh, or speak, or smile, or talk, Sing, or weep, or sit, or walk; Every thing that She doth do, Decent is, and lovely too. Each part that you shall behold Hath within itself enrolled What you could desire to see, Or your heart conceive to be: Yet, if from that part, your eye Moving, shall another spy, There, you see as much or more Than you thought to praise before. While the eye surveys it! you Will imagine that her Brow Hath all beauty: when her Cheek You behold! it is as like To be deemèd fairest too; So much there, can Beauty do. Look but thence, upon her Eye! And you wonder, by-and-by, How there may be anywhere, So much worthy praise as there. Yet, if you survey her Breast, Then, as freely, you'll protest That in them, perfection is! Though, I know, that one poor kiss From her tempting Lips, would then Make all that, foresworn again! For the selfsame moving grace Is, at once, in every place. She, her beauty never foils With your ointments, waters, oils! Nor no loathsome fucus settles, Mixed with Jewish fasting spetles! Fair by Nature being born, She doth, borrowed beauty scorn! Whoso kisses her, needs fear No unwholesome varnish there. For from thence, he only sips The pure nectar of her lips, And, at once, with these he closes, Melting rubies, cherries, roses. Then, in her Behaviour, She Striveth but Herself to be: Keeping such a decent state, As, indeed, she seems to hate Precious leisure should be spent In abusèd compliment. Though she knows what others do, (And can all their Courtship too) She is not in so ill case, As to need their borrowed grace. Her Discourses sweetened are, With a kind of artless care That expresseth greater Art, Than affected words impart. So, her Gestures (being none But that freeness, which alone Suits the braveness of her mind) Make her, of herself, to find Postures more becoming far Than the mere acquired are. If you mark, when, for her pleasure, She vouchsafes to foot a measure. Though, with others' skill, She pace; There's a sweet delightful grace In herself, which doth prefer Art beyond that Art, in her. Neither needs She beat her wit To devise what dressings fit! Her complexion, and her feature So beholding are to Nature, If She, in the fashions go, All the reason She doth so, Is, because She would not err In appearing singular; Doubtless, not for any thought, That 'twill perfect her in ought. Many a dainty-seeming Dame Is, in native beauties lame. Some are gracèd by their tires, As their quoifs, their hats, their wires. One, a ruff doth best become; Falling-bands much altereth some. And their favours, oft, we see Changèd as their dressings be. Which her beauty never fears, For it graceth all She wears. If ye note her tire to-day; "That doth suit her best!" you'll say. Mark, what She, next morn, doth wear! "That becomes her best!" you'll swear. Yea, as oft as Her you see, Such new graces still there be. As She ever seemeth graced Most by that she weareth last; Though it be the same She wore But the very day before. When she takes her tires about her, (Never half so rich without her!) At the putting on of them, You may liken every gem To those lamps, which, at a Play, Are set up to light the day: For their lustre adds no more To what TITAN gave before; Neither doth their pretty gleamings Hinder ought, his greater beamings. And yet (which is strange to me) When those costly deckings be Laid away; there seems descried Beauties, which those veils did hide; And She looks, as doth the Moon, Past some cloud, through which she shone: Or some jewel Watch, whose case, Set with diamonds, seems to grace What it doth contain within, Till the curious work be seen; Then, 'tis found, that costly Shrining Did but hinder t'others' shining. If you chance to be in place Where her Mantle, She doth grace; You would presently protest "Irish dressings were the best!" If again, She lay it down, While you view her in a Gown, And how those her dainty limbs That close-bodied garment trims: You would swear, and swear again, "She appeared loveliest then!" But if She, so truly fair, Should untie her shining hair And, at length, that treasure shed; JOVE's endurèd GANYMEDE, Neither CYTHEREA's joy, Nor the sweet self-loving Boy Who in beauty did surpass, Nor the fair'st that ever was, Could, to take your prisoner, bring Looks so sweetly conquering. She excels her, whom APOLLO Once, with weeping eyes, did follow; Or that Nymph, who, shut in towers, Was beguiled with golden showers; Yea, and she, whose Love was wont To swim o'er the Hellespont For her sake (though in attire Fittest to enflame desire) Seemed not half so fair to be Nor so lovely as is She. For the man, whose happy eye Views her in full majesty, Knows She hath a power that moves More than doth the Queen of Loves, When she useth all her power To inflame her paramour.

And, sometimes, I do admire All men burn not with Desire! Nay, I muse her Servants are not Pleading love: but O, they dare not! And I, therefore, wonder why They do not grow sick, and die. Sure, they would do so, but that, By the Ordinance of Fate, There is some concealèd thing So each gazer limiting, He can see no more of merit Than beseems his worth and spirit. For, in her, a Grace there shines That o'erdaring thoughts confines, Making worthless men despair To be loved of one so fair. Yea, the Destinies agree Some good judgements blind should be; And not gain the power of knowing Those rare beauties, in her growing. Reason doth as much imply, For, if every judging eye Which beholdeth her, should there Find what excellences are; All, o'ercome by those perfections, Would be captive to affections. So (in happiness, unblest) She, for lovers, should not rest. This, well heeding, think upon! And, if there be any one Who alloweth not the worth Which my Muse hath painted forth; Hold it no defect in Her! But that he's ordained to err. Or if any female wight Should detract from this I write; She, I yield, may shew her wit, But disparage Her no whit: For, on earth few women be, That from envy's touch are free; And whoever, Envy, knew, Yield those honours that were due?

Though, sometimes, my Song I raise To unusèd heights of praise, And break forth, as I shall please, Into strange hyperboles, 'Tis to shew, Conceit hath found Worth beyond Expression's bound. Though her Breath I do compare To the sweet'st perfumes that are; Or her Eyes, that are so bright, To the morning's cheerful light: Yet I do it not so much To infer that she is such, As to shew that, being blest With what merits name of Best, She appears more fair to me, Than all creatures else that be. Her true beauty leaves behind Apprehensions in my mind, Of more sweetness than all Art Or Inventions can impart: Thoughts too deep to be expressed, And too strong to be suppressed. Which, oft, raiseth my conceits To so unbelievèd heights That, I fear, some shallow brain Thinks my Muses do but feign. Sure, he wrongs them, if he do! For, could I have reachèd to So like Strains, as these you see; Had there been no such as She? Is it possible that I Who scarce heard of Poesy Should a mere Idea raise To as true a pitch of praise, As the learned Poets could, (Now, or in the times of old) All those real Beauties bring, Honoured by the Sonneting? Having Arts, and favours too, More t' encourage what they do? No! If I had never seen Such a Beauty, I had been Piping in the country shades To the homely dairy maids, For a country fidler's fees, "Clouted cream, and bread and cheese." I, no skill in Numbers had, More than every Shepherd's Lad, Till She taught me Strains that were Pleasing to her gentle ear. Her fair splendour and her worth; From obscureness, drew me forth; And because I had no Muse, She herself deigned to infuse All the skill by which I climb To these praises in my rhyme. Which if she had pleased to add To that, Art, sweet DRAYTON had; Or that happy Swain, that shall Sing Britannia's Pastoral; Or to theirs, whose verse set forth ROSALYND's and STELLA's worth; They had doubled all their skill Gainèd on APOLLO's hill: And as much more set Her forth, As I'm short of them in worth: They had, unto heights aspired, Might have justly been admired, And, in such brave Strains had moved, As, of all, had been approved. I must praise Her, as I may! Which I do, mine own rude way, Sometimes setting forth her glories By unheard-of allegories.

Think not, though, my Muse now sings Mere absurd or feignèd things! If to gold, I like her hair; Or to stars, her eyes so fair: Though I praise her skin by snow; Or, by pearls, her double-row; 'Tis that you might gather thence Her unmatchèd excellence. Eyes as fair (for eyes) hath She As stars fair, for Stars may be. And each part as fair doth show In its kind, as white in Snow. 'Tis no grace to her, at all; If her hair, I, Sunbeams call. For, were there power in Art, So to portrait every part, All men might those beauties see As they do appear to me: I would scorn to make compare With the glorious'st things that are, Nought I e'er saw, fair enow But the Hair, the hair to show: Yet some think him over bold That compares it but to gold. He, from Reason seems to err, Who, commending of his Dear, Gives her lips, the rubies' hue; Or by pearls, her teeth doth shew: But what pearls, what rubies can Seem so lovely fair to man, As her lips, whom he doth love, When in sweet discourse they move? Or her lovelier teeth, the while She doth bless him with a smile? Stars, indeed, fair creatures be! Yet, amongst us, where is he Joys not more, the while he lies Sunning in his mistress' eyes, Than in all the glimmering light Of a starry winter's night? Him, to flatter, most suppose, That prefers before the rose, Or the lilies while they grow, Or the flakes of new-fall'n snow, Her complexion, whom he loveth: And yet this, my Muse approveth. For in such a beauty, meets Unexpressèd moving sweets, That, the like unto them, no man Ever saw but in a Woman. Look on moon! on stars! or sun! All GOD's creatures overrun! See, if all of them presents To your mind, such sweet contents; Or if you, from them can take, Ought that may a beauty make, Shall, one half, so pleasing prove As is hers, whom you do love! For, indeed, if there had been Other mortal beauties seen, Objects for the love of man; Vain was their Creation then! Yea, if this could well be granted, ADAM might, his EVE have wanted! But a Woman is the creature, Whose proportion with our nature Best agrees; and whose perfections Sympathise with our affections: And, not only find our Senses Pleasure in their excellences; But our Reason also knows Sweetness in them, that outgoes Human wit to comprehend! Much more, truly to commend! Note the beauty of any Eye! And, if ought you praise it by, Leave such Passion in your mind: Let my Reason's Eye be blind! Mark if ever red or white, Anywhere, gave such delight, As when they have taken place In a worthy woman's face! He that so much hath not noted, Will not! or is grown besotted. Such as lovers are, conceive What impressions beauty leaves! And those hearts that fire have took By a love-inflaming look: Those believe, what here I say! And suppose not that I stray In a word, by setting forth Any praise beyond true worth! And yet, wherefore should I care What another's censures are? Since I know Her to be such As no praise can be too much. All that see Her, will agree In the self-same mind with me; If their Wit be worth the having Or their Judgement merit craving. And the man that kens Her not, Speaks, at best, he knows not what; So his envy, or goodwill, Neither doth her good, nor ill. Then, fools' cavils I disdain! And call back my Muse again, To decipher out the rest, For I have too long digressed.

This is She, in whom there meets All variety of sweets! An Epitome of all That on earth, we, Fair may call. Nay, yet more, I dare aver. He that is possessed of Her, Shall, at once, all pleasure find, That is reaped from Womankind. O, what man would further range, That in one, might find such change? What dull eye, such worth can see, And not sworn a lover be? Or, from whence was he, could prove Such a monster in his love, As, in thought, to use amiss Such unequalled worth as this? Pity 'twere, that such a creature Phoenix-like, for matchless feature, Should so suffer, or be blamed With what, now, the Times are shamed. Beauty (unto me, Divine!) Makes my honest thoughts incline Unto better things than that Which the vulgar aimeth at. And, I vow! I grieve to see Any fair, and false to be; Or when I, sweet pleasures find Matched with a defilèd mind. But, above all others, Her So much doth my soul prefer, That to him, whose ill desire Should so nurse a lawless fire, As to 'tempt to that which might Dim her sacred virtue's light; I could wish that he might die Ere he did it! though 'twere I! For, if She should hap to stray, All this beauty would away! And not her alone undo, But kill him that praised her too! But I know her Maker will Keep her undistainèd still; That ensuing Ages may Pattern out, by Her, the way To all goodness. And if Fate, That appoints all things a date, Hear me would; I'd wish that She Might, for aye, preservèd be! And that neither wasting cares, Neither all-consuming years, Might, from what She is, estrange her! Or in mind or body change her! For, O, why should envious Time Perpetrate so vile a crime As to waste, or wrong, or stain What shall ne'er be matched again? Much I hope it shall not be For, if love deceive me not, To that height of Fair she grows, Age, or Sickness (Beauty's foes!) Cannot so much wrong it there, But enough there will appear Ever worthy to be loved: And that heart shall more be moved (Where there is a judging eye) With those prints it doth espy Of her Beauty wronged by Time, Than by others, in their prime. One advantage she hath more That adds grace to all before. It is this. Her Beauty's fame Hath not done her Honour shame, For where Beauty we do find, Envy still is so unkind, That although their virtues are Such as pass their beauties far, Yet, on Slander's rocks they be Shipwrecked, oftentimes, we see; And are subject to the wrongs Of a thousand spiteful tongues: When the greatest fault they had Was, that some would make them bad! And not finding them for action, Sought for vengeance by detraction. But her Beauty, sure, no tongue Is so villainous to wrong! Never did the jealous'st ear Any muttering rumour hear That might cause the least suspects Of indifferent defects. And, which somewhat stranger is, They, whose slanders few can miss (Though set on by Evil Will And Habituated Ill) Nothing can of Her invent Whence to frame disparagement. Which, if we respect the crimes Of these loose injurious Times, Doth not only truly prove Great discretion in her love; And that she hath lived upright, In each jealous tongue's despite: But it must be understood That her private thoughts are good. Yea! 'tis an apparent sign That her Beauty is Divine! And that angels have a care Men's polluting tongues should spare To defile, what GOD hath given To be dear to Earth and Heaven!

Tell me, you that hear me now! Is there any one of you Wanteth feeling of affection? Or that loves not such perfection? Can there be so dull an ear As of so much worth to hear, And not seriously incline To this saint-like friend of mine? If there be, the fault doth lie In my artless Poesy. For if I could reach the Strain Which, methinks, I might obtain; Or but make my Measures fly Equal with my Fantasy: I would not permit an ear To attend unravished here; If but so much sense it knew, As the blocks that ORPHEUS drew. Think on this description well! And your noblest Ladies tell "Which of you (that worth can see), This my Mistress would not be?" You brave English! who have run From the rising of the sun, Till, in travelling, you found Where he doth conclude his round! You! that have the beauties seen Which, in farthest lands have been; And surveyed the fair resorts Of the French and Spanish Courts, With the rest that Fame renowns In the rich Trans-Alpine towns; Do not (with our brainless fry, That admire each novelty) Wrong your country's fame in ought! But, here, freely speak your thought! And I durst presume you'll swear She's not matched anywhere. Gallants! you that would so fain Nymphs' and Ladies' loves obtain! You that strive to serve and please Fairest Queens and Empresses! Tell me this, and tell me right! If you would not, so you might, Leave them all, despised, to prove What contents are in her love? Could your fathers ever tell Of a Nymph, did more excel? Or hath any Story told Of the like, in times of old? DIDO was not such a one! Nor the Trojans' paragon! Though they, so much favour found, As to have their honours crowned By the best of Poets' pens, Ever known before or since. For had DIDO been so fair; Old ANCHISES's noble heir, JOVE's command had disobeyed! And with her, in Carthage stayed: Where he would have quite foreswore Seeing the Lavinian shore. Or had LEDA's daughter been, When she was the Spartan Queen, Equal with this Lovely One! MENELAUS had never gone From her sight so far away, As to leave her for a prey; And his room to be possesst By her wanton Phrygian guest.

But lest yet, among you some, Think She may behind these come; Stay a little more, and hear me! In another Strain I'll rear me! I'll unmask a Beauty, now, Which to kiss, the gods may bow! And so feelingly will move, That your souls shall fall in love! I have, yet, the best behind; Her most fair, unequalled Mind! This that I have, here, exprest Is but that which veils the rest! An incomparable Shrine Of a Beauty more Divine!

Whereof, ere I farther speak; Off again, my Song I'll break. And if you, among the roses, Which yon quickset hedge incloses, Will, with plucking flowers, beguile Tedious-seeming Time awhile; Till I step to yonder green, Whence the sheep so plain are seen, I will be returnèd ere You, an hour have stayèd there! And, excuse me now, I pray! Though I rudely go away! For affairs I have to do, Which unless I look into; I may sing out Summer here! Like the idle grasshopper: And at Winter, hide my head! Or else fast, till I am dead! Yet if rustic Pastoral Measures Can ought add unto your pleasures; I will leave you some of those, Which it pleased me to compose When despairing fits were over, And I, made a happy lover, Exercised my Loving Passion In another kind of fashion; Than to utter, I devised, When I feared to be despised. Those shall lie in gage for me, Till I back returnèd be. And in writing, here, you have them! Either sing! or read! or leave them!

SONNET I.

Admire not, Shepherd's Boy! Why I my pipe forbear? My Sorrows and my Joy Beyond expression are! Though others may In Songs display Their Passions, when they woo; Yet, mine do fly A pitch too high For Words to reach unto.

If such weak thoughts as those Which others' Fancies moves; Or if my heart did 'close But common Strains of Love: Or Passions' store Learned me no more To feel, than others do: I'd paint my cares As black as theirs, And teach my lines to woo!

But, O, thrice happy! ye Whose mean conceit is dull! You, from those thoughts are free! That stuff my breast so full. My love's excess Lets to express What Songs are usèd to: And my delights Take such high flights, My joys will me undo.

I have a Love that's fair, Rich, wise, and nobly born; She's True Perfection's Heir, Holds nought but vice in scorn. A heart to find, More chaste, more kind, Our plains afford no mo. Of her degree, No blab I'll be; For doubt some Prince should woo.

And yet, I do not fear, (Though She, my meanness knows) The willow branch to wear; No, nor the yellow hose! For if great JOVE Should sue for love, She would not me forego. Resort I may, By night or day, Which braver dare not do!

You Gallants, born to pelf! To lands', to titles' store! (I'm born but to Myself, Nor do I care for more) Add to your earth! Wealth! honours! birth! And all you can, thereto! You cannot prove That height of love Which I, in meanness, do!

Great men have helps, to gain Those favours they implore: Which, though I win with pain, I find my joys the more. Each clown may rise And climb the skies When he hath found a stair; But joy to him That dares to climb, And hath no help, but air!

Some say that "Love repents Where fortunes disagree." I know the high'st contents From low beginnings be. My love's unfeigned To Her that deigned From greatness, stoop thereto. She loves, 'cause I So mean, dared try Her better worth to woo.

And yet although much joy, My fortune seems to bless; 'Tis mixt with more annoy That I shall e'er express. For, with much pain Did I obtain The Gem I'll ne'er forego! Which yet I dare Nor shew, nor wear! And that breeds all my woe.

But fie! my foolish tongue! How losely now it goes! First, let my knell be rung Ere I do more disclose! Mount thoughts on high! Cease words! For why? My meaning to divine; To those I leave, That can conceive So brave a Love as mine.

And, now, no more I'll sing Among my fellow swains; Nor groves, nor hills shall ring With echoes of my plains. My Measures be Confused, you see! And will not suit thereto: 'Cause I have more Brave thoughts in store Than words can reach unto.

SONNET II.

Hence, away! you Syrens! Leave me! And unclasp your wanton arms! Sugared words shall ne'er deceive me, Though thou prove a thousand charms. Fie! fie! forbear! No common snare Could ever my affection chain. Your painted baits And poor deceits Are all bestowed on me in vain!

I'm no slave to such as you be! Neither shall a snowy breast, Wanton eye, or lip of ruby Ever rob me of my rest! Go! go! Display Your beauty's ray To some o'ersoon enamoured Swain! Those common wiles Of sighs and smiles Are all bestowed on me in vain!

I have elsewhere, vowed a duty; Turn away thy tempting eyes! Show me not a naked beauty! Those impostures I despise! My spirit loaths Where gaudy clothes And feigned oaths may love obtain! I love Her so, Whose look swears "No!" That all your labours will be vain!

Can he prize the tainted posies Which on every breast are worn; That may pluck the spotless roses From their never-touchèd thorn? I can go rest On her sweet breast, That is the pride of CYNTHIA's train. Then hold your tongues! Your Mermaid songs Are all bestowed on me in vain!

He's a fool, that basely dallies, Where each peasant mates with him! Shall I haunt the throngèd valleys, Whilst there's noble hills to climb? No, no! Though clowns Are scared with frowns; I know the best can but disdain: And those I'll prove! So shall your love Be all bestowed on me in vain!

Yet I would not deign embraces With the greatest fairest She; If another shared those graces Which had been bestowed on me! I gave that One My love, where none Shall come to rob me of my gain. Your fickle hearts Make tears and Arts! And all bestowed on me in vain.

I do scorn, to vow a duty, Where each lustful lad may woo: Give me Her, whose sun-like beauty, Buzzards dare not soar unto! She! She it is Affords that bliss! For which, I would refuse no pain. But such as you! Fond fools! adieu! You seek to capture me in vain!

Proud she seemed, in the beginning, And disdained my looking on; But that "Coy One in the winning, Proves a True One, being won!" Whate'er betide She'll ne'er divide The favour She to me shall deign; But your fond love Will fickle prove! And all that trust in you, are vain!

Therefore know! When I enjoy One, And for love employ my breath; She I court, shall be a Coy One, Though I win her with my death! A favour there, Few aim at, dare. And if, perhaps, some lover plain; She is not won Nor I undone By placing of my love in vain.

Leave me! then, you Syrens! leave me! Seek no more to work my harms! Crafty wiles cannot deceive me; Who am proof against your charms! You labour may To lead astray The heart, that constant shall remain: And I, the while, Will sit and smile, To see you spend your time in vain.

SONNET III.

When PHILOMELA, with her strains, The Spring had welcomed in; And FLORA to bestrew the plains, With daisies did begin: My Love and I (on whom suspicious eyes Had set a thousand spies) To cozen ARGOS strove; And seen of none, We got alone Into a shady grove.

On every bush, the eglantine, With leaves perfumèd hung: The primrose made the hedgerows fine; The woods, of music rung: The earth, the air, and all things did conspire To raise contentment higher; That, had I come to woo, Nor means of grace, Nor time, nor place Were wanting thereunto.

With hand in hand, alone we walked, And oft each other eyed; Of Love and Passions past we talked, Which our poor hearts had tried: Our souls infused into each other were. And what may be her care Did my more sorrow breed. One mind we bore, One faith we swore, And both in one agreed.

Her dainty palm, I gently prest, And with her lips I played; My cheek, upon her panting breast, And on her neck, I laid; And yet we had no sense of wanton lust; Nor did we then mistrust The Poison in the Sweet. Our bodies wrought So close, we thought, Because our souls should meet.

With pleasant toil, we breathless grew, And kist in warmer blood: Upon her lips, the honey dew, Like drops on roses stood. And on those flowers, played I the busy bee, Whose sweets, were such to me, Them could I not forego. No, not to feast On VENUS' breast, Whence streams of sweetness flow.

But kissing and embracing, we So long together lay; Her touches all inflamèd me, And I began to stray. My hands presumed so far, they were too bold! My tongue unwisely told How much my heart was changed. And Virtue quite Was put to flight; Or, for the time, estranged.

O, what are we, if in our strength We over boldly trust? The strongest forts will yield at length, And so our virtues must. In Me, no force of Reason had prevailed, If She had also failed. But ere I further strayed, She, sighing, kist My naked wrist: And thus, in tears, she said.

"Sweet Heart!" quoth she, "if in thy breast Those virtues real be, Which, hitherto, thou hast profest, And I believed in thee; Thyself and Me, O seek not to abuse! Whilst thee I thus refuse, In hotter flames I fry! Yet let us not, Our true love, spot! O, rather, let me die!"

"For if thy heart should fall from good, What would become of mine? As strong a Passion stirs my blood, As can distemper thine! Yet in my breast, this rage I smother would, Though it consume me, should; And my desires contain. For where we see Such breaches be, They seldom stop again."

"Are we the two that have so long Each other's loves embraced; And never did Affection wrong Nor think a thought unchaste? And shall, O shall we, now, our matchless Joy For one poor touch destroy? And all Content forego? O no, my Dear! Sweet Heart, forbear! I will not lose thee so!"

"For should we do a deed so base As it can never be, I could no more have seen thy face! Nor wouldst thou look on me! I should, of all our Passions grow ashamed; And blush, when thou art named. Yea, though thou constant wert, I being nought, A jealous thought Would still torment my heart.

"What goodly thing, do we obtain If I consent to thee? Rare joys we lose, and what we gain But common pleasures be. Yea, 'those,' some say, 'who are to lust inclined, Drive Love out of the mind! And so much Reason miss That they admire What kind of fire A chaste affection is.'"

"No vulgar bliss I aimèd at, When first I heard thee woo; I'll never prize a Man for that Which every groom can do. If that be love, the basest men that be Do love as well as we! Who, if we bear us well, Do pass them then, As Angels, men In glory do excel."

Whilst thus she spake, a cruel Band Of Passions seized my soul; And what one seemèd to command, Another did control. 'Twixt Good and Ill, I did, divided lie. But as I raised mine eye, In her, methought, I saw Those Virtues shine, Whose rays divine First gave Desire, a Law.

With that, I felt the blush of shame Into my cheek return. And Love did, with a chaster flame, Within my bosom burn. My Soul, her light of Reason had renewed; And by those beams, I viewed How slily Lust ensnares! And all the fires Of ill Desires, I quenchèd with my tears.

Go, wantons, now, and flout at this! My coldness, if you list! Vain fools! You never knew the bliss That doth in Love consist! You sigh, and weep, and labour to enjoy A Shade, a Dream, a Toy! Poor Folly, you pursue! And are unblest; Since every beast, In pleasure, equals you!

You never took so rich content In all your wanton play; As this to me, hath pleasure lent, That chaste, She went away. For as some sins, which we committed have, Sharp stings behind them leave; Whereby we vexèd are: So, Ill supprest, Begetteth rest, And peace without compare.

But lest this conquest slight you make, Which on Myself I won; Twelve labours I will undertake With JOVE's victorious son, Ere I will such another brunt endure! For had DIANA pure, Thus tempted been to sin; That Queen of Night (With her chaste light) Had scarce a maiden been!

[Fair VIRTUE's Mind.]

O, how honoured are my Songs, Graced by your melodious tongues! And how pleasing do they seem, Now your voices carol them! Were not, yet, that task to do, Which my word enjoins me to; I would beg of you, to hear What your own inventions are? But, before I aught will crave, What I promised, you shall have!

And as I, on mortal creatures Called, to view her body's features! Shewing how to make the Senses Apprehend her excellences: Now, I speak of no worse subject Than a Soul's, and Reason's object; And relate a Beauty's glories Fitting heavenly auditories. Therefore, whilst I sit and sing, Hem me, Angels! in a ring! Come, ye Spirits! which have eyes That can gaze on Deity's! And unclogged with brutish senses Comprehend such excellences! Or if any mortal ear Would be granted leave to hear, And find profit with delight, In what now I shall indite; Let him, first, be sure to season A preparèd heart with Reason! And, with judgement, drawing nigh, Lay all fond affections by! So, through all her veilings, he Shall the Soul of Beauty see!

But, avoid! you earth-bred wights Cloyed with sensual appetites! On base objects, glut your eyes! Till your starveling pleasure dies. Feed your ears with such delights As may match your gross conceits For, within your muddy brain, These, you never can contain! Think not, you, who by the Sense, Only judge of excellence! Or do all contentment place In the beauty of a face! That these higher thoughts of ours Soar so base a pitch as yours! I can give, as well as you, Outward beauties all their due! I can, most contentments see, That, in love, or women be! Though I dote not on the features Of our dantiest female creatures, (Nor was e'er so void of shames, As to play their lawless games!) I more prize a snowy hand, Than the gold on Tagus strand! And a dainty lip before All the greatest Monarch's store! Yea, from these, I reap as true, And as large contents as you! Yet, to them I am not tied! I have rarer sweets espied; Wider prospects of true Pleasure, Than your curbèd thoughts can measure! In her Soul, my soul descries Objects that may feed her eyes; And the beauty of her Mind Shews my Reason where to find All my former pleasure doubled; Neither with such Passion troubled As wherewith it oft was crost, Nor so easy to be lost. I that ravished lay, well nigh, By the lustre of her eye; (And had almost sworn affection To the fore-expressed perfection; As if nothing had been higher, Whereunto I might aspire); Now, have found, by seeking nearer, Inward Worth, that shining clearer, (By a sweet and secret moving) Draws me to a dearer loving. And whilst I, that love conceive; Such impressions it doth leave In the intellective part, As defaceth from my heart Every thought of those delights Which allure base appetites: And my mind so much employs In contemplating those joys, Which a purer sight doth find In the beauty of her Mind; That I, so thereon am set As, methinks, I could forget All her sweetest outward graces, Though I lay in her embraces. But some thinking, with a smile, What they would have done the while; Now suppose my words are such As exceed my power too much. For all those--our wantons hold Void of vigour, dull and cold; Or, at best, but fools--whose flame Makes not way unto their shame. Though, at length, with grief they see, They, the fools do prove to be! These, the body so much minded, That their Reason, over blinded By the pleasures of the Sense, Hides from them, that Excellence, And that Sweetness, whose true worth I am here, to blazon forth! 'Tis not, 'tis not those rare graces That do lurk in women's faces; 'Tis not a displayed perfection, Youthful eyes, nor clear complexion; Nor a skin, smooth, satin-like; Nor a dainty rosy cheek; That to wantonness can move Such as virtuously do love. Beauty, rather, gently draws Wild Desires to Reason's Laws! And oft frights men from that sin, They had else, transgressèd in; Through a sweet amazement, stroke From an overruling look. Beauty never tempteth men To lasciviousness; but when Careless Idleness hath brought Wicked longings into thought. Nor doth Youth, or heat of blood Make men prove what is not good. Nor the strength, of which they vaunt, 'Tis the strength and power they want! And the baseness of the mind Makes their brute desires inclined To pursue those vain delights Which affect their appetites; And so blinded! do they grow, (Who are overtaken so) As their dulness cannot see, Nor believe that better be! Some have blood as hot as theirs Whose affections loosest are; Bodies that require no Art To supply weak Nature's part; Youth, they have; and, sure, might, too, Boast of what some, shameless, do: Yet their minds, that aim more high Than those baser pleasures lie, Taught by Virtue, can suppress All attempts of wantonness; And such powerful motives frame To extinguish Passions' flame, That, by Reason's good direction, Qualifying loose affection They'll, in midst of beauty's fires, Walk unscorched with ill Desires. Yet no such, as stupid Shame Keeps from actions worthy blame. But, in all, so truly Man! That their apprehensions can Prize the body's utmost worth; And find many pleasures forth In those beauties, more than you, That abuse them, ever knew!

But, perhaps, her outward grace, Here described, hath ta'en such place In some o'er-enamoured breast; And so much his heart possest, As he thinks, it passeth telling, How she may be more excelling! Or what worth I can prefer To be more admired in her. Therefore, now, I will be brief To prevent that misbelief; And if there be present here, Any one whose nicer ear Tasks my Measures, as offending In too seriously commending What affects the Sense, or may Injure Virtue any way: Let them know, 'tis understood, That if they were truly good, It could never breed offence, That I shewed the excellence; With the power of GOD and Nature, In the beauty of His creature. They, from thence, would rather raise Cause to meditate His praise: And thus think, "How fair must He, That hath made this Fair One, be!" That was my proposèd end: And to make them more attend Unto this! so much excelling As it passeth means of telling. But, at worst, if any Strain Makes your memories retain Sparks of such a baneful fire As may kindle ill Desire: This, that follows after, shall, Not alone extinguish all; But e'en make you blush with shame, That your thoughts were so to blame. Yet I know, when I have done, In respect of that bright Sun, Whose inestimable light I would blazon to your sight! These ensuing flashes are As to CYNTHIA's beams, a star; Or a petty comet's ray, To the glorious Eye of Day. For what power of Words, or Art, Can her Worth at full, impart? Or what is there, may be found, Placed within the Sense's bound, That can paint those sweets to me, Which the Eyes of Love do see? Or the beauties of her Mind Which her body hath enshrined? Can I think, the Guide of Heaven Hath so bountifully given Outward features, 'cause He meant To have made less excellent Her divine part? or suppose Beauty, Goodness doth oppose! Like those fools who do despair To find any Good and Fair? Rather, there, I seek a Mind Most excelling; where I find GOD hath to the Body lent Most beseeming ornament. But though He that did inspire First, the true Promethean fire, In each several soul did place Equal excellence and grace; As some think: yet, have not they Equal beauties, every way! For they, more or less appear As the outward organs are; Following much the temp'rature Of the body, gross or pure. And I do believe it true That as we the Body view, Nearer to perfection grow: So the Soul herself doth shew Others, more and more excelling, In her Power, as in her Dwelling. For that pureness giveth way Better to disclose each ray To the dull conceit of man; Than a grosser substance can. Thus, through spotless crystal, we May the day's full glory see, When, if clearest sunbeams pass Through a foul polluted glass; So discoloured they'll appear, As those stains they shone through, were. Let no critics cavil then, If I dare affirm again, That her Mind's perfections are Fairer than her Body's, far! And I need not prove it by Axioms of Philosophy; Since no proof can better be Than their rare effect in me! For, while other men complaining, Tell their Mistress's disdaining: Free from care, I write a Story Only of her Worth, and Glory! While most lovers pining, sit, Robbed of liberty and wit, Vassaling themselves with shame To some proud imperious Dame; Or, in Songs, their fate bewailing, Shew the world, their faithless failing; I, enwreathed with boughs of myrtle, Fare like the beloved Turtle. Yea, while most are most untoward! Peevish! vain! inconstant! froward! While their best contentments bring Nought but after sorrowing: She (those childish humours slighting) Hath conditions so delighting, And doth so my bliss endeavour, As my joy increaseth ever.

By her actions, I can see That her Passions so agree Unto Reason, as they err, Seldom, to distemper her. Love She can, and doth; but so As She will not overthrow Love's content, by any folly, Or by deeds that are unholy. Dotingly, She ne'er affects; Neither willingly neglects Honest love: but means doth find, With discretion to be kind. 'Tis not thundering phrase, nor oaths, Honours, wealth, nor painted clothes, That can her goodliking gain; If no other Worth remain. Never took her heart delight In your Court Hermaphrodite, Or such frothy gallants as For the Times, heroès pass: Such who, still in love, do all, "Fair!" and "Sweet!" and "Lady!" call; And where'er they hap to stray, Either prate the rest away, Or, of all discourse to seek, Shuffle in at Cent or Gleek. Goodness more delights her, than All their Mask of Folly can. Fond, She hateth to appear; Though She hold her Friend as dear As her part of life unspent, Or the best of her content. If the heat of youthful fires Warm her blood with those desires, Which are, by the course of Nature, Stirred in every perfect creature; As those Passions kindle, so Doth Heaven's grace, and Reason grow Abler to suppress in her Those rebellions; and they stir Never more affection, than One good thought allays again. I could say, so chaste is She As the new blown roses be; Or the drifts of snow that none Ever touched, or looked upon: But that were not worth a fly, Seeing so much chastity Old PIGMALION's picture had! Yea, those eunuchs born, or made Ne'er to know Desire, might say "She deserved no more than they!" Whereas, while their worth proceeds From such wants, as they must needs Be unmoved ('cause Nature framed No affections to be tamed) Through her dainty limbs are spread Vigour, heat; and freely shed Life blood into every vein Till they fill, and swell again: And no doubt they strive to force Way in some forbidden course; Which by Grace, She still resists, And so curbs within their lists Those Desires, that She is chaster Than if she had none to master. Malice, never lets She in; Neither hates She ought, but sin. Envy, if She could admit, There's no means to nourish it: For her gentle heart is pleased When She knows another's eased; And there's none whoever got That perfection, she hath not. So that no cause is there, why She should any one envy. Mildly Angry She'll appear; That the baser rout may fear, Through presumption, to misdo. Yet, She often feigns that too: But let wrong be whatsoever, She gives way to Choler, never! If She e'er, of Vengeance thought, 'Twas nor life, nor blood was sought; But, at most, some prayer to move Justice for abusèd love; Or that Fate would pay again Love's neglectors with disdain. If she ever craved of Fate To obtain a higher state; Or, ambitiously were given: Sure, 'twas but to climb to heaven! Pride is from her heart, as far As the poles in distance are. For her Worth, nor all this Praise Can her humble spirit raise; Less to prize me than before, Or herself to value more. Were She Vain, She might allege 'Twere her sex's privilege; But She's such, as, doubtless, no man Knows less folly in a woman. To prevent a being Idle, Sometimes with her curious needle, Though it be her meanest glory, She so limns an antique Story, As MINERVA (would she take it!) Might her richest Sample[r] make it. Otherwhile, again, she rather Labours with delight, to gather Knowledge from such learned writs As are left by famous wits: Where, She chiefly seeks to know GOD! Herself! and what we owe To our neighbour! since, with these, Come all needful knowledges. She, with ADAM, never will Long to learn both Good and Ill; But her state well understood, Rests herself content with Good. Avarice, abhorreth She, As the loathsom'st things that be; Since she knows it is an Ill That doth ripest virtue kill. And where'er it comes to rest, Though in some strict matron's breast; But she ne'er so seeming just, I'll no shews of goodness trust! For if you, but gold can bring; Such are hired to anything! If you think She Jealous be, You are wide! For, credit me! Her strong'st jealousies nought are Other than an honest care Of her friends. And most can tell, Whoso wants that, loves not well! Though some little Fear she shows; 'Tis no more than Love allows, So the Passion do not move her Till she grieve or wrong her lover! She may think he may do ill, Though She'll not believe he will! Nor can such a harmless thought Blemish true affection ought; Rather, when as else it would, Through security, grow cold; This, her Passion, keeping measure, Strengthens Love, and sweetens Pleasure! Cruelty, her soul detests! For, within her bosom rests Noblest Pity; ushered by An unequalled Courtesy: And is grieved at good men's moan, As the grief were all her own. Just, She is. So just, that I Know she would not wrong a fly; Or oppress the meanest thing, To be Mistress to a King. If our painters would include Temperance and Fortitude In one picture; She would fit, For the nonce, to pattern it! Patient as the lamb is She! Harmless, as the turtles be! Yea, so largely stored with all Which we mortals, Goodness call; That if ever Virtue were, Or may be incarnate here This is She! whose praises I Offer to Eternity.

She's no Image trimmed about, Fair within, and foul without! But a Gem that doth appear, Like a diamond, everywhere Sparkling rays of beauty forth! All of such unblemished worth, That wer 't possible, your eye Might her inmost thoughts espy, And behold the dimmest part Of the lustre in her heart: It would find that Centre 'pass What the Superficies was; And that every angle there, Like a diamond's inside were. For although that excellence Pass the piercing'st eye of Sense; By their operations, we Guess at things, that hidden be. So, beyond our common reach, Wise men can, by reason teach, What the influences been Of a Planet, when unseen; Or the beauty of a star That doth shine above us far. So by that wide beaming light, Wherewith TITAN courts our sight; By his clothing of the earth; By the wondrous, various birth Of new creatures, yearly bred Through his heat, and nourished: And by many virtues mo[r]e Which our Senses reach unto, We conclude, they are not all, Which make fair that goodly Ball.

Though she prize her Honour more Than the far-fetched precious store Of the rich Moluccas, or All the wealth was trafficed for, Since our vessels passage knew Unto Mexico, Peru, Or those spacious kingdoms which Made the proud Iberians rich. 'Tis not that uncertain blast Keeps my Mistress Good, or Chaste!

She, that but for Honour's sake, Doth of Ill a conscience make (More in fear what rumour says, Than in love to virtuous ways); Though she seemed more civil than You have seen a courtezan, For an honour; and cries "O, fie!" At each shew of vanity; Though she censure all that be Not so foolish coy as she; Though she, with the Roman Dame Kill herself, to purchase fame: She would prostitute become, To the meanest, basest groom; If so closely they may do it, As the world should never know it. So, at best, those women prove That for Honour, Virtue love.

Give me her that goodness chooseth For its own sake! and refuseth To have greatest honours gained With her secret conscience stained. Give me her! that would be poor; Die disgraced; nay, thought a whore; And each Time's reproach become Till the general Day of Doom: Rather than consent to act Pleasing sin: though by the fact, With esteem of "virtuous," she Might the German Empress be! Such my Mistress is! and nought Shall have power to change her thought. Pleasures cannot tempt her eye, On their baits to glance awry. For their good, she still esteems As it is; not, as it seems: And she takes no comfort in Sweetest Pleasure soured with Sin. By herself, she hath such care That her actions decent are. For were she in secret hid, None might see what she did; She would do as if for spies Every wall was stuck with eyes: And be chary of her honour 'Cause the heavens do look upon her! And O, what had power to move, Flames of lust or wanton love So far, to disparage us; If we all, were minded thus? These are beauties that shall last When the crimson blood shall waste! And the shining hair wax gray Or, with age, be worn away! These yield pleasures such as might Be remembered with delight, When we gasp our latest breath On the loathèd bed of death. Though discreetly speak She can; She'll be silent, rather than Talk while others may be heard: As if She did hate, or feared The condition, who will force All to wait on their discourse. Reason hath on her bestowed, More of knowledge, than she owed To that sex; and Grace, with it, Doth aright, her practice fit. Yet hath Fate so framèd her As She may, at some time, err; But if e'er her judgement stray, 'Tis that other women may, Those much pleasing beauties see, Which in yielding natures be. For since no perfection can Here on earth be found in man; There's more good in free submissions, Than there's ill in our transgressions. Should you hear her, once, contend In discoursing, to defend, As She can, a doubtful cause; She, such strong positions draws From known truths, and doth apply Reasons with such majesty, As if She did undertake, From some Oracle to speak; And you could not think what might Breed more love, or more delight. Yet, if you should mark again Her discreet behaviour, when She finds reason to repent Some wrong-pleaded argument; She so temperately lets all Her mis-held opinions fall, And can, with such mildness bow, As 'twill more enamour you, Than her knowledge. For there are Pleasing sweets without compare In such yieldings! which do prove Wit, Humility, and Love. Yea, by those mistakings, you Her condition so shall know, And the nature of her mind So undoubtedly shall find, As will make her more endeared Than if she had never erred. Farther (that she nought may miss Which worth praise in woman is), This, unto the rest I add. If I, wound or sickness had; None should for my curing run! No, not to APOLLO's son! She, so well the virtue knows Of each needful herb that grows; And so fitly, can apply Salves to every malady: That if She, no succour gave me, 'Twere no means of Art could save me! Should my Soul oppressèd lie, Sunk with grief and sorrow nigh; She hath balm for minds distressed, And could ease my pained breast. She, so well knows, how to season Passionate discourse with Reason; And knows how to sweeten it, Both with so much Love and Wit, That it shall prepare the Sense To give way with less offence. For grievèd minds can ill abide Counsel churlishly applied; Which instead of comfortings, Desperation often brings.

But, hark, Nymphs! Methinks, I hear Music sounding in mine ear! 'Tis a Lute! and he's the best For a voice, in all the West, That doth touch it! And the Swain I would have you hear, so fain; That to my Song, forbear will I, To attend his melody. Hither comes he, day by day, In these groves to sing and play: And in yon close arbour, he Sitteth now, expecting me. He so bashful is, that mute Will his tongue be, and his lute; Should he happen to espy This unlooked for company. If you, therefore, list to hear him; Let's with silence walk more near him! 'Twill be worth your pains, believe me! (If a voice, content may give ye!) And, await you shall not long! For he now begins a Song.

SONNET I.

What is the cause, when elsewhere I resort, I have my gestures, and discourse more free: And if I please, can any Beauty court! Yet stand so dull, and so demure by Thee? Why are my speeches broken, whilst I talk? Why do I fear almost thy hand to touch? Why dare I not embrace thee, as we walk? Since, with the greatest Nymphs, I've dared as much! Ah, know that none of those I e'er affected! And therefore used a careless courtship there; Because I, neither their disdain respected; Nor reckoned them nor their embraces dear! But loving Thee! my love hath found content; And rich delights, in things indifferent.

SONNET II.

Why covet I, thy blessed eyes to see! Whose sweet aspect may cheer the saddest mind? Why, when our bodies must divided be, Can I no hour of rest or pleasure find? Why do I sleeping, start; and waking, moan, To find that of my dreamèd hopes I miss? Why do I often contemplate alone, Of such a thing as thy Perfection is? And wherefore, when we meet, doth Passion stop My speechless tongue, and leave me in a panting? Why doth my heart, o'ercharged with fear and hope, In spite of reason, almost droop to fainting? Because, in me, thy excellences moving, Have drawn to me, an excellence in loving!

SONNET III.

Fair! Since thy virtues, my affections move; And I have vowed my purpose is to join In an eternal band of chastest love, Our Souls, to make a marriage most divine. "Why," thou may'st think, "then, seemeth he to prize An outward beauty's fading hue so much? Why doth he Read such Lectures in mine eyes? And often strive my tender palm to touch?" O, pardon my presuming! For I swear My love is soiled with no lustful spot! Thy Soul's perfections, through those veils appear! And I half faint, that I embrace them not! No foul Desires doth make thy touches sweet; By my Soul striveth, with thy Soul to meet!

SONNET IV.

Shall I, wasting in despair, Die, because a woman's Fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care, 'Cause another's rosy are? Be She fairer than the Day, Or the flowery meads in May! If She be not so to me, What care I, how Fair She be?

Should my heart be grieved or pined, 'Cause I see a woman Kind? Or a well disposèd nature Joinèd with a lovely feature? Be She meeker, kinder than Turtle dove, or pelican! If She be not so to me, What care I, how Kind She be?

Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love? Or her well deserving known, Make me quite forget mine own? Be She with that Goodness blest Which may gain her, name of Best! If She be not such to me, What care I, how Good She be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool, and die? Those that bear a noble mind, Where they want of riches find, Think "What with them they would do!" That, without them, dare to woo! And unless that mind I see, What care I, though Great She be?

Great, or Good, or Kind, or Fair, I will ne'er the more despair! If She love me (this believe!) I will die, ere She shall grieve! If She slight me, when I woo; I can scorn, and let her go! For if She be not for me! What care I, for whom She be?

SONNET V.

I wandered out, awhile agone, And went, I know not whither; But there, do Beauties, many a one, Resort, and meet together: And CUPID's power will there be shewn, If ever you come thither!

For like two suns, two Beauties bright, I, shining saw together: And, tempted by their double light, My eyes I fixt on Either; Till Both, at once, so thralled my sight, I loved, and knew not, Whether?

Such equal sweet, VENUS gave, That I preferred not Either; And when for love, I thought to crave, I knew not well of Whether? For one while, This I wished to have; And then, I, That had liefer!

A lover of the curious'st eye, Might have been pleased in Either; And so, I must confess, might I, Had they not been together. Now Both must love, or Both deny: In one, enjoy I Neither.

But yet, at last, I scaped the smart I feared, at coming hither. For seeing my divided heart, I, choosing, knew not Whether; Love, angry grew, and did depart. And, now, I care for Neither!

[Fair VIRTUE's moral qualities.]

See! these trees so ill did hide us, That the Shepherd hath espied us! And, as jealous of his cunning, All in haste, away is running! To entreat him back again, Would be labour spent in vain: You may, therefore, now betake ye, To the Music, I can make thee! Who do purpose my Invention Shall pursue my first Intention. For in Her, whose worth I tell, Many excellences dwell Yet unmentioned; whose perfections Worthy are of best affections.

That, which is so rare to find Both in Man, and Womankind; That, whose absence, love defaceth, And both sexes more disgraceth, That the spite of furrowed Age, Sicknesses, or Sorrow's rage; That's the jewel so divine Which doth on her forehead shine; And therewith endowed is She In an excellent degree: Constancy, I mean! the purest Of all beauties, and the surest. For whoe'er doth that possess, Hath an endless loveliness! All afflictions, labours, crosses; All our dangers, wounds, and losses; Games of Pleasure, we can make, For that matchless woman's sake! In whose breast that virtue bideth: And we joy, whate'er betideth! Most dejected hearts it gladeth. Twenty thousand glories addeth Unto Beauty's brightest Ray, And preserves it from decay! 'Tis the salt, that's made to season Beauty, for the use of Reason! 'Tis the varnish, and the oiling, Keeps her colours fresh from spoiling! 'Tis an excellence, whereby Age, though joined with poverty, Hath more dear affection won, That fresh Youth and Wealth have done! 'Tis a loveliness endearing Beauties, scarce worth note appearing! Whilst a fairer, fickle Dame Nothing gains, but scorn and shame. Further, 'tis a beauty such As I cannot praise too much, Nor frame Measures to express! No, nor any man! unless He who (more than all men crost) Finds it, in that woman lost; On whose faith, he would have pawned Life, and all he could command! Such a man, may, by that miss, Make us know, how dear it is! When, o'ercharged with grief, he shall Sigh, and break his heart withal.

This is that Perfection which In her favour, makes me rich! All whose beauties named before, Else, would but torment me more: And in having this, I find, Whate'er haps, a quiet mind! Yea, 'tis that, which I do prize Far above her lips, her eyes; Or that general beauty, whence Shines each several excellence.

For, alas! what gained hath he, Who may clip the fairest She, That the name of Woman bears; If, unhappily, he fears Any other's worth may win What he thought his own had been? Him, base minded deem I should, Who (although he were in hold, Wrapt in chains) would not disdain Love with her, to entertain! That, both daughter to a Peer, And most rich and lovely were; When a brainless Gull should dare In her favours with him share; Or the action of a Player Rob him of a hope so fair.

This, I dread not! For I know Strainèd gestures, painted show, Shameless boastings, borrowed jests, Female looks, gay-plumed crests, Vows, nor protestations vain (Wherewith fools are made so vain) Move Her can! save to contemn, Or, perhaps, to laugh at them. Neither can I doubt or fear, Time shall either change or wear This her virtue, or impair That which makes her soul so fair! In which trust great comforts are, Which the fear of loss would mar. Nor hath this my rare hope stood So much in her being good, With her love to Blessèd Things; As in her acknowledgings From a Higher Power, to have them! And her love to Him that gave them! For, although to have a mind Naturally to Good inclined, And to love it, would assure Reason that it might endure: Yet, since man was first unjust, There's no warrant for such trust! Virtues that, most wonder win, Would converted be to Sin; If their flourishings began From no better root than Man! Our best virtues (when they are Of themselves) we may compare To the beauty of a Flower, That is blasted in an hour; And which growing to be fuller, Turns into some loathèd colour: But those (being freely given, And confirmed in us from Heaven) Have a promise on them past And for evermore shall last! Diamond like, their lustre clearing, More and more, by use and wearing!

But if this rare Worth I praise, Should, by Fate's permission, raise Passions in some gentle breast That distemper may his rest: And be author of such treason As might nigh endanger Reason; Or enforce his tongue to crave What another man must have. Mark, in such a strait as this, How discreet her dealing is! She is nothing of their humours Who, their honour build on rumours; And had rather private sporting, Than allow of open courting: Nor of theirs, that would seem holy By divulging other's folly. Farther is She from their guise That delight to tyrannise; Or make boastings, in espying Others, for their favours dying. She, a spirit doth possess So replete with Nobleness, That if She be there beloved; Where she ought not to be moved Equally to love again: She doth so well entertain That affection, as there's none Can suppose it ill bestown. From Deluding, She is free! From Disdain, as far is She! And so feelingly bears part Of what pains another's heart; That no curse of scornèd duty, Shall draw vengeance on her beauty: Rather, with so tender fear Of her honour, and their care, She is touched; that neither shall Wrong unto herself befall By the favour She doth show; Nor will She neglect them so As may just occasion give Any way to make them grieve. Hope, She will not let them see! Lest they should presuming be; And aspire to that, which none Ever must enjoy but One. From Despair, She keeps them too! Fearing they might hap to do, Either through Love's indiscretions, Or much over stirrèd passions, What might, with their hurt and shame, Into question, call her name; And a scandal on her bring Who is just in everything. She hath marked how others run, And by them hath learnt to shun Both their fault, who, over wise, Err by being too precise; And their folly, that o'er kind, Are to all complaints inclined. For her Wit hath found the way How, a while, to hold them play; And that inconvenience shun Whereinto both seem to run, By allowing them a scope Just betwixt Despair and Hope: Where confined, and reaching neither, They do take a part in either; Till, long living in suspense, Tired by her Indifference, Time, at last, their Passion wears. Passions wearing, Reason clears! Reason gives their Judgement light! Judgement bringeth all to right! So, their Hope appearing vain; They become themselves again! And with high applauses (fit For such Virtue with such Wit) They, that service only proffer, She may take, and they may offer! Yet, this course she never proves Save with those, whose virtuous loves Use the noblest means of gaining Favours, worthy the obtaining. And if such should chance to err Either 'gainst themselves, or Her, In some oversights, when they Are, through Passion, led astray; She, so well man's frailty knows! With the darts, that Beauty throws! As she will not, adding terror, Break the heart, for one poor error! Rather, if still good they be, Twenty remedies hath She Gently to apply, where Sense Hath invaded Reason's fence: And, without a wound, or scar, Turns to peace, a lawless war. But to those, whose baser fires Breathe out smoke of such desires As may dim, with impure steams, Any part of Beauty's beams: She will deign no milder way, Those foul burnings to allay; Save with such extreme neglect As shall work her wished effect. And to use so sharp a cure, She's not oft constrainèd, sure, 'Cause, on her forehead, still, Goodness sits; so feared of Ill! That the scorn and high disdains Wherewithal she entertains Those loathed glances, giveth ending To such flamings the tynding That their coolèd hopes needs must Freeze Desires in heat of Lust.

'Tis a power that never lies In the fair'st immodest eyes! Wantons! 'tis not your sweet eyings, Forcèd passions, feignèd dyings, Gestures' temptings, tears' beguilings, Dancings, singings, kissings, smilings! Nor those painted sweets, with which, You, unwary men bewitch! All united, nor asunder That can compass such a Wonder! Or, to win you love prevails, Where her moving virtues fails. Beauties! 'tis not all those features, Placèd in the fairest creatures; Though their best they should discover, That can tempt from Her, a lover! 'Tis not those soft snowy breasts Where Love, rocked in Pleasure, rests; And by their continual motions Draweth hearts to vain devotions! Nor the nectar that we sip From the honey-dropping lip! Nor those eyes, whence Beauty's lances Wound the heart with wanton glances! Nor those sought delights that lie In LOVE's hidden treasury! That can liking gain, where She Will the best belovèd be! For should those who think they may Draw my love from her away, Bring forth all their female graces! Wrap me in their close embraces! Practise all the Art they may! Weep! or sing! or kiss! or pray! And, with sighs and looks, come woo me! When they soonest may undo me, One poor thought of Her would arm me So, as CIRCE could not harm me! Since besides those excellences Wherewith others please the Senses, She, whom I have prizèd so, Yields delights for Reason too!

Who could dote on thing so common As mere outward-handsome woman? Those Half-Beauties only win Fools, to let affection in! Vulgar wits, from Reason shaken, Are with such impostures taken! And, with all their art in love, Wantons can but wantons move! But when, unto those are joined, Those things which adorn the Mind; None their excellences see, But they straight enthrallèd be! Fools and wise men, worst and best, Subjects are to LOVE's Arrest; For when VIRTUE wooes a lover She's an unresisted mover, That will have no kind of "Nay!" And in love, brooks no delay. She can make the sensual wights To restrain their appetites; And her beauty, when they see, Spite of Vice, in love to be: Yea, (although themselves be bad) Praise the good they never had! She hath to her service brought Those that Her have set at nought, And can fair enough appear To inflame the most severe. She hath, oft, allurèd out The religiously devout From their cloisters, and their vows, To embrace what She allows! And to such contentments come As blind Zeal had barred them from; While (her laws misunderstood) They did Ill, for love of Good. Where I find True Worth to be Sweetest are their lips to me! And embraces tempt me so, More than outward beauties do, That my firm belief is this; If I ever do amiss, Seeming-Good, the bait will lay, That to Ill, shall me betray. Since where Shews of Goodness are, I am oft emboldened there, Freedoms so permit and use, Which I elsewhere do refuse; For because I think they mean, To allow no deed unclean. Yet where two, love VIRTUE shall, Both, at once, they seldom fall! For when one hath thoughts of Ill, T'other helps exile them still.

My Fair VIRTUE's power is this, And that power the beauty is Which doth make Her, here exprest, Equally both Fair and Blest: This! was that contenting grace Which affection made me place With so dear respect, that never Can it fail, but last for ever. This! a Servant made me sworn, Who, before time, held in scorn To yield vassalage or duty; Though unto the Queen of Beauty! Yet that I, her Servant am, It shall more be to my fame, Than to own these woods and downs, Or be Lord of fifty towns: And, my Mistress, to be deemed, Should more honour be esteemed Than those titles to acquire Which most women most desire. Yea, when you a woman shall, Countess, or a Duchess call: That respect it shall not move, Neither gain her half such love As to say, "Lo! this is She That supposèd is to be Mistress to PHIL'ARETE! And that lovely Nymph, which he In a Pastoral Poem famed, And Fair VIRTUE, there hath named!" Yea, some ladies (ten to one!) If not many, now unknown, Will be very well apaid When, by chance, she hears it said She that "Fair One" is, whom I Have, here, praised concealedly. And though, now, this Age's Pride May so brave a Hope deride; Yet, when all their glories pass, As the thing that never was, And on monuments appear That they e'er had breathing here, Who envy it; She shall thrive In her fame, and honoured live; While Great Britain's Shepherds sing English in their Sonneting! And whoe'er, in future days, Shall bestow the utmost praise On his love, that any man Attribute to creature can; 'Twill be this! that he hath dared, His and Mine to have compared. O, what stars did shine on me, When her eyes I first did see! And how good was their aspect, When we first did both affect! For I never since to changing Was inclined, or thought of ranging!

Me, so oft my Fancy drew Here and there, that I ne'er knew Where to place Desire, before, So that range it might no more. But as he that passeth by Where, in all her jollity, FLORA's riches, in a row, Doth in seemly order grow; And a thousand flowers stand, Bending as to kiss his hand: Out of which delightful store, One, he may take, and no more! Long he pausing, doubteth whether Of those fair ones he should gather. First, the Primrose courts his eyes! Then, the Cowslip he espies! Next, the Pansy seems to woo him! Then, Carnations bow unto him! Which, whilst that enamoured Swain From the stalk, intends to strain; (As half fearing to be seen) Prettily, her leaves between, Peeps the Violet! pale to see That her virtues slightèd be: Which so much his liking wins That, to seize her, he begins; Yet before he stooped so low He, his wanton eye did throw On a stem that grew more high, And the Rose did there espy. Who, besides her precious scent, To procure his eyes' content, Did display her goodly breast; Where he found, at full exprest, All the Good that Nature showers On a thousand other flowers. Wherewith he, affected, takes it! His Beloved Flower, he makes it! And, without desire of more, Walks through all he saw before. So I, wandering but erewhile, Through the Garden of this Isle, Saw rich Beauties, I confess, And in number, numberless; And so differing lovely too, That I had a world to do, Ere I could set up my rest Where to choose, and choose the best. One I saw, whose Hair excellèd! On another's Brow there dwellèd Such a Majesty, it seemed She was best to be esteemed! This had, with her Speeches won me! That, with Silence had undone me! On her Lips, the Graces hung! T'other charmed me with her tongue! In her Eyes, a third did bear That which did anew ensnare! Then a fourth did fairer show, Yet wherein I did not know! Only this perceivèd I, Somewhat pleased my Fantasy. Now the Wealth, I most esteemed! Honour then, I better deemed! Next, the love of Beauty seized me! And then Virtue better pleased me! JUNO's love I nought esteemed! Whilst a VENUS fairer seemed! Nay, both could not me suffice, Whilst a PALLAS was more wise! Though I found enough in One To content, if still alone. AMARILLIS, I did woo! And I courted PHILLIS too! DAPHNE, for her love I chose! CLORIS, for that damask rose In her cheek, I held as dear! Yea, a thousand liked, well near! And in love with All together, Feared the enjoying Either! 'Cause to be, of one possest, Barred the hope of all the rest.

Thus I fondly fared, till Fate, (Which I must confess, in that, Did a greater favour to me, Than the world can malice do me) Shewed to me that matchless flower Subject for this Song of our. Whose perfection having eyed Reason instantly espied, That Desire, which ranged abroad, There, would find a period. And, no marvel! if it might: For it, there, hath all Delight; And in Her, hath Nature placed What each several Fair once graced. Nor am I, alone delighted, With those graces, all united, Which the Sense's eye doth find Scattered throughout Womankind. But my Reason finds perfections To inflame my Soul's affections: Yea, such virtues She possesseth, As, with firmest pleasures blesseth; And keeps sound that Beauty's state, Which would else grow ruinate. In this Flower are sweets, such store: I shall never wish for more! Nor be tempted out to stray For the fairest buds in May!

Let, who list! for me, advance The admired flowers of France! Let, who will! praise and behold The reservèd Marigold! Let the sweet-breathed Violet, now, Unto whom she pleaseth, bow! And the fairest Lily spread, Where she will, her golden head! I have such a flower to wear; That for those, I do not care! Never shall my Fancy range! Nor once think again of change! Never will I, never more! Grieve or sigh, as heretofore! Nor within the lodgings lie Of Despair, or Jealousy! Let the young and happy Swains, Playing on the Britain plains, Court, unblamed, their shepherdesses! And with their gold-curlèd tresses Toy uncensured! until I Grudge at their prosperity! Let all Times, both Present, Past; And the Age that shall be last; Vaunt the beauties they bring forth! I have found in One, such worth! That, content, I neither care What the best before me were; Nor desire to live and see Who shall fair hereafter be. For I know the hand of Nature Will not make a fairer creature! Which, because succeeding days Shall confess, and add their praise In approving what my tongue (Ere they had their being) sung: Once again, come, lend an ear! And a Rapture you shall hear (Though I taste no Thespian spring) Will amaze you; whilst I sing! I do feel new Strains inspiring, And to such brave heights aspiring; That my Muse will touch a key, Higher than you've heard to-day! I have Beauties to unfold That deserve a Pen of Gold! Sweets that never dreamed of were! Things unknown; and such as Ear Never heard a Measure sound Since the sun first ran his round!

When APELLES limbed to life, Loathèd VULCAN's lovely wife; With such beauties he did turn Each sweet feature, and each limb, And so curiously did place Every well becoming grace; That 'twas said, ere he could draw Such a Piece, he naked saw Many women in their prime And the fairest of that Time; From all which, he, parts did take, Which, aright disposed, make Perfect Beauty. So when you Know what I have yet to show, It will seem to pass so far Those things which expressèd are; That you will suppose I've been Privileged, where I have seen All the Good that's spread in parts Through a thousand women's hearts! With their fair'st conditions lie Bare, without hypocrisy! And that I have took from thence, Each dispersèd excellence To express Her, who hath gained More than ever One obtained. And yet, soft! I fear, in vain I have boasted such a Strain! Apprehensions ever are Greater than Expression, far! And my striving to disclose What I know, hath made me lose My Invention's better part: And my Hopes exceed my Art! Speak, I can; yet Think I more! Words, compared with Thoughts, are poor! And I find, had I begun Such a Strain, it would be done When we number all the sands Washed o'er perjured GODWIN's lands. For of things I should indite, Which, I know are infinite.

I do yield! My Thoughts did climb Far above the power of Rhyme! And no wonder it is so, Since there is no Art can show Red in roses, white in snow; Nor express how they do grow. Yea, since bird, beast, stone, and tree, That inferior creatures be, Beauties have, which we confess Lines unable to express; They more hardly can enrol Those that do adorn a Soul. But suppose my Measures could Reach the height, I thought they would: Now, relate, I would not though, What did swell within me so. For if I should all descry, You would know as much as I! And those clowns the Muses hate, Would of things above them, prate! Or, with their profaning eyes, Come to view those mysteries Whereof, since they disesteemed them, Heaven hath unworthy deemed them! And besides, it seems to me, That your ears nigh tirèd be! I perceive the fire that charmeth And inspireth me, scarce warmeth Your chill hearts! Nay, sure, were I Melted into Poesy, I should not a Measure hit, (Though APOLLO prompted it) Which should able be to leave That in you, which I conceive! You are cold! and here I may Waste my vital heat away Ere you will be moved so much As to feel one perfect touch Of those Sweets; which, yet concealed, Swell my breast, to be revealed.

Now, my Words, I therefore cease! That my mounting Thoughts, in peace, May, alone, those pleasures share, Whereof Lines unworthy are! And so you, an end do see, Of my Song; though long it be!

* * * * *

No sooner had the Shepherd PHIL'ARET, To this Description, his last period set; But instantly, descending from a wood, Which on a rising ground, adjoining stood, A troop of Satyrs, to the view of all, Came dancing, of a new devisèd brall. The measures they did pace, by Him were taught them, Who, to so rare a gentleness had brought them, That he had learned their rudeness an observing Of such respect unto the well deserving; As they became to no man else, a terror, But such as did persist in wilful error: And they, the Ladies, made no white affeared Though since that time, they some Great Men have scared. Their dance, the Whipping of Abuse they named; And though the Shepherd, since that, hath been blamed: Yet, now, 'tis daily seen in every town! And there's no Country Dance that's better known! Nor that hath gained a greater commendation 'Mongst those that love an honest recreation! This Scene presented; from a grove was heard A Set of Viols; and there, was prepared A Country Banquet, which this Shepherd made To entertain the Ladies, in the shade. And 'tis supposed, his Song prolongèd was Of purpose, that it might be brought to pass. So well it was performed that each one deemed, The banquet might the City have beseemed; Yet, better was their Welcome, than their Fare, Which they perceived, and the merrier were.

One Beauty though, there sat among the rest, That looked as sad as if her heart oppressed With love had been. Whom PHIL'ARET beholding Sit so demurely, and her arms enfolding: "Lady!" quoth he, "am I, or this poor cheer, The cause that you so melancholy are? For if the object of your thoughts be higher, It fits nor me to know them, nor inquire: But if from me it cometh, that offends; I seek the cause, that I may make amends!"

"Kind Swain!" said she, "it is nor so! nor so! No fault in you! nor in your cheer I know! Nor do I think there is a thought in me, That can too worthy of your knowledge be! Nor have I, many a day, more pleasure had Than here I find, though I have seemèd sad. My heart is sometimes heavy when I smile; And when I grieve, I often sing the while. Nor is it sadness that doth me possess, But rather, musing, with much seriousness, Upon that multitude of sighs and tears, With those innumerable doubts and fears Through which you passed, ere you could acquire A settled Hope of gaining your Desire. For you dared love a Nymph, so great and fair, As might have brought a Prince unto despair; And, sure, the excellency of your Passions Did then produce as excellent impressions. If, therefore, me the suit may well become! And if to you, it be not wearisome! In name of all the Ladies, I entreat That one of those sad Strains you would repeat, Which you composed, when greatest Discontent Unsought-for help, to your Invention lent!"

"Fair Nymphs!" said PHIL'ARET, "I will so do! For though your Shepherd doth no Courtship know, He hath Humanity! and what's in me, To do you service, may commanded be!"

So, taking down a lute, that near him hung; He gave't his boy, who played: whilst this, he sung.

[SONNET I.]

"Ah, me!" Am I the Swain That late, from sorrow free, Did all the cares on earth disdain? And still untouched, as at some safer games, Played with the burning coals of Love, and Beauty's flames? Was't I, could dive, and sound each Passion's secret depth at will; And from those huge overwhelmings, rise, by help of Reason, still? And am I, now, O heavens! (for trying this in vain) So sunk, that I shall never rise again? Then let Despair set Sorrow's string For Strains, that doleful'st be! And I will sing "Ah, me."

But why, O fatal Time! Dost Thou constrain, that I Should perish in my Youth's sweet prime? I, but a while ago, You cruel Powers! In spite of Fortune, cropped Contentment's sweetest flowers. And yet, unscorned, serve a gentle Nymph, the fairest She, That ever was beloved of Man, or eyes did ever see. Yea, one, whose tender heart would rue for my distress; Yet I, poor I! must perish nay-the-less: And, which much more augments my care, Unmoaned, I must die! And no man e'er Know why!

Thy leave, My dying Song! Yet take! ere Grief bereave The breath which I enjoy too long. Tell thou that Fair One this! "My Soul prefers Her love above my life, and that I died hers! And let Him be, for evermore, to her remembrance dear, Who loved the very thought of Her, whilst he remained here!" And now, farewell, thou place of my unhappy birth! Where once I breathed the sweetest air on earth: Since me, my wonted joys forsake, And all my trust deceive; Of all, I take My leave!

Farewell, Sweet Groves, to you! You Hills, that highest dwell; And all you humble Vales, adieu! You wanton Brooks! and solitary Rocks! My dear Companions all! and you, my tender Flocks! Farewell, my Pipe! and all those pleasing Songs, whose moving Strains Delighted once the fairest Nymphs that dance upon the plains! You Discontentments (whose deep and over-deadly smart Have, without pity, broke the truest heart)! Sighs! Tears! and every sad Annoy That erst did with me dwell! And all others' Joy! Farewell!

Adieu Fair Shepherdesses! Let garlands of sad yew Adorn your dainty golden tresses! I that loved you, and often, with my quill Made music that delighted fountain, grove, and hill! I, whom you loved so; and with a sweet and chaste embrace; Yea, with a thousand rarer favours, would vouchsafe to grace! I, now, must leave you all alone! of Love to 'plain, And never Pipe, nor never Sing again I must, for evermore, be gone! And, therefore, bid I you, And every one, Adieu!

I die! For O, I feel Death's horrors drawing nigh! And all this frame of Nature reels! My hopeless heart, despairing of relief, Sinks underneath the heavy weight of saddest grief! Which hath so ruthless torn, so racked, so tortured every vein, All comfort comes too late, to have it ever cured again. My swimming head begins to dance Death's giddy round! A shuddering chillness doth each sense confound! Benumbed is my cold-sweating brow! A dimness shuts my eye! And now, O now, I die!

* * * * *

So movingly these lines he did express, And to a tune so full of heaviness; As if, indeed, his purpose had been past To live no longer than the Song did last. Which in the Nymphs, such tender passion bred, That some of them, did tears of pity shed.

This she perceiving, who first craved the Song, "Shepherd!" she said, "although it be no wrong Nor grief to you, those Passions to recall Which, heretofore, you have been pained withal! But comforts rather, since they, now, are over; And you, it seemeth, an enjoying lover: Yet some Nymphs among us, I do see; Who, so much movèd with your Passions be, That, if my aim I have taken aright, Their thoughts will hardly let them sleep to-night. I dare not, therefore, beg of you again To sing another of the selfsame Strain; For fear it breed within them, more unrest Than women's weaknesses can well digest. Yet, in your Measures, such content you have! That one Song more, I will presume to crave. And if your memory preserves of those Which you, of your affections did compose Before you saw this Mistress; let us hear What kind of Passions, then, within you were!" To which request, he instantly obeyed; And this ensuing Song, both sung and played.

SONNET II.

You gentle Nymphs! that on these meadows play, And oft relate the loves of Shepherds young; Come, sit you down! For if you please to stay, Now may you hear an uncouth Passion sung! A Lad there is, and I am that poor Groom; That's fall'n in love, and cannot tell with whom!

O do not smile at sorrow, as a jest! With others' cares, good natures movèd be; And I should weep, if you had my unrest! Then, at my grief, how can you merry be? Ah, where is tender pity now become? I am in love, and cannot tell with whom!

I, that have oft, the rarest features viewed, And Beauty in her best perfection seen; I, that have laughed at them that love pursued, And ever free from such affections been: Lo, now at last, so cruel is my doom! I am in love, and cannot tell with whom!

My heart is full nigh bursting with Desire; Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow: My breast doth burn, but She that lights the fire, I never saw, nor can I come to know. So great a bliss, my fortune keeps me from; That though I dearly love, I know not whom!

Ere I had twice four Springs renewed seen, The force of Beauty I began to prove; And ere I nine years old had fully been, It taught me how to frame a Song of Love, And little thought I, this day should have come, Before that I, to love had found out whom!

For on my chin, the mossy down you see! And in my veins, well heated blood doth glow! Of Summers I have seen twice three times three; And fast, my youthful time away doth go! That much I fear, I agèd shall become, And still complain, I love, I know not whom!

O, why had I a heart bestowed on me, To cherish dear affections, so inclined? Since I am so unhappy born to be No Object, for so true a Love to find. When I am dead, it will be missed of some; Yet, now I live, I love, I know not whom!

I to a thousand beauteous Nymphs am known! A hundred Ladies' favours do I wear! I, with as many, half in love am grown; Yet none of them, I find, can be my Dear! Methinks, I have a Mistress yet to come! Which makes me sing, I love, I know not whom!

There lives no Swain doth stronger Passion prove For her, whom most he covets to possess; Than doth my heart, that being full of love Knows not to whom it may the same profess! For he that is despised, hath sorrow some; But he hath more, that loves, and knows not whom!

Knew I my Love, as many others do, To some one object might my thoughts be bent! So they divided, should not wandering go Until the Soul's united force be spent. As his, that seeks and never finds a home, Such is my rest, that love, and know not whom!

Those, whom the frowns of jealous friends divide, May live to meet, and descant on their woe; And he hath gained a Lady for his bride, That durst not woo her Maid, a while ago. But O, what end unto my hopes can come? That am in love, and cannot tell with whom!

Poor COLLIN grieves that he was late disdained; And CLORIS doth, for WILLY's absence pine; Sad THIRSIS weeps, for his sick PHOEBE pained: But all their sorrows cannot equal mine! A greater care, alas, on me is come. I am in love, and cannot tell with whom!

NARCISSUS like, did I affect my shade; Some shadow yet I had to dote upon! Or did I love some Image of the dead, Whose Substance had not breathed long agone? I might despair! and so an end would come; But O, I love! and cannot tell you whom!

Once, in a dream, methought, my Love I viewed, But never, waking, could her face behold; And, doubtless, that resemblance was but shewed That more my tirèd heart, torment it should. For, since that time, more grieved I am become; And more in love, I cannot tell with whom!

When on my bed, at night, to rest I lie, My watchful eyes, with tears bedew my cheek; And then, "O would it once were day!" I cry, Yet when it comes, I am as far to seek. For who can tell, though all the earth he roam; Or when, or where to find, he knows not whom?

O, if she may be among the beauteous trains Of all you Nymphs, that haunt the silver rills! Or if you know her, Ladies of the plains! Or you, that have your bowers on the hills! Tell, if you can, who will my Love become? Or I shall die, and never know for whom!

* * * * *

The Ladies smiled oft, when this they heard, Because the Passion strange to them appeared, And stranger was it, since by his expression, As well as by his own unfeigned confession, It seemèd true! But having sung it out; And seeing, scarcely manners, they it thought, To urge him further: thus to them, he spake. "Fair Ladies! forasmuch as doubt you make To re-command me; of mine own accord, Another Strain I freely will afford. It shall not be of Love, nor any Song Which to the praise of Beauty doth belong; But that, hereafter, when you hence are gone, Your Shepherd may be sometime thought upon! To shew you also, what Content the Field And lonely Grove to honest minds may yield! That you, my humble fate may not despise, When you are returned unto your braveries; And not suppose that, in these homely bowers, I hug my fortune, 'cause I know not yours. Such Lines I'll sing, as were composed by me, When some proud Courtiers, where I happed to be, Did (like themselves) of their own glories prate, As in contempt of my more happy state. And these they be--"

SONNET [III.]

Lordly Gallants! tell me this! (Though my safe Content you weigh not!) In your greatness, what one bliss Have you gained, that I enjoy not? You have Honours, you have Wealth! I have Peace, and I have Health! All the day I merry make; And, at night, no care I take!

Bound to none, my fortunes be; This, or that man's fall, I fear not! Him I love, that loveth me; For the rest, a pin I care not! You are sad, when others chafe; And grow merry as they laugh! I, that hate it, and am free, Laugh and weep, as pleaseth me!

You may boast of favours shown, Where your service is applied! But my pleasures are mine own, And to no man's humours tied. You oft flatter, sooth, and feign! I, such baseness do disdain! And to none, be slave I would, Though my fetters might be gold!

By greatest titles, some believe, Highest honours are attained; And yet Kings have power to give To their Fools, what these have gained. Where they favour, there they may All their Names of Honour lay! But I look not, raised to be, Till mine own wing carry me!

Seek to raise your titles higher! They are toys not worth my sorrow. Those that we, to-day, admire, Prove the Age's scorn to-morrow! Take your Honours! Let me find Virtue in a free born mind! This, the greatest Kings that be, Cannot give, nor take from me!

Though I vainly do not vaunt Large demesnes to feed my pleasure: I have favours, where you want, That would buy Respect with treasure! You have lands lie here, and there; But my wealth is everywhere! And this addeth to my store, Fortune cannot make me poor!

Say, you purchase, with your pelf, Some respect, where you importune! Those may love me, for myself; That regard you for your fortune! Rich, or born of high degree, Fools, as well as you, may be! But that Peace in which I live, No Descent, nor Wealth can give!

If you boast that you may gain The respect of high-born Beauties; Know I never wooed in vain, Nor preferrèd scornèd duties! She I love, hath all delight, Rosy red with lily white; And, whoe'er your Mistress be, Flesh and blood as good as She!

Note of me, was never took For my womanlike perfections; But so like a Man I look, It hath gained me best affections! For my love, as many showers Have been wept, as have for yours! And yet none doth me condemn For abuse, or scorning them!

Though of dainties, you have store To delight a choicer palate! Yet your taste is pleased no more Than is mine, in one poor sallat! You to please your senses feed! But I eat, good blood to breed! And am most delighted then When I spend it like a man!

Though you Lord it over me; You, in vain, thereof have bravèd! For those Lusts, my servants be; Whereunto your minds are slavèd! To yourselves you wise appear, But, alas, deceived you are! You do, foolish me esteem; And are that, which I do seem!

When your faults I open lay; You are moved, and mad with vexing! But you ne'er could do, or say Ought to drive me to perplexing! Therefore, my despisèd power Greater is, by far, than your! And whate'er you think of me, In your minds, you poorer be!

You are pleasèd, more or less, As men, well or ill report you! And shew discontentedness When the Times forbear to court you! That in which my pleasures be, No man can divide from me! And my care it adds not to, Whatso others say or do.

Be not proud, because you view You, by thousands are attended! For, alas, it is not You, But Your Fortune! that's befriended. Where I shew of love have got, Such a danger, fear I not! Since they nought can seek of me; But for love, beloved to be.

When your hearts have everything; You are pleasantly disposed! But I can both laugh and sing, Though my foes have me enclosed. Yea, when dangers me do hem, I delight in scorning them! More than you, in your renown; Or a King can, in his crown.

You do bravely domineer Whilst the sun upon you shineth! Yet if any storm appear, Basely, then, your mind declineth! But, or shine, or rain, or blow, I, my resolutions know! Living, dying, thrall, or free; At one height, my Mind shall be!

When in thraldom, I have lain; Me, not worth your thought you prizèd! But your malice was in vain, For your favours I despisèd. And howe'er you value me, I, with praise, shall thought on be! When the world esteems you not, And your Names shall be forgot.

In these thoughts my riches are, Now, though poor and mean you deem me! I am pleased, and do not care How the Times, or you esteem me! For those toys that make you gay. Are but Play Games for a Day! And when Nature craves her due, I, as brave shall be, as you!

* * * * *

Here PHIL'ARET did give his Song an ending. To which the Nymphs so seriously attending About him sate, as if they had supposed He still had somewhat more to be disclosed. And, well they know not, whether did belong Most praise unto the Shepherd, or his Song. For though, they must confess, they often hear Those Lays, which much more deeply learned are; Yet, when they well considered of the place, With how unlikely (in their thought) it was To give them hope of hearing of such a Strain; Or that so young, and so obscure a Swain Should such a matchless Beauty's favour get; And know her worth so well, to sing of it: They wondered at it. And some thus surmised That He a greater man was, so disguised; Or else that She, whom he so much had praised, Some goddess was, that those his Measures raised, Of purpose, to that rare attainèd height In Envy's, and presuming Art's despite. But whilst they, musing with themselves, bethought Which way, out of this Shepherd to have wrought What Nymph this Fair One was? and where she lived? Lo, at that very instant, there arrived Three men that, by their habits, Courtiers seemed: For, though obscure, by some, he is esteemed, Among the Greatest: who do not contemn, In his retirèd walks, to visit him; And there, they taste those pleasures of the mind, Which they can, nor in Court, nor City find. Some news or message, these new guests had brought him; And to make haste away, it seems, besought him: For instantly he rose! And that his nurture Might not be taxed by a rude departure, Himself excusing; he, those Nymphs did pray His noble friends might bring him on their way. "Who, as it seems," said he, "were therefore come, That they might wait upon him to their home." So, with their favour, he departed thence; And, as they thought, to meet her Excellence, Of whom he sung. Yet many deem that this But an Idea of a Mistress is: Because to none, he yet had deigned the telling Her proper name; nor shown her place of dwelling!

When he was gone, a Lady, from among Those Nymphs, took up his lute, and sang this Song.

THE NYMPH'S SONG.

Gentle Swain! Good speed befall thee! And in love still prosper thou! Future Times shall happy, call thee! Though thou lie neglected now. Virtue's lovers shall command thee! And perpetual fame attend thee!

Happy are these woody mountains, In whose shadows, thou dost hide! And as happy, are those fountains By whose murmurs, thou dost 'bide! For Contents are here excelling, More than in a Prince's dwelling.

These, thy flocks do clothing bring thee! And thy food, out of the fields: Pretty songs, the birds do sing thee! Sweet perfumes the meadow yields: And what more is worth the seeing? Heaven and Earth, thy prospect being!

None comes hither, who denies thee Thy contentments, for despite; Neither any that envies thee, That wherein thou dost delight. But all happy things are meant thee! And whatever may content thee!

Thy Affection, Reason measures, And distempers none it feeds: Still so harmless are thy pleasures, That no other's grief it breeds. And if night beget thee sorrow; Seldom stays it till the morrow.

Why do foolish men so vainly Seek contentment in their store? Since they may perceive so plainly Thou art rich, in being poor! And that they are vexed about it; Whilst thou merry are without it!

Why are idle brains devising How high titles may be gained! Since, by those poor toys despising, Thou hast higher things obtained! For the man who scorns to crave them, Greater is than they that have them.

If all men could taste that sweetness Thou dost, in thy meanness, know! Kings would be to seek, where greatness And their honours to bestow. For it such content would breed them, As they would not think they need them.

And if those, who so aspiring To the Court preferments be, Knew how worthy the desiring Those things are, enjoyed by thee! Wealth and titles would, hereafter, Subjects be for scorn and laughter.

He that Courtly styles affected, Should a May-Lord's honour have; He that heaps of Wealth collected, Should be counted as a slave: And the man, with few'st things cumbered, With the noblest should be numbered.

Thou, their folly hast discerned; That neglect thy mind and thee! And to slight them, thou hast learned, Of what title e'er they be! That, no more with thee obtaineth; Than with them, thy meanness gaineth.

All their riches, honours, pleasures, Poor unworthy trifles seem; If comparèd with thy treasures! And do merit no esteem: For they, true contents provide thee, And from them, can none divide thee.

Whether thrallèd, or exilèd; Whether poor, or rich thou be! Whether praisèd, or revilèd; Not a rush it is to thee! This, nor that, thy rest doth win thee; But the Mind, which is within thee!

Then, O, why so madly dote we On those things that us o'erload? Why no more their vainness note we, But still make of them a god? For, alas, they still deceive us; And, in greatest need, they leave us!

Therefore have the Fates provided Well, thou happy Swain! for thee! That may'st here, so far divided From the world's distractions be! Thee, distemper let them never; But in peace continue ever!

In these lonely groves, enjoy thou That contentment here begun! And thy hours, so pleased, employ thou Till the latest glass be run! From a fortune so assured, By no temptings, be allured!

Much good do 't them, with their glories, Who, in Courts of Princes dwell! We have read in antique stories How some rose, and how they fell. And 'tis worthy well the heeding, "There's like end, where's like proceeding."

Be thou still, in thy affection, To thy noble Mistress, true! Let her never-matched perfection Be the same unto thy view! And let never other Beauty Make thee fail in love or duty!

For if thou shalt not estrangèd, From thy course professed, be; But remain, for aye, unchangèd, Nothing shall have power on thee! Those that slight thee now, shall love thee; And, in spite of spite, approve thee!

So those virtues now neglected; To be more esteemed, will come: Yea, those toys so much affected, Many shall be wooèd from. And the Golden Age, deplored, Shall, by some, be thought restored.

Thus sang the Nymph! so rarely-well inspired, That all the hearers, her brave Strains admired; And (as I heard by some that there attended) When this her Song was finished, all was ended.

A Postscript.

If any carp, for that my younger Times Brought forth such idle fruit, as these slight rhymes, It is no matter, so they do not swear That they so ill employed, never were. Whilst their Desires, perhaps, they looselier spent; I gave my heats of youth this better vent: And, oft, by writing thus, the blood have tamed, Which some, with reading wanton Lays enflamed. Nor care I, though their censure some have past, Because my Songs exceed the Fidler's Last: For do they think that I will make my Measures The longer, or the shorter, for their pleasures? Or maim, or curtalise my free Invention, Because Fools weary are, of their attention! No! Let them know, who do their length condemn; I Make to please myself, and not for them!

FOOTNOTES:

[10] Alresford Pool.

[11] Alresford, 7 miles N. of Winchester.

[12] Winchester.

[13] lawn.

A MISCELLANY

OF

EPIGRAMS, SONNETS, EPITAPHS, AND SUCH OTHER VERSES, AS WERE FOUND WRITTEN WITH THE POEM AFOREGOING.

Of the Invention of the Nine Muses.

The acts of Ages past doth CLIO write. The Tragedies', MELPOMENE's delight. THALIA is with Comedies contented. EUTERPE, first, the Shepherd's Pipe invented. TERPSICHORE doth Song and Lute apply. Dancing ERATO found Geometry. CALLIOPE on loving Verses dwells. The secrets of the stars, URANIA tells. POLYHYMNIA, with choice words, the speech doth trim And great APOLLO shares with all of them. Those thrice three Feminines, we Muses call; But that one Masculine is worth them all!

Of the Labours of HERCULES.

First, he the strong Nemæan lion slew; The many-headed Hydra, next, o'erthrew. The Erymanthian Boar he, thirdly, foils, Then of his golden horns, the Stag he spoils. The foul Stymphalian birds he, fifthly, frayed: Next, he, the Queen of Amazons o'erswayed. Then cleansed AUGIAS' stalls, with filth so full; And, eighthly, tamed the untamed Bull. He slew proud DIOMEDES with his horses. From triple GERION, his rich beard he forces. He slew the Dragon for the fruit of gold: And made black CERBERUS the day behold.

Being left by a Gentleman in his dining-room, where was nothing but a Map of England to entertain him; he thus turned it into Verse.

Fair England, in the bosom of the seas, Amid her two and fifty Provinces, Sits like a glorious Empress, whose rich throne Great Nymphs of Honour come to wait upon. First, in the height of bravery, appears Kent, East and South and Middle Saxon Shires; Next Surrey, Berkshire and Southampton get, With Dorset, Wilton, and rich Somerset. Then Devon, with the Cornish promontory, Glou'ster and Worc'ster, fair Sabrina's glory! Then Salop, Suffolk, Norfolk large and fair: Oxford and Cambridge, that thrice learned pair! Then Lincoln, Derby, Yorkshire, Nottingham, Northampton, Warwick, Stafford, Buckingham, Chester and Lancaster with herds well stored, Huntington, Hertford, Rutland, Hereford. Then Princely Durham, Bedford, Leic'ster and Northumber-, Cumber-, and cold Westmoreland. Brave English Shires! With whom, loved equally, Welsh Monmouth, Radnor, and Montgomery Add all the glory, to her train, they can: So doth Glamorgan, Brecknock, Cardigan, Carnarvon, Denbigh, Merionethshire, With Anglesea, which o'er the sea doth rear Her lofty head. And the first, though last, Flint, Pembroke, and Caermarthen might be placed. For all of these, unto their power, maintain Their mistress, England, with a royal train. Yea, for Supporters, at each hand hath she, The Wight and Man, that two brave islands be.

From these, I, to the Scottish Nymphs had journeyed; But that my friend was back again returned: Who having kindly brought me to his home, Alone did leave me in his dining-room; Where I was fain (and glad I had the hap!) To beg an entertainment of his Map.

An Epitaph upon the right virtuous Lady, the Lady SCOTT.

Let none suppose this relic of the Just Was here wrapped up, to perish in the dust! No, like best fruits, her time she fully stood, Then, being grown in Faith, and ripe in Good (With stedfast hope that She, another day, Should rise with CHRIST), with Death, here down she lay. And, that each part which Her in life had graced, Preserved might be, and meet again at last; The Poor, the World, the Heavens, and the Grave, Her Alms, her Praise, her Soul, her Body have.

An Epitaph upon a Woman and her Child buried together in the same Grave.

Beneath this marble stone doth lie The subject of Death's tyranny; A Mother, who, in this close tomb, Sleeps with the issue of her womb. Though cruelly inclined was He. And, with the Fruit, shook down the Tree; Yet was his cruelty in vain! For Tree and Fruit shall spring again.

A Christmas Carol.

So, now, is come our joyful'st feast; Let every man be jolly! Each room with ivy leaves is drest; And every post, with holly. Though some churls at our mirth repine; Round your foreheads, garlands twine! Drown sorrow in a cup of wine; And let us all be merry!

Now, all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, And Christmas blocks be burning; Their ovens, they with baked meats choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door, let sorrow lie! And if, for cold, it hap to die; We'll bury it in a Christmas pie, And evermore be merry!

Now, every lad is wondrous trim, And no man minds his labour; Our lasses have provided them, A bagpipe and a tabor. Young men and maids, and girls and boys, Give life to one another's joys; And you, anon, shall by the noise, Perceive that they are merry.

Ranking misers, now, do sparing shun; Their Hall, of music soundeth! And dogs thence, with whole shoulders run; So all things there aboundeth. The country folk themselves advance; For Crowdy-Mutton_'s come out of France!_ And JACK shall pipe, and JILL shall dance, And all the town be merry.

NED SWASH hath fetched his Bands from pawn, And all his best apparel; Brisk NELL hath bought a Ruff of Lawn With droppings of the barrel: And those that hardly, all the year, Had bread to eat, or rags to wear, Will have both clothes and dainty fare; And all the day be merry.

Now poor men, to the Justices, With capons make their arrants: And if they hap to fail of these, They plague them with their warrants. But, now, they feed them with good cheer, And what they want, they take in beer; For Christmas comes but once a year! And then they shall be merry.

Good farmers in the country, nurse The poor that else were undone; Some landlords spend their money worse On lust and pride in London. There, the roist'rers they play: Drab and Dice their lands away; Which may be ours, another day, And therefore let's be merry!

The client now his suit forbears, The prisoner's heart is eased. The debtor drinks away his cares, And, for the time, is pleased. Though others' purses be more fat; Why should we pine, or grieve thereat? Hang Sorrow! Care will kill a cat! And therefore let's be merry!

Hark, how the wags abroad do call Each other forth to rambling! Anon, you'll see them in the Hall, For nuts and apples sc[r]ambling. Hark, how the roofs with laughter sound! Anon, they'll think the house goes round; For they, the cellar's depth have found, And, there, they will be merry.

The wenches, with their wassail bowls, About the streets are singing; The boys are come to catch the owls; The Wild Mare in is bringing: Our kitchen boy hath broke his box; And to the dealing of an ox, Our honest neighbours come by flocks; And, here, they will be merry.

Now Kings and Queens, poor sheepcots have, And mate with everybody; The honest, now, may play the Knave And wise men play at Noddy. Some youths will now a Mumming go, Some others play at Rowland-hoe, And twenty other gameboys moe Because they will be merry.

Then, wherefore, in these merry days Should we, I pray! be duller? No! let us sing some Roundelays To make our mirth the fuller! And whil'st, thus inspired, we sing; Let all the streets with echoes ring! Woods and Hills, and everything, Bear witness we are merry!

An Epitaph upon the Porter of a Prison.

Here lie the bones of him, that was, of late, A churlish Porter of a Prison gate! Death, many an evening, at his lodging knocked; But could not take him, for the door was locked! Yet, at a tavern, late one night, he found him; And getting him into the cellar, drowned him. On which the world (that still the worst is thinking) Reports abroad that "He was killed with drinking!" Yet let no Prisoner, whether thief or debtor, Rejoice, as if his fortune were the better! Their sorrow's likely to be ne'er the shorter! The Warden lives! though Death hath took the Porter.

A Sonnet upon a Stolen Kiss.

Now gentle sleep hath closèd up those eyes, Which waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe; And free access unto that sweet lip lies, From whence I long, the rosy breath to draw. Methinks, no wrong it were, if I should steal From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss! None sees the theft, that would the theft reveal! Nor rob I her, of ought which she can miss! Nay, should I twenty kisses take away, There would be little sign I had done so! Why then should I, this robbery delay? O, she may wake! and therewith angry grow! Well, if she do: I'll back restore that one; And twenty hundred thousand more for loan!

An Epitaph upon ABRAHAM GOODFELLOW, a common Alehouse hunter.

Beware, thou look not who hereunder lies! Unless thou long to weep away thine eyes. This man, as sorrowful report doth tell us, Was, when he lived, the Prince of all Good Fellows. That day he died, it cannot be believed How, out of reason, all the Alewives grieved. And what abominable lamentation They made at Black Boy, and at Salutation. They howled and cried, and, ever more, among, This was the burden of their woful Song. Well, go thy ways! thy like hath never been! Nor shall thy match again be ever seen! For, out of doubt, now thou art dead and gone, There's many a Taphouse will be quite undone! And Death, by taking thee, did them more scath Than yet, the Alehouse Project done them hath. Lo, such a one but yesterday, was he; But now, he much is altered, you do see! Since he came hither, he hath left his riot; Yea, changed both his company and his diet; And, now, so civil lies, that, to your thinking, He neither for an Alehouse cares, nor drinking.

An Epitaph upon a Gentlewoman who had foretold the time of her death.

Her, who, beneath this stone, consuming lies, For many virtues, we might memorise; But, most of all, the praise deserveth she In making of her words and deeds agree. For she so truly kept the word she spake; As that with Death, she promise would not break. "I shall," quoth she, "be dead, before the mid Of such a month!" And, as she said, she did.

An Epitaph on a Child, son to Sir W. H. KNIGHT.

Here lies, within a cabinet of stone, The dear remainder of a Pretty One. Who did in wit, his years so far out-pass; His parents' wonder, and their joy he was: And by his face, you might have deemèd him To be on earth, some heavenly Cherubim. Six years with life he laboured; then deceast To keep the Sabbath of eternal rest: So that, which many thousand able men Are labouring for till threescore years and ten; This blessed child attainèd to, ere seven: And, now, enjoys it with the saints of heaven.

A Song.

Now, Young Man! Thy days and thy glories appear Like sunshine and blossoms in Spring of the year; Thy vigour of body, thy spirits, thy wit, Are perfect, and sound, and untroubled yet. Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

Mispend not a morning, so excellent clear! Never, for ever, was happiness here! Thy noontide of life hath but little delight; And sorrows on sorrows will follow at night! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

That Strength, and those beauties that grace thee to-day; To-morrow may perish, and vanish away! Thy Wealth, or thy Pleasures, or Friends that now be, May waste, or deceive, or be traitors to thee! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

Thy joints are yet nimble, thy sinews unslack! And marrow, unwasted, doth strengthen thy back! Thy Youth from diseases, preserveth the brain; And blood, with free passage, plumps every vein! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

But, trust me! it will not for ever be so! Those Arms, that are mighty, shall feebler grow! And those Legs, so proudly supporting thee now, With age, or diseases will stagger and bow! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

Then all those rare Features, now graceful in thee, Shall, ploughed with Time's furrows, quite ruinèd be! And they who admired and loved thee so much, Shall loathe, or forget thou hadst ever been such! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

Those tresses of Hair, which thy youth do adorn, Will look like the meads in a winterly morn; And where red and white intermixed did grow, Dull paleness, a deadly Complexion will show! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

That Forehead imperious, whereon we now view A smoothness and whiteness, enamelled with blue, Will lose that perfection, which youth now maintains; And change it for hollowness, wrinkles, and stains! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

Those Ears, thou with music didst oft entertain, And charm with so many a delicate strain; May miss of those pleasures wherewith they are fed, And never hear Song more, when youth is once fled! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

Those Eyes, which so many, so much did admire, And with strange affections set thousands on fire; Shut up in that darkness which Age will constrain, Shall never see mortal, no, never again! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

Those Lips, whereon Beauty so fully discloses The colour and sweetness of rubies and roses; Instead of that hue, will ghastliness wear: And none shall believe what perfection was there! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

Thy Teeth, that stood firmly, like pearls in a row, Shall rotten, and scattered, disorderly grow! Thy Mouth, whose proportion, earth's wonder was thought; Shall robbed of that sweetness, be prizèd at nought. Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

That Gait and those Gestures, that win thee such grace, Will turn to a feeble and staggering pace; And thou, that o'er mountains ran'st nimbly to-day; Shall stumble at every rub in the way! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

By these imperfections, Old Age will prevail. Thy marrow, thy sinews, and spirits will fail! And nothing is left thee, when those are once spent, To give, or thyself, or another content! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

Those Fancies that lull thee with Dreams of Delight, Will trouble thy quiet, the comfortless night! And thou that now sleepest thy troubles away; Shalt hear how each cockerel gives warning of day! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

Then Thou, that art yet to thousands so dear, Of all, shalt despised or neglected appear! Which, when thou perceiv'st, though now pleasant it be, Thy life will be grievous and loathsome to thee! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

That Lust, which thy youth can so hardly forego, Will leave thee! and leave thee Repentance and Woe! And then, in thy folly no joy thou canst have; Nor hope other rest than a comfortless grave! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

For next, shall thy Breath be quite taken away; Thy Flesh turned to dust, and that dust turned to clay! And those, thou hast lovèd, and shared of thy store; Shall leave thee, forget thee, and mind thee no more! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!