THECombat, betweeneConscience and Couetousnesse,in the minde of Man.

THECombat, betweeneConscience and Couetousnesse,in the minde of Man.quid non mortalia pectora cogisAuri sacra fames?Virgil.LONDON,Printed by G. S. for Iohn Iaggard, and areto be solde at his shoppe neere Temple-barre,at the Signe of the Hand and starre.1 5 9 8.

quid non mortalia pectora cogisAuri sacra fames?Virgil.

quid non mortalia pectora cogis

Auri sacra fames?Virgil.

LONDON,Printed by G. S. for Iohn Iaggard, and areto be solde at his shoppe neere Temple-barre,at the Signe of the Hand and starre.1 5 9 8.

SIth Conscience (long since) is exilde the Citty,O let her in the Countrey, finde some Pitty.But if she be exilde, the Countrey too,O let her finde, some fauour yet of you.

Ith Conscience (long since) is exilde the Citty,

O let her in the Countrey, finde some Pitty.

But if she be exilde, the Countrey too,

O let her finde, some fauour yet of you.

NOw had the cole-blacke steedes, of pitchie Night,(Breathing out Darknesse) banisht cheerfull Light,And sleepe (the shaddowe of eternall rest)My seuerall senses, wholy had possest.When loe, there was presented to my view,A vision strange, yet not so strange, as true.Conscience(me thought) appeared vnto mee,Cloth'd with good Deedes, with Trueth and Honestie,Her countinance demure, and sober sad,Nor any other Ornament shee had.ThenCouetousnessedid incounter her,Clad in a Cassock, lyke a Vsurer,The Cassock, it was made of poore-mens skinnes,Lac'd here and there, with many seuerall sinnes:Nor was it furd, with any common furre;Or if it were, himselfe hee was thefur.A Bag of money, in his hande he helde,The which with hungry eie, he still behelde.The place wherein this vision first began,(A spacious plaine) was caldThe Minde of Man.The Carle no sooner,Consciencehad espyde,But swelling lyke a Toade, (puft vp with pryde)He straight began against her to inuey:These were the wordes, whichCouetisedid sey.Conscience(quoth hee) how dar'st thou bee so bold,To claime the place, that I by right doe hold?Neither by right, nor might, thou canst obtaine it:By might (thou knowst full well) thou canst not gaine it.The greatest Princes are my followars,The King in Peace, the Captaine in the Warres:The Courtier, and the simple Countrey-man:The Iudge, the Merchant, and the Gentleman:The learned Lawyer, and the Politician:The skilfull Surgeon, and the fine Physician:In briefe, all sortes of men mee entertaine,And hold mee, as their Soules sole Soueraigne,And in my quarrell, they will fight and die,Rather then I should suffer iniurie.And as for title, interest, and right,Ile proue its mine by that, as well as might,ThoughCouetousnesse, were vsed long before,YetIudasTreason, made my Fame the more;WhenChristhe caused, crucifyde to bee,For thirtie pence, man solde his minde to mee:And now adaies, what tenure is more free,Than that which purchas'd is, with Gold and fee?Conscience.With patience, haue I heard thy large Complaint,Wherein the Diuell, would be thought a Saint:But wot ye what, the Saying is of olde?One tale is good, vntill anothers tolde.Truth is the right, that I must stand vpon,(For other title, hath pooreConsciencenone)First I will proue it, by Antiquitie,That thou art but an vp-start, vnto mee;Before that thou wast euer thought vpon,The minde of Man, belongd to mee alone.For after that the Lord, hath Man created,And him in blisse-full Paradice had seated;(Knowing his Nature was to vice inclynde)God gaue me vnto man, to rule his mynde,And as it were, his Gouernour to bee,To guide his minde, in Trueth, and Honestie.And where thou sayst, that man did sell his soule;That Argument, I quicklie can controule:It is a fayned fable, thou doost tell,That, which is not his owne, he cannot sell;No man can sell his soule, altho he thought it:Mans soule isChrists, for hee hath dearely bought it.Therefore vsurpingCouetise, be gone.For why, the minde belongs to mee alone.Couetousnesse.Alas pooreConscience, how thou art deceav'd?As though of senses, thou wert quite bereaud.What wilt thou say (that thinkst thou canst not erre)If I can proue my selfe the ancienter?Though intoAdamsminde, God did infuse thee,Before his fall, yet man did neuer vse thee.What was it else, butAuriceinEue,(Thinking thereby, in greater Blisse to liue)That made her taste, of the forbidden fruite?Of her Desier, was not I the roote?Did she not couet? (tempted by the Deuill)The Apple of the Tree, of good and euill?Before man vsedConscience, she did couet:Therefore by her Transgression, here I proue it,ThatCouetousnessepossest the minde of man,Before that anyConsciencebegan.Conscience.Euen as a counterfeited precious stone,Seemes to bee far more rich, to looke vpon,Then doeth the right: But when a man comes neere,His baseness then, doeth euident appeere:SoCouetise, the Reasons thou doost tell,Seeme to be strong, but being weighed well,They are indeed, but onely meere Illusions,And doe inforce but very weake Conclusions.When as the Lord (fore-knowing his offence)Had giuen man a Charge, of Abstinence,And to refraine, the fruite of good and ill:Man had aConscience, to obey his will,And neuer would be tempted thereunto,Vntill the Woeman, shee, did workeman woe.And make him breake, the Lords Commaundement,Which all Mankinde, did afterward repent:So that thou seest, thy Argument is vaine,And I am prov'd, the elder of the twaine.Couetousnesse.Fond Wretch, it was notConscience, but feare,That made the first man (Adam) to forbeareTo tast the fruite, of the forbidden Tree,Lest, if offending hee were found to bee,(According asIehouahsaide on hye,For his so great Transgression, hee should dye.)Feare curbd his minde, it was notConsciencethen,(ForConsciencefreely, rules the harts of men)And is a godly motion of the mynde,To euerie vertuous action inclynde,And not enforc'd, through feare of Punishment,But is to vertue, voluntary bent:Then (simple Trul) be packing presentlie,For in this place, there is no roome for thee.Conscience.Aye mee (distressed Wight) what shall I doe?Where shall I rest? Or whither shall I goe?Vnto the rich? (woes mee) they, doe abhor me:Vnto the poore? (alas) they, care not for me:Vnto the Olde-man? hee; hath mee forgot:Vnto the Young-man? yet hee, knowes me not:Vnto the Prince? hee; can dispence with me:Vnto the Magistrate? that, may not bee:Vnto the Court? for it, I am too base:Vnto the Countrey? there, I haue no place:Vnto the Citty? thence; I am exilde:Vnto the Village? there; I am reuilde:Vnto the Barre? the Lawyer there, is bribed?Vnto the Warre? there,Conscienceis derided:Vnto the Temple? there, I am disguised:Vnto the Market? there, I am dispised:Thus both the young and olde, the rich and poore,Against mee (silly Creature) shut their doore.Then, sith each one seekes my rebuke and shame,Ile goe againe to Heauen (from whence I came.)This saide (me thought) making exceeding mone,She went her way, and left the Carle alone,Who vaunting of his late-got victorie,Aduanc'd himselfe in pompe and Maiestie:Much like a Cocke, who hauing kild his foe,Brisks vp himselfe, and then begins to crow.SoCouetise, whenConsciencewas departed,Gan to be proud in minde, and hauty harted:And in a stately Chayre of state he set him,(ForConsciencebanisht) there are none to let him.And being but one entrie, to this Plaine,(Whereof as king and Lord, he did remaine)Repentancecald, he causd that to be kept,LestConscienceshould returne, whilst as he slept:Wherefore he causd it, to be watcht and wardedBoth night and Day, and to be strongly guarded:To keepe it safe, these three he did intreat,Hardnesse of hart, withFalshoodandDeceat:And if at any time, she chaunc'd to venter,Hardnesse of hart, denide her still to enter.WhenConsciencewas exilde the minde of Man,ThenCouetise, his gouernment began.This once being seene, what I had seene before,(Being onely seene in sleepe) was seene no more;For with the sorrowe, which my Soule did takeAt sight hereof, foorthwith I did awake.

Ow had the cole-blacke steedes, of pitchie Night,

(Breathing out Darknesse) banisht cheerfull Light,

And sleepe (the shaddowe of eternall rest)

My seuerall senses, wholy had possest.

When loe, there was presented to my view,

A vision strange, yet not so strange, as true.

Conscience(me thought) appeared vnto mee,

Cloth'd with good Deedes, with Trueth and Honestie,

Her countinance demure, and sober sad,

Nor any other Ornament shee had.

ThenCouetousnessedid incounter her,

Clad in a Cassock, lyke a Vsurer,

The Cassock, it was made of poore-mens skinnes,

Lac'd here and there, with many seuerall sinnes:

Nor was it furd, with any common furre;

Or if it were, himselfe hee was thefur.

A Bag of money, in his hande he helde,

The which with hungry eie, he still behelde.

The place wherein this vision first began,

(A spacious plaine) was caldThe Minde of Man.

The Carle no sooner,Consciencehad espyde,

But swelling lyke a Toade, (puft vp with pryde)

He straight began against her to inuey:

These were the wordes, whichCouetisedid sey.

Conscience(quoth hee) how dar'st thou bee so bold,

To claime the place, that I by right doe hold?

Neither by right, nor might, thou canst obtaine it:

By might (thou knowst full well) thou canst not gaine it.

The greatest Princes are my followars,

The King in Peace, the Captaine in the Warres:

The Courtier, and the simple Countrey-man:

The Iudge, the Merchant, and the Gentleman:

The learned Lawyer, and the Politician:

The skilfull Surgeon, and the fine Physician:

In briefe, all sortes of men mee entertaine,

And hold mee, as their Soules sole Soueraigne,

And in my quarrell, they will fight and die,

Rather then I should suffer iniurie.

And as for title, interest, and right,

Ile proue its mine by that, as well as might,

ThoughCouetousnesse, were vsed long before,

YetIudasTreason, made my Fame the more;

WhenChristhe caused, crucifyde to bee,

For thirtie pence, man solde his minde to mee:

And now adaies, what tenure is more free,

Than that which purchas'd is, with Gold and fee?

Conscience.

With patience, haue I heard thy large Complaint,Wherein the Diuell, would be thought a Saint:But wot ye what, the Saying is of olde?One tale is good, vntill anothers tolde.Truth is the right, that I must stand vpon,(For other title, hath pooreConsciencenone)First I will proue it, by Antiquitie,That thou art but an vp-start, vnto mee;Before that thou wast euer thought vpon,The minde of Man, belongd to mee alone.For after that the Lord, hath Man created,And him in blisse-full Paradice had seated;(Knowing his Nature was to vice inclynde)God gaue me vnto man, to rule his mynde,And as it were, his Gouernour to bee,To guide his minde, in Trueth, and Honestie.And where thou sayst, that man did sell his soule;That Argument, I quicklie can controule:It is a fayned fable, thou doost tell,That, which is not his owne, he cannot sell;No man can sell his soule, altho he thought it:Mans soule isChrists, for hee hath dearely bought it.Therefore vsurpingCouetise, be gone.For why, the minde belongs to mee alone.

With patience, haue I heard thy large Complaint,

Wherein the Diuell, would be thought a Saint:

But wot ye what, the Saying is of olde?

One tale is good, vntill anothers tolde.

Truth is the right, that I must stand vpon,

(For other title, hath pooreConsciencenone)

First I will proue it, by Antiquitie,

That thou art but an vp-start, vnto mee;

Before that thou wast euer thought vpon,

The minde of Man, belongd to mee alone.

For after that the Lord, hath Man created,

And him in blisse-full Paradice had seated;

(Knowing his Nature was to vice inclynde)

God gaue me vnto man, to rule his mynde,

And as it were, his Gouernour to bee,

To guide his minde, in Trueth, and Honestie.

And where thou sayst, that man did sell his soule;

That Argument, I quicklie can controule:

It is a fayned fable, thou doost tell,

That, which is not his owne, he cannot sell;

No man can sell his soule, altho he thought it:

Mans soule isChrists, for hee hath dearely bought it.

Therefore vsurpingCouetise, be gone.

For why, the minde belongs to mee alone.

Couetousnesse.

Alas pooreConscience, how thou art deceav'd?As though of senses, thou wert quite bereaud.What wilt thou say (that thinkst thou canst not erre)If I can proue my selfe the ancienter?Though intoAdamsminde, God did infuse thee,Before his fall, yet man did neuer vse thee.What was it else, butAuriceinEue,(Thinking thereby, in greater Blisse to liue)That made her taste, of the forbidden fruite?Of her Desier, was not I the roote?Did she not couet? (tempted by the Deuill)The Apple of the Tree, of good and euill?Before man vsedConscience, she did couet:Therefore by her Transgression, here I proue it,ThatCouetousnessepossest the minde of man,Before that anyConsciencebegan.

Alas pooreConscience, how thou art deceav'd?

As though of senses, thou wert quite bereaud.

What wilt thou say (that thinkst thou canst not erre)

If I can proue my selfe the ancienter?

Though intoAdamsminde, God did infuse thee,

Before his fall, yet man did neuer vse thee.

What was it else, butAuriceinEue,

(Thinking thereby, in greater Blisse to liue)

That made her taste, of the forbidden fruite?

Of her Desier, was not I the roote?

Did she not couet? (tempted by the Deuill)

The Apple of the Tree, of good and euill?

Before man vsedConscience, she did couet:

Therefore by her Transgression, here I proue it,

ThatCouetousnessepossest the minde of man,

Before that anyConsciencebegan.

Conscience.

Euen as a counterfeited precious stone,Seemes to bee far more rich, to looke vpon,Then doeth the right: But when a man comes neere,His baseness then, doeth euident appeere:SoCouetise, the Reasons thou doost tell,Seeme to be strong, but being weighed well,They are indeed, but onely meere Illusions,And doe inforce but very weake Conclusions.When as the Lord (fore-knowing his offence)Had giuen man a Charge, of Abstinence,And to refraine, the fruite of good and ill:Man had aConscience, to obey his will,And neuer would be tempted thereunto,Vntill the Woeman, shee, did workeman woe.And make him breake, the Lords Commaundement,Which all Mankinde, did afterward repent:So that thou seest, thy Argument is vaine,And I am prov'd, the elder of the twaine.

Euen as a counterfeited precious stone,

Seemes to bee far more rich, to looke vpon,

Then doeth the right: But when a man comes neere,

His baseness then, doeth euident appeere:

SoCouetise, the Reasons thou doost tell,

Seeme to be strong, but being weighed well,

They are indeed, but onely meere Illusions,

And doe inforce but very weake Conclusions.

When as the Lord (fore-knowing his offence)

Had giuen man a Charge, of Abstinence,

And to refraine, the fruite of good and ill:

Man had aConscience, to obey his will,

And neuer would be tempted thereunto,

Vntill the Woeman, shee, did workeman woe.

And make him breake, the Lords Commaundement,

Which all Mankinde, did afterward repent:

So that thou seest, thy Argument is vaine,

And I am prov'd, the elder of the twaine.

Couetousnesse.

Fond Wretch, it was notConscience, but feare,That made the first man (Adam) to forbeareTo tast the fruite, of the forbidden Tree,Lest, if offending hee were found to bee,(According asIehouahsaide on hye,For his so great Transgression, hee should dye.)Feare curbd his minde, it was notConsciencethen,(ForConsciencefreely, rules the harts of men)And is a godly motion of the mynde,To euerie vertuous action inclynde,And not enforc'd, through feare of Punishment,But is to vertue, voluntary bent:Then (simple Trul) be packing presentlie,For in this place, there is no roome for thee.

Fond Wretch, it was notConscience, but feare,

That made the first man (Adam) to forbeare

To tast the fruite, of the forbidden Tree,

Lest, if offending hee were found to bee,

(According asIehouahsaide on hye,

For his so great Transgression, hee should dye.)

Feare curbd his minde, it was notConsciencethen,

(ForConsciencefreely, rules the harts of men)

And is a godly motion of the mynde,

To euerie vertuous action inclynde,

And not enforc'd, through feare of Punishment,

But is to vertue, voluntary bent:

Then (simple Trul) be packing presentlie,

For in this place, there is no roome for thee.

Conscience.

Aye mee (distressed Wight) what shall I doe?Where shall I rest? Or whither shall I goe?Vnto the rich? (woes mee) they, doe abhor me:Vnto the poore? (alas) they, care not for me:Vnto the Olde-man? hee; hath mee forgot:Vnto the Young-man? yet hee, knowes me not:Vnto the Prince? hee; can dispence with me:Vnto the Magistrate? that, may not bee:Vnto the Court? for it, I am too base:Vnto the Countrey? there, I haue no place:Vnto the Citty? thence; I am exilde:Vnto the Village? there; I am reuilde:Vnto the Barre? the Lawyer there, is bribed?Vnto the Warre? there,Conscienceis derided:Vnto the Temple? there, I am disguised:Vnto the Market? there, I am dispised:Thus both the young and olde, the rich and poore,Against mee (silly Creature) shut their doore.Then, sith each one seekes my rebuke and shame,Ile goe againe to Heauen (from whence I came.)This saide (me thought) making exceeding mone,She went her way, and left the Carle alone,Who vaunting of his late-got victorie,Aduanc'd himselfe in pompe and Maiestie:Much like a Cocke, who hauing kild his foe,Brisks vp himselfe, and then begins to crow.SoCouetise, whenConsciencewas departed,Gan to be proud in minde, and hauty harted:And in a stately Chayre of state he set him,(ForConsciencebanisht) there are none to let him.And being but one entrie, to this Plaine,(Whereof as king and Lord, he did remaine)Repentancecald, he causd that to be kept,LestConscienceshould returne, whilst as he slept:Wherefore he causd it, to be watcht and wardedBoth night and Day, and to be strongly guarded:To keepe it safe, these three he did intreat,Hardnesse of hart, withFalshoodandDeceat:And if at any time, she chaunc'd to venter,Hardnesse of hart, denide her still to enter.WhenConsciencewas exilde the minde of Man,ThenCouetise, his gouernment began.This once being seene, what I had seene before,(Being onely seene in sleepe) was seene no more;For with the sorrowe, which my Soule did takeAt sight hereof, foorthwith I did awake.

Aye mee (distressed Wight) what shall I doe?

Where shall I rest? Or whither shall I goe?

Vnto the rich? (woes mee) they, doe abhor me:

Vnto the poore? (alas) they, care not for me:

Vnto the Olde-man? hee; hath mee forgot:

Vnto the Young-man? yet hee, knowes me not:

Vnto the Prince? hee; can dispence with me:

Vnto the Magistrate? that, may not bee:

Vnto the Court? for it, I am too base:

Vnto the Countrey? there, I haue no place:

Vnto the Citty? thence; I am exilde:

Vnto the Village? there; I am reuilde:

Vnto the Barre? the Lawyer there, is bribed?

Vnto the Warre? there,Conscienceis derided:

Vnto the Temple? there, I am disguised:

Vnto the Market? there, I am dispised:

Thus both the young and olde, the rich and poore,

Against mee (silly Creature) shut their doore.

Then, sith each one seekes my rebuke and shame,

Ile goe againe to Heauen (from whence I came.)

This saide (me thought) making exceeding mone,

She went her way, and left the Carle alone,

Who vaunting of his late-got victorie,

Aduanc'd himselfe in pompe and Maiestie:

Much like a Cocke, who hauing kild his foe,

Brisks vp himselfe, and then begins to crow.

SoCouetise, whenConsciencewas departed,

Gan to be proud in minde, and hauty harted:

And in a stately Chayre of state he set him,

(ForConsciencebanisht) there are none to let him.

And being but one entrie, to this Plaine,

(Whereof as king and Lord, he did remaine)

Repentancecald, he causd that to be kept,

LestConscienceshould returne, whilst as he slept:

Wherefore he causd it, to be watcht and warded

Both night and Day, and to be strongly guarded:

To keepe it safe, these three he did intreat,

Hardnesse of hart, withFalshoodandDeceat:

And if at any time, she chaunc'd to venter,

Hardnesse of hart, denide her still to enter.

WhenConsciencewas exilde the minde of Man,

ThenCouetise, his gouernment began.

This once being seene, what I had seene before,

(Being onely seene in sleepe) was seene no more;

For with the sorrowe, which my Soule did take

At sight hereof, foorthwith I did awake.

FINIS.

Poems:In diuers humors.Trahit sua quemque voluptas.Virgil.LONDON,Printed by G. S. for Iohn Iaggard, and areto be solde at his shoppe neere Temple-barre,at the Signe of the Hand and starre.1 5 9 8.

Trahit sua quemque voluptas.Virgil.

LONDON,Printed by G. S. for Iohn Iaggard, and areto be solde at his shoppe neere Temple-barre,at the Signe of the Hand and starre.1 5 9 8.

TO you, that know the tuch of true Conceat;(Whose many gifts I neede not to repeat)I vvrite these Lines; fruits of vnriper yeares;Wherein my Muse no harder censure feares:Hoping in gentle Worth, you will them take;Not for the gift, but for the giuers sake.

O you, that know the tuch of true Conceat;

(Whose many gifts I neede not to repeat)

I vvrite these Lines; fruits of vnriper yeares;

Wherein my Muse no harder censure feares:

Hoping in gentle Worth, you will them take;

Not for the gift, but for the giuers sake.

To his friend Maister R. L. In praise ofMusique and Poetrie.

TF Musique and sweet Poetrie agree,As they must needes (the Sister and the Brother)Then must the Loue be great, twixt thee and mee,Because thou lou'st the one, and I the other.Dowlandto thee is deare; whose heauenly tuchVpon the Lute, doeth rauish humaine sense:Spenserto mee; whose deepe Conceit is such,As passing all Conceit, needs no defence.Thou lou'st to heare the sweete melodious sound,ThatPhœbusLute (the Queene of Musique) makes:And I in deepe Delight am chiefly drownd,When as himselfe to singing he betakes.One God is God of Both (as Poets faigne)One Knight loues Both, and Both in thee remaine.

F Musique and sweet Poetrie agree,

As they must needes (the Sister and the Brother)

Then must the Loue be great, twixt thee and mee,

Because thou lou'st the one, and I the other.

Dowlandto thee is deare; whose heauenly tuch

Vpon the Lute, doeth rauish humaine sense:

Spenserto mee; whose deepe Conceit is such,

As passing all Conceit, needs no defence.

Thou lou'st to heare the sweete melodious sound,

ThatPhœbusLute (the Queene of Musique) makes:

And I in deepe Delight am chiefly drownd,

When as himselfe to singing he betakes.

One God is God of Both (as Poets faigne)

One Knight loues Both, and Both in thee remaine.

THauceris dead; andGowerlyes in grave;The Earle ofSurrey, long agoe is gone;SirPhilip Sidneissoule, the Heauens haue;George Gascoignehim beforne, was tomb'd in stone,Yet, tho their Bodies lye full low in ground,(As euery thing must dye, that earst was borne)Their liuing fame, no Fortune can confound;Nor euer shall their Labours be forlorne.And you, that discommend sweete Poetrie,(So that the Subiect of the same be good)Here may you see, your fond simplicitie;Sith Kings haue fauord it, of royall Blood.The King ofScots(now liuing) is a Poet,As hisLepanto, and hisFuriesshoe it.

Hauceris dead; andGowerlyes in grave;

The Earle ofSurrey, long agoe is gone;

SirPhilip Sidneissoule, the Heauens haue;

George Gascoignehim beforne, was tomb'd in stone,

Yet, tho their Bodies lye full low in ground,

(As euery thing must dye, that earst was borne)

Their liuing fame, no Fortune can confound;

Nor euer shall their Labours be forlorne.

And you, that discommend sweete Poetrie,

(So that the Subiect of the same be good)

Here may you see, your fond simplicitie;

Sith Kings haue fauord it, of royall Blood.

The King ofScots(now liuing) is a Poet,

As hisLepanto, and hisFuriesshoe it.

TIueSpensereuer, in thyFairy Queene:Whose like (for deepe Conceit) was neuer seene.Crownd mayst thou bee, vnto thy more renowne,(As King of Poets) with a Lawrell Crowne.AndDaniell, praised for thy sweet-chast Verse:Whose Fame is grav'd onRosamondsblacke Herse.Still mayst thou liue: and still be honored,For that rare Worke,The White Rose and the Red.AndDrayton, whose wel-written Tragedies,And sweete Epistles, soare thy fame to skies.Thy learned Name, is æquall with the rest;Whose stately Numbers are so well addrest.AndShakespearethou, whose hony-flowing Vaine,(Pleasing the World) thy Praises doth obtaine.WhoseVenus, and whoseLucrece(sweete, and chaste)Thy Name in fames immortall Booke haue plac't.Liue euer you, at least in Fame liue euer:Well may the Bodye dye, but Fame dies neuer.

TIueSpensereuer, in thyFairy Queene:Whose like (for deepe Conceit) was neuer seene.Crownd mayst thou bee, vnto thy more renowne,(As King of Poets) with a Lawrell Crowne.

IueSpensereuer, in thyFairy Queene:

Whose like (for deepe Conceit) was neuer seene.

Crownd mayst thou bee, vnto thy more renowne,

(As King of Poets) with a Lawrell Crowne.

AndDaniell, praised for thy sweet-chast Verse:Whose Fame is grav'd onRosamondsblacke Herse.Still mayst thou liue: and still be honored,For that rare Worke,The White Rose and the Red.

AndDaniell, praised for thy sweet-chast Verse:

Whose Fame is grav'd onRosamondsblacke Herse.

Still mayst thou liue: and still be honored,

For that rare Worke,The White Rose and the Red.

AndDrayton, whose wel-written Tragedies,And sweete Epistles, soare thy fame to skies.Thy learned Name, is æquall with the rest;Whose stately Numbers are so well addrest.

AndDrayton, whose wel-written Tragedies,

And sweete Epistles, soare thy fame to skies.

Thy learned Name, is æquall with the rest;

Whose stately Numbers are so well addrest.

AndShakespearethou, whose hony-flowing Vaine,(Pleasing the World) thy Praises doth obtaine.WhoseVenus, and whoseLucrece(sweete, and chaste)Thy Name in fames immortall Booke haue plac't.Liue euer you, at least in Fame liue euer:Well may the Bodye dye, but Fame dies neuer.

AndShakespearethou, whose hony-flowing Vaine,

(Pleasing the World) thy Praises doth obtaine.

WhoseVenus, and whoseLucrece(sweete, and chaste)

Thy Name in fames immortall Booke haue plac't.

Liue euer you, at least in Fame liue euer:

Well may the Bodye dye, but Fame dies neuer.

TS it fell vpon a Day,In the merrie Month of May,Sitting in a pleasant shade,Which a groue of Myrtles made,Beastes did leape, and Birds did sing,Trees did grow, and Plants did spring:Euery thing did banish mone,Saue the Nightingale alone.Shee (poore Bird) as all forlorne,Leand her Breast vp-till a Thorne,And there sung the dolefulst Ditty,That to heare it was great Pitty.Fie,fie,fie, now would she cryTeru Teru, by and by:That to heare her so complaine,Scarce I could from Teares refraine:For her griefes so liuely showne,Made me thinke vpon mine owne.Ah (thought I) thou mournst in vaine;None takes Pitty on thy paine:Senslesse Trees, they cannot heere thee;Ruthlesse Beares, they wil not cheer thee.KingPandion, hee is dead:All thy friends are lapt in Lead.All thy fellow Birds doe singe,Carelesse of thy sorrowing.Whilst as fickle Fortune smilde,Thou and I, were both beguilde.Euerie one that flatters thee,Is no friend in miserie:Words are easie, like the winde;Faithfull friends are hard to finde:Euerie man will bee thy friend,Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend:But if store of Crownes be scant,No man will supply thy want.If that one be prodigall,Bountifull, they will him call.And with such-like flattering,Pitty but hee were a King.If hee bee adict to vice,Quickly him, they will intice.If to Woemen hee be bent,They haue at Commaundement.But if Fortune once doe frowne,Then farewell his great renowne:They that fawnd on him before,Vse his company no more.Hee that is thy friend indeed,Hee will helpe thee in thy neede:If thou sorrowe, hee will weepe;If thou wake, hee cannot sleepe:Thus of euerie griefe, in hart,Hee, with thee, doeth beare a Part.These are certaine Signes, to knoweFaithfull friend, from flatt'ring foe.

S it fell vpon a Day,

In the merrie Month of May,

Sitting in a pleasant shade,

Which a groue of Myrtles made,

Beastes did leape, and Birds did sing,

Trees did grow, and Plants did spring:

Euery thing did banish mone,

Saue the Nightingale alone.

Shee (poore Bird) as all forlorne,

Leand her Breast vp-till a Thorne,

And there sung the dolefulst Ditty,

That to heare it was great Pitty.

Fie,fie,fie, now would she cry

Teru Teru, by and by:

That to heare her so complaine,

Scarce I could from Teares refraine:

For her griefes so liuely showne,

Made me thinke vpon mine owne.

Ah (thought I) thou mournst in vaine;

None takes Pitty on thy paine:

Senslesse Trees, they cannot heere thee;

Ruthlesse Beares, they wil not cheer thee.

KingPandion, hee is dead:

All thy friends are lapt in Lead.

All thy fellow Birds doe singe,

Carelesse of thy sorrowing.

Whilst as fickle Fortune smilde,

Thou and I, were both beguilde.

Euerie one that flatters thee,

Is no friend in miserie:

Words are easie, like the winde;

Faithfull friends are hard to finde:

Euerie man will bee thy friend,

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend:

But if store of Crownes be scant,

No man will supply thy want.

If that one be prodigall,

Bountifull, they will him call.

And with such-like flattering,

Pitty but hee were a King.

If hee bee adict to vice,

Quickly him, they will intice.

If to Woemen hee be bent,

They haue at Commaundement.

But if Fortune once doe frowne,

Then farewell his great renowne:

They that fawnd on him before,

Vse his company no more.

Hee that is thy friend indeed,

Hee will helpe thee in thy neede:

If thou sorrowe, hee will weepe;

If thou wake, hee cannot sleepe:

Thus of euerie griefe, in hart,

Hee, with thee, doeth beare a Part.

These are certaine Signes, to knowe

Faithfull friend, from flatt'ring foe.

EUen asApellescould not paintCampaspesface aright:BecauseCampaspesSun-bright eyes did dimmeApellessight:Euen so, amazed at her sight, her sight, all sights excelling,LikeNyobethe Painter stoode, her sight his sight expelling,Thus Art and Nature did contend, who should the Victor bee,Till Art by Nature was supprest, as all the worlde may see.

Uen asApellescould not paintCampaspesface aright:

BecauseCampaspesSun-bright eyes did dimmeApellessight:

Euen so, amazed at her sight, her sight, all sights excelling,

LikeNyobethe Painter stoode, her sight his sight expelling,

Thus Art and Nature did contend, who should the Victor bee,

Till Art by Nature was supprest, as all the worlde may see.

THatEnglandlost, that Learning lov'd, that euery mouth commended,That fame did prayse, that Prince did rayse, that Countrey do defended,Here lyes the man: lyke to the Swan, who knowing shee shall die,Doeth tune her voice vnto the Spheares, and scornes Mortalitie.Two worthie Earls his vncles were; a Lady was his Mother;A Knight his father; and himselfe a noble Countesse Brother.Belov'd, bewaild; aliue, now dead; of all, with Teares for euer;Here lyes SirPhilip SidneisCorps, whom cruell Death did seuer,He liv'd for her, hee dyde for her; for whom he dyde, he liued:O graunt (O God) that wee of her, may neuer be depriued.

HatEnglandlost, that Learning lov'd, that euery mouth commended,

That fame did prayse, that Prince did rayse, that Countrey do defended,

Here lyes the man: lyke to the Swan, who knowing shee shall die,

Doeth tune her voice vnto the Spheares, and scornes Mortalitie.

Two worthie Earls his vncles were; a Lady was his Mother;

A Knight his father; and himselfe a noble Countesse Brother.

Belov'd, bewaild; aliue, now dead; of all, with Teares for euer;

Here lyes SirPhilip SidneisCorps, whom cruell Death did seuer,

He liv'd for her, hee dyde for her; for whom he dyde, he liued:

O graunt (O God) that wee of her, may neuer be depriued.

LOe here beholde the certaine Ende, of euery liuing wight:No Creature is secure from Death, for Death will haue his Right.He spareth none: both rich and poore, both young and olde must die;So fraile is flesh, so short is Life, so sure Mortalitie.When first the Bodye liues to Life, the soule first dies to sinne:And they that loose this earthly Life, a heauenly Life shall winne,If they liue well: as well she liv'd, that lyeth Vnder heere;Whose Vertuous Life to all the Worlde, most plainly did appeere.Good to the poore, friend to the rich, and foe to no Degree:A President of modest Life, and peerelesse Chastitie.Who louing more, Who more belov'd of euerie honest mynde?Who more to Hospitalitie, and Clemencie inclindeThen she? that being buried here, lyes wrapt in Earth below;From whence we came, to whom wee must, and bee as shee is now,A Clodd of Clay: though her pure soule in endlesse Blisse doeth rest;Ioying all Ioy, the Place of Peace, prepared for the blest:Where holy Angells sit and sing, before the King of Kings;Not mynding worldly Vanities, but onely heavenly Things.Vnto which Ioy, Vnto which Blisse, Vnto which Place of Pleasure,God graunt that wee may come at last, t' inioy that heauenly Treasure.Which to obtaine, to liue as shee hath done let us endeuor;That wee may liue with Christ himselfe, (above) that liues for euer.

Oe here beholde the certaine Ende, of euery liuing wight:

No Creature is secure from Death, for Death will haue his Right.

He spareth none: both rich and poore, both young and olde must die;

So fraile is flesh, so short is Life, so sure Mortalitie.

When first the Bodye liues to Life, the soule first dies to sinne:

And they that loose this earthly Life, a heauenly Life shall winne,

If they liue well: as well she liv'd, that lyeth Vnder heere;

Whose Vertuous Life to all the Worlde, most plainly did appeere.

Good to the poore, friend to the rich, and foe to no Degree:

A President of modest Life, and peerelesse Chastitie.

Who louing more, Who more belov'd of euerie honest mynde?

Who more to Hospitalitie, and Clemencie inclinde

Then she? that being buried here, lyes wrapt in Earth below;

From whence we came, to whom wee must, and bee as shee is now,

A Clodd of Clay: though her pure soule in endlesse Blisse doeth rest;

Ioying all Ioy, the Place of Peace, prepared for the blest:

Where holy Angells sit and sing, before the King of Kings;

Not mynding worldly Vanities, but onely heavenly Things.

Vnto which Ioy, Vnto which Blisse, Vnto which Place of Pleasure,

God graunt that wee may come at last, t' inioy that heauenly Treasure.

Which to obtaine, to liue as shee hath done let us endeuor;

That wee may liue with Christ himselfe, (above) that liues for euer.

MAns life is vvell compared to a feast,Furnisht with choice of all Varietie:To it comes Tyme; and as a bidden guestHee sets him downe, in Pompe and Maiestie;The three-folde Age of Man, the Waiters bee,Then with an earthen voyder (made of clay)Comes Death, and takes the table clean away.

Ans life is vvell compared to a feast,

Furnisht with choice of all Varietie:

To it comes Tyme; and as a bidden guest

Hee sets him downe, in Pompe and Maiestie;

The three-folde Age of Man, the Waiters bee,

Then with an earthen voyder (made of clay)

Comes Death, and takes the table clean away.

FINIS.

ASTROPHEL

ASTROPHEL.A Pastoral Elegy uponthe death of the most nobleand valorous Knight,SirPHILIP SIDNEY.Dedicatedto the most beautiful and virtuous Ladythe Countess ofESSEX.[ByEDMUND SPENSER, the Countess ofPEMBROKE, and others.][Printed as an Appendix to _COLIN CLOUT's come home again_, first printed in 1595; but the epistle of which is dated "From my house of Kilcolman, the 27 of December, 1591."]

Dedicatedto the most beautiful and virtuous Ladythe Countess ofESSEX.

[ByEDMUND SPENSER, the Countess ofPEMBROKE, and others.]

[Printed as an Appendix to _COLIN CLOUT's come home again_, first printed in 1595; but the epistle of which is dated "From my house of Kilcolman, the 27 of December, 1591."]

SHepherds that wont, on pipes of oaten reed,Ofttimes to plain your love's concealèd smart;And with your piteous lays have learned to breedCompassion in a country lass's heart:Hearken, ye gentle shepherds, to my song!And place my doleful plaint, your plaints emong.To you alone, I sing this mournful verse,The mournful'st verse that ever man heard tell:To you whose softened hearts it may empierceWith dolour's dart, for death ofAstrophel.To you I sing, and to none other wight,For well I wot my rhymes been rudely dight.Yet as they been, if any nicer witShall hap to hear, or covet them to read:Think he, that such are for such ones most fit,Made not to please the living but the dead:And if in him, found pity ever place;Let him be moved to pity such a case.

Hepherds that wont, on pipes of oaten reed,

Ofttimes to plain your love's concealèd smart;

And with your piteous lays have learned to breed

Compassion in a country lass's heart:

Hearken, ye gentle shepherds, to my song!

And place my doleful plaint, your plaints emong.

To you alone, I sing this mournful verse,The mournful'st verse that ever man heard tell:To you whose softened hearts it may empierceWith dolour's dart, for death ofAstrophel.To you I sing, and to none other wight,For well I wot my rhymes been rudely dight.

To you alone, I sing this mournful verse,

The mournful'st verse that ever man heard tell:

To you whose softened hearts it may empierce

With dolour's dart, for death ofAstrophel.

To you I sing, and to none other wight,

For well I wot my rhymes been rudely dight.

Yet as they been, if any nicer witShall hap to hear, or covet them to read:Think he, that such are for such ones most fit,Made not to please the living but the dead:And if in him, found pity ever place;Let him be moved to pity such a case.

Yet as they been, if any nicer wit

Shall hap to hear, or covet them to read:

Think he, that such are for such ones most fit,

Made not to please the living but the dead:

And if in him, found pity ever place;

Let him be moved to pity such a case.

AGentleshepherd born in Arcady,Of gentlest race that ever shepherd bore;About the grassy banks of Hæmony,Did keep his sheep, his little stock and store.Full carefully he kept them day and nightIn fairest fields; andAstrophelhe hight.YoungAstrophel! the pride of shepherds' praise.YoungAstrophel! the rustic lasses' love.Far passing all the pastors of his daysIn all that seemly shepherd might behove.In one thing only failing of the best;That he was not so happy as the rest.For from the time that first the nymph his motherHim forth did bring; and taught, her lambs to feed:A slender swain, excelling far each otherIn comely shape, like her that did him breed:He grew up fast in goodness and in grace;And doubly fair wox both in mind and face.Which daily more and more he did augmentWith gentle usage and demeanour mild;That all men's hearts with secret ravishmentHe stole away, and wittingly beguiled.Ne Spite itself—that all good things doth spill—Found ought in him, that she could say was ill.His sports were fair, his joyance innocent,Sweet without sour, and honey without gall;And he himself seemed made for merriment,Merrily masking both in bower and hall.There was no pleasure nor delightful playWhenAstrophelso ever was away.For he could pipe, and dance, and carol sweet;Emongst the shepherds in their shearing feast:As summer's lark that with her song doth greetThe dawning day, forth coming from the East.And lays of love he also would compose.Thrice happy she! whom he to praise did choose.Full many maidens often did him woo,Them to vouchsafe, emongst his rhymes to name:Or make for them, as he was wont to do,For her that did his heart with love inflame;For which they promised to dight for him,Gay chaplets of flowers and garlands trim.And many a nymph, both of the wood and brook,Soon as his oaten pipe began to shrill;Both crystal wells and shady groves forsook,To hear the charms of his enchanting skill:And brought him presents; flowers, if it were prime:Or mellow fruit, if it were harvest time.But he for none of them did care a whit;Yet wood-gods for them oft sighed sore:Ne for their gifts unworthy of his wit,Yet not unworthy of the country's store.For One alone he cared, for One he sighedHis life's treasure, and his dear love's delight.Stellathe fair! the fairest star in sky:As fair asVenus, or the fairest fair.A fairer star saw never living eye,Shot her sharp pointed beams through purest air.Her, he did love; her, he alone he did honour;His thoughts, his rhymes, his songs were all upon her.To her, he vowed the service of his days;On her, he spent the riches of his wit;For her, he made hymns of immortal praise:Of only her; he sang, he thought, he writ.Her, and but her, of love he worthy deemed:For all the rest, but little he esteemed.Ne her with idle words alone he vowed,And verses vain—yet verses are not vain:But with brave deeds, to her sole service vowed;And bold achievements, her did entertain.For both in deeds and words he nurtured was.Both wise and hardy—too hardy, alas!In wrestling, nimble; and in running, swift;In shooting, steady; and in swimming, strong:Well made to strike, to throw, to leap, to lift,And all the sports that shepherds are emong.In every one, he vanquished every one,He vanquished all, and vanquished was of none.Besides, in hunting such felicityOr rather infelicity, he found;That every field and forest far awayHe sought, where savage beasts do most abound.No beast so savage, but he could it kill:No chase so hard, but he therein had skill.Such skill, matched with such courage as he had,Did prick him forth with proud desire of praise;To seek abroad, of danger nought y'drad,His mistress' name and his own fame to raise.What need, peril to be sought abroad?Since round about us, it doth make abode.It fortuned as he, that perilous gameIn foreign soil pursued, far away;Into a forest wide and waste, he came,Where store he heard to be of savage prey.So wide a forest and so waste as this,Nor famous Ardenne, nor foul Arlo is.There his well-woven toils and subtle trainsHe laid, the brutish nation to enwrap:So well he wrought with practice and with pains,That he of them, great troops did soon entrap.Full happy man! misweening much, was he;So rich a spoil within his power to see.Eftsoons, all heedless of his dearest hale,Full greedily into the herd he thrustTo slaughter them and work their final bale,Lest that his toil should of their troops be burst.Wide wounds emongst them, many one he made;Now with his sharp boar spear, now with his blade.His care was all, how he them all might kill;That none might 'scape, so partial unto none.Ill mind! so much to mind another's ill,As to become unmindful of his own.But pardon that unto the cruel skies,That from himself to them, withdrew his eyes.So as he raged emongst that beastly rout;A cruel beast of most accursèd brood,Upon him turned—despair makes cowards stout;And with fell tooth, accustomèd to blood,Launched his thigh with so mischievous might,That it both bone and muscle rivèd quite.So deadly was the dint, and deep the wound,And so huge streams of blood thereout did flow;That he endurèd not the direful stoundBut on the cold dear earth, himself did throw.The whiles the captive herd his nets did rend,And having none to let; to wood did wend.Ah, where were ye this while, his shepherd peers?To whom alive was nought so dear as he.And ye fair maids, the matches of his years!Which in his grace, did boast you most to be?And where were ye, when he of you had need,To stop his wound that wondrously did bleed?Ah, wretched boy! the shape of drearihead!And sad ensample of man's sudden end!Full little faileth, but thou shalt be dead;Unpitied, unplained of foe or friend:Whilst none is nigh, thine eyelids up to close;And kiss thy lips like faded leaves of rose.A sort of shepherds suing of the chase,As they the forest rangèd on a day;By fate or fortune came unto the place,Whereas the luckless boy yet bleeding lay.Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still have bled,Had not good hap those shepherds thither led.They stopped his wound—too late to stop, it was,And in their arms then softly did him rear:Tho, as he willed, unto his lovèd lass,His dearest love, him dolefully did bear.The doleful'st bier that ever man did seeWasAstrophel, but dearest unto me.She, when she saw her love in such a plight,With curdled blood and filthy gore deformed;That wont to be with flowers and garlands dight,And her dear favours dearly well adorned.Her face, the fairest face that eye might see,She likewise did deform, like him to be.Her yellow locks that shone so bright and long,As sunny beams in fairest summer's day;She fiercely tore: and with outrageous wrong,From her red cheeks, the roses rent away.And her fair breast, the treasury of joy;She spoiled thereof, and fillèd with annoy.His pallid face, impicturèd with death;She bathèd oft with tears and drièd oft:And with sweet kisses, sucked the wasting breathOut of his lips, like lilies pale and soft.And oft she called to him, who answered nought;But only by his looks did tell his thought.The rest of her impatient regretAnd piteous moan, the which she for him made;No tongue can tell, nor any forth can set:But he whose heart, like sorrow did invade.At last, when pain his vital powers had spent,His wasted life her weary lodge forewent.Which when she saw, she stayèd not a whit,But after him, did make untimely haste:Forthwith her ghost out of her corps did flit,And followed her mate, like turtle chaste.To prove that death, their hearts cannot divide;Which living were in love so firmly tied.The gods, which all things see, this same beheld.And pitying this pair of lovers true;Transformèd them, there lying on the field,Into one flower that is both red and blue.It first grows red, and then to blue doth fade;LikeAstrophel, which thereinto was made.And in the midst thereof a star appears,As fairly formed as any star in sky;ResemblingStellain her freshest years,Forth darting beams of beauty from her eyes:And all the day it standeth full of dew,Which is the tears that from her eyes did flow.That herb of some, "Starlight" is called by name;Of othersPenthia, though not so well:But thou wherever thou dost find the same,From this day forth do call itAstrophel.And whensoever thou it up dost take;Do pluck it softly, for that shepherd's sake.Hereof when tidings far abroad did pass,The shepherds all which lovèd him full dear—And sure, full dear of all he lovèd was—Did thither flock to see what they did hear.And when that piteous spectacle they viewed,The same with bitter tears they all bedewed.And every one did make exceeding moan,With inward anguish and great grief opprest;And every one did weep and wail and moan,And means devised to show his sorrow best.That from that hour since first on grassy green,Shepherds kept sheep; was not like mourning seen.But first his sister thatClorindahight,The gentlest shepherdess that lives this day;And most resembling both in shape and sprite,Her brother dear, began this doleful lay.Which lest I mar the sweetness of the verse,In sort as she it sung, I will rehearse.

Gentleshepherd born in Arcady,

Of gentlest race that ever shepherd bore;

About the grassy banks of Hæmony,

Did keep his sheep, his little stock and store.

Full carefully he kept them day and night

In fairest fields; andAstrophelhe hight.

YoungAstrophel! the pride of shepherds' praise.YoungAstrophel! the rustic lasses' love.Far passing all the pastors of his daysIn all that seemly shepherd might behove.In one thing only failing of the best;That he was not so happy as the rest.

YoungAstrophel! the pride of shepherds' praise.

YoungAstrophel! the rustic lasses' love.

Far passing all the pastors of his days

In all that seemly shepherd might behove.

In one thing only failing of the best;

That he was not so happy as the rest.

For from the time that first the nymph his motherHim forth did bring; and taught, her lambs to feed:A slender swain, excelling far each otherIn comely shape, like her that did him breed:He grew up fast in goodness and in grace;And doubly fair wox both in mind and face.

For from the time that first the nymph his mother

Him forth did bring; and taught, her lambs to feed:

A slender swain, excelling far each other

In comely shape, like her that did him breed:

He grew up fast in goodness and in grace;

And doubly fair wox both in mind and face.

Which daily more and more he did augmentWith gentle usage and demeanour mild;That all men's hearts with secret ravishmentHe stole away, and wittingly beguiled.Ne Spite itself—that all good things doth spill—Found ought in him, that she could say was ill.

Which daily more and more he did augment

With gentle usage and demeanour mild;

That all men's hearts with secret ravishment

He stole away, and wittingly beguiled.

Ne Spite itself—that all good things doth spill—

Found ought in him, that she could say was ill.

His sports were fair, his joyance innocent,Sweet without sour, and honey without gall;And he himself seemed made for merriment,Merrily masking both in bower and hall.There was no pleasure nor delightful playWhenAstrophelso ever was away.

His sports were fair, his joyance innocent,

Sweet without sour, and honey without gall;

And he himself seemed made for merriment,

Merrily masking both in bower and hall.

There was no pleasure nor delightful play

WhenAstrophelso ever was away.

For he could pipe, and dance, and carol sweet;Emongst the shepherds in their shearing feast:As summer's lark that with her song doth greetThe dawning day, forth coming from the East.And lays of love he also would compose.Thrice happy she! whom he to praise did choose.

For he could pipe, and dance, and carol sweet;

Emongst the shepherds in their shearing feast:

As summer's lark that with her song doth greet

The dawning day, forth coming from the East.

And lays of love he also would compose.

Thrice happy she! whom he to praise did choose.

Full many maidens often did him woo,Them to vouchsafe, emongst his rhymes to name:Or make for them, as he was wont to do,For her that did his heart with love inflame;For which they promised to dight for him,Gay chaplets of flowers and garlands trim.

Full many maidens often did him woo,

Them to vouchsafe, emongst his rhymes to name:

Or make for them, as he was wont to do,

For her that did his heart with love inflame;

For which they promised to dight for him,

Gay chaplets of flowers and garlands trim.

And many a nymph, both of the wood and brook,Soon as his oaten pipe began to shrill;Both crystal wells and shady groves forsook,To hear the charms of his enchanting skill:And brought him presents; flowers, if it were prime:Or mellow fruit, if it were harvest time.

And many a nymph, both of the wood and brook,

Soon as his oaten pipe began to shrill;

Both crystal wells and shady groves forsook,

To hear the charms of his enchanting skill:

And brought him presents; flowers, if it were prime:

Or mellow fruit, if it were harvest time.

But he for none of them did care a whit;Yet wood-gods for them oft sighed sore:Ne for their gifts unworthy of his wit,Yet not unworthy of the country's store.For One alone he cared, for One he sighedHis life's treasure, and his dear love's delight.

But he for none of them did care a whit;

Yet wood-gods for them oft sighed sore:

Ne for their gifts unworthy of his wit,

Yet not unworthy of the country's store.

For One alone he cared, for One he sighed

His life's treasure, and his dear love's delight.

Stellathe fair! the fairest star in sky:As fair asVenus, or the fairest fair.A fairer star saw never living eye,Shot her sharp pointed beams through purest air.Her, he did love; her, he alone he did honour;His thoughts, his rhymes, his songs were all upon her.

Stellathe fair! the fairest star in sky:

As fair asVenus, or the fairest fair.

A fairer star saw never living eye,

Shot her sharp pointed beams through purest air.

Her, he did love; her, he alone he did honour;

His thoughts, his rhymes, his songs were all upon her.

To her, he vowed the service of his days;On her, he spent the riches of his wit;For her, he made hymns of immortal praise:Of only her; he sang, he thought, he writ.Her, and but her, of love he worthy deemed:For all the rest, but little he esteemed.

To her, he vowed the service of his days;

On her, he spent the riches of his wit;

For her, he made hymns of immortal praise:

Of only her; he sang, he thought, he writ.

Her, and but her, of love he worthy deemed:

For all the rest, but little he esteemed.

Ne her with idle words alone he vowed,And verses vain—yet verses are not vain:But with brave deeds, to her sole service vowed;And bold achievements, her did entertain.For both in deeds and words he nurtured was.Both wise and hardy—too hardy, alas!

Ne her with idle words alone he vowed,

And verses vain—yet verses are not vain:

But with brave deeds, to her sole service vowed;

And bold achievements, her did entertain.

For both in deeds and words he nurtured was.

Both wise and hardy—too hardy, alas!

In wrestling, nimble; and in running, swift;In shooting, steady; and in swimming, strong:Well made to strike, to throw, to leap, to lift,And all the sports that shepherds are emong.In every one, he vanquished every one,He vanquished all, and vanquished was of none.

In wrestling, nimble; and in running, swift;

In shooting, steady; and in swimming, strong:

Well made to strike, to throw, to leap, to lift,

And all the sports that shepherds are emong.

In every one, he vanquished every one,

He vanquished all, and vanquished was of none.

Besides, in hunting such felicityOr rather infelicity, he found;That every field and forest far awayHe sought, where savage beasts do most abound.No beast so savage, but he could it kill:No chase so hard, but he therein had skill.

Besides, in hunting such felicity

Or rather infelicity, he found;

That every field and forest far away

He sought, where savage beasts do most abound.

No beast so savage, but he could it kill:

No chase so hard, but he therein had skill.

Such skill, matched with such courage as he had,Did prick him forth with proud desire of praise;To seek abroad, of danger nought y'drad,His mistress' name and his own fame to raise.What need, peril to be sought abroad?Since round about us, it doth make abode.

Such skill, matched with such courage as he had,

Did prick him forth with proud desire of praise;

To seek abroad, of danger nought y'drad,

His mistress' name and his own fame to raise.

What need, peril to be sought abroad?

Since round about us, it doth make abode.

It fortuned as he, that perilous gameIn foreign soil pursued, far away;Into a forest wide and waste, he came,Where store he heard to be of savage prey.So wide a forest and so waste as this,Nor famous Ardenne, nor foul Arlo is.

It fortuned as he, that perilous game

In foreign soil pursued, far away;

Into a forest wide and waste, he came,

Where store he heard to be of savage prey.

So wide a forest and so waste as this,

Nor famous Ardenne, nor foul Arlo is.

There his well-woven toils and subtle trainsHe laid, the brutish nation to enwrap:So well he wrought with practice and with pains,That he of them, great troops did soon entrap.Full happy man! misweening much, was he;So rich a spoil within his power to see.

There his well-woven toils and subtle trains

He laid, the brutish nation to enwrap:

So well he wrought with practice and with pains,

That he of them, great troops did soon entrap.

Full happy man! misweening much, was he;

So rich a spoil within his power to see.

Eftsoons, all heedless of his dearest hale,Full greedily into the herd he thrustTo slaughter them and work their final bale,Lest that his toil should of their troops be burst.Wide wounds emongst them, many one he made;Now with his sharp boar spear, now with his blade.

Eftsoons, all heedless of his dearest hale,

Full greedily into the herd he thrust

To slaughter them and work their final bale,

Lest that his toil should of their troops be burst.

Wide wounds emongst them, many one he made;

Now with his sharp boar spear, now with his blade.

His care was all, how he them all might kill;That none might 'scape, so partial unto none.Ill mind! so much to mind another's ill,As to become unmindful of his own.But pardon that unto the cruel skies,That from himself to them, withdrew his eyes.

His care was all, how he them all might kill;

That none might 'scape, so partial unto none.

Ill mind! so much to mind another's ill,

As to become unmindful of his own.

But pardon that unto the cruel skies,

That from himself to them, withdrew his eyes.

So as he raged emongst that beastly rout;A cruel beast of most accursèd brood,Upon him turned—despair makes cowards stout;And with fell tooth, accustomèd to blood,Launched his thigh with so mischievous might,That it both bone and muscle rivèd quite.

So as he raged emongst that beastly rout;

A cruel beast of most accursèd brood,

Upon him turned—despair makes cowards stout;

And with fell tooth, accustomèd to blood,

Launched his thigh with so mischievous might,

That it both bone and muscle rivèd quite.

So deadly was the dint, and deep the wound,And so huge streams of blood thereout did flow;That he endurèd not the direful stoundBut on the cold dear earth, himself did throw.The whiles the captive herd his nets did rend,And having none to let; to wood did wend.

So deadly was the dint, and deep the wound,

And so huge streams of blood thereout did flow;

That he endurèd not the direful stound

But on the cold dear earth, himself did throw.

The whiles the captive herd his nets did rend,

And having none to let; to wood did wend.

Ah, where were ye this while, his shepherd peers?To whom alive was nought so dear as he.And ye fair maids, the matches of his years!Which in his grace, did boast you most to be?And where were ye, when he of you had need,To stop his wound that wondrously did bleed?

Ah, where were ye this while, his shepherd peers?

To whom alive was nought so dear as he.

And ye fair maids, the matches of his years!

Which in his grace, did boast you most to be?

And where were ye, when he of you had need,

To stop his wound that wondrously did bleed?

Ah, wretched boy! the shape of drearihead!And sad ensample of man's sudden end!Full little faileth, but thou shalt be dead;Unpitied, unplained of foe or friend:Whilst none is nigh, thine eyelids up to close;And kiss thy lips like faded leaves of rose.

Ah, wretched boy! the shape of drearihead!

And sad ensample of man's sudden end!

Full little faileth, but thou shalt be dead;

Unpitied, unplained of foe or friend:

Whilst none is nigh, thine eyelids up to close;

And kiss thy lips like faded leaves of rose.

A sort of shepherds suing of the chase,As they the forest rangèd on a day;By fate or fortune came unto the place,Whereas the luckless boy yet bleeding lay.Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still have bled,Had not good hap those shepherds thither led.

A sort of shepherds suing of the chase,

As they the forest rangèd on a day;

By fate or fortune came unto the place,

Whereas the luckless boy yet bleeding lay.

Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still have bled,

Had not good hap those shepherds thither led.

They stopped his wound—too late to stop, it was,And in their arms then softly did him rear:Tho, as he willed, unto his lovèd lass,His dearest love, him dolefully did bear.The doleful'st bier that ever man did seeWasAstrophel, but dearest unto me.

They stopped his wound—too late to stop, it was,

And in their arms then softly did him rear:

Tho, as he willed, unto his lovèd lass,

His dearest love, him dolefully did bear.

The doleful'st bier that ever man did see

WasAstrophel, but dearest unto me.

She, when she saw her love in such a plight,With curdled blood and filthy gore deformed;That wont to be with flowers and garlands dight,And her dear favours dearly well adorned.Her face, the fairest face that eye might see,She likewise did deform, like him to be.

She, when she saw her love in such a plight,

With curdled blood and filthy gore deformed;

That wont to be with flowers and garlands dight,

And her dear favours dearly well adorned.

Her face, the fairest face that eye might see,

She likewise did deform, like him to be.

Her yellow locks that shone so bright and long,As sunny beams in fairest summer's day;She fiercely tore: and with outrageous wrong,From her red cheeks, the roses rent away.And her fair breast, the treasury of joy;She spoiled thereof, and fillèd with annoy.

Her yellow locks that shone so bright and long,

As sunny beams in fairest summer's day;

She fiercely tore: and with outrageous wrong,

From her red cheeks, the roses rent away.

And her fair breast, the treasury of joy;

She spoiled thereof, and fillèd with annoy.

His pallid face, impicturèd with death;She bathèd oft with tears and drièd oft:And with sweet kisses, sucked the wasting breathOut of his lips, like lilies pale and soft.And oft she called to him, who answered nought;But only by his looks did tell his thought.

His pallid face, impicturèd with death;

She bathèd oft with tears and drièd oft:

And with sweet kisses, sucked the wasting breath

Out of his lips, like lilies pale and soft.

And oft she called to him, who answered nought;

But only by his looks did tell his thought.

The rest of her impatient regretAnd piteous moan, the which she for him made;No tongue can tell, nor any forth can set:But he whose heart, like sorrow did invade.At last, when pain his vital powers had spent,His wasted life her weary lodge forewent.

The rest of her impatient regret

And piteous moan, the which she for him made;

No tongue can tell, nor any forth can set:

But he whose heart, like sorrow did invade.

At last, when pain his vital powers had spent,

His wasted life her weary lodge forewent.

Which when she saw, she stayèd not a whit,But after him, did make untimely haste:Forthwith her ghost out of her corps did flit,And followed her mate, like turtle chaste.To prove that death, their hearts cannot divide;Which living were in love so firmly tied.

Which when she saw, she stayèd not a whit,

But after him, did make untimely haste:

Forthwith her ghost out of her corps did flit,

And followed her mate, like turtle chaste.

To prove that death, their hearts cannot divide;

Which living were in love so firmly tied.

The gods, which all things see, this same beheld.And pitying this pair of lovers true;Transformèd them, there lying on the field,Into one flower that is both red and blue.It first grows red, and then to blue doth fade;LikeAstrophel, which thereinto was made.

The gods, which all things see, this same beheld.

And pitying this pair of lovers true;

Transformèd them, there lying on the field,

Into one flower that is both red and blue.

It first grows red, and then to blue doth fade;

LikeAstrophel, which thereinto was made.

And in the midst thereof a star appears,As fairly formed as any star in sky;ResemblingStellain her freshest years,Forth darting beams of beauty from her eyes:And all the day it standeth full of dew,Which is the tears that from her eyes did flow.

And in the midst thereof a star appears,

As fairly formed as any star in sky;

ResemblingStellain her freshest years,

Forth darting beams of beauty from her eyes:

And all the day it standeth full of dew,

Which is the tears that from her eyes did flow.

That herb of some, "Starlight" is called by name;Of othersPenthia, though not so well:But thou wherever thou dost find the same,From this day forth do call itAstrophel.And whensoever thou it up dost take;Do pluck it softly, for that shepherd's sake.

That herb of some, "Starlight" is called by name;

Of othersPenthia, though not so well:

But thou wherever thou dost find the same,

From this day forth do call itAstrophel.

And whensoever thou it up dost take;

Do pluck it softly, for that shepherd's sake.

Hereof when tidings far abroad did pass,The shepherds all which lovèd him full dear—And sure, full dear of all he lovèd was—Did thither flock to see what they did hear.And when that piteous spectacle they viewed,The same with bitter tears they all bedewed.

Hereof when tidings far abroad did pass,

The shepherds all which lovèd him full dear—

And sure, full dear of all he lovèd was—

Did thither flock to see what they did hear.

And when that piteous spectacle they viewed,

The same with bitter tears they all bedewed.

And every one did make exceeding moan,With inward anguish and great grief opprest;And every one did weep and wail and moan,And means devised to show his sorrow best.That from that hour since first on grassy green,Shepherds kept sheep; was not like mourning seen.

And every one did make exceeding moan,

With inward anguish and great grief opprest;

And every one did weep and wail and moan,

And means devised to show his sorrow best.

That from that hour since first on grassy green,

Shepherds kept sheep; was not like mourning seen.

But first his sister thatClorindahight,The gentlest shepherdess that lives this day;And most resembling both in shape and sprite,Her brother dear, began this doleful lay.Which lest I mar the sweetness of the verse,In sort as she it sung, I will rehearse.

But first his sister thatClorindahight,

The gentlest shepherdess that lives this day;

And most resembling both in shape and sprite,

Her brother dear, began this doleful lay.

Which lest I mar the sweetness of the verse,

In sort as she it sung, I will rehearse.

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