"A woody hill there estood, at dooat whose low feet Two goodly streames in one broad channell meet, Whose fretfull waves, beating against the hill, Did all the bottome with soft mutt'rings fill.

Here in a mooke made by another mountsonia tadT
(Whose stately cakes are in no lesse account of
For height or spreading, than the proudest be of
That from Qeta looke on Thessaly) o
Rudely o're hung there is a vaulted cave,b 10
That in the day as sullen shadowes give, Hea
As evening to the woods. An uncouth place,
(Where hags and goblins might retire a space))
And hated now of shepheards, since there lye T
The corps of one, (lesse loving deities on yo edT
Than we affected him) that never lente qu
His hand to aught but to our detrimenting W
A man that onely liv'd to live, no more, you A
And dy'de still to be dying. Whose chiefe store T
Of vertue was, his hate did not pursue ber, bid to
Because he onely heard of her, not knew her.
That knew no good, but onely that his sighte
Saw every thing had still his opposite
And ever this his apprehension caughtyou feel
That what he did was best, the other naught.of.
That alwayes lov'd the man that never lov'd,
And hated him whose hate no death had mov/df
That (politique) at fitting time and season, of
Could hate the traitor, and yet love the treason. T
That many a wofull heart (ere his decease), ya
In pieces tore to purchase his owne peace
Who never gave his almes but in this fashion,T
To salve his credit, more than for salvation
Who on the names of good men ever fed,av
And most accursed) sold the poore for bread. O
Right like the pitch-tree, from whose any dimba2
Comes never twig, shall be the seede of him. o
The Muses, scorn'd by him, laugh at his fame,iH
And never will vouchsafe to speake his name, o8
Let no mian for his losse one teare/let falli
But perish with him his memorially as 10
"Into this cave the god of shepheards wenty)
The trees in grones; the rockes in teares, lament
His fatall chance; the brookes, that whilome dept
To heare him play while his faire mistresse slept
Now left their eddyes and such wanton moods.T
And with loud clamours fild the ndighbring woods.
There spent he most of night but when the day
Drew from the Earth her pitchy waile away, T
When all the flowry plaines with carols rung,
That by the mounting larke were shrilly sung, A
When dusky mists rose from the christall floods
And darknesse no where raign'd but in the woods
Pan left the cave, and now intends to finded si
The sacred place where lay his love enshrinde
A plot of earth, in whose chill armes was laide
As much perfection as had ever majde sibers of
If curious Nature had but taken care oy buA
To make more lasting, what she made so faire.

"Now wanders Pan the arched groves and hils, Where fayries often danc'd, and shepheards' quille In sweet contentions pass'd the tedious day o Yet (being earely) in his unknowne way doid W Met not a shepheard, nor on all the plaine A A flocke then feeding sawy nor of his trained W One jolly satyre stirring yet abroad,d: won lliT Of whom he might inquire; this to the loade Of his affliction addes; now he invokeshed oakes Those nymphes in mighty forrests, thats with Have equall fates, leach with hep severall tree Receiving birth, and endingy idestinie.quiqui Cals on all powres, intreats that he might have But for his love, the knowledge of her graver

That since the Fates had tane the jem away,
He might but see the carknet where it lay;
To doe fit right to such a part of molde,
Covering so rare a piece, that all the gold
Or dyamond earth can yeeld, for value, ne're
Shall match the treasure which was hidden there!

"A hunting nymph, awakened with his mone,
(That in a bowre neere-hand lay all alone,
Twyning her small armes round her slender waste,
That by no others us'd to be imbrac'd)
Got up, and knowing what the day before
Was guiltie of, she addes not to his store,
As many simply doe, whose friends, so crost,
They more afflict by showing what is lost :
But bid him follow her. He, as she leades,
Urgeth her hast. So a kinde mother treads,
Earnest, distracted, where, with blood defil'de,
She heares lyes dead her deere and onely childe.
Mistrust now wing'd his feet, then raging ire,
⚫ For speede comes ever lamely to desire.'
"Delayes, the stones that waiting suiters grinde,
By whom at court the poor man's cause is sign'd,
Who, to dispatch a suite, will not deferre
T take Death for a joynt commissioner.
Delay, the wooer's bane, revenge's hate,
The plague to creditor's decaid estate;
The test of patience, of our hopes the racke,
That drawes them forth so long until they cracke;
Vertue's best benefactor in our times,
One that is set to punish great men's crimes,
Sh that hath hindred mighty Pan awhile,
No v steps aside and as o're-flowing Nyle,
Hil from Clymene's sonne "his reeking head,
So from his rage all opposition fled;
Giving him way, to reach the timelesse toombe
Of Nature's glory, for whose ruthlesse doome
(When all the Graces did for mercy pleade,
And Youth and Goodnesse both did intercede)
The sonnes of Earth (if living) had beene driven
To hape-on hils, and warre anew with Heaven.
The shepheards, which he mist upon the downes,
"Here meetes he with: for from the neighb'ring
Maid ns and men resorted to the grave
To see a wonder more than time e're gave.
"The holy priests had told them, long agone,
Amongst the learned shepheards there was one
So given to pietie, and did adore

:

[townes

So much the name of Pan, that, when no more
He breath'd, those that to ope his heart began,
Found written there with gold the name of Pan.
Which unbeleeving man, that is not mov'd
To credit aught, if not by reason prov'd,
And tyes the over-working powre to doe
Nought otherwise than Nature reacheth to,
Held as most fabulous: not inly seeing
The hand by whom we live, and all have being,
No worke for admirable doth intend,
Which reason hath the powre to comprehend;
And faith no merit hath from Heaven lent,
Where humane reason yeelds experiment.
Till now they durst not trust the legend old,
Esteeming all not true their elders tolde;
And had not this last accident made good
The former, most in unbeliefe had stood. [wonder,
“But Fame, that spread the bruite of such a
Bringing the swaines of places far asunder
To this selected plot, (now famous more
Than any grove, mount, plaine, had beene before,

"Phaeton.

By relicke, vision, buriall, or birth,
Of anchoresse, or hermit, yet on Earth)
Out of the maiden's bed of endlesse rest,
Showes them a tree new growne, so fairely drest
With spreading armes and curled top, that Jove
Ne're braver saw in his Dodonian grove.
The hart-like leaves oft each with other pyle,
As doe the hard scales of the crocodyle;
And none on all the tree was seene but bore,
Written thereon in rich and purest ore,
The name of Pan; whose lustre farre beyond
Sparkl'd, as by a torch the dyamond.

[move

Or those bright spangles which, fayre goddesse, doe
Shine in the bayre of these which follow you.
The shepheards, by direction of great Pan,
Search'd for the roote, and finding it began
In her true heart, bids them againe inclose
What now his eyes for ever, ever lose.
Now in the self-same spheare his thoughts must
With him that did the shady plane tree love.
Yet though no issue from her loynes shall be
To draw from Pan a noble peddigree,
And Pan shall not, as other gods have done,
Glory in deedes of an heroicke sonne,
Nor have his name in countryes neere and farre
Proclaim'd, as by his childe the Thunderer;
If Phoebus on this tree spread warming rayes,
And northerne blasts kill not her tender sprayes,
His love shall make him famous in repute,
And still increase his name, yet beare no fruite,.
"To make this sure, (the god of shepheards last,
When other ceremonies were o're-past)
And to performe what he before had vow'd
To dire revenge, thus spake unto the crowd:
"What I have lost, kinde shepheards, all you
And to recount it were to dwell in woe;
To show my passion in a funerall song,
And with my sorrow draw your sighes along,
Words, then, well plac'd, might challenge some-

what due,

[know,

And not the cause alone, winne teares from you.' This to prevent, I set orations by,

For passion seldome loves formalitie,' What profits it a prisoner at the barre, To have his judgement spoken regular? Or in the prison heare it often read, When he at first knew what was forfeited? Our griefes in others' teares, like plate in water, Seeme more in quantitie. To be relator Of my mishaps, speakes witnesse, and that I Have in myselfe no powre of remedy.

[be

"Once (yet that once too often) heretofore The silver Ladon on his sandy shore Heard my complaints, and those coole groves that Shading the brest of lovely Arcady, Witnesse, the teares which I for Syrinx spent. Syrinx the faire! from whom the instrument That fils your feasts with joy, (which, when I blow, Drawes to the sagging dug milke white as snow) Had his beginning. This enough had beene To show the Fates' (my deemed sisters") teene. Here had they staid, this adage had beene none, That our disasters never come alone.' What boot is it, though I am said to be The worthy sonne of Mercury? That I, with gentle nymphes in forrests high," Kist out the sweet time of my infancie?

12 Xerxes.

Pronapis, in suo Protocosmo.

And when more yeares had made me able growne,
Was thro' the mountaines for their leader knowne ?
That high-brow'd Mænalus, where I was bred,
And stony hils, not few, have honoured
Me as protector, by the hands of swaines,
Whose sheepe retyre there from the open plaines?
That I in shepheards' cups (rejecting gold *4)
Of milke and hony, measures eight times told,
Have offred to me; and the ruddy wine,
Fresh and new pressed from the bleeding vine?
That gleesome hunters, pleased with their sport,
With sacrifices due have thank'd me for't?
That patient anglers, standing all the day
Neere to some shallow stickle or deepe bay;
And fishermen, whose nets have drawne to land
A shoale so great, it well-nye hides the sand,
For such successe, some promontorie's head,
Thrust at by waves, hath knowne me worshipped?
But to increase my griefe, what profits this?
Since still the losse is as the looser is.'

"The many-kernell-bearing pyne of late,
From all trees else, to me was consecrate;
But now behold a roote more worth my love,
Equall to that which, in an obscure grove,
Infernall Jono proper takes to her:
Whose golden slip the Trojan wanderer
(By sage Cumæan Sybil taught) did bring
(By Fates decreed) to be the warranting
Of his free passage, and a safe repayre
Through darke Avernus to the upper ayre.
This must I succour, this must I defend,
And from the wild boare's rooting ever shend;
Here shall the wood-pecker no entrance finde,
Nor Tivy's bevers gnaw the clothing rinde;
Lambeder's heards, nor Radnor's goodly deere,
Shall never once be seene a browsing here.
And now, ye British swaines, (whose harmlesse
sheepe

Than all the world's beside I joy to keepe)
Which spread on every plaine, and hilly wold,
Fleeces no lesse esteem'd than that of gold,
For whose exchange oue Indy gems of price,
The other gives you of her choicest spice.
"And well she may; but we, unwise, the while,
Lessen the glory of our fruitfull iste:
Making those nations thinke we foolish are,
For baser drugs to vent our richer ware,
Which (save the bringer) never profit man,
Except the sexten and physitian.

And whether change of clymes, or what it be,
That proves our mariners' mortalitie,
Sach expert men are spent for such bad fares
As might have made us lords of what is theirs.
Stay, stay at home, ye nobler spirits, and prise
Your lives more high than such base trumperies!
Forbeare to fetch; and they'le goe neere to sue,
And at your ownc dores offer them to you;
Or have their woods and plaines so overgrowne
With poysnous weeds, roots, gums, and seeds un-
knowne;

That they would hire such weeders as you be
To free their land from such fertilitie.
Their spices hot their nature best indures,
But 'twill impayre and much distemper yours.
What our owne soyle affords befits us best;
And long, and long, for ever may we rest

14 Apollonius Smyrnæus. "Virgil's Æneis, b. vi.

Needlesse of help! and may this isle alone Furnish all other lands, and this land none!' "Excuse me, Thetis," quoth the aged man, "If passion drew me from the words of Pan! Which thus I follow: You whose flockes,' quoth By my protection, quit your industry, [he,

For all the good I have and yet may give To such as on the plaines hereafter live, I doe intreat what is not hard to grant, That not a hand rend from this holy plant The smallest brauch; and who so cutteth this, Dye for th' offence; to me so haynous 'tis. And by the floods infernall here I sweare, (An oath whose breach the greatest gods forbeare) Ere Phoebe thrice twelve times shall fill her hornes, No furzy tuft, thicke wood, nor brake of thornes, Shall harbour wolfe, nor in this isle shall breed, Nor live one of that kinde: if what's decreed You keepe inviolate.' To this they swore; And since those beasts have frighted us no more." But, swaine," (quoth Thetis) "what is this you To what you feare shall fall on Philocel?" (tell, "Faire queene, attend; but oh! I feare," quoth "Ere I have ended my sad history, [he, Unstaying Time may bring on his last houre, And so defraud us of thy wished powre. Yond goes a shepheard, give me leave to run, And know the time of execution;

Mine aged limbes I can a little straine,
And quickly come (to end the rest) againe."

ERITANNIA'S PASTORALS.

THE FIFTH SONO.

THE ARGUMENT.

Within this song my Muse doth tell
The worthy fact of Philocel,
And how his love and he, in thrall,
To death depriv'd of funerall,
The queene of waves doth gladly save;
And frees Marina from the cave.

Shepheards that in her cleare eyes did delight, Whilst they were open never høldsit night deind And where they shut, although the morning gray Calld up the Sun, they hardly thought it day! Or if they call it so they did not passes of Withall to say it eclipsed was

The roses on her cheekes, such, as each turne Phoebus might kisse, but had no powre to burne. From her sweet lips distil sweets sweeter doe,b,{ Than from a cherry halfe way cut in two 15T Whose yeelding touch would, as Promethean fire, Lumps truely senselesse with a Muse inspire,v Who, praying her, would youth's desire so stirre, (Each man in minde should be a ravisher 50 AN Some say the nimble-witted Mercury sondi ond Went late disguis'd professing palmistrie, no og And milke maides fortunes told about the land, Onely to get a touch of her soft hand. vi re And that a shepheard, walking on the brim 7 Of a cleare streame where she did use to swim, Saw her by chance, and thinking she had beene Of chastitie the pure and fairest queene, Stole thence dismaid, least he by her decree Might undergoe Acteon's destinie, vs 1 Isuf 2 Did youth's kinde heate inflame me, (but the snow Upon my head, showes it cold long agoe) I then could give (fitting so faire a feature) Right to her fame, and fame to such a creature. When now much like a man the palsie shakes, And spectacles befriend, yet undertakes opek To lymbe a lady, to whose red and white Apelles' curious hand would owe some right; His too unsteady pencell, shadowes here Somewhat too much, and gives over cleere; His eye, deceiv'd, mingles his colours wrong, There strikes too little, and here stayes too long, Does and undoes, takes off, puts on, (in vaine) Now too much white, then too much red againe; And thinking then to give some speciall grace, He workes it ill, or so mistakes the place, That she which sits were better pay for nought, Than bave it ended, and so lamely wrought: So doe F in this weake description erre ;/ And, striving more to grace, more injure her. For ever where true worth for praise doth call, He rightly nothing gives that gives not all. But as a lad who learning to divide,

men

-་་

By one small misse the whole hath falcifide.
and rightly call'd her so
Whom Phileocel (of all the swaines I know
Most worthy) lov'd: alas! that love should be
Subject to fortune's mutabilitie!

Whatever learned bards to fore have sung,
Or to the plaines shepheards and maydens young,
Of sad mishaps in love are set to tell,
Comes short to match the fate of Philocel.

46 For as a labourer toyling at a bay To force some cleere streame from his wonted way, Working on this side sees the water run buet Where he wrought last, and thought it finely done; And that leake stopt, heares it come breaking out Another where, in a farre greater spout, Which mended too, and with a turfe made trim, The brooke is ready to o'reflow the brim,'' Or in the bancke the water having got Some mole-hole, runs, where where he expected not

See Ovid's Metam. b. iii. Pakephatus de incredibilibus historiis. p. 9. Edit. du Gard...

But Philocel's, alas and Coelia's too, 21
Must ne'er attaine so farre as others doe.
Else Fortune in them from her course should
swerve, nabunte

Who most afflicts those that most goods deserve.

Twice had the glorious Sun run thro' the signes,
And with bis kindly heate improv'd the mines,
(As such affirme with certaine hopes that try
The vaine and fruitlesse art of alchymie) ui
Since our swaine lov'd: and twice had Phoebus bin
In horned Aries taking up his inne

Ero he of Coelia's heart possession wonne,
And since that time all his intentions done
Nothing, to bring her thence. All eyes upon her,
Watchfull, as vertue's are on truest honour.
Kept on the isle as carefully of some, lif
As by the Trojans their Palladium 2.

"But where's the fortresse that can Love debarre?
The forces to oppose when he makes warre?
The watch which he shall never finde asleepe
The spye that shall disclose his counsels deepe
That fort, that force, that watch, that spye, would
A lasting stop to a fifth empery,
[be
But we as well may keepe the heate from fire
As sever hearts whom love hath made intyre.

In lovely May, when Titan's golden rayes Make ods in houres between the nights and dages; And weigheth almost downe th' once-eaven scale Where night and day, by th' equinoctiall, Were laid in ballance, as his powre he bent T To banish Cynthia from her, regiment To Latmus' stately hill; and with this light To rule the upper world both day and night, Making the poore Antipodes to feare A like conjunction 'twixt great Jupiter And some Alcmena new, or that the Sun From their horizon did obliquely run: This time the swaines and maidens of the isle The day with sportive dances doe beguile, And every valley rings with shepheards' songs, And every eccho each sweet noate prolongs; And every river, with unusuall pride, And dimpled cheeke, rowles sleeping to the tyde, And lesser springs, which ayrie-breeding woods Preferre as hand-maides to the mighty floods, Scarce fill up halfe their channels, making haste, (In feare, as boyes) least all the sport be past,

"Now was the lord and lady of the May Meeting the May-pole at the breake of day, And Coelia, as the fairest on the greene, Not without some maids' envy, chosen queene. Now was the time com'n when our gentle swaine Must inne his harvest, or lose all againe; Now must be plucke the rose, least other hands, Or tempests, blemish what so fairely stands And, therefore, as they had before decreed, Our shepheard gets a boate, and with all speede In night (that doth on lovers' actions smile) Arrived safe on Mona's fruitfull isle.

aival & Virgil's Æneis, 'b. ii,