Part 12

In _Pan_ repose thy trust; extoll his praise (That neuer shall decay, but euer liues): Honor thy Parents (to prolong thy dayes), Let not thy left hand know what right hand giues: From needie men turn not thy face away, (Though Charitie be now yclad in clay).

Heare Shepheards oft (thereby great wisdome growes), With good aduice a sober answere make: Be not remoou'd with euery winde that blowes, (That course doo onely sinfull sinners take). Thy talke will shew thy fame or els thy shame; (As pratling tongue doth often purchase blame).

Obtaine a faithfull frend that will not faile thee, Thinke on thy Mothers paine in her child-bearing, Make no debate, least quickly thou bewaile thee, Visit the sicke with comfortable chearing: Pittie the prisner, helpe the fatherlesse, Reuenge the Widdowes wrongs in her distresse.

Thinke on thy graue, remember still thy end, Let not thy winding-sheete be staind with guilt, Trust not a fained reconciled frend, More than an open foe (that blood hath spilt) (Who tutcheth pitch, with pitch shalbe defiled), Be not with wanton companie beguiled.

Take not a flattring woman to thy wife, A shameles creature, full of wanton words, (Whose bad, thy good; whose lust will end thy life, Cutting thy hart with sharpe two edged swords:) Cast not thy minde on her whose lookes allure, But she that shines in Truth and Vertue pure.

Praise not thy selfe, let other men commend thee; Beare not a flattring tongue to glauer anie, Let Parents due correction not offend thee: Rob not thy neighbor, seeke the loue of manie; Hate not to heare good Counsell giuen thee, Lay not thy money vnto Vsurie.

Restraine thy steps from too much libertie, Fulfill not th'enuious mans malitious minde; Embrace thy Wife, live not in lecherie; Content thyselfe with what Fates haue assignde: Be rul'd by Reason, Warning dangers saue; True Age is reuerend worship to thy graue.

Be patient in extreame Aduersitie, (Man's chiefest credit growes by dooing well,) Be no high-minded in Prosperity; Falshood abhorre, nor lying fable tell. Giue not thy selfe to Sloth, (the sinke of Shame, The moath of Time, the enemie to Fame.)

This leare I learned of a Bel-dame Trot, (When I was yong and wylde as now thou art): But her good counsell I regarded not; I markt it with my eares, not with my hart: But now I finde it too--too true (my Sonne), When my Age-withered Spring is almost done.

Behold my gray head, full of siluer haires, My wrinckled skin, deepe furrowes in my face: Cares bring Old-Age, Old-Age increaseth cares; My Time is come, and I haue run my Race: Winter hath snow'd vpon my hoarie head, And with my Winter all my ioys are dead.

And thou loue-hating Boy, (whom once I loued), Farewell, a thousand-thousand times farewell; My Teares the Marble Stones to ruth haue moued; My sad Complaints the babling Ecchoes tell: And yet thou wouldst take no compassion on mee. Scorning that crosse which Loue hath laid vpon mee.

The hardest steele with fier doth mend his misse, Marble is mollifyde with drops of Raine; But thou (more hard than Steele or Marble is) Doost scorne my Teares, and my true loue disdaine, Which for thy sake shall euerlasting bee, Wrote in the Annalls of Eternitie.

By this, the Night (with darknes ouer-spred) Had drawne the curtaines of her cole-blacke bed; And _Cynthia_ muffling her face with a clowd, (Lest all the world of her should be too prowd) Had taken _Conge_ of the sable Night, (That wanting her cannot be halfe so bright;)

When I poore forlorne man and outcast creature (Despairing of my Loue, despisde of Beautie) Grew male-content, scorning his louely feature, That had disdaind my euer-zealous dutie: I hy'd me homeward by the Moone-shine light; Forswearing Loue, and all his fond delight.

_FINIS._

The Shepherds Content

_OR_

The happines of a harmless life.

Written upon Occasion of the

_former Subject_.

Of all the kindes of common Countrey life, Me thinkes a Shepheards life is most Content; His State is quiet Peace, deuoyd of strife; His thoughts are pure from all impure intent, His Pleasures rate sits at an easie rent: He beares no mallice in his harmles hart, Malicious meaning hath in him no part.

He is not troubled with th'afflicted minde, His cares are onely ouer silly Sheepe; He is not vnto Iealozie inclinde, (Thrice happie Man) he knowes not how to weepe; Whil'st I the Treble in deepe sorrowes keepe; I cannot keepe the Meane; for why (alas) Griefes haue no meane, though I for meane doe passe.

No Briefes nor Semi-Briefes are in my Songs, Because (alas) my griefe is seldome shoot; My Prick-Song's alwayes full of Largues and Longs, (Because I neuer can obtaine the Port Of my desires: Hope is a happie Fort.) Prick-song (indeed) because it pricks my hart; And Song, because sometimes I ease my smart.

The mightie Monarch of a royall Realme, Swaying his Scepter with a Princely pompe; Of his desires cannot so steare the Healme, But sometime falls into a deadly dumpe, When as he heares the shrilly-sounding Trumpe Of Forren Enemies, or home-bred Foes; His minde of griefe, his hart is full of woes.

Or when bad subiects gainst their Soueraigne (Like hollow harts) vnnaturally rebell, How carefull is he to suppresse againe Their desperate forces, and their powers to quell With loyall harts, till all (againe) be well: When (being subdu'd) his care is rather more To keepe them vnder, than it was before.

Thus is he neuer full of sweete Content, But either this or that his ioy debars: Now Noble-men gainst Noble-men are bent, Now Gentlemen and others fall at iarrs: Thus is his Countrey full of ciuill warrs; He still in danger sits, still fearing Death: For Traitors seeke to stop their Princes breath.

The whylst the other hath no enemie, Without it be the Wolfe and cruell Fates (Which no man spare): when as his disagree He with his sheep-hooke knaps them on the pates, Schooling his tender Lambs from wanton gates: Beasts are more kinde then Men, Sheepe seeke not blood But countrey caytiues kill their Countreyes good.

The Courtier he fawn's for his Princes fauour, In hope to get a Princely ritch Reward; His tongue is tipt with honey for to glauer; Pride deales the Deck whilst Chance doth choose the Card, Then comes another and his Game hath mard; Sitting betwixt him, and the morning Sun: Thus Night is come before the Day is done.

Some Courtiers carefull of their Princes health, Attends his Person with all dilligence Whose hand's their hart; whose welfare is their wealth, Whose safe Protection is their sure Defence, For pure affection, not for hope of pence: Such is the faithfull hart, such is the minde, Of him that is to Vertue still inclinde.

The skilfull Scholler, and braue man at Armes, First plies his Booke, last fights for Countries Peace; Th'one feares Obliuion, th'other fresh Alarmes; His paines nere ende, his trauailes neuer cease; His with the Day, his with the Night increase: He studies how to get eternall Fame; The Souldier fights to win a glorious Name.

The Knight, the Squire, the Gentleman, the Clowne, Are full of crosses and calamities; Lest fickle Fortune should begin to frowne, And turne their mirth to extreame miseries: Nothing more certaine than incertainties; Fortune is full of fresh varietie: Constant in nothing but inconstancie.

The wealthie Merchant that doth crosse the Seas, To _Denmarke_, _Poland_, _Spaine_, and _Barbarie;_ For all his ritches, liues not still at ease; Sometimes he feares ship-spoyling Pyracie, Another while deceipt and treacherie Of his owne Factors in a forren Land; Thus doth he still in dread and danger stand.

Well is he tearmd a Merchant-Venturer, Since he doth venter lands, and goods, and all: When he doth trauell for his Traffique far, Little he knowes what fortune may befall, Or rather what mis-fortune happen shall: Sometimes he splits his Ship against a rocke; Loosing his men, his goods, his wealth, his stocke.

And if he so escape with life away, He counts himselfe a man most fortunate, Because the waues their rigorous rage did stay, (When being within their cruell powers of late, The Seas did seeme to pittie his estate) But yet he neuer can recouer health, Because his ioy was drowned with his wealth.

The painfull Plough-swaine, and the Husband-man Rise vp each morning by the breake of day, Taking what toyle and drudging paines they can, And all is for to get a little stay; And yet they cannot put their care away: When Night is come, their cares begin afresh, Thinking vpon their Morrowes busines.

Thus euerie man is troubled with vnrest, From rich to poore, from high to low degree: Therefore I thinke that man is truly blest, That neither cares for wealth nor pouertie, But laughs at Fortune and her foolerie; That giues rich Churles great store of golde and fee, And lets poore Schollers liue in miserie.

O fading Branches of decaying Bayes Who now will water your dry-wither'd Armes? Or where is he that sung the louely Layes Of simple Shepheards in their Countrey-Farmes? Ah he is dead, the cause of all our harmes: And with him dide my ioy and sweete delight; And cleare to Clowdes, the Day is turnd to Night.

SYDNEY. The Syren of this latter Age; SYDNEY. The Blasing-starre of England's glory; SYDNEY. The Wonder of wise and sage; SYDNEY. The Subiect of true Vertues story; This Syren, Starre, this Wonder, and this Subiect; In dumbe, dim, gone, and mard by Fortunes Obiect.

And thou my sweete _Amintas_ vertuous minde, Should I forget thy Learning or thy Loue; Well might I be accounted but vnkinde, Whose pure affection I so oft did proue: Might my poore Plaints hard stones to pitty moue; His losse should be lamented of each Creature, So great his Name, so gentle was his Nature.

But sleepe his soule in sweet Elysium, (The happy Hauen of eternall rest:) And let me to my former matter come, Prouing by Reason, Shepheard's life is best, Because he harbours Vertue in his Brest; And is content (the chiefest thing of all) With any fortune that shall him befall.

He sits all Day lowd-piping on a Hill, The whilst his flocke about him daunce apace, His hart with ioy, his eares with Musique fill: Anon a bleating Weather beares the Bace, A Lambe the Treble; and to his disgrace Another answers like a middle Meane: Thus euery one to beare a Part are faine.

Like a great King he rules a little Land, Still making Statutes, and ordayning Lawes; Which if they breake, he beates them with his Wand: He doth defend them from the greedy Iawes Of rau'ning Woolues, and Lyons bloudy Pawes. His Field, his Realme; his Subiects are his Sheepe; Which he doth still in due obedience keepe.

First he ordaines by Act of Parlament, (Holden by custome in each Countrey Towne), That if a sheepe (with any bad intent) Presume to breake the neighbour Hedges downe, Or haunt strange Pastures that be not his owne; He shall be pounded for his lustines, Vntill his Master finde out some redres.

Also if any proue a Strageller From his owne fellowes in a forraine field, He shall be taken for a wanderer, And forc'd himselfe immediatly to yeeld, Or with a wyde-mouth'd Mastiue Curre be kild. And if not claimd within a twelue-month's space, He shall remaine with Land-lord of the place.

Or if one stray to feede far from the rest, He shall be pincht by his swift pye-bald Curre; If any by his fellowes be opprest, The wronger (for he doth all wrong abhorre) Shall be well bangd so long as he can sturre. Because he did anoy his harmeles Brother, That meant not harme to him nor any other.

And last of all, if any wanton Weather, With briers and brambles teare his fleece in twaine, He shall be forc'd t'abide cold frosty weather, And powring showres of ratling stormes of raine, Till his new fleece begins to grow againe: And for his rashnes he is doom'd to goe without a new Coate all the Winter throw.

Thus doth he keepe them, still in awfull feare, And yet allowes them liberty inough; So deare to him their welfare doth appeare, That when their fleeces gin to waxen rough, He combs and trims them with a Rampicke bough, Washing them in the streames of siluer _Ladon_, To cleanse their skinnes from all corruption.

Another while he wooes his Country Wench, (With Chaplets crownd, and gaudy girlonds dight) Whose burning Lust her modest eye doth quench, Standing amazed at her heauenly sight, (Beauty doth rauish Sense with sweet Delight) Clearing _Arcadia_ with a smoothed Browe When Sun-bright smiles melts flakes of driuen snowe.

Thus doth he frollicke it each day by day, And when Night comes drawes homeward to his Coate, Singing a Iigge or merry Roundelay; (For who sings commonly so merry a Noate, As he that cannot chop or change a groate) And in the winter Nights (his chiefe desire) He turns a Crabbe or Cracknell in the fire.

He leads his Wench a Country Horn-pipe Round, About a May-pole on a Holy-day; Kissing his louely Lasse (with Garlands Crownd) With whoopping heigh-ho singing Care away; Thus doth he passe the merry month of May: And all th'yere after in delight and ioy, (Scorning a King) he cares for no annoy.

What though with simple cheere he homely fares? He liues content, a King can doo no more; Nay not so much, for Kings haue manie cares: But he hath none; except it be that sore Which yong and old, which vexeth ritch and poore, The pangs of Loue. O! who can vanquish Loue? That conquers Kingdomes, and the Gods aboue?

Deepe-wounding Arrow, hart-consuming Fire; Ruler of Reason, slaue to tyraunt Beautie; Monarch of harts, Fuell of fond desire, Prentice to Folly, foe to faind Duetie. Pledge of true Zeale, Affections moitie; If thou kilst where thou wilt, and whom it list thee, (Alas) how can a silly Soule resist thee?

By thee great _Collin_ lost his libertie, By thee sweet _Astrophel_ forwent his ioy; By thee _Amyntas_ wept incessantly, By thee good _Rowland_ liu'd in great annoy; O cruell, peeuish, vylde, blind-seeing Boy: How canst thou hit their harts, and yet not see? (If thou be blinde, as thou art faind to bee).

A Shepheard loues no ill, but onely thee; He hath no care, but onely by thy causing: Why doost thou shoot thy cruell shafts at mee? Giue me some respite, some short time of pausing: Still my sweet Loue with bitter lucke th'art sawcing: Oh, if thou hast a minde to shew thy might; Kill mightie Kings, and not a wretched wight.

Yet (O Enthraller of infranchizd harts) At my poor hart if thou wilt needs be ayming, Doo me the fauour, show me both thy Darts, That I may chuse the best for my harts mayming, (A free consent is priuiledgd from blaming:) Then pierce his hard hart with thy golden Arrow, That thou my wrong, that he may rue my sorrow.

But let mee feele the force of thy lead Pyle, What should I doo with loue when I am old? I know not how to flatter, fawne, or smyle; Then stay thy hand, O cruell Bow-man hold: For if thou strik'st me with thy dart of gold, I sweare to thee (by Ioues immortall curse) I haue more in my hart, than in my purse.

The more I weepe, the more he bends his Bow, For in my hart a golden Shaft I finde: (Cruell, vnkinde) and wilt thou leaue me so? Can no remorce nor pittie moue thy minde? Is Mercie in the Heauens so hard to finde? Oh, then it is no meruaile that on earth Of kinde Remorce there is so great a dearth.

How happie were a harmles Shepheards life, If he had neuer knowen what Loue did meane; But now fond Loue in euery place is rife, Staining the purest Soule with spots vncleane, Making thicke purses, thin: and fat bodies, leane: Loue is a fiend, a fire, a heauen, a hell; Where pleasure, paine, and sad repentance dwell.

There are so manie _Danaes_ nowadayes, That loue for lucre; paine for gaine is sold: No true affection can their fancie please, Except it be a _Ioue_, to raine downe gold Into their laps, which they wyde open hold: If _legem pone_ comes, he is receau'd, When _Vix haud habeo_ is of hope bereau'd.

Thus haue I showed in my Countrey vaine The sweet Content that Shepheards still inioy; The mickle pleasure, and the little paine That euer doth awayte the Shepheards Boy: His hart is neuer troubled with annoy. He is a King, for he commands his Sheepe; He knowes no woe, for he doth seldome weepe.

He is a Courtier, for he courts his Loue: He is a Scholler, for he sings sweet Ditties: He is a Souldier, for he wounds doth proue; He is the fame of Townes, the shame of Citties; He scornes false Fortune, put true Vertue pitties. He is a Gentleman, because his nature Is kinde and affable to euerie Creature.

Who would not then a simple Shepheard bee, Rather than be a mightie Monarch made? Since he inioyes such perfect libertie, As neuer can decay, nor neuer fade: He seldome sits in dolefull Cypresse shade, But liues in hope, in ioy, in peace, in blisse: Ioying all ioy with this content of his.

But now good-fortune lands my little Boate Vpon the shoare of his desired rest: Now I must leaue (awhile) my rurall noate, To thinke on him whom my soule loueth best; He that can make the most vnhappie blest: In whose sweete lap He lay me downe to sleepe, And neuer wake till Marble-stones shall weepe.

_FINIS._

SONNET.

Loe here behold these tributarie Teares Paid to thy faire, but cruell tyrant Eyes; Loe here the blossome of my youthfull yeares, Nipt with the fresh of thy Wraths winter, dyes,

Here on Loues Altar I doo offer vp This burning hart for my Soules sacrifice; Here I receaue this deadly-poysned Cu[p] Of _Circe_ charm'd; wherein deepe Magicke lyes.

Then Teares (if thou be happie Teares indeed), And Hart (if thou be lodged in his brest), And Cup (if thou canst helpe despaire with speed); Teares, Hart, and Cup conjoyne to make me blest: Teares moue, Hart win, Cup cause, ruth, loue, desire, In word, in deed, by moane, by zeale, by fire.

_FINIS._

THE COMPLAINT

OF CHASTITIE.

Briefely touching the cause of the death of _Matilda Fitzwalters_ an English Ladie; sometime loued of King _Iohn_, after poysoned. The Storie is at large written by _Michael Dreyton_.

You modest Dames, inricht with Chastitie. Maske your bright eyes with _Vestaes_ sable Vaile, Since few are left so faire or chast as shee; (Matter for me to weepe, you to bewaile): For manie seeming so, of Vertue faile; Whose louely Cheeks (with rare vermillion tainted) Can neuer blush because their faire is painted.

O faire-foule Tincture, staine of Woman-kinde, Mother of Mischiefe, Daughter of Deceate, False traitor to the Soule, blot to the Minde, Vsurping Tyrant of true Beauties seate, Right Cousner of the eye, lewd Follies baite, The flag of filthines, the sinke of shame, The Diuells dye, dishonour of thy name.

Monster of Art, Bastard of bad Desier, Il-worshipt Idoll, false Imagerie, Ensigne of Vice, to thine owne selfe a lier, Silent Inchaunter, mindes Anatomie, Sly Bawd to Lust, Pandor to Infamie, Slaunder of Truth, Truth of Dissimulation; Staining our Clymate more than anie Nature.

What shall I say to thee? thou scorne of Nature, Blacke spot of sinne, vylde lure of lecherie; Iniurious Blame to euerie faemale creature, Wronger of time, Broker of trecherie, Trap of greene youth, false Womens witcherie, Hand-maid of pride, high-way to wickednesse; Yet path-way to Repentance, nere the lesse.

Thou dost entice the minde to dooing euill, Thou setst dissention twixt the man and wife; A Saint in show, and yet indeed a deuill: Thou art the cause of euerie common strife; Thou art the life of Death, the death of Life! Thou doost betray thyselfe to Infamie, When thou art once discernd by the eye.

Ah, little knew _Matilda_ of thy being, Those times were pure from all impure complection; Then Loue came at Desert, Desert of seeing, Then Vertue was the mother of Affection, (But Beautie now is vnder no subjection), Then women were the same that men did deeme, But now they are the same they doo not seeme.

What fæmale now intreated of a King With gold and iewels, pearles and precious stones, Would willingly refuse so sweete a thing? Onely for a little show of Vertue ones? Women haue kindnes grafted in their bones. Gold is a deepe-perswading Orator, Especially where few the fault abhor.

But yet shee rather deadly poyson chose, (Oh cruell Bane of most accursed Clime;) Than staine that milk-white Mayden-virgin Rose, Which shee had kept vnspotted till that time: And not corrupted with this earthly slime Her soule shall liue: inclosd eternally, In that pure shrine of Immortality.

This is my Doome: and this shall come to passe, For what are Pleasures but still-vading ioyes? Fading as flowers, brittle as a glasse, Or Potters Clay; crost with the least annoyes; All thinges in this life are but trifling Toyes: But Fame and Vertue neuer shall decay, For Fame is Toomblesse, Vertue liues for aye!

_FINIS._

Hellens Rape.

_OR_

A light Lanthorne for light Ladies.

Written in English Hexameters.