On hollow quills of saten straw he piped melody. But when he spied her, his saint, he wip'd his greasy shoes,

And clear'd the drivel from his beard, and thus the shepherd woos:

'I have, sweet wench, a piece of cheese, as good as tooth may chaw,

And bread, and wildings, souling well;' and therewithal did draw

His lardry; and, in eating, 'See yon crumpled ewe,' quoth he,

'Did twin this fall; faith thou art too elvish, and too coy;

Am I, I pray thee, beggarly, that such a flock enjoy! I wis I am not; yet that thou dost hold me in disdain Is brim abroad, and made a gibe to all that keep this plain.

There be as quaint, at least that think themselves as quaint, that crave

The match which thou (I wot not why) may'st, but mislik'st to have.

How would'st thou match? (for well I wot, thou art a female); I,

I know not her, that willingly, in maidenhood would die.

The ploughman's labour hath no end, and he a churl will prove;

The craftsman hath more work in hand than fitteth on to love;

The merchant, trafficking abroad, suspects his wife at home;

A youth will play the wanton, and an old man prove

a mome;

Then choose a shepherd; with the sun he doth his flock unfold,

And all the day on hill or plain he merry chat can hold:

And with the sun doth fold again: then jogging home betime,

He turns a crab, or tunes a round, or sings some merry rhvme;

Nor lacks he gleeful tales to tell, whilst that the bowl

doth trot:

wit

To marvel at, not meddle with, as matchless, I omit. A globe-like head, a gold-like hair, a forehead smooth and high,

An even nose, on either side stood out a grayish eye: Two rosy cheeks, round ruddy lips, with just set teeth within,

A mouth in mean, and underneath a round and dimpled chin.

Her snowy neck, with bluish veins, stood bolt upright upon

Her portly shoulders; beating balls, her veined breasts, anon,

Add more to beauty; wand-like was her middle, falling still

And more, her long and limber arms had white and azure wrists,

And slender fingers answer to her smooth and lily fists! A leg in print, and pretty foot; her tongue of speech was spare;

But speaking, Venus seem'd to speak, the ball from Ide to bear!

With Pallas, Juno, and with both, herself contends in face;

Where equal mixture did not want of mild and stately grace:

Her smiles were sober, and her looks were cheerful unto all,

And such as neither wanton seem, nor wayward; mell, nor gall.

A quiet mind, a patient mood, and not disdaining any; Not gibing, gadding, gawdy; and her faculties were

many.

A nymph, no tongue, no heart, no eye, might praise, might wish, might see,

For life, for love, for form, more good, more worth, more fair than she !

Yet such an one, as such was none, save only she was such :

Of Argentile, to say the most, were to be silent much.' 'I knew the lady very well, but worthless of such praise,'

The neatress said; and muse I do, a shepherd thus

should blaze

The coat of beauty. Credit me, thy latter speech bewrays Thy clownish shape, a coined show. But wherefore dost thou weep?'

(The shepherd wept, and she was woe, and both did silence keep.)

'In troth,' quoth he, 'I am not such as seeming I profess;

But then for her, and now for thee, I from myself Her loved I, wretch that I am, a recreant to be; digress.

I loved her, that hated love; but now I die for thee. At Kirkland is my father's court, and Curan is my

Thy twice beloved Agentile submitteth her to thee: And for thy double love presents herself a single fee; In passion, not in person chang'd, and I, my lord, am

she.'

They sweetly surfeiting in joy, and silent for a space, Whereas the ecstacy had end, did tenderly embrace; And for their wedding, and their wish, got fitting time and place.

Sonnet.

[By George Chapman, the Translator of Homer: 1595.] Muses, that sing Love's sensual empirie, And lovers kindling your enraged fires At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye, Blown with the empty breath of vain desires; You, that prefer the painted cabinet Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye, That all your joys in dying figures set, And stain the living substance of your glory; Abjure those joys, abhor their memory; And let my love the honour'd subject be Of love and honour's complete history! Your eyes were never yet let in to see The majesty and riches of the mind,

That dwell in darkness; for your god is blind.

The Woodman's Walk,

[From England's Helicon,' 1600, where it is signed, 'Shep. Tonie.]

Through a fair forest as I went,
Upon a summer's day,

I met a woodman, quaint and gent,
Yet in a strange array.

I marvell'd much at his disguise,
Whom I did know so well:

But thus, in terms both grave and wise,
His mind he 'gan to tell;

Friend! muse not at this fond array,

But list a while to me:
For it hath holpe me to survey
What I shall show to thee.

Long liv'd I in this forest fair,
Till, weary of my weal,
Abroad in walks I would repair,
As now I will reveal.

My first day's walk was to the court,
Where beauty fed mine eyes;
Yet found I that the courtly sport
Did mask in sly disguise:

For falsehood sat in fairest looks,
And friend to friend was coy:
Court favour fill'd but empty rooks,
And then I found no joy.

Desert went naked in the cold,

When crouching craft was fed :

Sweet words were cheaply bought and sold, But none that stood in stead.

Wit was employed for each man's own;
Plain meaning came too short;
All these devices, seen and known,
Made me forsake the court.

Unto the city next I went,

In hope of better hap;

Where liberally I launcht and spent,

As set on Fortune's lap.

The little stock I had in store, Methought would ne'er be done ; Friends flock'd about me more and more, As quickly lost as won.

For, when I spent, then they were kind;
But when my purse did fail,

The foremost man came last behind :
Thus love with wealth doth quail.

Once more for footing yet I strove,

Although the world did frown:
But they, before that held me up,
Together trod me down.

And, lest once more I should arise,
They sought my quite decay:
Then got I into this disguise,
And thence I stole away.

And in my mind (methought), I said,
Lord bless me from the city:
Where simpleness is thus betray'd
Without remorse or pity.

Yet would I not give over so,
But once more try my fate;
And to the country then I go,
To live in quiet state.

There did appear no subtle shows,

But yea and nay went smoothly;
But, lord! how country folks can gloze,
When they speak most untruly!

More craft was in a buttoned cap,
And in an old wife's rail,
Than in my life it was my hap
To see on down or dale.

There was no open forgery

But underhanded gleaning, Which they call country policy,

But hath a worser meaning.

Some good bold face bears out the wrong, Because he gains thereby ;

The poor man's back is crack'd ere long, Yet there he lets him lie.

And no degree, among them all,
But had such close intending,
That I upon my knees did fall,

And pray'd for their amending.

Back to the woods I got again,
In mind perplexed sore;
Where I found ease of all my pain,
And mean to stray no more.

There city, court, nor country too,
Can any way annoy me ;
But as a woodman ought to do,
I freely may employ me ;

There live I quietly alone,

And none to trip my talk: Wherefore, when I am dead and gone, Think on the woodman's walk!

There is a Garden in her Face.

[From 'An Hour's Recreation in Music,' by Rich. Alison: 1606]

There is a garden in her face,

Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,

Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
There cherries grow that none may buy,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do inclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow:
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Whene'er such wanderers I meet,

As from their night-sports they trudge home, With counterfeiting voice I greet,

And call them on with me to roam :
Through woods, through lakes;
Through bogs, through brakes;

Or else, unseen, with them I go,
All in the nick,

To play some trick,

And frolic it, with ho, ho, ho!

Sometimes I meet them like a man,
Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can,

To trip and trot about them round.
But if to ride

My back they stride,

More swift than wind away I go,
O'er hedge and lands,
Through pools and ponds,
I hurry, laughing, ho, ho, ho!

When lads and lasses merry be,

With possets and with junkets fine;
Unseen of all the company,

I eat their cakes and sip their wine!
And, to make sport,

I puff and snort:

And out the candles I do blow :
The maids I kiss,

They shriek-Who's this?

I answer nought but ho, ho, ho!

Yet now and then, the maids to please,
At midnight I card up their wool;
And, while they sleep and take their ease,
With wheel to threads their flax I pull.
I grind at mill

Their malt up still;

I dress their hemp; I spin their tow; If any wake,

And would me take,

I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho!

15

With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks;

Like an old courtier, &c.

With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, and bows,

With old swords and bucklers, that had borne many shrewd blows,

And an old frieze coat, to cover his worship's trunk hose,

And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose; Like an old courtier, &c.

With a good old fashion, when Christmas was come, To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum,

With good cheer enough to furnish every old room, And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb;

Like an old courtier, &c.

With an old falconer, huntsmen, and a kennel of hounds,

That never hawk'd, nor hunted, but in his own grounds;

Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds,

And when he died, gave every child a thousand good pounds;

Like an old courtier, &c.

But to his eldest son his house and lands he assign'd, Charging him in his will to keep the old bountiful mind,

To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind:

But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclined;

Like a young courtier of the king's,

And the king's young courtier.

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land,

Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command,

And takes up a thousand pounds upon his father's land,

And gets drunk in a tavern till he can neither go nor stand:

Like a young courtier, &c.

With a newfangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and

spare,

Who never knew what belong'd to good housekeeping or care,

Who buys gaudy-colour'd fans to play with wanton air,

And seven or eight different dressings of other women's hair:

Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one stood,

Hung round with new pictures that do the poor no good,

With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood,

And a new smooth shovel board, whereon no victuals ne'er stood:

Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new study, stuff'd full of pamphlets and plays, And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays, With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four or five days,

And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws and toys:

Like a young courtier, &c.

Time's Alteration.

When this old cap was new,
"Tis since two hundred year;
No malice then we knew,

But all things plenty were:
All friendship now decays

(Believe me this is true); Which was not in those days, When this old cap was new. The nobles of our land,

Were much delighted then, To have at their command A crew of lusty men, Which by their coats were known, Of tawny, red, or blue, With crests on their sleeves shown, When this old cap was new.

Now pride hath banish'd all,

Unto our land's reproach, When he whose means is small, Maintains both horse and coach: Instead of a hundred men,

The coach allows but two; This was not thought on then, When this old cap was new. Good hospitality

Was cherish'd then of many; Now poor men starve and die, And are not help'd by any: For charity waxeth cold,

And love is found in fow; This was not in time of old,

When this old cap was new. Where'er you travelled then,

You might meet on the way Brave knights and gentlemen,

Clad in their country grey; That courteous would appear, And kindly welcome you ; No puritans then were,

When this old cap was new.

Our ladies in those days

In civil habit went; Broad cloth was then worth praise, And gave the best content:

French fashions then were scorn'd;
Fond fangles then none knew;
Then modesty women adorn'd,
When this old cap was new.
A man might then behold,

At Christmas, in each hall,
Good fires to curb the cold,

And meat for great and small:
The neighbours were friendly bidden,

And all had welcome true;

The poor from the gates were not chidden,

When this old cap was new.

Black jacks to every man

Were fill'd with wine and beer;
No pewter pot nor can

In those days did appear:
Good cheer in a nobleman's house
Was counted a seemly show;
We wanted no brawn nor souse,
When this old cap was new.
We took not such delight

In cups of silver fine;

None under the degree of a knight
In plate drank beer or wine:

Now each mechanical man

Hath a cupboard of plate for a show; Which was a rare thing then,

When this old cap was new.

Then bribery was unborn,
No simony men did use;
Christians did usury scorn,
Devis'd among the Jews.
The lawyers to be fee'd

At that time hardly knew ;
For man with man agreed,
When this old cap was new.
No captain then caroused,
Nor spent poor soldier's pay;
They were not so abused

As they are at this day:
Of seven days they make eight,
To keep from them their due;
Poor soldiers had their right,

When this old cap was new:
Which made them forward still
To go, although not prest;
And going with good will,
Their fortunes were the best.
Our English then in fight
Did foreign foes subdue,
And forced them all to flight,
When this old cap was new.
God save our gracious king,
And send him long to live:
Lord, mischief on them bring
That will not their alms give,
But seek to rob the poor

Of that which is their due:
This was not in time of yore,

When this old cap was new.

Loyalty Confined.

[Supposed to have been written by Sir Roger L'Estrange, while in confinement on account of his adherence to Charles I.] Beat on, proud billows; Boreas, blow; Swell, curl'd waves, high as Jove's roof; Your incivility doth show

That innocence is tempest-proof;

Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm; Then strike, affliction, for thy wounds are balm.

That which the world miscalls a jail,

A private closet is to me:
Whilst a good conscience is my bail,
And innocence my liberty:

Locks, bars, and solitude, together met,
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.
I, whilst I wish'd to be retired,
Into this private room was turned;
As if their wisdoms had conspir'd

The salamander should be burned;
Or like those sophists, that would drown a fish,
I am constrain'd to suffer what I wish.
The cynic loves his poverty,

The pelican her wilderness,
And 'tis the Indian's pride to be
Naked on frozen Caucasus :
Contentment cannot smart, stoics we see
Make torments easy to their apathy.
These manacles upon my arm

I, as my mistress' favours, wear;
And for to keep my ankles warm,

I have some iron shackles there :
These walls are but my garrison; this cell,
Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.
I'm in the cabinet lock'd up

Like some high-prized margarite;
Or like the great Mogul or Pope,

Am cloister'd up from public sight:
Retiredness is a piece of majesty,

And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as thee.
Here sin for want of food must starve,
Where tempting objects are not seen;
And these strong walls do only serve
To keep vice out, and keep me in:
Malice of late 's grown charitable sure;
I'm not committed, but am kept secure.
So he that struck at Jason's life,
Thinking t' have made his purpose sure,
By a malicious friendly knife

Did only wound him to a cure:
Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meant
Mischief, ofttimes proves favour by th' event.

When once my prince affliction hath,
Prosperity doth treason seem;
And to make smooth so rough a path,
I can learn patience from him:

Now not to suffer shows no loyal heart-
When kings want ease, subjects must bear a part.
What though I cannot see my king,
Neither in person, or in coin;
Yet contemplation is a thing

That renders what I have not, mine:
My king from me what adamant can part,
Whom I do wear engraven on my heart.

Have you not seen the nightingale
A prisoner like, coop'd in a cage,
How doth she chant her wonted tale,
In that her narrow hermitage!
Even then her charming melody doth prove
That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove.
I am that bird whom they combine
Thus to deprive of liberty;

But though they do my corpse confine,
Yet, maugre hate, my soul is free:
And, though immur'd, yet can I chirp and sing
Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king.

My soul is free as ambient air,
Although my baser part's immew'd;
Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair
T'accompany my solitude;
Although rebellion do my body bind,
My king alone can captivate my mind.