To tell what thou didst sing, when he did plaie ;
For well I weene it worth recounting was,
Whether it were some hymne, or morall laie,
Or carol made to praise thy loved lasse."
"Nor of my love, nor of my lasse,” quoth he,
"I then did sing, as then occasion fell:
For love had me forlorne, forlorne of me,
That made me in that desart choose to dwell.
But of my river Bregogs love I soong,
Which to the shiny Mulla he did beare,
And yet doth beare, and ever will, so long
As water doth within his bancks appeare."

"Of fellowship," said then that bony boy, "Record to us that lovely lay againe : The staie whereof shall nought these eares annoy, Who all that Colin makes do covet faine." "Heare then," quoth he, "the tenor of my tale,

In sort as I it to that shepheard told :
No leasing new, nor grandams fable stale,

But auncient truth coufirm'd with credence old.
"Old father Mole, (Mole hight that mountain
gray

That walls the northside of Armulla dale)
He had a daughter fresh as floure of May,
Which gave that name unto that pleasant vale;
Mulla, the daughter of old Mole, so hight
The uimph, which of that water course has charge,
That, springing out of Mole, doth run downe right
Te Buttevant, where, spreading forth at large,
It giveth name unto that auncient cittie,
Which Kilnemullah clepped is of old;
Whose ragged ruines breed great ruth and pittie
To travailers, which it from far behold.
Full faine she lov'd, and was belov'd full faine
Of her owne brother river, Bregog hight,
So hight because of this deceitfull traine,
Which he with Mulla wrought to win delight.
But her old sire more carefull of her good,
And meaning her much better to preferre,
Did thinke to match her with the neighbour flood,
Which Allo hight, Broad-water called farre;
And wrought so well with his continuall paine,
That he that river for his daughter wonne :
The dowre agreed, the day assigned plaine,
The place appointed where it should be doone.
Nath'lesse the nymph her former liking held;
For love will not be drawne, but must be ledde;
And Bregog did so well her fancie weld,
That her good will he got first to wedde.
But for her father, sitting still on hie,
Did warily still watch which way she went,
And eke from far observ'd, with iealous eie,
Which way his course the wanton Bregog bent;
Him to deceive, for all his watchfull ward,
The wily lover did devise this slight:
First into many parts his streame he shar'd,
That, whilest the one was watcht, the other might
Passe unespide to meete her by the way;
And then, besides, those little streames so broken
He under ground so closely did convay,
That of their passage doth appeare no token,
Till they into the Mullaes water slide.
So secretly did he his love enjoy :
Yet not so secret, but it was descride,
And told her father by a shepheards boy.
Who, wondrous wroth for that so foule despight,
In great avenge did roll downe from his hitl
Huge mightie stones, the which encomber might
His passage, and his water-courses spill.

So of a river, which he was of old,
He none was made, but scattred all to nought;
And, lost emong those rocks into him rold,
Did lose his name: so deare his love he bought."
Which having said, him Thestylis bespake;
"Now by my life this was a mery lay,
Worthie of Colin selfe, that did it make.
But read now eke, of friendship I thee pray,
What dittie did that other shepheard sing:
For I do covet most the same to heare,
As men use most to covet forreine thing."
"That shall I eke," quoth he, "to you declare:
His song was all a lamentable lay
Of great unkindnesse, and of usage hard,
Of Cynthia the ladie of the sea,
Which from her presence faultlesse him debard.
And ever and anon, with singulfs rife,
He cryed out, to make his undersong;

Ah! my loves queene, and goddesse of my life, Who shall me pittie, when thou doest me wrong?' Then gan a gentle bonylasse to speake,

That Marin hight; "Right well he sure did plaine,
That could great Cynthiaes sore displeasure breake,
And move to take him to her grace againe.
But tell on further, Colin, as befell
Twixt him and thee, that thee did hence dissuade."
"When thus our pipes we both had wearied well,”
Quoth he, " and each an end of singing made,
He gan to cast great lyking to my lore,
And great dislyking to my lucklesse lot,
That banisht had my selfe, like wight forlore,
Into that waste, where I was quite forgot.
The which to leave, thenceforth he counseld mee,
Unmeet for man, in whom was ought regardfull,
And wend with him his Cynthia to see;
Whose grace was great and bounty most rewardfull.
Besides her peerlesse skill in making well,
And all the ornaments of wondrous wit,
Such as all womankynd did far excell;
Such as the world admyr'd, and praised it:
So what with hope of good, and hate of ill,
He me perswaded forth with him to fare.
Nought tooke I with me, but mine oaten quill:
Small needments else need shepheard to prepare.
So to the sea we came; the sea, that is
A world of waters heaped up on hie,
Rolling like mountaines in wide wildernesse,
Horrible, hideous, roaring with hoarse crie."
"And is the sea," quoth Coridon, "so fearfull ?"
"Fearful much more," quoth he, "then hart can

fear:

Thousand wyld beasts with deep mouthes gaping direfull

Therin stil wait poore passengers to teare.
Who life doth loath, and longs death to behold,
Before he die, alreadie dead with feare,
And yet would live with heart halfe stonie cold,
Let him to sea, and he shall see it there.
And yet as ghastly dreadfull, as it seemes,
Bold men, presuming life for gaine to sell,
Dare tempt that gulf, and in those wandring stremes
Seek waies unknowne, waies leading down to Hell.
For, as we stood there waiting on the strond,
Behold, an huge great vessel! to us came,
Dauncing upon the waters back to lond,
As if it scornd the daunger of the same;
Yet was it but a wooden frame and fraile,
Glewed togither with some subtile matter.
Yet had it armes and wings, and head and taile,
And life to move itselfe upon the water.

Strange thing! how bold and swift the monster was,
That neither car'd for wynd, nor haile, nor raine,
Nor swelling waves, but thorough them did passe
So proudly, that she made them roare againe.
The same aboord us gently did receave,
And without harme us farre away did beare,
So farre that land, our mother, us did leave,
And nought but sea and Heaven to us appeare.
Then hartelesse quite, and full of inward feare,
That shepheard I besought to me to tell,
Under what skie, or in what world we were,
In which I saw no living people dwell.
Who, me recomforting all that he might,
Told me that that same was the regiment
Of a great shepheardesse, that Cynthia hight,
His liege, his ladie, and his lifes regent.-

"If then,' quoth I, a shepheardesse she bee, Where be the flockes and heards, which she doth keep?

And where may I the hills and pastures see, On which she useth for to feed her sheepe?' "These be the hills,' quoth he,

hie,

the surges

On which faire Cynthia her heards doth feed:
Her heards be thousand fishes with their frie,
Which in the bosome of the billowes breed.
Of them the shepheard which hath charge in chief,
Is Triton, blowing loud his wreathed horne:
At sound whereof, they all for their relief
Wend too and fro at evening and at morne.
And Proteus eke with him does drive his heard
Of stinking seales and porcpisces together,
With hoary head and deawy dropping beard,
Compelling them which way he list, and whether.
And I, among the rest, of many least,
Have in the ocean charge to me assignd;
Where I will live or die at her beheast,
And serve and honour her with faithfull mind.
Besides an hundred nymphes all heavenly borne,
And of immortall race doo still attend

To wash faire Cynthiaes sheep, when they be shorne,
And fold them up, when they have made an end.
Those be the shepheards which my Cynthia serve
At sea, beside a thousand moe at land:
For land and sea my Cynthia doth deserve
To have in her commandëment at hand.'

"Thereat I wondred much, till, wondring more
And more, at length we land far off descryde:
Which sight much gladed me; for much afore
I feard, least land we never should have eyde:
Thereto our ship her course directly bent,
And if the way she perfectly had knowne.
We Lunday passe; by that same name is ment
An island, which the first to west was showne.
From thence another world of land we kend,
Floting amid the sea in ieopardie,

And round about with mightie white rocks hemd,
Against the seas encroching crueltie.
Those same the shepheard told me, were the fields
In which dame Cynthia her landheards fed;
Faire goodly fields, then which Armulla yields
None fairer, nor more fruitfull to be red.
The first, to which we nie approched, was
An high headland thrust far into the sea,
Like to an horne, whereof the name it has,
Yet seemd to be a goodly pleasant lea:
There did a loftie mount at first us greet,
Which did a stately heape of stones upreare,
That seemd amid the surges for to fleet,
Much greater then that frame, which us did beare:

There did our ship her fruitfull wombe unlade, And put us all ashore on Cynthias land." "What land is that thou meanst," then Cuddy sayd, "And is there other then whereon we stand?"

"Ah! Cuddy," then quoth Colin, " thous a fon, That hast not seene least part of Natures worke: Much more there is unkend then thou doest kon, And much more that does from mens knowledge lurke.

For that same land much larger is then this,
And other men and beasts and birds doth feed:
There fruitfull corne, faire trees, fresh herbage is,
And all things else that living creatures need.
Besides most goodly rivers there appeare,
No whit inferiour to thy Fanchins praise,
Or unto Allo, or to Mulla cleare:

Nought hast thou, foolish boy, seene in thy daies."
"But if that land be there," quoth he, "as here,
And is theyr Heaven likewise there all one?
And, if like Heaven, be heavenly graces there,
Like as in this same world where we do wone?"
"Both Heaven and heavenly graces do much
more,"

Quoth he," abound in that same land then this.
For there all happie peace and plenteous store
Conspire in one to make contented blisse:
No wayling there nor wretchednesse is heard,
No bloodie issues nor no leprosies,

No griesly famine, nor no raging sweard,
No nightly bodrags, nor no hue and cries;
The shepheards there abroad may safely lie,
On hills and downes, withouten dread or daunger:
No ravenous wolves the good mans hope destroy,
Nor outlawes fell affray the forest raunger.
There learned arts do florish in great honor,
And poets wits are had in peerlesse price:
Religion hath lay powre to rest upon her,
Advancing vertue and suppressing vice.
For end, all good, all grace there freely growes,
Had people grace it gratefully to use:
Fer God his gifts there plenteously bestowes,
But gracelesse men them greatly do abuse,"

"But say on further," then said Corylas,
"The rest of thine adventures, that betyded."
"Foorth on our voyage we by land did passe,"
Quoth he, "as that same shepheard still us guyded,
Untill that we to Cynthiaes presence came:
Whose glorie greater then my simple thought,
I found much greater then the former fame;
Such greatnes I cannot compare to ought:
But if I her like ought on Earth might read,
I would her lyken to a crowne of lillies,
Upon a virgin brydes adorned head,
With roses dight and goolds and daffadillies;
Or like the circlet of a turtle true,

In which all colours of the rainbow bee;
Or like faire Phebes garlond shining new,
In which all pure perfection one may see.
But vaine it is to thinke, by paragone
Of earthly things, to iudge of things divine :
Her power, her mercy, and her wisdome, none
Can deeme, but who the godhead can define.
Why then do I, base shepheard, bold and blind,
Presume the things so sacred to prophane?
More fit it is t' adore, with humble mind,
The image of the Heavens in shape humane."

With that Alexis broke his tale asunder, Saying; "By wondring at thy Cynthiaes praise, Colin, thy selfe thou mak'st us more to wonder, And her upraising doest thy selfe upraise.

But let us heare what grace she shewed thee, And how that shepheard strange thy cause advanced."

"The shepheard of the ocean,” quoth he, "Unto that goddesse grace me first enhanced, And to mine oaten pipe enclin'd her eare, That she thenceforth therein gan take delight, And it desir'd at timely houres to heare, All were my notes but rude and roughly dight, For not by measure of her owne great mind, And wondrous worth, she mott my simple song, But ioyd that country shepheard ought could fynd

Worth harkening to, emongst the learned throng."
"Why?" said Alexis then, "what needeth sheë
That is so great a shepheardesse her selfe,
And hath so many shepheards in her fee,
To heare thee sing, a simple silly elfe?

Or be the shepheards which do serve her laesie,
That they list not their mery pipes applie?
Or be their pipes untunable and craesie,
That they cannot her honour worthy lie?"
"Ah! nay," said Colin, "neither so, nor so:
For better shepheards be not under skie,
Nor better hable, when they list to blow
Their pipes aloud, her name to glorifie.
There is good Harpalus, now woxen aged
In faithful service of faire Cynthia:
And there is Corydon though meanly waged,
Yet hablest wit of most I know this day.
And there is sad Alcyon bent to mourne,
Though fit to frame an everlasting dittie,
Whose gentle spright for Daphnes death doth tourn
Sweet layes of love to endlesse plaints of pittie.
Ah! pensive boy, pursue that brave conceipt,
In thy sweet Eglantine of Meriflure;
Lift up thy notes unto their wonted height,
That may thy Muse and mates to mirth allure.
There eke is Palin worthie of great praise,
Albe he envie at my rustick quill:
And there is pleasing Alcon, could he raise
His tunes from laies to matter of more skill.
And there is old Palemon free from spight,
Whose carefull pipe may make the hearer rew:
Yet he himselfe may rewed be more right,
That sung so long untill quite hoarse he grew.
And there is Alabaster throughly taught
In all this skill, though knowen yet to few;
Yet, were he knowne to Cynthia as he ought,
His Eliseis would be redde anew.
Who lives that can match that heroick song,
Which he hath of that mightie princesse made?
O dreaded Dread, do not thy selfe that wrong,
To let thy fame lie so in hidden shade:
But call it forth, O call him forth to thee,
To end thy glorie which he hath begun:
That, when he finisht hath as it should be,
No braver poeme can be under Sun.

Nor Po nor Tyburs swans so much renowned,
Nor all the brood of Greece so highly praised,
Can match that Muse when it with bayes is crowned,
And to the pitch of her perfection raised.
And there is a new shepheard late up sprong,
The which doth all afore him far surpasse;
Appearing well in that well tuned song,
Which late he sung unto a scornfull lasse.
Yet doth his trembling Muse but lowly flie,
As daring not too rashly mount on hight,
And doth her tender plumes as yet but trie
In loves soft laies and looser thoughts delight,

Then rouze thy feathers quickly, Daniell,
And to what course thou please thy selfe advance:
But most, me seemes, thy accent will excell
In tragick plaints and passionate mischance.
And there that shepheard of the ocean is,
That spends his wit in loves consuming smart:
Full sweetly tempred is that Muse of his,
That can empierce a princes mightie hart.
There also is (ah no, he is not now!)
But since I said he is, he quite is gone,
Amyntas quite is gone and lies full low,
Having his Amaryllis left to mone.
Helpe, O ye shepheards, helpe ye all in this,
Helpe Amaryllis this her losse to mourne:
Her losse is yours, your losse Amyntas is,
Amyntas, floure of shepheards pride forlorne:
He whilest he lived was the noblest swaine,
That ever piped in an oaten quill:
Both did he other, which could pipe, maintaine,
And eke could pipe himselfe with passing skill.
And there, though last not least, is Aetion;
A gentler shepheard may no where be found:
Whose Muse, full of high thoughts invention,
Doth like himself heroically sound.
All these, and many others mo remaine,
Now, after Astrofell is dead and gone:
But, while as Astrofell did live and raine,
Amongst all these was none his paragone.
All these do florish in their sundry kynd,
And do their Cynthia immortall make:
Yet found I lyking in her royall mynd,
Not for my skill, but for that shepheards sake."
Then spake a lovely lasse, hight Lucida;
"Shepheard, enough of shepheards thou hast
told,

Which favour thee, and honour Cynthia :
But of so many nymphs, which she doth hold
In her retinew, thou hast nothing sayd;
That seems, with none of them thou favor foundest,
Or art ingratefull to each gentle mayd,
That none of all their due deserts resoundest."
"Ah far be it," quoth Colin Clout, "fro me,
That I of gentle mayds should ill deserve:
For that my selfe I do professe to be
Vassall to one, whom all my dayes I serve;
The beame of beautie sparkled from above,
The floure of vertue and pure chastitie,
The blossome of sweet ioy and perfect love,
The pearle of peerlesse grace and modestie:
To her my thoughts I daily dedicate,
To her my heart I nightly martyrize:
To her my love I lowly do prostrate,
To her my life I wholly sacrifice:

My thought, my heart, my love, my life is shee,
And I hers ever onely, ever one:

One ever I all vowed hers to bee,

One ever I, and others never none."

Then thus Melissa said; "Thrise happie mayd, Whom thou doest so enforce to deifie:

That woods, and hills, and valleyes thou hast made

Her name to eccho unto Heaven hie.
But say, who else vouchsafed thee of grace?"

"They all," quoth he, " me graced goodly well, That all I praise; but, in the highest place, Urania, sister unto Astrofell,

In whose brave mynd, as in a golden cofer,
All heavenly gifts and riches locked are;
More rich then pearles of Ynde, or gold of Opher,
And in her sex more wonderfull and rare.

! Yet will I thinke of her, yet will I speake,

So long as life my limbs doth hold together;
And, when as death these vitall bands shall breake,
Her name recorded I will leave for ever.
Her name in every tree I will endosse,

That, as the trees do grow, her name may grow:
And in the ground each where will it engrosse,
And fill with stones, that all men may it know.
The speaking woods, and murmuring waters fall,
Here name Ile teach in knowen termes to frame:
And eke my lambs, when for their dams they
call,

Ile teach to call for Cynthia by name.
And, long while after I am dead and rotten,
Amongst the shepheards daughters dancing rownd,
My layes made of her shall not be forgotten,
But sung by them with flowry gyrlonds crownd.
And ye, who so ye be, that shall survive,
When as ye heare her memory renewed,
Be witnesse of her bountie here alive,
Which she to Colin her poore shepheard shewed."
Much was the whole assembly of those heards
Moov'd at his speech, so feelingly he spake :
And stood awhile astonisht at his words,
} Till Thestylis at last their silence brake,
Saying; "Why Colin, since thou foundst such grace
With Cynthia and all her noble crew;
Why didst thou ever leave that happie place,
In which such wealth might unto thee accrew;
And back returnedst to this barrein soyle,
Where cold and care and penury do dwell,
Here to keep sheepe, with hunger and with toyle?
Most wretched he, that is and cannot tell."

Happie indeed," said Colin, "I him hold
That may that blessed presence still enjoy,
Of fortune and of envy uncomptrold,

Which still are wont most happie states t' annoy:
But I, by that which little while I prooved,
Some part of those enormities did see,
The which in court continually hooved,
And followd those which happie seemd to bee.
Therefore I, silly man, whose former dayes
Had in rude fields bene altogether spent,
Durst not adventure such unknowen wayes,
Nor trust the guile of fortunes blandishment;
But rather chose back to my sheep to tourne,
Whose utmost hardnesse I before had tryde,
Then, having learnd repentance late, to mourne
Emongst those wretches which I there descryde."
"Shepheard," said Thestylis, "it seemes of spight
Thou speakest thus gainst their felicitie,
Which thou enviest, rather then of right
That ought in them blameworthie thou doest
spie."

"Cause have I none," quoth he, "of cancred will
To quite them ill, that me demeand so well:
But selfe-regard of private good or ill
Moves me of each, so as I found, to tell
And eke to warne yong shepheards wandring wit,
Which, through report of that lives painted blisse,
Abandon quiet home, to seeke for it,

And leave their lambes to losse misled amisse.
For, sooth to say, it is no sort of life,
For shepheard fit to lead in that same place,
Where each one seeks with malice, and with
strife,

To thrust downe other into foule disgrace,
Himselfe to raise: and he doth soonest rise
That best can handle his deceitfuil wit
In subtil shifts, and finest sleights devise,
VOL. III.

Either by slaundring his well deemed name,
Through leasings lewd, and fained forgerie;
Or else by breeding him some blot of blame,
By creeping close into his secrecie;
To which him needs a guilefull hollow hart,
Masked with faire dissembling curtesie,
A filed toung furnisht with tearmes of art,
No art of schoole, but courtiers schoolery.
For arts of schoole have there small countenance,
Counted but toyes to busie ydle braines;
And there professours find small maintenance,
But to be instruments of others gaines.
Ne is there place for any gentle wit,
Unlesse, to please, it selfe it can applie;
But shouldred is, or out of doore quite shit,
As base, or blunt, unmeet for melodie.
For each mans worth is measured by his weed,
As harts by hornes, or asses by their eares:
Yet asses been not all whose cares exceed,
Nor yet all harts that hornes the highest beares.
For highest lookes have not the highest mynd,
Nor haughtie words most full of highest thoughts:
But are like bladders blowen up with wynd,
That being prickt do vanish into noughts.
Even such is all their vaunted vanitie,
Nought else but smoke, that fumeth soone away;
Such is their glorie that in simple eie
Seeme greatest, when their garments are most gay.
So they themselves for praise of fooles do sell,
And all their wealth for painting on a wall;
With price whereof they buy a golden bell,
And purchace highest rowmes in bowre and hall:
Whiles single Truth and simple Honestie
Do wander up and downe despys'd of all;
Their plaine attire such glorious gallantry
Disdaines so much, that none them in doth call."
"Ah! Colin," then said Hobbinol," the blame
Which thou imputest, is too generall,

As if not any gentle wit of name
Nor honest mynd might there be found at all.
For well I wot, sith I my selfe was there,
To wait on Lobbin, (Lobbin well thou knewest)
Full many worthie ones then waiting were,
As ever else in princes court thou vewest.
Of which, among you many yet remaine,
Whose names I cannot readily now ghesse:
Those that poore Sutors papers do retaine,
And those that skill of medicine professe,
And those that do to Cynthia expound
The ledden of straunge languages in charge:
For Cynthia doth in sciences abound,
And gives to their professors stipends large.
Therefore uniustly thou doest wyte them all,
For that which thou mislikedst in a few."

"Blame is" quoth he "more blamelesse generall,

Then that which private errours doth pursew;
For well I wot, that there amongst them bee
Full many persons of right worthie parts,
Both for report of spotlesse honestie,
And for profession of all learned arts,
Whose praise hereby no whit impaired is,
Though blame do light on those that faultie
bee;

For all the rest do most-what far amis,
And yet their owne misfaring will not see:
For either they be puffed up with pride,
Or fraught with envie that their galis do swell,
Or they their dayes to ydlenesse divide,
Or drownded lie in pleasures wastefull well,

C c