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A pastorall Aeglogue upon the death of
Sir Phillip Sidney Knight, &c.
But if my plaints annoy thee where thou sit Olin, well fits thy sad cheare this sad In secret shade or cave; vouchsafe (0 Pan) stownd,
To pardon me, and here this hard constraint This wofullstownd, whereinallthingscomplaine With patience while I sing, and pittie it. This great mishap, this greeuous losse of owres. And eke ye rurall Muses, that do dwell Hear'st thou the Orown? how with hollow In these wilde woods; If euer piteous plaint sownd
We did endite, or taught a wofull minde He slides away, and murn
urmuring doth plaine, With words of pure affect, his griefe to tell, And seemes to say vnto the fading flowres,
Instruct me now. Now Colin then goe on, Along his bankes, vnto the bared trees; And I will follow thee, though farre behinde. Phillisides is dead. Vp iolly swaine,
Colin. Phillisides is dead. O harmfull death, Thou that with skill canst tune a dolefull lay, O deadly harme. Vnhappie Albion 50 Help him to mourn. My hart with grief doth When shalt thou see emong thy shepheards all, freese,
10 Any so sage, so perfect ? Whom vneath Hoarse is my voice with crying, else a part
Enuie could touch for vertuous life and skill; Sure would I beare, though rude: But as I may, Curteous, valiant, and liberall. With sobs and sighes I second will thy song, Behold the sacred Pales, where with haire And so expresse the sorrowes of my hart. Vntrust she sitts, in shade of yonder hill. Colin. Ah Lycon, Lycon, what need skill, to And her faire face bent sadly downe, doth send teach
A floud of teares to bathe the earth; and there A grieued mynd powre forth his plaints ? how Doth call the heau’ns despightfull, enuious, long
Cruell his fate, that made so short an end 60 Hath the pore Turtle gon to school (weenest Of that same life, well worthie to haue bene thou)
Prolongd with many yeares, happie and To learné to mourne her lost make ? No, no, famous. each
The Nymphs and Oreades her round about Creature by nature can tell how to waile. Do sit lamenting on the grassie grene; Seest not these flocks, how sad they wander And with shrill cries, beating their whitest
brests, Seemeth their leaders bell their bleating tunes Accuse the direfull dart that death sent out In dolefull sound. Like him, not one doth faile To giue the fatall stroke. The starres they With hanging head to shew a heauie cheare. blame, What bird (I pray thee) hast thou seen, that That deafe or carelesse seeme at their request. prunes
The pleasant shade of stately groues they shun; Himselfe of late ? did any cheerfull note They leaue their cristall springs, where they Come to thine eares, or gladsome sight appeare
70 Vnto thine eies, since that same fatall howre? Sweet bowres of Myrtel twigs and Lawrel faire, Hath not the aire put on his mourning coat, To sport themselues free from the scorching And testified his grief with flowing teares ?
Sun. Sith then, it seemeth each thing to his powre And now the hollow caues where horror darke Doth vs inuite to make a sad consort ; 31 Doth dwell, whence banisht is the gladsome aire Come let vs ioyne our mournfull song with They seeke; and there in mourning spend theirs.
their time Griefe will endite, and sorrow will enforce With wailfull tunes, whiles wolues do howle Thy voice, and Eccho will our words report. and barke, Lyc. Though my rude rymes, ill with thy And seem to beare a bourdon to their plaint. verses frame,
Lyc. Phillisides is dead. O dolefull ryme. That others farre excell, yet will I force Why should my toong expresse thee? who is My selfe to answere thee the best I can,
79 And honor my base words with his high name. Now to vphold thy hopes, when they do faint,
Lycon vnfortunate ? What spitefull fate, Happie name, happie tree; faire may you grow, What lucklesse destinie hath thee bereft And spred your sacred branch, which honor Of thy chief comfort ; of thy onely stay ? giues, Where is become thy wonted happie state, To famous Emperours, and Poets crowne. (Alas) wherein through many a hill and dale, Vnhappie flock that wander scattred now, 130 Through pleasant woods, and many an vn- What maruell if through grief ye woxen leane, knowne way,
Forsake your food, and hang your heads Along the bankes of many siluer streames, adowne ? Thou with him yodest ; and with him didst For such a shepheard neuer shall you guide, scale
Whose parting, hath of weale bereft you cleane. The craggie rocks of th’Alpes and Appenine ? Lyc. Phillisides is dead. O happie sprite, Still with the Muses sporting, while those beames That now in heau'n with blessed soules doest Of vertue kindled in his noble brest, 91 bide : Which after did so gloriously forth shine ? Looke down a while from where thou sitst But (woe is me) they now yquenched are
aboue, All suddeinly, and death hath them opprest. And see how busie shepheards be to endite Loe father Neptune, with sad countenance, Sad songs of grief, their sorrowes to declare, How he sitts mourning on the strond now bare, and gratefull memory of their kynd loue. 140 Yonder, where th’Ocean with his rolling waues Behold my selfe with Colin, gentle swaine The white feete washeth (wailing this mis- (Whose lerned Muse thou cherisht most why• chance)
leare) Of Douer cliffes. His sacred skirt about 99 Where we thy name recording, seeke to ease The sea-gods all are set; from their moist caues The inward torment and tormenting paine, All for his comfort gathered there they be. That thy departure to vs both hath bred; The Thamis rich, the Humber rough and stout, Ne can each others sorrow yet appease. The fruitfull Seuerne, with the rest are come Behold the fountains now left desolate, To helpe their Lord to mourne, and eke to see And withred grasse with cypres boughes be The dolefull sight, and sad pomp funerall spred, Of the dead corps passing through his king- Behold these floures which on thy graue we dome.
strew; And all their heads with Cypres gyrlonds Which faded, shew the giuers faded state, 150 crown'd
(Though eke they shew their feruent zeale and With wofull shrikes salute him great and small. pure) Eke wailfull Eccho, forgetting her deare 109 Whose onely comfort on thy welfare grew. Narcissus, their last accents, doth resownd. Whose praiers importune shall the heau'ns for
Col. Phillisides is dead. O lucklesse age; ay, O widow world; O brookes and fountains cleere; That to thy ashes, rest they may assure: O hills, O dales, O woods that oft haue rong That learnedst shepheards honor may thy name With his sweet caroling, which could asswage With yeerly praises, and the Nymphs alway The fiercest wrath of Tygre or of Beare. Thy tomb may deck with fresh and sweetest Ye Siluans, Fawnes, and Satyres, that emong
flowres; These thickets oft haue daunst after his pipe, And that for euer may endure thy fame. Ye Nymphs and Nayades with golden heare, Colin. The Sun (lo) hastned hath his face to That oft haue left your purest cristall springs .steep To harken to his layes, that coulden wipe 120 In western waues : and th’aire with stormy Away all griefe and sorrow from your harts. showres
160 Alas who now is left that like him sings ? Warnes vs to driue homewards our silly sheep, When shall you heare againe like harmonie ? Lycon, lett's rise, and take of them good keep. So sweet a sownd, who to you now imparts ?
Virtute summa : cætera fortuna.
An Elegie, or friends pas
sion, for his Astrophill.
A man or stone, I knew not what.
No stone, of man the figure was, The garnisht tree, no pendant stird,
And yet I could not count him one, No voice was heard of anie bird.
More than the image made of stone. There might you see the burly Beare At length I might perceiue him reare The Lion king, the Elephant,
His bodie on his elbow end : The maiden Vnicorne was there,
Earthly and pale with gastly cheare, So was Acteons horned plant,
10 Vpon his knees he vpward tend, And what of wilde or tame are found, Seeming like one in vncouth stound, Were coucht in order on the ground.
To be ascending out the ground. Alcides speckled poplar tree,
A grieuous sigh forthwith he throwes, The palme that Monarchs do obtaine, As might haue torne the vitall strings, With Loue iuice staind the mulberie,
Then down his cheeks the teares so flows, The fruit that dewes the Poets braine, As doth the streame of many springs. And Phillis philbert there away,
So thunder rends the cloud in twaine, Comparde with mirtle and the bay.
And makes a passage for the raine.
Incontinent with trembling sound,
Such were the accents as might wound,
And teare a diamond rocke in twaine. All in a circle compast were,
After his throbs did somewhat stay, Like to an Amphitheater.
Thus heauily he gan to say. Vpon the branches of those trees,
O sunne (said he) seeing the sunne, The airie winged people sat,
On wretched me why dost thou shine, Distinguished in od degrees,
My star is falne, my comfort done,
Out is the apple of my eine,
And let me liue in endlesse night. The skiebred Egle roiall bird,
O griefe that liest vpon my soule, Percht there vpon an oke aboue,
As heauie as a mount of lead, The Turtle by him neuer stird,
The remnant of my life controll, Example of immortall loue.
Consort me quickly with the dead, The swan that sings about to dy,
Halfe of this hart, this sprite and will, Leauing Meander, stood thereby.
Di'de in the brest of Astrophill. And that which was of woonder most, And you compassionate of my wo, The Phænix left sweet Arabie :
Gentle birds, beasts and shadie trees, And on a Cædar in this coast,
I am assurde ye long to kno, Built vp her tombe of spicerie,
40 What be the sorrowes me agreeu's, As I coniecture by the same,
Listen ye then to that insu'th, Preparde to take her dying flame.
And heare a tale of teares and ruthe.
You knew, who knew not Astrophill,
Although thy beautie do exceed, (That I should live to say I knew,
In common sight of eu'ry eie, and haue not in possession still)
Yet in his Poesies when we reede, Things knowne permit me to renew,
It is apparant more thereby,
He that hath loue and iudgement too,
Then Astrophill hath honord thee,
For when thy bodie is extinct, And on the mountaine Parthenie,
Thy graces shall eternall be, Vpon the chrystall liquid brooke,
And liue by vertue of his inke, The Muses met him eu'ry day,
For by his verses he doth giue, That taught him sing, to write, and say. To short liude beautie aye to liue. 150 When he descended downe the mount, Aboue all others this is hee, His personage seemed most diuine,
Which erst approoued in his song, A thousand graces one might count,
That loue and honor might agree, Vpon his louely cheerfull eine.
100 And that pure loue will do no wrong, To heare him speake and sweetly smile, Sweet saints, it is no sinne nor blame, You were in Paradise the while.
To loue a man of vertuous name. A sweet attractiue kinde of grace,
Did neuer loue so sweetly breath A full assurance giuen by lookes,
In any mortall brest before, Continuall comfort in a face,
Did neuer Muse inspire beneath, The lineaments of Gospell bookes,
A Poets braine with finer store :
160 I trowe that countenance cannot lie,
He wrote of loue with high conceit,
Then Pallas afterward attyrde,
As of the nation of the skies,
Were with his sweete perfections caught. As he were dight with fierie starrs.
The blaze whereof when Mars beheld, In whom so rare desarts did raigne,
(An enuious eie doth see afar)
170 Desired thus, must leaue vs than,
Such maiestie (quoth he) is seeld, And we to wish for him in vaine,
Such maiestie my mart may mar, O could the stars that bred that wit,
Perhaps this may a suter be, In force no longer fixed sit.
I 20 To set Mars by his deitie. Then being fild with learned dew,
In this surmize he made with speede, The Muses willed him to loue,
An iron cane wherein he put, That instrument can aptly shew,
The thunder that in cloudes do breede How finely our conceits will moue,
The flame and bolt togither shut, As Bacchus opes dissembled harts,
With priuie force burst out againe, So loue sets out our better parts.
And so our Astrophill was slaine. 180 Stella, a Nymph within this wood,
This word (was slaine) straightway did moue, Most rare and rich of heauenly blis,
And natures inward life strings twitch,
The skie immediately aboue,
The wrastling winds from out the ground, He was a Sun, and she a Moone.
Fild all the aire with ratling sound. Our Astrophill did Stella loue,
The bending trees exprest a grone, O Stella vaunt of Astrophill,
And sigh'd the sorrow of his fall, Albeit thy graces gods may moue,
The forrest beasts made ruthfull mone, Where wilt thou finde an Astrophill, T'he birds did tune their mourning call, 190 The rose and lillie haue their prime,
And Philomell for Astrophill, And so hath beautie but a time.
Vnto her notes annext a phill.
The Turtle doue with tunes of ruthe,
That ynder branches ere can bee,
Of worth and value as the tree.
The Egle markt with pearcing sight,
The mournfull habite of the place, Than he for whom our griefs abound.
And parted thence with mounting flight,
To signifie to Ioue the case,
What sorrow nature doth sustaine,
For Astrophill by enuie slaine.
And while I followed with mine eie, This mortall life as death is tride,
The flight the Egle vpward tooke, And death giues life, and so he di'de. And things did vanish by and by, The generall sorrow that was made,
And disappeared from my looke, Among the creatures of kinde,
The trees, beasts, birds, and groue was Fired the Phenix where she laide,
gone, Her ashes flying with the winde,
So was the friend that made this mone. So as I might with reason see,
This spectacle had firmly wrought, That such a Phoenix nere should bee.
210 A deepe compassion in my spright, Haply the cinders driuen about,
My molting hart issude, me thought, May breede an offspring neere that kinde, In streames forth at mine eies aright, But hardly a peere to that I doubt,
And here my pen is forst to shrinke, It cannot sinke into my minde,
My teares discollors so mine inke.
An Epitaph upon the right Honourable
gouernor of Flushing:
"O praise thy life, or waile thy worthie Kent thy birth daies, and Oxford held thy death,
youth, And want thy wit, thy wit high, pure, diuine, The heauens made hast, and staid nor yeers, Is far beyond the powre of mortall line,
nor time, Nor any one hath worth that draweth breath. The fruits of age grew ripe in thy first prime, Yet rich in zeale, though poore in learnings lore, Thy will, thy words: thy words the seales of
truth. And friendly care obscurde in secret brest, And loue that enuie in thy life supprest, Great gifts and wisedom rare imployd thee Thy deere life done, and death, hath doubled thence,
To treat from kings, with those more great And I, that in thy time and liuing state, 9
than kings, Did onely praise thy vertues in my thought, Such hope men had to lay the highest things, As one that seeld the rising sun hath sought, On thy wise youth, to be transported hence. With words and teares now waile thy timelesse Whence to sharpe wars sweet honor did thee fate.
29 Drawne was thy race, aright from princely line, Thy countries loue, religion, and thy friends : Nor lesse than such, (by gifts that nature gaue, Of worthy men, the marks, the lives and ends, The common mother that all creatures haue, And her defence, for whom we labor all. Doth vertue shew and princely linage shine. There didst thou vanquish shame and tedious A king gaue thee thy name a kingly minde, age, That God thee gaue, who found it now too deere Griefe,sorrow,sicknes,and basefortunes might: For this base world, and hath resumde it neere, Thy rising day, saw neuer wofull night, To sit in skies, and sort with powres diuine. 20 But past with praise, from of this worldly stage.