"And I, that whilome wont to frame my pype
Unto the shifting of the shepheards foote,
Sike follies now have gathered as too ripe,
And cast hem out as rotten and unsoote.
The loser Lasse I cast to please nomore;
One if I please, enough is me therefore.

120

"And thus of all my harvest hope I have
Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care;
Which, when I thought have thresht in swelling sheave,
Cockel for corne, and chaffe for barley, bare:

Soone as the chaffe should in the fan be fynd,
All was blown away of the wavering wynd.

"So now my yeare drawes to his latter terme,
My spring is spent, my sommer burnt up quite;
My harveste hastes to stirre up Winter sterne,
And bids him clayme with rigorous rage hys right: 130
So nowe he stormes with many a sturdy stoure;
So now his blustring blast eche coste doth scoure.

"The carefull cold hath nypt my rugged rynde,
And in my face deepe furrowes eld hath pight:
My head besprent with hoary frost I fynd,
And by myne eie the Crow his clawe doth wright:
Delight is layd abedde; and pleasure past;
No sonne now shines; cloudes han all overcast.

140

"Now leave, ye shepheards boyes, your merry glee;
My Muse is hoarse and wearie of this stounde:
Here will I hang my pype upon this tree;
Was never pype of reede did better sounde.
Winter is come that blowes the bitter blaste,
And after Winter dreerie death does hast.

"Gather ye together my little flocke,
My little flock, that was to me so liefe ;
Let me, ah! lette me in your foldes ye lock,

Ere the breme winter breede you greater griefe.

Winter is come, that blowes the balefull breath,
And after Winter commeth timely death.

"Adieu, delightes, that lulled me asleepe;
Adieu, my deare, whose love I bought so deare;
Adieu, my little Lambes and loved sheepe;
Adieu, ye Woodes, that oft my witnesse were:
Adieu, good Hobbinoll, that was so true,
Tell Rosalind, her Colin bids her adieu."

COLINS EMBLEME.

Vivitur ingenio: cætera mortis erunt.

LOE! I have made a Calender for every year,

150

That steele in strength, and time in durance, shall

outweare;

And if I marked well the starres revolution,

It shall continewe till the worlds dissolution,
To teach the ruder shepheard how to feede his sheepe,
And from the falsers fraude his folded flocke to keepe.

Goe, lyttle Calender! thou hast a free passeporte; Goe but a lowly gate emongste the meaner sorte: Dare not to match thy pype with Tityrus his style, Nor with the Pilgrim that the Ploughman playde awhyle;

But followe them farre off, and their high steppes adore: The better please, the worse despise; I aske no more.

MERCE NON MERCEDE.

A LETTER OF THE AUTHORS,

EXPOUNDING HIS WHOLE INTENTION IN THE COURSE OF THIS WORKE: WHICH, FOR THAT IT GIVETH GREAT LIGHT

TO THE READER, FOR THE BETTER UNDER

STANDING IS HEREUNTO ANNEXED.

TO THE RIGHT NOBLE AND VALOROUS

SIR WALTER RALEIGH, knight,

LO. WARDEIN OF THE STANNERYES, AND HER MAIESTIES
LIEFETENAUNT OF THE COUNTY OF

CORNEWAYLL.

IR, knowing how doubtfully all Allegories may be construed, and this booke of mine, which I have entituled the Faery Queene, being a continued Alle

gory, or darke conceit, I haue thought good, aswell for avoyding of gealous opinions and misconstructions, as also for your better light in reading therof, (being so by you commanded,) to discover unto you the general intention and meaning, which in the whole course thereof I have fashioned, without expressing of any particular purposes, or by accidents, therein occasioned. The generall end therefore of all the booke is to fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline: Which for that I conceived shoulde be most plausible and pleasing, being coloured with an historicall fiction, the which the most part of men delight to read, rather for va