happened to the poet Eschylus, that was brayned with a shellfishe.

EMBLEME.

By thys poesye Thomalin confirmeth that which in hys former speach by sondrye rea- 170 sons he had proved. For being both hymselfe sequestred from all ambition, and also abhorring it in others of hys cote, he taketh occasion to prayse the meane and lowly state, as that wherein is safetie without feare, and quiet without danger; according to the saying of olde philosophers, that vertue dwelleth in the middest, being environed with two contrary vices: whereto Morrell replieth with continuaunce of the same philosophers opinion, 180 that albeit all bountye dwelleth in mediocritie, yet perfect felicitye dwelleth in supremacie. For they say, and most true it is, that happinesse is placed in the highest degree, so as if any thing be higher or better, then that streight way ceaseth to be perfect happines. Much like to that which once I heard alleaged in defence of humilitye, out of a great doctour, 'Suorum Christus humillimus: which saying a gentle man in the company taking at the rebownd, 190 beate backe again with lyke saying of another doctoure, as he sayde, 'Suorum Deus altissimus.'

Of all my flocke there nis sike another; For I brought him up without the dambe. But Colin Clout rafte me of his brother, 40 That he purchast of me in the playne field: Sore against my will was I forst to yield.

Wil. Sicker, make like account of his brother.

But who shall judge the wager wonne or lost?

Per. That shall yonder heardgrome, and none other,

Which over the pousse hetherward doth post.

Wil. But, for the sunnebeame so sore doth us beate,

Were not better to shunne the scortching heate ?

Per. Well agreed, Willy: then sitte thee downe, swayne:

Sike a song never heardest thou but Colin sing.

Per. As the bonilasse passed bye, Wil. Hey ho, bonilasse !

Per. She rovde at me with glauncing eye, Wil. As cleare as the christall glasse: 80 Per. All as the sunnye beame so bright, Wil. Hey ho, the sunne beame!

Per. Glaunceth from Phoebus face forthright,

Wil. So love into thy hart did streame:
Per. Or as the thonder cleaves the cloudes,
Wil. Hey ho, the thonder!
Per. Wherein the lightsome levin shroudes,
Wil. So cleaves thy soule a sonder:
Per. Or as Dame Cynthias silver raye,
Wil. Hey ho, the moonelight!
Per. Upon the glyttering wave doth playe:
Wil. Such play is a pitteous plight.
Per. The glaunce into my heart did glide,
Wil. Hey ho, the glyder!

90

Per. Therewith my soule was sharply gryde:
Wil. Such woundes soone wexen wider.
Per. Hasting to raunch the arrow out,
Wil.
Hey ho, Perigot!

100

Cud. Gynne when ye lyst, ye jolly shepheards twayne:

Sike a judge as Cuddie were for a king.

Resort of people doth my greefs augment, The walled townes do worke my greater

woe:

The forest wide is fitter to resound The hollow echo of my carefull cryes:

160

I hate the house, since thence my love did part,

Whose waylefull want debarres myne eyes from sleepe,

'Let stremes of teares supply the place of sleepe:

Let all, that sweete is, voyd: and all that may augment

My doole drawe neare. More meete to wayle my woe

Bene the wild woddes, my sorrowes to resound,

Then bedde, or bowre, both which I fill with cryes,

When I them see so waist, and fynd no part

'Of pleasure past. Here will I dwell apart In gastfull grove therefore, till my last sleepe

170"

Doe close mine eyes: so shall I not augment,

With sight of such a chaunge, my restlesse woe.

Helpe me, ye banefull byrds, whose shriek

ing sound

Ys signe of dreery death, my deadly cryes

'Most ruthfully to tune. And as my cryes (Which of my woe cannot bewray least part)

You heare all night, when nature craveth sleepe,

Increase, so let your yrksome yells aug

Dig. Ah! for love of that is to thee moste leefe,

Hobbinol, I pray thee gall not my old griefe:
Sike question ripeth up cause of newe wce,
For one opened mote unfolde many moe.
Hob. Nay, but sorrow close shrouded in
hart,

I know, to kepe is a burdenous smart.
Eche thing imparted is more eath to beare:
When the rayne is faln, the cloudes wexen
cleare.

And nowe, sithence I sawe thy head last, Thrise three moones bene fully spent and past:

20

Dig. Hobbin, ah, Hobbin! I curse the stounde

60

That ever I cast to have lorne this grounde.
Wel-away the while I was so fonde
To leave the good that I had in hande,
In hope of better, that was uncouth:
So lost the dogge the flesh in his mouth.
My seely sheepe (ah, seely sheepe !)
That here by there I whilome usd to keepe,
All were they lustye, as thou didst see,
Bene all sterved with pyne and penuree.
Hardly my selfe escaped thilke payne,
Driven for neede to come home agayne.

70

Hob. Ah, fon! now by thy losse art taught That seeldome chaunge the better brought. Content who lives with tryed state Neede feare no chaunge of frowning fate; But who will seeke for unknowne gayne, Oft lives by losse, and leaves with payne.

Dig. I wote ne, Hobbin, how I was be

witcht