LYCON. Phillisides is dead. O dolefull ryme!
Why should my toong expresse thee? who is left
Now to uphold thy hopes, when they do faint,
Lycon unfortunate! What spitefull fate,
What lucklesse destinie, hath thee bereft
Of thy chief comfort; of thy onely stay!
Where is become thy wonted happie state,
(Alas!) wherein through many a hill and dale,
Through pleasant woods, and many an unknowne way, Along the bankes of many silver streames,
Thou with him yodest1; and with him didst scale
The craggie rocks of th' Alpes and Appenine!
Still with the Muses sporting, while those beames
Of vertue kindled in his noble brest,
Which after did so gloriously forth shine!
But (woe is me!) they now yquenched are
All suddenly, and death hath them opprest.
Loe father Neptune, with sad countenance,
How he sitts mourning on the strond now bare,
Yonder, where th' Ocean with his rolling waves
The white feete washeth (wailing this mischance)
Of Dover cliffes. His sacred skirt about
The sea-gods all are set; from their moist caves
All for his comfort gathered there they be.
The Thamis rich, the Humber rough and stout,
The fruitfull Severne, with the rest are come
To helpe their lord to mourne, and eke to see
The dolefull sight, and sad pomp funerall,
Of the dead corps passing through his kingdome.
And all their heads, with cypres gyrlonds crown'd,
With wofull shrikes salute him great and small.
Eke wailfull Eccho, forgetting her deare
Narcissus, their last accents doth resownd.
COLIN. Phillisides is dead. O lucklesse age;
O widow world; O brookes and fountains cleere;
O hills, O dales, O woods, that oft have rong
With his sweet caroling, which could asswage
The fiercest wrath of tygre or of beare:
Ye Silvans, Fawnes, and Satyres, that emong
These thickets oft have daunst after his pipe;
Ye Nymphs and Nayades with golden heare,
That oft have left your purest cristall springs
To harken to his layes, that coulden1 wipe
Away all griefe and sorrow from your harts:
Alas! who now is left that like him sings?
When shall you heare againe like harmonie?
So sweet a sownd who to you now imparts?
Loe where engraved by his hand yet lives
The name of Stella in yonder bay tree.
Happie name! happie tree! faire may you grow,
And spred your sacred branch, which honor gives
To famous Emperours, and Poets crowne.
Unhappie flock that wander scattred now,
What marvell if through grief ye woxen leane,
Forsake your food, and hang your heads adowne!
For such a shepheard never shall you guide,
Whose parting hath of weale bereft you cleane.
LYCON. Phillisides is dead. O happie sprite, 135 That now in heav'n with blessed soules doest bide: Looke down a while from where thou sitst above, And see how busie shepheards be to endite Sad songs of grief, their sorrowes to declare,
And gratefull memory of their kynd love.
Behold my selfe with Colin, gentle swaine,
(Whose lerned Muse thou cherisht most whyleare,') Where we, thy name recording, seeke to ease
The inward torment and tormenting paine,
That thy departure to us both hath bred;
Ne can each others sorrow yet appease.
Behold the fountains now left desolate,
And withred grasse with cypres boughes be spred;
Behold these floures which on thy grave we strew;
Which, faded, shew the givers faded state,
(Though eke they shew their fervent zeale and pure,)
Whose onely comfort on thy welfare grew.
Whose praiers importune shall the Heav'ns for ay,
That, to thy ashes, rest they may assure:
That learnedst shepheards honor may thy name
With yeerly praises, and the Nymphs alway
Thy tomb may deck with fresh and sweetest flowres ;
And that for ever may endure thy fame.
COLIN. The Sun (lo!) hastned hath his face to steep In western waves; and th' aire with stormy showres 160 Warnes us to drive homewards our silly sheep:
Lycon, lett's rise, and take of them good keep.2
Virtute summa: cætera fortuna.
FRIENDS PASSION, FOR HIS ASTROPHILL.
WRITTEN UPON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, KNIGHT,
LORD GOVERNOUR OF FLUSHING.
As then, no winde at all there blew,
No swelling cloude accloid the aire;
The skie, like grasse [glasse] of watchet 2 hew,
Reflected Phoebus golden haire;
The garnisht tree no pendant stird,
No voice was heard of anie bird.
There might you see the burly Beare,
The Lion king, the Elephant;
"This Poem was written by Matthew Roydon." - TODD.
Alcides speckled poplar tree,
The palme that Monarchs do obtaine,
With love-iuce staind the mulberie,
The fruit that dewes the poets braine;
And Phillis philbert there away,
Comparde with mirtle and the bay
The tree that coffins doth adorne,
With stately height threatning the skie;
And, for the bed of Love forlorne,
The blacke and dolefull Ebonie;
All in a circle compast were,
Like to an amphitheater.
Upon the branches of those trees,
The aire-winged people sat,
Distinguished in od degrees;
One sort is this, another that:
Here Philomell, that knowes full well
What force and wit in love doth dwell.
The skiebred Eagle, roiall bird,
Percht there upon an oke above;
The Turtle by him never stird,
Example of immortall love.
The Swan that sings, about to dy,
Leaving Meander stood thereby.
And, that which was of woonder most,
The Phoenix left sweet Arabie;
And, on a Cædar in this coast,
Built up her tombe of spicerie,
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