THE
Shepheardes
Calender
Conteyning
tvvelue
Æglogues
proportionable
to
the
twelue
monethes.
Entitled
TO
THE
NOBLE
AND
VERTV-
ous
Gentleman
most
worthy
of
all
titles
both
of
learning
and
cheualrie
M.
Philip
Sidney.
AT
LONDON.
Printed
by
Hugh
Singleton,
dwelling
in
Creede
Lane
neere
vnto
Ludgate
at
the
signe
of
the
gylden
Tunne,
and
are
there
to
be
solde.
1579.
Envoy
TO
HIS
BOOKE.
Goe
little
booke:
thy
selfe
present,
As
child
whose
parent
is
vnkent:
To
him
that
is
the
president
Of
noblesse
and
of
cheualree,
And
if
that
Enuie
barke
at
thee,
As
sure
it
will,
for
succoure
flee
Vnder
the
shadow
of
his
wing,
And
asked,
who
thee
forth
did
bring,
A
shepheards
swaine
saye
did
thee
sing,
All
as
his
straying
flocke
he
fedde:
And
when
his
honor
has
thee
redde,
Craue
pardon
for
my
hardyhedde.
But
if
that
any
aske
thy
name,
Say
thou
wert
base
begot
with
blame:
For
thy
thereof
thou
takest
shame.
And
when
thou
art
past
ieopardee,
Come
tell
me,
what
was
sayd
of
mee:
And
I
will
send
more
after
thee.
Immeritô.
Epistle
¶
To
the
most
excellent
and
learned
both
Orator
and
Poete,
Mayster
Gabriell
Haruey,
his
verie
special
and
singular
good
frend
E.
K.
commen-
deth
the
good
lyking
of
this
his
labour,
and
the
patronage
of
the
new
Poete.
V
NCOVTHE
VNKISTE
,
Sayde
the
olde
famous
Poete
Chaucer:
vvhom
for
his
excellencie
and
vvonderfull
skil
in
making,
his
scholler
Lidgate,
a
vvorthy
scholler
of
so
excellent
a
maister,
cal-
leth
the
Loadestarre
of
our
Language:
and
vvhom
our
Colin
clout
in
his
Æglogue
calleth
Tityrus
the
God
of
shepheards,
comparing
hym
to
the
worthines
of
the
Roman
Tityrus
Virgile.
VVhich
prouerbe,
myne
owne
good
friend
Ma.
Haruey,
as
in
that
good
old
Poete
it
ser-
ued
vvell
Pandares
purpose,
for
the
bolstering
of
his
baudy
brocage,
so
very
vvell
taketh
place
in
this
our
nevv
Poete,
vvho
for
that
he
is
vncouthe
(as
said
Chaucer)
is
vnkist,
and
vnknown
to
most
mẽ,
is
regarded
but
of
fevv.
But
I
dout
not,
so
soone
as
his
name
shall
come
into
the
knovvledg
of
men,
and
his
vvorthines
be
sounded
in
the
tromp
of
fame,
but
that
he
shall
be
not
onely
kiste,
but
also
beloued
of
all,
embraced
of
the
most,
and
vvondred
at
of
the
best.
No
lesse
I
thinke,
deserueth
his
vvittinesse
in
deuising,
his
pithi-
nesse
in
vttering,
his
complaints
of
loue
so
louely,
his
discourses
of
pleasure
so
pleasantly,
his
pastorall
rudenesse,
his
morall
vvisenesse,
his
devve
obseruing
of
Decorum
euerye
vvhere,
in
personages,
in
seasons,
in
matter,
in
speach,
and
generally
in
al
seemely
simply-
citie
of
handeling
his
matter,
and
framing
his
vvords:
the
vvhich
of
many
thinges
which
in
him
be
straunge,
I
knovv
vvill
seeme
the
straungest,
the
vvords
them
selues
being
so
auncient,
the
knitting
of
them
so
short
and
intricate,
and
the
vvhole
Periode
&
compasse
of
speache
so
delightsome
for
the
roundnesse,
and
so
graue
for
the
straungenesse.
And
firste
of
the
vvordes
to
speake,
I
graunt
they
be
something
hard,
and
of
most
men
vnused,
yet
both
English,
and
also
vsed
of
most
excellent
Authors
and
most
famous
Poetes.
In
vvhom
vvhenas
this
our
Poet
hath
bene
much
traueiled
and
throughly
redd,
hovv
could
it
be,
(as
that
vvorthy
Oratour
sayde)
but
that
vvalking
in
the
sonne
although
for
other
cause
he
vvalked,
yet
needes
he
mought
be
sunburnt;
and
hauing
the
sound
of
those
aun-
cient
Poetes
still
ringing
in
his
eares,
he
mought
needes
in
singing
hit
out
some
of
theyr
tunes.
But
whether
he
vseth
them
by
such
casualtye
and
custome,
or
of
set
purpose
and
choyse,
as
thinking
them
fittest
for
such
rusticall
rudenesse
of
shepheards,
eyther
for
that
theyr
rough
sounde
vvould
make
his
rymes
more
ragged
and
rustical,
or
els
because
such
olde
and
obsolete
wordes
are
most
vsed
of
country
folke,
sure
I
think,
and
think
I
think
not
amisse,
that
they
bring
great
grace
and,
as
one
vvould
say,
auctoritie
to
the
verse.
For
albe
amongst
many
other
faultes
it
specially
be
obiected
of
Valla
against
Liuie,
and
of
o-
ther
against
Saluste,
that
vvith
ouer
much
studie
they
affect
antiquitie,
as
coueting
there-
by
credence
and
honor
of
elder
yeeres,
yet
I
am
of
opinion,
and
eke
the
best
learned
are
of
the
lyke,
that
those
auncient
solemne
wordes
are
a
great
ornament
both
in
the
one
&
in
the
other;
the
one
labouring
to
set
forth
in
hys
worke
an
eternall
image
of
antiquitie,
and
the
other
carefully
discoursing
matters
of
grauitie
and
importaunce.
For
if
my
memo
ry
fayle
not,
Tullie
in
that
booke,
vvherein
he
endeuoureth
to
set
forth
the
paterne
of
a
perfect
Oratour,
sayth
that
ofttimes
an
auncient
worde
maketh
the
style
seeme
graue,
and
as
it
were
reuerend:
no
otherwise
then
vve
honour
and
reuerence
gray
heares
for
a
certein
religious
regard,
which
we
haue
of
old
age.
Yet
nether
euery
where
must
old
words
be
stuffed
in,
nor
the
commen
Dialecte
and
maner
of
speaking
so
corrupted
therby,
that
as
in
old
buildings
it
seme
disorderly
&
ruinous.
But
all
as
in
most
exquisite
pictures
they
vse
to
blaze
and
portraict
not
onely
the
daintie
lineaments
of
beautye,
but
also
rounde
about
it
to
shadow
the
rude
thickets
and
craggy
clifts,
that
by
the
basenesse
of
such
parts,
more
excellency
may
accrew
to
the
principall;
for
oftimes
we
fynde
ourselues,
I
knowe
not
hovv,
singularly
delighted
with
the
shewe
of
such
naturall
rudenesse,
and
take
great
pleasure
in
that
disorderly
order.
Euen
so
doe
those
rough
and
harsh
termes
enlumine
and
make
more
clearly
to
appeare
the
brightnesse
of
braue
&
glorious
vvords.
So
ofentimes
a
dischorde
in
Musick
maketh
a
comely
concordaunce:
so
great
delight
tooke
the
worthy
Poete
Alceus
to
behold
a
blemish
in
the
ioynt
of
a
wel
shaped
body.
But
if
any
vvill
rash-
ly
blame
such
his
purpose
in
choyse
of
old
and
vnvvonted
vvords,
him
may
I
more
iustly
blame
and
condemne,
or
of
vvitlesse
headinesse
in
iudging,
or
of
heedelesse
hardinesse
in
condemning.
For
not
marking
the
compasse
of
hys
bent,
he
vvil
iudge
of
the
length
of
his
cast.
For
in
my
opinion
it
is
one
special
prayse,
of
many
vvhych
are
dew
to
this
Poete,
that
he
hath
laboured
to
restore,
as
to
theyr
rightfull
heritage
such
good
and
naturall
English
words,
as
haue
ben
long
time
out
of
vse
&
almost
cleare
disherited.
VVhich
is
the
onely
cause,
that
our
Mother
tonge,
which
truely
of
it
self
is
both
ful
enough
for
prose
&
stately
enough
for
verse,
hath
long
time
ben
coũted
most
bare
&
barrein
of
both.
Which
default
when
as
some
endeuoured
to
salue
&
recure,
they
patched
vp
the
holes
with
peces
&
rags
of
other
languages,
borrowing
here
of
the
french,
there
of
the
Italian,
euery
where
of
the
Latine,
not
vveighing
hovv
il,
those
tongues
accorde
vvith
themselues,
but
much
vvorse
vvith
ours:
So
now
they
haue
made
our
English
tongue,
a
gallimaufray
or
hodgepodge
of
al
other
speches.
Other
some
not
so
wel
seene
in
the
English
tonge
as
perhaps
in
other
lan
guages,
if
thẽ
happen
to
here
an
olde
vvord
albeit
very
naturall
and
significant,
crye
out
streight
way,
that
we
speak
no
English,
but
gibbrish,
or
rather
such,
as
in
old
time
Euãders
mother
spake.
vvhose
fitst
shame
is,
that
they
are
not
ashamed,
in
their
own
mother
tonge
straungers
to
be
counted
and
alienes.
The
second
shame
no
lesse
then
the
first,
that
what
so
they
vnderstand
not,
they
streight
vvay
deeme
to
be
sencelesse,
and
not
at
al
to
be
vn-
derstode.
Much
like
to
the
Mole
in
Æsopes
fable,
that
being
blynd
her
selfe,
vvould
in
no
wise
be
perswaded,
that
any
beast
could
see.
The
last
more
shameful
then
both,
that
of
their
ovvne
country
and
natural
speach,
vvhich
together
vvith
their
Nources
milk
they
sucked,
they
haue
so
base
regard
and
bastard
iudgement,
that
they
vvill
not
onely
them-
selues
not
labor
to
garnish
&
beautifie
it,
but
also
repine,
that
of
other
it
shold
be
embel
lished.
Like
to
the
dogge
in
the
maunger,
that
him
selfe
can
eate
no
hay,
and
yet
barketh
at
the
hungry
bullock,
that
so
faine
vvould
feede:
vvhose
currish
kind
though
cannot
be
kept
from
barking,
yet
I
conne
them
thanke
that
they
refrain
from
byting.
Novv
for
the
knitting
of
sentences,
vvhych
they
call
the
ioynts
and
members
therof,
and
for
al
the
compasse
of
the
speach,
it
is
round
vvithout
roughnesse,
and
learned
wyth-
out
hardnes,
such
indeede
as
may
be
perceiued
of
the
leaste,
vnderstoode
of
the
moste,
but
iudged
onely
of
the
learned.
For
vvhat
in
most
English
wryters
vseth
to
be
loose,
and
as
it
vvere
vngyrt,
in
this
Authour
is
vvell
grounded,
finely
framed,
and
strongly
trussed
vp
together.
In
regard
wherof,
I
scorne
and
spue
out
the
rakehellye
route
of
our
ragged
rymers
(for
so
thẽselues
vse
to
hunt
the
letter)
vvhich
vvithout
learning
boste,
vvithout
iudgement
iangle,
vvithout
reason
rage
and
fome,
as
if
some
instinct
of
Poeticall
spirite
had
nevvly
rauished
them
aboue
the
meanenesse
of
commen
capacitie.
And
being
in
the
middest
of
all
theyr
brauery,
sodenly
eyther
for
vvant
of
matter,
or
of
ryme,
or
hauing
for
gotten
theyr
former
conceipt,
they
seeme
to
be
so
pained
and
traueiled
in
theyr
remem-
brance,
as
it
vvere
a
woman
in
childebirth
or
as
that
same
Pythia,
vvhen
the
traunce
came
vpon
her.
Os
rabidum
fera
corda
domans
&c.
Nethelesse
let
them
a
Gods
name
feede
on
theyr
ovvne
folly,
so
they
seeke
not
to
dar-
ken
the
beames
of
others
glory.
As
for
Colin,
vnder
vvhose
person
the
Authour
selfe
is
shadovved,
hovv
furre
he
is
from
such
vaunted
titles
and
glorious
shovves,
both
him
selfe
sheweth,
vvhere
he
sayth.
Of
Muses
Hobbin,
I
conne
no
skill.
And,
Enough
is
me
to
paint
out
my
vnrest,
&c.
And
also
appeareth
by
the
basenesse
of
the
name,
vvherein,
it
semeth,
he
chose
rather
to
vnfold
great
matter
of
argumẽt
couertly,
then
professing
it,
not
suffice
thereto
according
ly.
vvhich
moued
him
rather
in
Æglogues,
then
other
wise
to
vvrite,
doubting
perhaps
his
habilitie,
which
he
little
needed,
or
mynding
to
furnish
our
tongue
vvith
this
kinde,
wherein
it
faulteth,
or
follovving
the
example
of
the
best
&
most
auncient
Poetes,
which
deuised
this
kind
of
wryting,
being
both
so
base
for
the
matter,
and
homely
for
the
man-
ner,
at
the
first
to
trye
theyr
habilities;
and
as
young
birdes,
that
be
nevvly
crept
out
of
the
nest,
by
little
first
to
proue
theyr
tender
vvyngs,
before
they
make
a
greater
flyght.
So
flevv
Theocritus,
as
you
may
perceiue
he
vvas
all
ready
full
fledged.
So
flew
Virgile,
as
not
yet
vvell
feeling
his
vvinges
So
flevv
Mantuane,
as
being
not
full
somd.
So
Petrarque.
So
Boccace;
So
Marot,
Sanazarus,
and
also
diuers
other
excellent
both
Italian
and
French
Poetes,
vvhose
foting
this
Author
euery
vvhere
follovveth,
yet
so
as
few,
but
they
be
wel
sented
can
trace
him
out.
So
finally
flyeth
this
our
nevv
Poete,
as
a
bird,vvhose
principals
be
scarce
growen
out,
but
yet
as
that
in
time
shall
be
hable
to
keepe
wing
with
the
best.
Novv
as
touching
the
generall
dryft
and
purpose
of
his
Æglogues,
I
mind
not
to
say
much,
him
selfe
labouring
to
conceale
it.
Onely
this
appeareth,
that
his
vnstayed
yougth
had
long
vvandred
in
the
common
Labyrinth
of
Loue,
in
vvhich
time
to
mitigate
and
allay
the
heate
of
his
passion,
or
els
to
vvarne
(as
he
sayth)
the
young
shepheards
.ſ.
his
e-
qualls
and
companions
of
his
vnfortunate
folly,
he
compiled
these
xij.
Æglogues,
vvhich
for
that
they
be
proportioned
to
the
state
of
the
xij.
monethes,
he
termeth
the
SHEP-
HEARDS
CALENDAR
,
applying
an
olde
name
to
a
nevv
vvorke.
Hereunto
haue
I
added
a
certain
Glosse
or
scholion
for
thexposition
of
old
vvordes
&
harder
phra-
ses:
vvhich
maner
of
glosing
and
commenting,
vvell
I
vvote,
vvil
seeme
straunge
&
rare
in
our
tongue:
yet
for
somuch
as
I
knew
many
excellent
&
proper
deuises
both
in
wordes
and
matter
vvould
passe
in
the
speedy
course
of
reading,
either
as
vnknovven,
or
as
not
marked,
and
that
in
this
kind,
as
in
other
vve
might
be
equal
to
the
learned
of
other
nati-
ons,
I
thought
good
to
take
the
paines
vpon
me,
the
rather
for
that
by
meanes
of
some
fa
miliar
acquaintaunce
I
vvas
made
priuie
to
his
counsell
and
secret
meaning
in
them,
as
also
in
sundry
other
vvorks
of
his.
vvhich
albeit
I
knovv
he
nothing
so
much
hateth,
as
to
promulgate,
yet
thus
much
haue
I
aduentured
vpon
his
frendship,
him
selfe
being
for
long
time
furre
estraunged,
hoping
that
this
vvill
the
rather
occasion
him,
to
put
forth
diuers
other
excellent
vvorks
of
his,
vvhich
slepe
in
silence,
as
his
Dreames,
his
Legendes,
his
Court
of
Cupide,
and
sondry
others;
vvhose
commendations
to
set
out,
vvere
verye
vayne;
the
thinges
though
vvorthy
of
many,
yet
being
knowen
to
few.
These
my
present
paynes
if
to
any
they
be
pleasurable
or
profitable,
be
you
iudge,
mine
ovvn
good
Maister
Haruey,
to
vvhom
I
haue
both
in
respect
of
your
vvorthinesse
generally,
and
othervvyse
vpon
some
particular
&
special
cousiderations
voued
this
my
labour,
and
the
mayden-
head
of
this
our
commen
frends
Poetrie,
himselfe
hauing
already
in
the
beginning
dedi-
cated
it
to
the
Noble
and
vvorthy
Gentleman,
the
right
worshipfull
Ma.
Phi.
Sidney,
a
special
fauourer
&
maintainer
of
all
kind
of
learning;
VVhose
cause
I
pray
you
Sir,
yf
Enuie
shall
stur
vp
any
wrongful
accusasion,
defend
vvith
your
mighty
Rhetorick
&
other
your
rare
gifts
of
learning,
as
you
can,
&
shield
with
your
good
vvil,
as
you
ought,
against
the
malice
and
outrage
of
so
many
enemies,
as
I
knovv
vvilbe
set
on
fire
with
the
sparks
of
his
kindled
glory.
And
thus
recõmending
the
Author
vnto
you,
as
vnto
his
most
spe-
cial
good
frend,
and
my
selfe
vnto
you
both,
as
one
making
singuler
account
of
tvvo
so
very
good
and
so
choise
frends,
I
bid
you
both
most
hartely
farvvel,
and
commit
you
&
your
most
commendable
studies
to
the
tuicion
of
the
greatest.
Your
owne
assuredly
to
be
commaunded
E.K.
Post
scr
N
ow
I
trust
M.
Haruey,
that
vpon
sight
of
your
speciall
frends
and
fellow
Poets
doings,
or
els
for
enuie
of
so
many
vnworthy
Quidams,
vvhich
catch
at
the
gar-
lond,
vvhich
to
you
alone
is
devve,
you
vvill
be
persvvaded
to
pluck
out
of
the
hateful
darknesse,
those
so
many
excellent
English
poemes
of
yours,
vvhich
lye
hid,
and
bring
thẽ
forth
to
eternall
light.
Trust
me
you
doe
both
them
great
wrong,
in
depriuing
them
of
the
desired
sonne,
and
also
your
selfe,
in
smoothering
your
deserued
prayses,
and
all
men
generally,
in
withholding
from
them
so
diuine
pleasures,
which
they
might
conceiue
of
your
gallant
English
verses,
as
they
haue
already
doen
of
your
Latine
Poemes,
which
in
my
opinion
both
for
inuention
and
Elocution
are
very
delicate,
and
superexcellent.
And
thus
againe,
I
take
my
leaue
of
my
good
Mayster
Haruey
from
my
lodging
at
London
thys
10.
of
Aprill.
1579
.
General
Argument
The
generall
argument
of
the
whole
booke.
L
ittle
I
hope,
needeth
me
at
large
to
discourse
the
first
Originall
of
Æglo-
gues,
hauing
alreadie
touched
the
same.
But
for
the
vvordÆglogues
I
knovv
is
vnknowen
to
most,
and
also
mistaken
of
some
the
best
learned
(as
they
think)
I
vvyll
say
somevvhat
thereof,
being
not
at
all
impertinẽt
to
my
present
purpose.
They
vvere
first
of
the
Greekes
the
inuentours
of
them
called
Æglo-
gaj
as
it
vvere
αἰγῶν
or
αἰγονόμων
λόγοι,
that
is
Goteheards
tales.
For
although
in
Virgile
and
others
the
speakers
be
most
shepheards,
and
not
Goteheards,
yet
Theocritus
in
whom
is
more
ground
of
authoritie,
then
in
Virgile,
this
specially
from
that
deriuing,
as
from
the
first
head
and
vvelspring
the
vvhole
Inuericion
of
his
Æglogues,
maketh
Goteheards
the
persons
and
authors
of
his
tales.
This
being,
vvho
seeth
not
the
grossenesse
of
such
as
by
colour
of
learning
would
make
vs
beleeue
that
they
are
more
rightly
termed
Eclogai,
as
they
vvould
say,
extraordinary
discourses
of
vnnecessarie
matter,
vvhich
difinition
albe
in
substaunce
and
meaning
it
agree
with
the
nature
of
the
thing,
yet
nowhit
answereth
with
the
ἀνάλυσις
and
interpretation
of
the
word.
For
they
be
not
termed
Eclogues,
but
Æg-
logues.
vvhich
sentence
this
authour
very
vvell
obseruing,
vpon
good
iudgement,
though
indeede
fevv
Goteheards
haue
to
doe
herein,
nethelesse
doubteth
not
to
cal
thẽ
by
the
vsed
and
best
knovven
name.
Other
curious
discourses
hereof
I
reserue
to
greater
occa
sion.
These
xij.
Æclogues
euery
where
answering
to
the
seasons
of
the
tvvelue
monthes
may
be
vvell
deuided
into
three
formes
or
ranckes.
For
eyther
they
be
Plaintiue,
as
the
first,
the
sixt,
the
eleuenth,
&
the
twelfth,
or
recreatiue,
such
as
al
those
be,
vvhich
conceiue
matter
of
loue,
or
commendation
of
special
personages,
or
Moral:
vvhich
for
the
most
part
be
mixed
with
some
Satyrical
bitternesse,
namely
the
second
of
reuerence
devve
to
old
age,
the
fift
of
coloured
deceipt,
the
seuenth
and
ninth
of
dissolute
shepheards
&
pas-
tours,
the
tenth
of
contempt
of
Poetrie
&
pleasaunt
vvits.
And
to
this
diuision
may
eue-
ry
thing
herein
be
reasonably
applyed:
A
few
onely
except,
vvhose
speciall
purpose
and
meaning
I
am
not
priuie
to.
And
thus
much
generally
of
these
xij.
Æclogues.
Now
vvill
vve
speake
particularly
of
all,
and
first
of
the
first,
vvhich
he
calleth
by
the
first
monethes
name
Ianuarie:
wherein
to
some
he
may
seeme
fovvly
to
haue
faulted,
in
that
he
erroni-
ously
beginneth
with
that
moneth,
vvhich
beginneth
not
the
yeare.
For
it
is
wel
known,
and
stoutely
mainteyned
vvith
stronge
reasons
of
the
learned,
that
the
yeare
beginneth
in
March,
for
then
the
sonne
renevveth
his
finished
course,
and
the
seasonable
spring
refre
sheth
the
earth,
and
the
plesaunce
thereof
being
buried
in
the
sadnesse
of
the
dead
winter
novv
vvorne
avvay,
reliueth.
This
opinion
maynteine
the
olde
Astrologers
and
Philoso-
phers,
namely
the
reuerend
Andalo,
and
Macrobius
in
his
holydayes
of
Saturne,
which
accoumpt
also
vvas
generally
obserued
both
of
Grecians
and
Romans.
But
sauing
the
leaue
of
such
learned
heads,
vve
mayntaine
a
custome
of
coumpting
the
seasons
from
the
moneth
Ianuary,
vpon
a
more
speciall
cause,
then
the
heathen
Philosophers
euer
coulde
conceiue,
that
is,
for
the
incarnation
of
our
mighty
Sauiour
and
eternall
redeemer
the
L.
Christ,
vvho
as
then
renevving
the
state
of
the
decayed
vvorld,
and
returning
the
cõpasse
of
expired
yeres
to
theyr
former
date
and
first
commencement,
left
to
vs
his
heires
a
me-
moriall
of
his
birth
in
the
ende
of
the
last
yeere
and
beginning
of
the
next,
vvhich
recko
ning,
beside
that
eternall
monument
of
our
saluation,
leaneth
also
vppon
good
proofe
of
special
iudgemẽt.
For
albeit
that
in
elder
times,
vvhen
as
yet
the
coumpt
of
the
yere
was
not
perfected,
as
aftervvarde
it
was
by
Iulius
Cæsar,
they
began
to
tel
the
monethes
from
Marches
beginning,
and
according
to
the
same
God
(as
is
sayd
in
Scripture)
comaunded
the
people
of
the
Ievves
to
count
the
moneth
Abib,
that
vvhich
vve
call
March,
for
the
first
moneth,
in
remembraunce
that
in
that
moneth
he
brought
them
out
of
the
land
of
Ægipt:
yet
according
to
tradition
of
latter
times
it
hath
bene
othervvise
obserued,
both
in
gouernment
of
of
the
church,
and
rule
of
Mightiest
Realmes.
For
from
Iulius
Cæsar
vvho
first
obserued
the
leape
yeere
vvhich
he
called
Bissextilem
Annum,
and
brought
in
to
a
more
certain
course
the
odde
vvandring
dayes
vvhich
of
the
Greekes
vvere
called
ὑπερβαίνοντες,
of
the
Romanes
intercalares
(for
in
such
matter
of
learning
I
am
forced
to
vse
the
termes
of
the
learned)
the
monethes
haue
bene
nombred
xij.
vvhich
in
the
first
ordinaunce
of
Romulus
vvere
but
tenne,
counting
but
CCCiiij.
dayes
in
euery
yeare,
and
beginning
with
March.
But
Numa
Pompilius,
vvho
vvas
the
father
of
al
the
Romain
ceremonies
and
religion,
seeing
that
reckoning
to
agree
neither
vvith
the
course
of
the
sonne,
nor
of
the
Moone,
therevnto
added
tvvo
monethes,
Ianuary
and
February:
wher-
in
it
seemeth,
that
vvise
king
minded
vpon
good
reason
to
begin
the
yeare
at
Ianuarie,
of
him
therefore
so
called
tanquam
Ianua
anni
the
gate
and
entraunce
of
the
yere,
or
of
the
name
of
the
god
Ianus,
to
which
god
for
that
the
old
Paynims
attributed
the
byrth
&
beginning
of
all
creatures
nevv
comming
into
the
vvorlde,
it
seemeth
that
he
therfore
to
him
assigned
the
beginning
and
first
entraunce
of
the
yeare,
vvhich
account
for
the
most
part
hath
hetherto
continued.
Notvvithstanding
that
the
Ægiptians
beginne
theyr
yeare
at
September,
for
that
according
to
the
opinion
of
the
best
Rabbins,
and
very
pur-
pose
of
the
scripture
selfe,
God
made
the
vvorlde
in
that
Moneth,
that
is
called
of
them
Tisri.
And
therefore
he
commaunded
them,
to
keepe
the
feast
of
Pauilions
in
the
end
of
the
yeare,
in
the
xv.
day
of
the
seuenth
moneth,
vvhich
before
that
time
was
the
first.
But
our
Authour
respecting
nether
the
subtiltie
of
thone
parte,
nor
the
antiquitie
of
thother,
thinketh
it
fittest
according
to
the
simplicitie
of
commen
vnderstanding,
to
be-
gin
vvith
Ianuarie,
wening
it
perhaps
no
decorũ,
that
Sepheard
should
be
seene
in
mat
ter
of
so
deepe
insight,
or
canuase
a
case
of
so
doubtful
iudgment.
So
therefore
beginneth
he,
&
so
continueth
he
throughout.
January
Januarye.
Ægloga
prima.
ARGVMENT.
I
n
this
fyrst
Æglogue
Colin
cloute
a
shepheardes
boy
complaineth
him
of
his
vnfortunate
loue,
being
but
newly
(as
semeth)
enamoured
of
a
coun-
trie
lasse
called
Rosalinde:
with
which
strong
affection
being
very
sore
tra-
ueled,
he
compareth
his
carefull
case
to
the
sadde
season
of
the
yeare,
to
the
frostie
ground,
to
the
frosen
trees,
and
to
his
owne
winterbeaten
flocke.
And
lastlye,
fynding
himselfe
robbed
of
all
former
pleasaunce
and
delights,
hee
breaketh
his
Pipe
in
peeces,
and
casteth
him
selfe
to
the
ground.
Colin
Cloute.
A
Shepeheards
boye
(no
better
doe
him
call)
When
Winters
wastful
spight
was
almost
spent,
All
in
a
sunneshine
day,
as
did
befall,
Led
forth
his
flock,
that
had
bene
long
ypent.
So
faynt
they
woxe,
and
feeble
in
the
folde,
That
now
vnnethes
their
feete
could
them
vphold.
All
as
the
Sheepe,
such
was
the
shepeheards
looke,
For
pale
and
wanne
he
was,
(alas
the
while),
May
seeme
he
lovd,
or
els
some
care
he
tooke:
Well
couth
he
tune
his
pipe,
and
frame
his
stile.
Tho
to
a
hill
his
faynting
flocke
he
ledde,
And
thus
him
playnd,
the
while
his
shepe
there
fedde.
Ye
Gods
of
loue,
that
pitie
louers
payne,
(If
any
gods
the
paine
of
louers
pitie):
Looke
from
aboue,
where
you
in
ioyes
remaine,
And
bowe
your
eares
vnto
my
dolefull
dittie.
And
Pan
thou
shepheards
God,
that
once
didst
loue,
Pitie
the
paines,
that
thou
thy
selfe
didst
proue.
Thou
barrein
ground,
whome
winters
wrath
hath
wasted,
Art
made
a
myrrhour,
to
behold
my
plight:
Whilome
thy
fresh
spring
flowrd,
and
after
hasted
Thy
sommer
prowde
with
Daffadillies
dight.
And
now
is
come
thy
wynters
stormy
state,
Thy
mantle
mard,
wherein
thou
maskedst
late.
Such
rage
as
winters,
reigneth
in
my
heart,
My
life
bloud
friesing
with
vnkindly
cold:
Such
stormy
stoures
do
breede
my
balefull
smart,
As
if
my
yeare
were
wast,
and
woxen
old.
And
yet
alas,
but
now
my
spring
begonne,
And
yet
alas,
yt
is
already
donne.
You
naked
trees,
whose
shady
leaues
are
lost,
Wherein
the
byrds
were
wont
to
build
their
bowre:
And
now
are
clothd
with
mosse
and
hoary
frost,
Instede
of
bloosmes,
wherwith
your
buds
did
flowre:
I
see
your
teares,
that
from
your
boughes
doe
raine,
Whose
drops
in
drery
ysicles
remaine.
All
so
my
lustfull
leafe
is
drye
and
sere,
My
timely
buds
with
wayling
all
are
wasted:
The
blossome,
which
my
braunch
of
youth
did
beare,
With
breathed
sighes
is
blowne
away,
&
blasted,
And
from
mine
eyes
the
drizling
teares
descend,
As
on
your
boughes
the
ysicles
depend.
Thou
feeble
flocke,
whose
fleece
is
rough
and
rent,
Whose
knees
are
weake
through
fast
and
euill
fare:
Mayst
witnesse
well
by
thy
ill
gouernement,
Thy
maysters
mind
is
ouercome
with
care.
Thou
weake,
I
wanne:
thou
leane,
I
quite
forlorne:
With
mourning
pyne
I,
you
with
pyning
mourne.
A
thousand
sithes
I
curse
that
carefull
hower,
Wherein
I
longd
the
neighbour
towne
to
see:
And
eke
tenne
thousand
sithes
I
blesse
the
stoure,
Wherein
I
sawe
so
fayre
a
sight,
as
shee.
Yet
all
for
naught:
such
sight
hath
bred
my
bane.
Ah
God,
that
loue
should
breede
both
ioy
and
payne.
It
is
not
Hobbinol,
wherefore
I
plaine,
Albee
my
loue
he
seeke
with
dayly
suit:
His
clownish
gifts
and
curtsies
I
disdaine,
His
kiddes,
his
cracknelles,
and
his
early
fruit.
Ah
foolish
Hobbinol,
thy
gyfts
bene
vayne:
Colin
them
giues
to
Rosalind
againe.
I
loue
thilke
lasse,
(alas
why
doe
I
loue?)
And
am
forlorne,
(alas
why
am
I
lorne?)
Shee
deignes
not
my
good
will,
but
doth
reproue,
And
of
my
rurall
musick
holdeth
scorne.
Shepheards
deuise
she
hateth
as
the
snake,
And
laughes
the
songes,
that
Colin
Clout
doth
make.
Wherefore
my
pype,
albee
rude
Pan
thou
please,
Yet
for
thou
pleasest
not,
where
most
I
would:
And
thou
vnlucky
Muse,
that
wontst
to
ease
My
musing
mynd,
yet
canst
not,
when
thou
should:
Both
pype
and
Muse,
shall
sore
the
while
abye.
So
broke
his
oaten
pype,
and
downe
dyd
lye.
By
that,
the
welked
Phœbus
gan
availe,
His
weary
waine,
and
nowe
the
frosty
Night
Her
mantle
black
through
heauen
gan
ouerhaile.
Which
seene,
the
pensife
boy
halfe
in
despight
Arose,
and
homeward
droue
his
sonned
sheepe,
Whose
hanging
heads
did
seeme
his
carefull
case
to
weepe.
Colins
Embleme.
Anchôra
speme.
February
Februarie.
Ægloga
Secunda.
ARGVMENT.
T
his
Æglogue
is
rather
morall
and
generall,
then
bent
to
any
secrete
or
particular
purpose.
It
specially
conteyneth
a
discourse
of
old
age,
in
the
persone
of
Thenot
an
olde
Shepheard,
who
for
his
crookednesse
and
vnlusti-
nesse,
is
scorned
of
Cuddie
an
vnhappy
Heardmans
boye.
The
matter
ve-
ry
well
accordeth
with
the
season
of
the
moneth,
the
yeare
now
drouping,
&
as
it
were,
drawing
to
his
last
age.
For
as
in
this
time
of
yeare,
so
thẽ
in
our
bodies
there
is
a
dry
&
withering
cold,
which
congealeth
the
crudled
blood,
and
frieseth
the
wetherbeatẽ
flesh,
with
stormes
of
Fortune,
&
hoare
frosts
of
Care.
To
which
purpose
the
olde
man
telleth
a
tale
of
the
Oake
and
the
Bryer,
so
liuely
and
so
feelingly,
as
if
the
thing
were
set
forth
in
some
Pic-
ture
before
our
eyes,
more
plainly
could
not
appeare.
CVDDIE.
THENOT.
Ah
for
pittie,
wil
rancke
Winters
rage,
These
bitter
blasts
neuer
ginne
tasswage?
The
kene
cold
blowes
through
my
beaten
hyde,
All
as
I
were
through
the
body
gryde.
My
ragged
rontes
all
shiver
and
shake,
As
doen
high
Towers
in
an
earthquake:
They
wont
in
the
wind
wagge
their
wrigle
tailes,
Perke
as
Peacock:
but
nowe
it
auales.
THENOT.
Lewdly
complainest
thou
laesie
ladde,
Of
Winters
wracke,
for
making
thee
sadde.
Must
not
the
world
wend
in
his
commun
course
From
good
to
badd,
and
from
badde
to
worse,
From
worse
vnto
that
is
worst
of
all,
And
then
returne
to
his
former
fall?
Who
will
not
suffer
the
stormy
time,
Where
will
he
liue
tyll
the
lusty
prime?
Selfe
haue
I
worne
out
thrise
threttie
yeares,
Some
in
much
ioy,
many
in
many
teares:
Yet
neuer
complained
of
cold
nor
heate,
Of
Sommers
flame,
nor
of
Winters
threat:
Ne
euer
was
to
Fortune
foeman,
But
gently
tooke,
that
vngently
came.
And
euer
my
flocke
was
my
chiefe
care,
Winter
or
Sommer
they
mought
well
fare.
CVDDIE.
No
marueile
Thenot,
if
thou
can
beare
Cherefully
the
Winters
wrathfull
cheare:
For
Age
and
Winter
accord
full
nie,
This
chill,
that
cold,
this
crooked,
that
wrye.
And
as
the
lowring
Wether
lookes
downe,
So
semest
thou
like
good
fryday
to
frowne.
But
my
flowring
youth
is
foe
to
frost,
My
shippe
vnwont
in
stormes
to
be
tost.
THENOT.
The
soueraigne
of
seas
he
blames
in
vaine,
That
once
seabeate,
will
to
sea
againe.
So
loytring
liue
you
little
heardgroomes,
Keeping
your
beastes
in
the
budded
broomes:
And
when
the
shining
sunne
langheth
once,
You
deemen,
the
Spring
is
come
attonce.
Tho
gynne
you,
fond
flyes,
the
cold
to
scorne,
And
crowing
in
pypes
made
of
greene
corne,
You
thinken
to
be
Lords
of
the
yeare.
But
eft,
when
ye
count
you
freed
from
feare,
Comes
the
breme
winter
with
chamfred
browes,
Full
of
wrinckles
and
frostie
furrowes:
Drerily
shooting
his
stormy
darte,
Which
cruddles
the
blood,
and
pricks
the
harte.
Then
is
your
carelesse
corage
accoied,
Your
carefull
heards
with
cold
bene
annoied.
Then
paye
you
the
price
of
your
surquedrie,
With
weeping,
and
wayling,
and
misery.
CVDDIE.
Ah
foolish
old
man,
I
scorne
thy
skill,
That
wouldest
me,
my
springing
youngth
to
spil.
I
deeme,
thy
braine
emperished
bee
Through
rusty
elde,
that
hath
rotted
thee:
Or
sicker
thy
head
veray
tottie
is,
So
on
thy
corbe
shoulder
it
leanes
amisse.
Now
thy
selfe
hast
lost
both
lopp
and
topp,
Als
my
budding
braunch
thou
wouldest
cropp:
But
were
thy
yeares
greene,
as
now
bene
myne,
To
other
delights
they
would
encline.
Tho
wouldest
thou
learne
to
caroll
of
Loue,
And
hery
with
hymnes
thy
lasses
gloue.
Tho
wouldest
thou
pype
of
Phyllis
prayse:
But
Phyllis
is
myne
for
many
dayes:
I
wonne
her
with
a
gyrdle
of
gelt,
Embost
with
buegle
about
the
belt.
Such
an
one
shepeheards
woulde
make
full
faine:
Such
an
one
would
make
thee
younge
againe.
THENOT.
Thou
art
a
fon,
of
thy
loue
to
boste,
All
that
is
lent
to
loue,
wyll
be
lost.
CVDDIE.
Seest,
howe
brag
yond
Bullocke
beares,
So
smirke,
so
smoothe,
his
pricked
eares?
His
hornes
bene
as
broade,
as
Rainebowe
bent,
His
dewelap
as
lythe,
as
lasse
of
Kent.
See
howe
he
venteth
into
the
wynd.
Weenest
of
loue
is
not
his
mynd?
Seemeth
thy
flocke
thy
counsell
can,
So
lustlesse
bene
they,
so
weake
so
wan,
Clothed
with
cold,
and
hoary
wyth
frost.
Thy
flocks
father
his
corage
hath
lost:
Thy
Ewes,
that
wont
to
haue
blowen
bags,
Like
wailefull
widdowes
hangen
their
crags:
The
rather
Lambes
bene
starued
with
cold,
All
for
their
Maister
is
lustlesse
and
old.
THENOT.
Cuddie,
I
wote
thou
kenst
little
good,
So
vainely
taduaunce
thy
headlesse
hood.
For
Youngth
is
a
bubble
blown
vp
with
breath,
Whose
witt
is
weakenesse,
whose
wage
is
death,
Whose
way
is
wildernesse,
whose
ynne
Penaunce,
And
stoopegallaunt
Age
the
hoste
of
Greeuaunce.
But
shall
I
tel
thee
a
tale
of
truth,
Which
I
cond
of
Tityrus
in
my
youth,
Keeping
his
sheepe
on
the
hils
of
Kent?
CVDDIE.
To
nought
more
Thenot,
my
mind
is
bent,
Then
to
heare
nouells
of
his
deuise:
They
bene
so
well
thewed,
and
so
wise,
What
euer
that
good
old
man
bespake.
THENOT.
Many
meete
tales
of
youth
did
he
make,
And
some
of
loue,
and
some
of
cheualrie:
But
none
fitter
then
this
to
applie.
Now
listen
a
while,
and
hearken
the
end.
T
here
grewe
an
aged
Tree
on
the
greene,
A
goodly
Oake
sometime
had
it
bene,
With
armes
full
strong
and
largely
displayd,
But
of
their
leaues
they
were
disarayde:
The
bodie
bigge,
and
mightely
pight,
Throughly
rooted,
and
of
wonderous
hight:
Whilome
had
bene
the
King
of
the
field,
And
mochell
mast
to
the
husband
did
yielde,
And
with
his
nuts
larded
many
swine.
But
now
the
gray
mosse
marred
his
rine,
His
bared
boughes
were
beaten
with
stormes,
His
toppe
was
bald,
&
wasted
with
wormes,
His
honor
decayed,
his
braunches
sere.
Hard
by
his
side
grewe
a
bragging
brere,
Which
proudly
thrust
into
Thelement,
And
seemed
to
threat
the
Firmament.
Yt
was
embellisht
with
blossomes
fayre,
And
thereto
aye
wonned
to
repayre
The
shepheards
daughters,
to
gather
flowres,
To
peinct
their
girlonds
with
his
colowres.
And
in
his
small
bushes
vsed
to
shrowde
The
sweete
Nightingale
singing
so
lowde:
Which
made
this
foolish
Brere
wexe
so
bold,
That
on
a
time
he
cast
him
to
scold,
And
snebbe
the
good
Oake,
for
he
was
old.
Why
standst
there
(quoth
he)
thou
brutish
blocke?
Nor
for
fruict,
nor
for
shadowe
serues
thy
stocke:
Seest,
how
fresh
my
flowers
bene
spredde,
Dyed
in
Lilly
white,
and
Cremsin
redde,
With
Leaues
engrained
in
lusty
greene,
Colours
meete
to
clothe
a
mayden
Queene.
Thy
wast
bignes
but
combers
the
grownd,
And
dirks
the
beauty
of
my
blossomes
rownd.
The
mouldie
mosse,
which
thee
accloieth,
My
Sinamon
smell
too
much
annoieth.
Wherefore
soone
I
rede
thee,
hence
remoue,
Least
thou
the
price
of
my
displeasure
proue.
So
spake
this
bold
brere
with
great
disdaine:
Little
him
answered
the
Oake
againe,
But
yielded,
with
shame
and
greefe
adawed,
That
of
a
weede
he
was
ouerawed.
Yt
chaunced
after
vpon
a
day,
The
Husbandman
selfe
to
come
that
way,
Of
custome
for
to
seruewe
his
grownd,
And
his
trees
of
state
in
compasse
rownd.
Him
when
the
spitefull
brere
had
espyed,
Caus
lesse
complained,
and
lowdly
cryed
Unto
his
Lord,
stirring
vp
sterne
strife:
O
my
liege
Lord,
the
God
of
my
life,
Pleaseth
you
ponder
your
Suppliants
plaint,
Caused
of
wrong,
and
cruell
constraint,
Which
I
your
poore
Uassall
dayly
endure:
And
but
your
goodnes
the
same
recure,
Am
like
for
desperate
doole
to
dye,
Through
felonous
force
of
mine
enemie.
Greatly
aghast
with
this
piteous
plea,
Him
rested
the
goodman
on
the
lea,
And
badde
the
Brere
in
his
plaint
proceede.
With
painted
words
tho
gan
this
proude
weede,
(As
most
vsen
Ambitious
folke):
His
colowred
crime
with
craft
to
cloke.
Ah
my
soueraigne,
Lord
of
creatures
all,
Thou
placer
of
plants
both
humble
and
tall,
Was
not
I
planted
of
thine
owne
hand,
To
be
the
primrose
of
all
thy
land,
With
flowring
blossomes,
to
furnish
the
prime,
And
scarlot
berries
in
Sommer
time?
How
falls
it
then,
that
this
faded
Oake,
Whose
bodie
is
sere,
whose
braunches
broke,
Whose
naked
Armes
stretch
vnto
the
fyre,
Unto
such
tyrannie
doth
aspire:
Hindering
with
his
shade
my
louely
light,
And
robbing
me
of
the
swete
sonnes
sight?
So
beate
his
old
boughes
my
tender
side,
That
oft
the
bloud
springeth
from
wounds
wyde:
Untimely
my
flowres
forced
to
fall,
That
bene
the
honor
of
your
Coronall.
And
oft
he
lets
his
cancker
wormes
light
Upon
my
braunches,
to
worke
me
more
spight:
And
oft
his
hoarie
locks
downe
doth
cast,
Where
with
my
fresh
flowretts
bene
defast.
For
this,
and
many
more
such
outrage,
Crauing
your
goodlihead
to
aswage
The
ranckorous
rigour
of
his
might,
Nought
aske
I,
but
onely
to
hold
my
right:
Submitting
me
to
your
good
sufferance,
And
praying
to
be
garded
from
greeuance.
To
this
the
Oake
cast
him
to
replie
Well
as
he
couth:
but
his
enemie
Had
kindled
such
coles
of
displeasure,
That
the
good
man
noulde
stay
his
leasure,
But
home
him
hasted
with
furious
heate,
Encreasing
his
wrath
with
many
a
threate.
His
harmefull
Hatchet
he
hent
in
hand,
(Alas,
that
it
so
ready
should
stand)
And
to
the
field
alone
he
speedeth.
(Ay
little
helpe
to
harme
there
needeth)
Anger
nould
let
him
speake
to
the
tree,
Enaunter
his
rage
mought
cooled
bee:
But
to
the
roote
bent
his
sturdy
stroke,
And
made
many
wounds
in
the
wast
Oake.
The
Axes
edge
did
oft
turne
againe,
As
halfe
vnwilling
to
cutte
the
graine:
Semed,
the
sencelesse
yron
dyd
feare,
Or
to
wrong
holy
eld
did
forbeare.
For
it
had
bene
an
auncient
tree,
Sacred
with
many
a
mysteree,
And
often
crost
with
the
priestes
crewe,
And
often
halowed
with
holy
water
dewe.
But
sike
fancies
weren
foolerie,
And
broughten
this
Oake
to
this
miserye.
For
nought
mought
they
quitten
him
from
decay:
For
fiercely
the
good
man
at
him
did
laye.
The
blocke
oft
groned
vnder
the
blow,
And
sighed
to
see
his
neare
ouerthrow.
In
fine
the
steele
had
pierced
his
pitth,
Tho
downe
to
the
earth
he
fell
forthwith:
His
wonderous
weight
made
the
grounde
to
quake,
Thearth
shronke
vnder
him,
and
seemed
to
shake.
There
lyeth
the
Oake,
pitied
of
none.
Now
stands
the
Brere
like
a
Lord
alone,
Puffed
vp
with
pryde
and
vaine
pleasaunce:
But
all
this
glee
had
no
continuaunce.
For
eftsones
Winter
gan
to
approche,
The
blustring
Boreas
did
encroche,
And
beate
vpon
the
solitarie
Brere:
For
nowe
no
succoure
was
seene
him
nere.
Now
gan
he
repent
his
pryde
to
late:
For
naked
left
and
disconsolate,
The
byting
frost
nipt
his
stalke
dead,
The
watrie
wette
weighed
downe
his
head,
And
heaped
snowe
burdned
him
so
sore,
That
nowe
vpright
he
can
stand
no
more:
And
being
downe,
is
trodde
in
the
durt
Of
cattell,
and
brouzed,
and
sorely
hurt.
Such
was
thend
of
this
Ambitious
brere,
For
scorning
Eld
CVDDIE.
Now
I
pray
thee
shepheard,
tel
it
not
forth:
Here
is
a
long
tale,
and
little
worth.
So
longe
haue
I
listened
to
thy
speche,
That
graffed
to
the
ground
is
my
breche:
My
hartblood
is
welnigh
frorne
I
feele,
And
my
galage
growne
fast
to
my
heele:
But
little
ease
of
thy
lewd
tale
I
tasted.
Hye
thee
home
shepheard,
the
day
is
nigh
wasted.
Thenots
Embleme.
Jddio
perche
è
vecchio,
Fa
suoi
al
suo
essempio.
Cuddies
Embleme.
Niuno
vecchio,
Spaventa
Iddio.
March
March.
Ægloga
Tertia.
ARGVMENT.
I
n
this
Æglogue
two
shepheards
boyes
taking
occasion
of
the
season,
be-
ginne
to
make
purpose
of
loue
and
other
plesaunce,
which
to
springtime
is
most
agreeable.
The
speciall
meaning
hereof
is,
to
giue
certaine
markes
and
tokens,
to
know
Cupide
the
Poets
God
of
Loue.
But
more
particularlye
I
thinke,
in
the
person
of
Thomalin
is
meant
some
secrete
freend,
who
scorned
Loue
and
his
knights
so
long,
till
at
length
him
selfe
was
entangled,
and
vn-
wares
wounded
with
the
dart
of
some
beautifull
regard,
which
is
Cupides
arrowe.
VVillye
Thomalin.
T
homalin,
why
sytten
we
soe,
As
weren
ouerwent
with
woe,
Upon
so
fayre
a
morow?
The
ioyous
time
now
nigheth
fast,
That
shall
alegge
this
bitter
blast,
And
slake
the
winters
sorowe.
Thomalin.
Sicker
Willye,
thou
warnest
well:
For
Winters
wrath
beginnes
to
quell,
And
pleasant
spring
appeareth.
The
grasse
nowe
ginnes
to
be
refresht,
The
Swallow
peepes
out
of
her
nest,
And
clowdie
Welkin
cleareth.
VVillye.
Seest
not
thilke
same
Hawthorne
studde,
How
bragly
it
beginnes
to
budde,
And
vtter
his
tender
head?
Flora
now
calleth
forth
eche
flower,
And
bids
make
ready
Maias
bowre,
That
newe
is
vpryst
from
bedde.
Tho
shall
we
sporten
in
delight,
And
learne
with
Lettice
to
wexe
light,
That
scornefully
lookes
askaunce,
Tho
will
we
little
Loue
awake,
That
nowe
sleepeth
in
Lethe
lake,
And
pray
him
leaden
our
daunce.
Thomalin.
Willye,
I
wene
thou
bee
assott:
For
lustie
Loue
still
sleepeth
not,
But
is
abroad
at
his
game.
VVillye.
How
kenst
thou,
that
he
is
awoke?
Or
hast
thy
selfe
his
slomber
broke?
Or
made
preuie
to
the
same?
Thomalin.
No,
but
happely
I
hym
spyde,
Where
in
a
bush
he
did
him
hide,
With
winges
of
purple
and
blewe.
And
were
not,
that
my
sheepe
would
stray,
The
preuie
marks
I
would
bewray,
Whereby
by
chaunce
I
him
knewe.
VVillye.
Thomalin,
haue
no
care
for
thy,
My
selfe
will
haue
a
double
eye,
Ylike
to
my
flocke
and
thine:
For
als
at
home
I
haue
a
syre,
A
stepdame
eke
as
whott
as
fyre,
That
dewly
adayes
counts
mine.
Thomalin.
Nay,
but
thy
seeing
will
not
serue,
My
sheepe
for
that
may
chaunce
to
swerue,
And
fall
into
some
mischiefe.
For
sithens
is
but
the
third
morowe,
That
I
chaunst
to
fall
a
sleepe
with
sorowe,
And
waked
againe
with
griefe:
The
while
thilke
same
vnhappye
Ewe,
Whose
clouted
legge
her
hurt
doth
shewe,
Fell
headlong
into
a
dell,
And
there
vnioynted
both
her
bones:
Mought
her
necke
bene
ioynted
attones,
She
shoulde
haue
neede
no
more
spell.
Thelf
was
so
wanton
and
so
wood,
(But
now
I
trowe
can
better
good)
She
mought
ne
gang
on
the
greene,
VVillye.
Let
be,
as
may
be,
that
is
past:
That
is
to
come,
let
be
forecast.
Now
tell
vs,
what
thou
hast
seene.
Thomalin.
It
was
vpon
a
holiday,
When
shepheardes
groomes
han
leaue
to
playe,
I
cast
to
goe
a
shooting.
Long
wandring
vp
and
downe
the
land,
With
bowe
and
bolts
in
either
hand,
For
birds
in
bushes
tooting:
At
length
within
an
Yuie
todde
(There
shrouded
was
the
little
God)
I
heard
a
busie
bustling.
I
bent
my
bolt
against
the
bush,
Listening
if
any
thing
did
rushe,
But
then
heard
no
more
rustling.
Tho
peeping
close
into
the
thicke,
Might
see
the
mouing
of
some
quicke,
Whose
shape
appeared
not:
But
were
it
faerie,
feend,
or
snake,
My
courage
earnd
it
to
awake,
And
manfully
thereat
shotte.
With
that
sprong
forth
a
naked
swayne,
With
spotted
winges
like
Peacocks
trayne,
And
laughing
lope
to
a
tree.
His
gylden
quiuer
at
his
backe,
And
siluer
bowe,
which
was
but
slacke,
Which
lightly
he
bent
at
me.
That
seeing
I,
leuelde
againe,
And
shott
at
him
with
might
and
maine,
As
thicke,
as
it
had
hayled.
So
long
I
shott,
that
al
was
spent:
Tho
pumie
stones
I
hastly
hent,
And
threwe:
but
nought
availed:
He
was
so
wimble,
and
so
wight,
From
bough
to
bough
he
lepped
light,
And
oft
the
pumies
latched.
Therewith
affrayd
I
ranne
away:
But
he,
thast
earst
seemd
but
to
playe,
A
shaft
in
earnest
snatched,
And
hit
me
running
in
the
heele:
For
then
I
little
smart
did
feele:
But
soone
it
sore
encreased.
And
now
it
ranckleth
more
and
more,
And
inwardly
it
festreth
sore,
Ne
wote
I,
how
to
cease
it.
VVillye.
Thomalin,
I
pittie
thy
plight.
Perdie
with
loue
thou
diddest
fight:
I
know
him
by
a
token.
For
once
I
heard
my
father
say,
How
he
him
caught
vpon
a
day,
(Whereof
he
wilbe
wroken)
Entangled
in
a
fowling
net,
Which
he
for
carrion
Crowes
had
set,
That
in
our
Peeretree
haunted.
Tho
sayd,
he
was
a
winged
lad,
But
bowe
and
shafts
as
then
none
had:
Els
had
he
sore
be
daunted.
But
see
the
Welkin
thicks
apace,
And
stouping
Phebus
steepes
his
face:
Yts
time
to
hast
vs
homeward.
Willyes
Embleme.
To
be
wise
and
eke
to
loue,
Is
graunted
scarce
to
God
aboue.
Thomalins
Embleme.
Of
Hony
and
of
Gaule
in
loue
there
is
store:
The
Honye
is
much,
but
the
Gaule
is
more.
April
Aprill.
Ægloga
Quarta.
ARGVMENT.
T
his
Æglogue
is
purposely
intended
to
the
honor
and
prayse
of
our
most
gracious
souereigne,
Queene
Elizabeth.
The
speakers
herein
be
Hobbi-
noll
and
Thenott,
two
shepheardes:
the
which
Hobbinoll
being
before
men-
tioned,
greatly
to
haue
loued
Colin,
is
here
set
forth
more
largely,
complay-
ning
him
of
that
boyes
great
misaduenture
in
Loue,
whereby
his
mynd
was
alienate
and
with
drawen
not
onely
from
him,
who
moste
loued
him,
but
also
from
all
former
delightes
and
studies,
aswell
in
pleasaunt
pyping,
as
conning
ryming
and
singing,
and
other
his
laudable
exercises.
Whereby
he
taketh
occasion,
for
proofe
of
his
more
excellencie
and
skill
in
poetrie,
to
recorde
a
songe,
which
the
sayd
Colin
sometime
made
in
honor
of
her
Maiestie,
whom
abruptely
he
termeth
Elysa.
Thenot.
Hobbinoll.
T
ell
me
good
Hobbinoll,
what
garres
thee
greete?
What?
hath
some
Wolfe
thy
tender
Lambes
ytorne?
Or
is
thy
Bagpype
broke,
that
soundes
so
sweete?
Or
art
thou
of
thy
loued
lasse
forlorne?
Or
bene
thine
eyes
attempred
to
the
yeare,
Quenching
the
gasping
furrowes
thirst
with
rayne?
Like
April
shoure,
so
stremes
the
trickling
teares
Adowne
thy
cheeke,
to
quenche
thy
thristye
payne.
Hobbinoll.
Nor
thys,
nor
that,
so
muche
doeth
make
me
mourne,
But
for
the
ladde,
whome
long
I
lovd
so
deare,
Nowe
loues
a
lasse,
that
all
his
loue
doth
scorne:
He
plongd
in
payne,
his
tressed
locks
dooth
teare.
Shepheards
delights
he
dooth
them
all
forsweare,
Hys
pleasaunt
Pipe,
whych
made
vs
meriment,
He
wylfully
hath
broke,
and
doth
forbeare
His
wonted
songs,
wherein
he
all
outwent.
Thenot.
What
is
he
for
a
Ladde,
you
so
lament?
Ys
loue
such
pinching
payne
to
them,
that
proue?
And
hath
he
skill
to
make
so
excellent,
Yet
hath
so
little
skill
to
brydle
loue?
Hobbinoll.
Colin
thou
kenst,
the
Southerne
shepheardes
boye:
Him
Loue
hath
wounded
with
a
deadly
darte.
Whilome
on
him
was
all
my
care
and
ioye,
Forcing
with
gyfts
to
winne
his
wanton
heart.
But
now
from
me
hys
madding
mynd
is
starte,
And
woes
the
Widdowes
daughter
of
the
glenne:
So
nowe
fayre
Rosalind
hath
bredde
hys
smart,
So
now
his
frend
is
chaunged
for
a
frenne.
Thenot.
But
if
hys
ditties
bene
so
trimly
dight,
I
pray
thee
Hobbinoll,
recorde
some
one:
The
whiles
our
flockes
doe
graze
about
in
sight,
And
we
close
shrowded
in
thys
shade
alone.
Hobbinol.
Contented
I:
then
will
I
singe
his
laye
Of
fayre
Elisa,
Queene
of
shepheardes
all:
Which
once
he
made,
as
by
a
spring
he
laye,
And
tuned
it
vnto
the
Waters
fall.
Y
e
dayntye
Nymphs,
that
in
this
blessed
Brooke
doe
bathe
your
brest,
For
sake
your
watry
bowres,
and
hether
looke,
at
my
request:
And
eke
you
Uirgins,
that
on
Parnasse
dwell,
Whence
floweth
Helicon
the
learned
well,
Helpe
me
to
blaze
Her
worthy
praise,
Which
in
her
sexe
doth
all
excell.
Of
fayre
Elisa
be
your
siluer
song,
that
blessed
wight:
The
flowre
of
Uirgins,
may
shee
florish
long,
In
princely
plight.
For
shee
is
Syrinx
daughter
without
spotte,
Which
Pan
the
shepheards
God
of
her
begot:
So
sprong
her
grace
Of
heauenly
race,
No
mortall
blemishe
may
her
blotte.
See,
where
she
sits
vpon
the
grassie
greene,
(O
seemely
sight)
Yclad
in
Scarlot
like
a
mayden
Queene,
And
Ermines
white.
Upon
her
head
a
Cremosin
coronet,
With
Damaske
roses
and
Daffadillies
set:
betweene,
And
Primroses
greene
Embellish
the
sweete
Uiolet.
Tell
me,
haue
ye
seene
her
angelick
face,
Like
Phœbe
fayre?
Her
heauenly
haueour,
her
princely
grace
can
you
well
compare?
The
Redde
rose
medled
with
the
White
yfere,
In
either
cheeke
depeincten
liuely
chere.
Her
modest
eye,
Her
Maiestie,
Where
haue
you
seene
the
like,
but
there?
I
sawe
Phœbus
thrust
out
his
golden
hedde,
vpon
her
to
gaze:
But
when
he
sawe,
how
broade
her
beames
did
spredde,
it
did
him
amaze.
He
blusht
to
see
another
Sunne
belowe,
Ne
durst
againe
his
fyrye
face
out
showe:
Let
him,
if
he
dare,
His
brightnesse
compare
With
hers,
to
haue
the
ouerthrowe.
Shewe
thy
selfe
Cynthia
with
thy
siluer
rayes,
and
be
not
abasht:
When
shee
the
beames
of
her
beauty
displayes,
O
how
art
thou
dasht?
But
I
will
not
match
her
with
Latonaes
seede,
Such
follie
great
sorow
to
Niobe
did
breede.
Now
she
is
a
stone,
And
makes
dayly
mone,
Warning
all
other
to
take
heede.
Pan
may
be
proud,
that
euer
he
begot
such
a
Bellibone,
And
Syrinx
reioyse,
that
euer
was
her
lot
to
beare
such
an
one.
Soone
as
my
younglings
cryen
for
the
dam,
To
her
will
I
offer
a
milkwhite
Lamb:
Shee
is
my
goddesse
plaine,
And
I
her
shepherds
swayne,
Albee
forswonck
and
forswatt
I
am.
I
see
Calliope
speede
her
to
the
place,
where
my
Goddesse
shines:
And
after
her
the
other
Muses
trace,
with
their
Uiolines.
Bene
they
not
Bay
braunches,
which
they
doe
beare,
All
for
Elisa
in
her
hand
to
weare?
So
sweetely
they
play,
And
sing
all
the
way,
That
it
a
heauen
is
to
heare.
Lo
how
finely
the
graces
can
it
foote
to
the
Instrument:
They
dauncen
deffly,
and
singen
soote,
in
their
meriment.
Wants
not
a
fourth
grace,
to
make
the
daunce
euen?
Let
that
rowme
to
my
Lady
be
yeuen:
She
shalbe
a
grace,
To
fyll
the
fourth
place,
And
reigne
with
the
rest
in
heauen.
And
whither
rennes
this
beuie
of
Ladies
bright,
raunged
in
a
rowe?
They
bene
all
Ladyes
of
the
lake
behight,
that
vnto
her
goe.
Chloris,
that
is
the
chiefest
Nymph
of
al,
Of
Oliue
braunches
beares
a
Coronall:
Oliues
bene
for
peace,
When
wars
doe
surcease:
Such
for
a
Princesse
bene
principall.
Ye
shepheards
daughters,
that
dwell
on
the
greene,
hye
you
there
apace:
Let
none
come
there,
but
that
Uirgins
bene,
to
adorne
her
grace.
And
when
you
come,
whereas
shee
is
in
place,
See,
that
your
rudenesse
doe
not
you
disgrace:
Binde
your
fillets
faste,
And
gird
in
your
waste,
For
more
finesse,
with
a
tawdrie
lace.
Bring
hether
the
Pincke
and
purple
Cullambine,
With
Gelliflowres:
Bring
Coronations,
and
Sops
in
wine,
worne
of
Paramoures.
Strowe
me
the
ground
with
Daffadowndillies,
And
Cowslips,
and
Ringcups,
and
loued
Lillies:
The
pretie
Pawnce,
And
the
Cheuisaunce.
Shall
match
with
the
fayre
flowre
Delice.
Now
ryse
vp
Elisa,
decked
as
thou
art,
in
royall
aray:
And
now
ye
daintie
Damsells
may
depart
echeone
her
way,
I
feare,
I
haue
troubled
your
troupes
to
longe:
Let
dame
Eliza
thanke
you
for
her
song.
And
if
you
come
hether,
When
Damsines
I
gether,
I
will
part
them
all
you
among.
Thenot.
And
was
thilk
same
song
of
Colins
owne
making?
Ah
foolish
boy,
that
is
with
loue
yblent:
Great
pittie
is,
he
be
in
such
taking,
For
naught
caren,
that
bene
so
lewdly
bent.
Hobbinol.
Sicker
I
hold
him,
for
a
greater
fon,
That
loues
the
thing,
he
cannot
purchase.
But
let
vs
homeward:
for
night
draweth
on,
And
twincling
starres
the
daylight
hence
chase.
Thenots
Embleme.
O
quam
te
memorem
vìrgo?
Hobbinols
Embleme.
O
dea
certe.
May
Maye.
Ægloga
Quinta
ARGVMENT.
I
n
this
firste
Æglogue,
vnder
the
persons
of
two
shepheards
Piers
&
Pa-
linodie,
be
represented
two
formes
of
pastoures
or
Ministers,
or
the
prote-
stant
and
the
Catholique:
whose
chiefe
talke
standeth
in
reasoning,
whether
the
life
of
the
one
must
be
like
the
other.
With
whom
hauing
shewed,
that
it
is
daungerous
to
mainteine
any
felowship,
or
giue
too
much
credit
to
their
co
lourable
and
feyned
goodwill,
he
telleth
him
a
tale
of
the
foxe,
that
by
such
a
counterpoynt
of
craftines
deceiued
and
deuoured
the
credulous
kidde.
Palinode.
Piers.
Is
not
thilke
the
mery
moneth
of
May,
When
loue
lads
masken
in
fresh
aray?
How
falles
it
then,
we
no
merrier
bene,
Ylike
as
others,
girt
in
gawdy
greene?
Our
bloncket
liueryes
bene
all
to
sadde,
For
thilke
same
season,
when
all
is
ycladd
With
pleasaunce:
the
grownd
with
grasse,
the
Wods
With
greene
leaues,
the
bushes
with
bloosming
Buds.
Yougthes
folke
now
flocken
in
euery
where,
To
gather
may
buskets
and
smelling
brere:
And
home
they
hasten
the
postes
to
dight,
And
all
the
Kirke
pillours
eare
day
light,
With
Hawthorne
buds,
and
swete
Eglantine,
And
girlonds
of
roses
and
Sopps
in
wine.
Such
merimake
holy
Saints
doth
queme,
But
we
here
sytten
as
drownd
in
a
dreme.
PIERS.
For
Younkers
Palinode
such
follies
fitte,
But
we
tway
bene
men
of
elder
witt.
PALINODE.
Sicker
this
morrowe,
ne
lenger
agoe,
I
sawe
a
shole
of
shepeheardes
outgoe,
With
singing,
and
shouting,
and
iolly
chere:
Before
them
yode
a
lusty
Tabrere,
That
to
the
many
a
Horne
pype
playd,
Whereto
they
dauncen
eche
one
with
his
mayd.
To
see
those
folkes
make
such
iouysaunce,
Made
my
heart
after
the
pype
to
daunce.
Tho
to
the
greene
Wood
they
speeden
hem
all,
To
fetchen
home
May
with
their
musicall:
And
home
they
bringen
in
a
royall
throne,
Crowned
as
king:
and
his
Queene
attone
Was
Lady
Flora,
on
whom
did
attend
A
fayre
flocke
of
Faeries,
and
a
fresh
bend
Of
louely
Nymphs.
(O
that
I
were
there,
To
helpen
the
Ladyes
their
Maybush
beare)
Ah
Piers,
bene
not
thy
teeth
on
edge,
to
thinke,
How
great
sport
they
gaynen
with
little
swinck.
PIERS.
Perdie
so
farre
am
I
from
enuie,
That
their
fondnesse
inly
I
pitie.
Those
faytours
little
regarden
their
charge,
While
they
letting
their
sheepe
runne
at
large,
Passen
their
time,
that
should
be
sparely
spent,
In
lustihede
and
wanton
meryment.
Thilke
same
bene
shepeheards
for
the
Deuils
stedde,
That
playen,
while
their
flockes
be
vnfedde.
Well
is
it
seene,
theyr
sheepe
bene
not
their
owne,
That
letten
them
runne
at
randon
alone.
But
they
bene
hyred
for
little
pay
Of
other,
that
caren
as
little
as
they,
What
fallen
the
flocke,
so
they
han
the
fleece,
And
get
all
the
gayne,
paying
but
a
peece.
I
muse,
what
account
both
these
will
make,
The
one
for
the
hire,
which
he
doth
take,
And
thother
for
leauing
his
Lords
taske,
When
great
Pan
account
of
shepeherdes
shall
aske.
PALINODE.
Sicker
now
I
see
thou
speakest
of
spight,
All
for
thou
lackest
somedele
their
delight.
I
(as
I
am)
had
rather
be
enuied,
All
were
it
of
my
foe,
then
fonly
pitied:
And
yet
if
neede
were,
pitied
would
be,
Rather,
then
other
should
scorne
at
me:
For
pittied
is
mishappe,
that
nas
remedie,
But
scorned
bene
dedes
of
fond
foolerie.
What
shoulden
shepheards
other
things
tend,
Then
sith
their
God
his
good
does
them
send,
Reapen
the
fruite
thereof,
that
is
pleasure,
The
while
they
here
liuen,
at
ease
and
leasure?
For
when
they
bene
dead,
their
good
is
ygoe,
They
sleepen
in
rest,
well
as
other
moe.
Tho
with
them
wends,
what
they
spent
in
cost,
But
what
they
left
behind
them,
is
lost.
Good
is
no
good,
but
if
it
be
spend:
God
giuethgood
for
none
other
end.
PIERS.
Ah
Palinodie,
thou
art
a
worldes
childe:
Who
touches
Pitch
mought
needes
be
defilde.
But
shepheards
(as
Algrind
vsed
to
say),
Mought
not
liue
ylike,
as
men
of
the
laye:
With
them
it
sits
to
care
for
their
heire,
Enaunter
their
heritage
doe
impaire:
They
must
prouide
for
meanes
of
maintenaunce,
And
to
continue
their
wont
countenaunce.
But
shepheard
must
walke
another
way,
Sike
wordly
souenance
he
must
foresay.
The
sonne
of
his
loines
why
should
he
regard
To
leaue
enriched
with
that
he
hath
spard?
Should
not
thilke
God,
that
gaue
him
that
good,
Eke
cherish
his
child,
if
in
his
wayes
he
stood?
For
if
he
misliue
in
leudnes
and
lust,
Little
bootes
all
the
welth
and
the
trust,
That
his
father
left
by
inheritaunce:
All
will
be
soone
wasted
with
misgouernaunce.
But
through
this,
and
other
their
miscreaunce,
They
maken
many
a
wrong
cheuisaunce,
Heaping
vp
waues
of
welth
and
woe,
The
floddes
whereof
shall
them
ouerflowe.
Sike
mens
follie
I
cannot
compare
Better,
then
to
the
Apes
folish
care,
That
is
so
enamoured
of
her
young
one,
(And
yet
God
wote,
such
cause
hath
she
none)
That
with
her
hard
hold,
and
straight
embracing,
She
stoppeth
the
breath
of
her
youngling.
So
often
times,
when
as
good
is
meant,
Euil
ensueth
of
wrong
entent.
The
time
was
once,
and
may
againe
retorne,
(For
ought
may
happen,
that
hath
bene
beforne)
When
shepeheards
had
none
inheritaunce,
Ne
of
land,
nor
fee
in
sufferaunce:
But
what
might
arise
of
the
bare
sheepe,
(Were
it
more
or
lesse)
which
they
did
keepe.
Well
ywis
was
it
with
shepheards
thoe:
Nought
hauing,
nought
feared
they
to
forgoe.
For
Pan
himselfe
was
their
inheritaunce,
And
little
them
serued
for
their
mayntenaunce.
The
shepheards
God
so
wel
them
guided,
That
of
nought
they
were
vnprouided,
Butter
enough,
honye,
milke,
and
whay,
And
their
flockes
fleeces,
them
to
araye.
But
tract
of
time,
and
long
prosperitie:
That
nource
of
vice,
this
of
insolencie,
Lulled
the
shepheards
in
such
securitie,
That
not
content
with
loyall
obeysaunce,
Some
gan
to
gape
for
greedie
gouernaunce,
And
match
them
selfe
with
mighty
potentates,
Louers
of
Lordship
and
troublers
of
states:
Tho
gan
shepheards
swaines
to
looke
a
loft,
And
leaue
to
liue
hard,
and
learne
to
ligge
soft:
Tho
vnder
colour
of
shepeheards,
somewhile
There
crept
in
Wolues,
ful
of
fraude
and
guile,
That
often
deuoured
their
owne
sheepe,
And
often
the
shepheards,
that
did
hem
keepe.
This
was
the
first
sourse
of
shepheards
sorowe,
That
now
nill
be
quitt
with
baile,
nor
borrowe.
PALINODE.
Three
thinges
to
beare,
bene
very
burdenous,
But
the
fourth
to
forbeare,
is
outragious.
Wemen
that
of
Loues
longing
once
lust,
Hardly
forbearen,
but
haue
it
they
must:
So
when
choler
is
inflamed
with
rage,
Wanting
reuenge,
is
hard
to
asswage:
And
who
can
counsell
a
thristie
soule,
With
patience
to
forbeare
the
offred
bowle?
But
of
all
burdens,
that
a
man
can
beare,
Moste
is,
a
fooles
talke
to
beare
and
to
heare.
I
wene
the
Geaunt
has
not
such
a
weight,
That
beares
on
his
shoulders
the
heauens
height.
Thou
findest
faulte,
where
nys
to
be
found,
And
buildest
strong
warke
vpon
a
weake
ground:
Thou
raylest
on
right
withouten
reason,
And
blamest
hem
much,
for
small
encheason.
How
shoulden
shepheardes
liue,
if
not
so?
What?
should
they
pynen
in
payne
and
woe?
Nay
sayd
I
thereto,
by
my
deare
borrowe,
If
I
may
rest,
I
nill
liue
in
sorrowe.
Sorrowe
ne
neede
be
hastened
on:
For
he
will
come
without
calling
anone.
While
times
enduren
of
tranquillitie,
Usen
we
freely
our
felicitie.
For
when
approchen
the
stormie
stowres,
We
mought
with
our
shoulders
beare
of
the
sharpe
showres.
And
sooth
to
sayne,
nought
seemeth
sike
strife,
That
shepheardes
so
witen
ech
others
life,
And
layen
her
faults
the
world
beforne,
The
while
their
foes
done
eache
of
hem
scorne.
Let
none
mislike
of
that
may
not
be
mended:
So
conteck
soone
by
concord
mought
be
ended.
PIERS.
Shepheard,
I
list
none
accordaunce
make
With
shepheard,
that
does
the
right
way
forsake.
And
of
the
twaine,
if
choice
were
to
me,
Had
leuer
my
foe,
then
my
freend
he
be.
For
what
concord
han
light
and
darke
sam?
Or
what
peace
has
the
Lion
with
the
Lambe?
Such
faitors,
when
their
false
harts
bene
hidde,
Will
doe,
as
did
the
Foxe
by
the
Kidde.
PALINODE.
Now
Piers,
of
felowship,
tell
vs
that
saying:
For
the
Ladde
can
keepe
both
our
flocks
from
straying.
PIERS.
Thilke
same
Kidde
(as
I
can
well
deuise)
Was
too
very
foolish
and
vnwise.
For
on
a
tyme
in
Sommer
season,
The
Gate
her
dame,
that
had
good
reason,
Yode
forth
abroade
vnto
the
greene
wood,
To
brouze,
or
play,
or
what
shee
thought
good.
But
for
she
had
a
motherly
care
Of
her
young
sonne,
and
wit
to
beware,
Shee
set
her
youngling
before
her
knee,
That
was
both
fresh
and
louely
to
see.
And
full
of
fauour,
as
kidde
mought
be:
His
Uellet
head
began
to
shoote
out,
And
his
wreathed
hornes
gan
newly
sprout:
The
blossomes
of
lust
to
bud
did
beginne,
And
spring
forth
ranckly
vnder
his
chinne.
My
sonne
(quoth
she)
(and
with
that
gan
weepe:
For
carefull
thoughts
in
her
heart
did
creepe)
God
blesse
thee
poore
Orphane,
as
he
mought
me,
And
send
thee
ioy
of
thy
iollitee
Thy
father
(that
word
she
spake
with
payne:
For
a
sigh
had
nigh
rent
her
heart
in
twaine)
Thy
father,
had
he
liued
this
day,
To
see
the
braunche
of
his
body
displaie,
How
would
he
haue
ioyed
at
this
sweete
sight?
But
ah
false
Fortune
such
ioy
did
him
spight,
And
cutte
of
hys
dayes
with
vntimely
woe,
Betraying
him
into
the
traines
of
hys
foe.
Now
I
a
waylfull
widdowe
behight,
Of
my
old
age
haue
this
one
delight,
To
see
thee
succeede
in
thy
fathers
steade,
And
florish
in
flowres
of
lusty
head.
For
euen
so
thy
father
his
head
vpheld,
And
so
his
hauty
hornes
did
he
weld.
Tho
marking
him
with
melting
eyes,
A
thrilling
throbbe
from
her
hart
did
aryse,
And
interrupted
all
her
other
speache,
With
some
old
sorowe,
that
made
a
newe
breache:
Seemed
shee
sawe
in
the
younglings
face
The
old
lineaments
of
his
fathers
grace.
At
last
her
solein
silence
she
broke,
And
gan
his
newe
budded
beard
to
stroke:
Kiddie
(quoth
shee)
thou
kenst
the
great
care,
I
haue
of
thy
health
and
thy
welfare,
Which
many
wyld
beastes
liggen
in
waite,
For
to
entrap
in
thy
tender
state:
But
most
the
Foxe,
maister
of
collusion:
For
he
has
voued
thy
last
confusion.
For
thy
my
Kiddie
be
ruld
by
mee,
And
neuer
giue
trust
to
his
trecheree.
And
if
he
chaunce
come,
when
I
am
abroade,
Sperre
the
yate
fast
for
feare
of
fraude:
Ne
for
all
his
worst,
nor
for
his
best,
Open
the
dore
at
his
request.
So
schooled
the
Gate
her
wanton
sonne,
That
answerd
his
mother,
all
should
be
done.
Tho
went
the
pensife
Damme
out
of
dore,
And
chaunst
to
stomble
at
the
threshold
flore:
Her
stombling
steppe
some
what
her
amazed,
(For
such,
as
signes
of
ill
luck
bene
dispraised)
Yet
forth
shee
yode
thereat
halfe
aghast:
And
Kiddie
the
dore
sperred
after
her
fast.
It
was
not
long,
after
shee
was
gone,
But
the
false
Foxe
came
to
the
dore
anone:
Not
as
a
Foxe,
for
then
he
had
be
kend,
But
all
as
a
poore
pedler
he
did
wend,
Bearing
a
trusse
of
tryfles
at
hys
backe,
As
bells,
and
babes,
and
glasses
in
hys
packe.
A
Biggen
he
had
got
about
his
brayne,
For
in
his
headpeace
he
felt
a
sore
payne.
His
hinder
heele
was
wrapt
in
a
clout,
For
with
great
cold
he
had
gotte
the
gout.
There
at
the
dore
he
cast
me
downe
hys
pack,
And
layd
him
downe,
and
groned,
Alack,
Alack.
Ah
deare
Lord,
and
sweete
Saint
Charitee,
That
some
good
body
woulde
once
pitie
mee.
Well
heard
Kiddie
al
this
sore
constraint,
And
lengd
to
know
the
cause
of
his
complaint:
Tho
creeping
close
behind
the
Wickets
clinck,
Preuelie
he
peeped
out
through
a
chinck:
Yet
not
so
preuilie,
but
the
Foxe
him
spyed:
For
deceitfull
meaning
is
double
eyed.
Ah
good
young
maister
(then
gan
he
crye)
Iesus
blesse
that
sweete
face,
I
espye,
And
keepe
your
corpse
from
the
carefull
stounds,
That
in
my
carrion
carcas
abounds.
The
Kidd
pittying
hys
heauinesse,
Asked
the
cause
of
his
great
distresse,
And
also
who,
and
whence
that
he
were.
Tho
he,
that
had
well
ycond
his
lere,
Thus
medled
his
talke
with
many
a
teare,
Sicke,
sicke,
alas,
and
little
lack
of
dead,
But
I
be
relieued
by
your
beastlyhead.
I
am
a
poore
Sheepe,
albe
my
coloure
donne:
For
with
long
traveile
I
am
brent
in
the
sonne.
And
if
that
my
Grandsire
me
sayd,
be
true,
Sicker
I
am
very
sybbe
to
you:
So
be
your
goodlihead
doe
not
disdayne
The
base
kinred
of
so
simple
swaine.
Of
mercye
and
fauour
then
I
you
pray,
With
your
ayd
to
forstall
my
neere
decay.
Tho
out
of
his
packe
a
glasse
he
tooke:
Wherein
while
kiddie
vnwares
did
looke,
He
was
so
enamored
with
the
newell,
That
nought
he
deemed
deare
for
the
iewell.
Tho
opened
he
the
dore,
and
in
came
The
false
Foxe,
as
he
were
starke
lame.
His
tayle
he
clapt
betwixt
his
legs
twayne,
Lest
he
should
be
descried
by
his
trayne.
Being
within,
the
Kidde
made
him
good
glee,
All
for
the
loue
of
the
glasse
he
did
see.
After
his
chere
the
Pedler
can
chat,
And
tell
many
lesings
of
this,
and
that:
And
how
he
could
shewe
many
a
fine
knack.
Tho
shewed
his
ware,
and
opened
his
packe,
All
saue
a
bell,
which
he
left
behind
In
the
basket
for
the
Kidde
to
fynd.
Which
when
the
Kidde
stooped
downe
to
catch,
He
popt
him
in,
and
his
basket
did
latch,
Ne
stayed
he
once,
the
dore
to
make
fast,
But
ranne
awaye
with
him
in
all
hast.
Home
when
the
doubtfull
Damme
had
her
hyde,
She
mought
see
the
dore
stand
open
wyde.
All
agast,
lowdly
she
gan
to
call
Her
Kidde:
but
he
nould
answere
at
all.
Tho
on
the
flore
she
sawe
the
merchandise,
Of
which
her
sonne
had
sette
to
dere
a
prise.
What
helpe?
her
Kidde
shee
knewe
well
was
gone:
Shee
weeped,
and
wayled,
and
made
great
mone.
Such
end
had
the
Kidde,
for
he
nould
warned
be
Of
craft,
coloured
with
simplicitie:
And
such
end
perdie
does
all
hem
remayne,
That
of
such
falsers
freendship
bene
fayne.
PALINODIE.
Truly
Piers,
thou
art
beside
thy
wit,
Furthest
fro
the
marke,
weening
it
to
hit,
Now
I
pray
thee,
lette
me
thy
tale
borrowe
For
our
sir
John,
to
say
to
morrowe
At
the
Kerke,
when
it
is
holliday:
For
well
he
meanes,
but
little
can
say.
But
and
if
Foxes
bene
so
crafty,
as
so,
Much
needeth
all
shepheards
hem
to
knowe.
PIERS.
Of
their
falshode
more
could
I
recount.
But
now
the
bright
Sunne
gynneth
to
dismount:
And
for
the
deawie
night
now
doth
nye,
I
hold
it
best
for
vs,
home
to
hye.
Palinodes
Embleme.
Πὰς
μὲν
ἄπιστος
ἀπιστεῖ
Piers
his
Embleme.
Τὶς
δ᾿
ἄρα
πίστις
ἀπίστῳ;
June
Iune.
Ægloga
sexta.
ARGVMENT.
T
his
Æglogue
is
wholly
vowed
to
the
complayning
of
Colins
ill
successe
in
his
loue.
For
being
(as
is
aforesaid)
enamoured
of
a
Country
lasse
Ro
salind,
and
hauing
(as
seemeth)
founde
place
in
her
heart,
he
lamenteth
to
his
deare
frend
Hobbinoll,
that
he
is
nowe
forsaken
vnfaithfully,
and
in
his
steede
Menalcas,
another
shepheard
receiued
disloyally.
And
this
is
the
whole
Argument
of
this
Æglogue.
HOBBINOL.
Colin
Cloute.
L
o
Collin
Collin,
here
the
place,
whose
pleasaunt
syte
From
other
shades
hath
weand
my
wandring
mynde.
Tell
me,
what
wants
me
here,
to
worke
delyte?
The
simple
ayre,
the
gentle
warbling
wynde,
So
calme,
so
coole,
as
no
where
else
I
fynde:
The
grassye
ground
with
daintye
Daysies
dight,
The
Bramble
bush,
where
Byrds
of
euery
kynde
To
the
waters
fall
their
tunes
attemper
right.
COLLIN.
O
happy
Hobbinoll,
I
blesse
thy
state,
That
Paradise
hast
found,
whych
Adam
lost.
Here
wander
may
thy
flock
early
or
late,
Withouten
dreade
of
Wolues
to
bene
ytost:
Thy
louely
layes
here
mayst
thou
freely
boste.
But
I
vnhappy
man,
whom
cruell
fate,
And
angry
Gods
pursue
from
coste
to
coste,
Can
nowhere
fynd,
to
shroude
my
lucklesse
pate.
HOBBINOLL.
Then
if
by
me
thou
list
aduised
be,
Forsake
the
soyle,
that
so
doth
the
bewitch:
Leaue
me
those
hilles,
where
harbrough
nis
to
see,
Nor
holybush,
nor
brere,
nor
winding
witche:
And
to
the
dales
resort,
where
shipheards
ritch,
And
fruictfull
flocks
bene
euery
where
to
see.
Here
no
night
Rauene
lodge
more
black
then
pitche,
Nor
eluish
ghosts,
nor
gastly
owles
doe
flee.
But
frendly
Faeries,
met
with
many
Graces,
And
lightfote
Nymphes
can
chace
the
lingring
night,
With
Heydeguyes,
and
trimly
trodden
traces,
Whilst
systers
nyne,
which
dwell
on
Parnasse
hight,
Doe
make
them
musick,
for
their
more
delight:
And
Pan
himselfe
to
kisse
their
christall
faces,
Will
pype
and
daunce,
when
Phœbe
shineth
bright:
Such
pierlesse
pleasures
haue
we
in
these
places.
COLLIN.
And
I,
whylst
youth,
and
course
of
carelesse
yeeres
Did
let
me
walke
withouten
lincks
of
loue,
In
such
delights
did
ioy
amongst
my
peeres:
But
ryper
age
such
pleasures
doth
reproue,
My
fancye
eke
from
former
follies
moue
To
stayed
steps,
for
time
in
passing
weares
(As
garments
doen,
which
wexen
old
aboue)
And
draweth
newe
delightes
with
hoary
heares.
Tho
couth
I
sing
of
loue,
and
tune
my
pype
Unto
my
plaintiue
pleas
in
verses
made:
Tho
would
I
seeke
for
Queene
apples
vnrype,
To
giue
my
Rosalind,
and
in
Sommer
shade
Dight
gaudy
Girlonds,
was
my
comen
trade,
To
crowne
her
golden
locks,
but
yeeres
more
rype,
And
losse
of
her,
whose
loue
as
lyfe
I
wayd,
Those
weary
wanton
toyes
away
dyd
wype.
HOBBINOLL.
Colin,
to
heare
thy
rymes
and
roundelayes,
Which
thou
were
wont
on
wastfull
hylls
to
singe,
I
more
delight,
then
larke
in
Sommer
dayes:
Whose
Echo
made
the
neyghbour
groues
to
ring,
And
taught
the
byrds,
which
in
the
lower
spring
Did
shroude
in
shady
leaues
from
sonny
rayes,
Frame
to
thy
songe
their
chereful
cheriping,
Or
hold
theyr
peace,
for
shame
of
thy
swete
layes.
I
sawe
Calliope
wyth
Muses
moe,
Soone
as
thy
oaten
pype
began
to
sound,
Theyr
yuory
Luyts
and
Tamburins
forgoe:
And
from
the
fountaine,
where
they
sat
around,
Renne
after
hastely
thy
siluer
sound.
But
when
they
came,
where
thou
thy
skill
didst
showe,
They
drewe
abacke,
as
halfe
with
shame
confound,
Shepheard
to
see,
them
in
theyr
art
outgoe.
COLLIN.
Of
Muses
Hobbinol,
I
conne
no
skill:
For
they
bene
daughters
of
the
hyghest
Ioue,
And
holden
scorne
of
homely
shepheards
quill.
For
sith
I
heard,
that
Pan
with
Phœbus
stroue,
Which
him
to
much
rebuke
and
Daunger
droue:
I
neuer
lyst
presume
to
Parnasse
hyll,
But
pyping
lowe
in
shade
of
lowly
groue,
I
play
to
please
my
selfe,
all
be
it
ill.
Nought
weigh
I,
who
my
song
doth
prayse
or
blame,
Ne
striue
to
winne
renowne,
or
passe
the
rest:
With
shepheard
sittes
not,
followe
flying
fame:
But
feede
his
flocke
in
fields,
where
falls
hem
best.
I
wote
my
rymes
bene
rough,
and
rudely
drest:
The
fytter
they,
my
carefull
case
to
frame:
Enough
is
me
to
paint
out
my
vnrest,
And
poore
my
piteous
plaints
out
in
the
same.
The
God
of
shepheards
Tityrus
is
dead,
Who
taught
me
homely,
as
I
can,
to
make.
He,
whilst
he
liued,
was
the
soueraigne
head
Of
shepheards
all,
that
bene
with
loue
ytake:
Well
couth
he
wayle
hys
Woes,
and
lightly
slake
The
flames,
which
loue
within
his
heart
had
bredd,
And
tell
vs
mery
tales,
to
keepe
vs
wake,
The
while
our
sheepe
about
vs
safely
fedde.
Nowe
dead
he
is,
and
lyeth
wrapt
in
lead,
(O
why
should
death
on
hym
such
outrage
showe?)
And
all
hys
passing
skil
with
him
is
fledde,
The
fame
whereof
doth
dayly
greater
growe.
But
if
on
me
some
little
drops
would
flowe,
Of
that
the
spring
was
in
his
learned
hedde,
I
soone
would
learne
these
woods,
to
wayle
my
woe,
And
teache
the
trees,
their
trickling
teares
to
shedde.
Then
should
my
plaints,
causd
of
discurtesee,
As
messengers
of
all
my
painfull
plight,
Flye
to
my
loue,
where
euer
that
she
bee,
And
pierce
her
heart
with
poynt
of
worthy
wight:
As
shee
deserues,
that
wrought
so
deadly
spight.
And
thou
Menalcas,
that
by
trecheree
Didst
vnderfong
my
lasse,
to
wexe
so
light,
Shouldest
well
be
knowne
for
such
thy
villanee.
But
since
I
am
not,
as
I
wish
I
were,
Ye
gentle
shepheards,
which
your
flocks
do
feede,
Whether
on
hylls,
or
dales,
or
other
where,
Beare
witnesse
all
of
thys
so
wicked
deede:
And
tell
the
lasse,
whose
flowre
is
woxe
a
weede,
And
faultlesse
fayth,
is
turned
to
faithlesse
fere,
That
she
the
truest
shepheards
hart
made
bleede,
That
lyues
on
earth,
and
loued
her
most
dere.
HOBBINOL.
O
carefull
Colin,
I
lament
thy
case,
Thy
teares
would
make
the
hardest
flint
to
flowe.
Ah
faithlesse
Rosalind,
and
voide
of
grace,
That
art
the
roote
of
all
this
ruthfull
woe.
But
now
is
time,
I
gesse,
homeward
to
goe:
Then
ryse
ye
blessed
flocks,
and
home
apace,
Least
night
with
stealing
steppes
doe
you
forsloe,
And
wett
your
tender
Lambes,
that
by
you
trace.
Colins
Embleme.
Gia
speme
spenta.
July
Iulye.
Ægloga
septima.
ARGVMENT.
T
his
Æglogue
is
made
in
the
honour
and
commendation
of
good
shepe-
heardes,
and
to
the
shame
and
disprayse
of
proude
and
ambitious
Pa-
stours.
such
as
Morrell
is
here
imagined
to
bee.
Thomalin.
Morrell.
I
s
not
thilke
same
a
goteheard
prowde,
that
sittes
on
yonder
bancke,
Whose
straying
heard
them
selfe
doth
shrowde
emong
the
bushes
rancke?
Morrell.
What
ho,
thou
iollye
shepheards
swayne,
come
vp
the
hyll
to
me:
Better
is,
then
the
lowly
playne,
als
for
thy
flocke,
and
thee.
Thomalin.
Ah
God
shield,
man,
that
I
should
clime,
and
learne
to
looke
alofte,
This
reede
is
ryfe,
that
oftentime
great
clymbers
fall
vnsoft.
In
humble
dales
is
footing
fast,
the
trode
is
not
so
trickle:
And
though
one
fall
through
heedlesse
hast,
yet
is
his
misse
not
mickle.
And
now
the
Sonne
hath
reared
vp
his
fyriefooted
teme,
Making
his
way
betweene
the
Cuppe,
and
golden
Diademe:
The
rampant
Lyon
hunts
he
fast,
with
Dogge
of
noysome
breath,
Whose
balefull
barking
bringes
in
hast
pyne,
plagues,
and
dreery
death.
Agaynst
his
cruell
scortching
heate
where
hast
thou
couerture?
The
wastefull
hylls
vnto
his
threate
is
a
playne
ouerture.
But
if
thee
lust,
to
holden
chat
with
seely
shepherds
swayne,
Come
downe,
and
learne
the
little
what,
that
Thomalin
can
sayne.
Morrell.
Syker,
thous
but
a
laesie
loord,
and
rekes
much
of
thy
swinck,
That
with
fond
termes,
and
weetlesse
words
to
blere
myne
eyes
doest
thinke.
In
euill
houre
thou
hentest
in
hond
thus
holy
hylles
to
blame,
For
sacred
vnto
saints
they
stond,
and
of
them
han
theyr
name.
S.
Michels
mount
who
does
not
know,
that
wardes
the
Westerne
coste?
And
of
S.
Brigets
bowre
I
trow,
all
Kent
can
rightly
boaste:
And
they
that
con
of
Muses
skill,
sayne
most
what,
that
they
dwell
(As
goteheards
wont)
vpon
a
hill,
beside
a
learned
well.
And
wonned
not
the
great
God
Pan,
vpon
mount
Oliuet:
Feeding
the
blessed
flocke
of
Dan,
which
dyd
himselfe
beget?
Thomalin.
O
blessed
sheepe,
O
shepheard
great,
that
bought
his
flocke
so
deare,
And
them
did
saue
with
bloudy
sweat
from
Wolues,
that
would
them
teare.
Morrel.
Besyde,
as
holy
fathers
sayne,
there
is
a
hyllye
place,
Where
Titan
ryseth
from
the
mayne,
to
renne
hys
dayly
race.
Upon
whose
toppe
the
starres
bene
stayed,
and
all
the
skie
doth
leane,
There
is
the
caue,
where
Phebe
layed,
the
shepheard
long
to
dreame.
Whilome
there
vsed
shepheards
all
to
feede
theyr
flocks
at
will,
Till
by
his
foly
one
did
fall,
that
all
the
rest
did
spill.
And
sithens
shepheardes
bene
foresayd
from
places
of
delight:
For
thy
I
weene
thou
be
affrayd,
to
clime
this
hilles
height.
Of
Synah
can
I
tell
thee
more,
and
of
our
Ladyes
bowre:
But
little
needes
to
strow
my
store,
suffice
this
hill
of
our.
Here
han
the
holy
Faunes
resourse,
and
Syluanes
haunten
rathe.
Here
has
the
salt
Medway
his
sourse,
wherein
the
Nymphes
doe
bathe.
The
salt
Medway,
that
trickling
stremis
adowne
the
dales
of
Kent:
Till
with
his
elder
brother
Themis
his
brackish
waues
be
meynt.
Here
growes
Melampode
euery
where,
and
Teribinth
good
for
Gotes:
The
one,
my
madding
kiddes
to
smere,
the
next,
to
heale
theyr
throtes.
Hereto,
the
hills
bene
nigher
heuen,
and
thence
the
passage
ethe.
As
well
can
proue
the
piercing
leuin,
that
seeldome
falls
bynethe.
Thomalin.
Syker
thou
speakes
lyke
a
lewde
lorrell,
of
Heauen
to
demen
so:
How
be
I
am
but
rude
and
borrell,
yet
nearer
wayes
I
knowe.
To
Kerke
the
narre,
from
God
more
farre,
has
bene
an
old
sayd
sawe.
And
he
that
striues
to
touch
the
starres,
oft
stombles
at
a
strawe,
Alsoone
may
shepheard
clymbe
to
skye,
that
leades
in
lowly
dales,
As
Goteherd
prowd
that
sitting
hye,
vpon
the
Mountaine
sayles.
My
seely
sheepe
like
well
belowe,
they
neede
not
Melampode:
For
they
bene
hale
enough,
I
trowe,
and
liken
theyr
abode.
But
if
they
with
thy
Gotes
should
yede,
they
soone
myght
be
corrupted:
Or
like
not
of
the
frowie
fede,
or
with
the
weedes
be
glutted.
The
hylls,
where
dwelled
holy
saints,
I
reuerence
and
adore:
Not
for
themselfe,
but
for
the
sayncts,
which
han
be
dead
of
yore.
And
nowe
they
bene
to
heauen
forewent,
theyr
good
is
with
them
goe:
Theyr
sample
onely
to
vs
lent,
that
als
we
mought
doe
soe.
Shepheards
they
weren
of
the
best,
and
liued
in
lowlye
leas:
And
sith
theyr
soules
bene
now
at
rest,
why
done
we
them
disease?
Such
one
he
was,
(as
I
haue
heard
old
Algrind
often
sayne)
That
whilome
was
the
first
shepheard,
and
liued
with
little
gayne:
As
meeke
he
was,
as
meeke
mought
be,
simple,
as
simple
sheepe,
Humble,
and
like
in
eche
degree
the
flocke,
which
he
did
keepe.
Often
he
vsed
of
hys
keepe
a
sacrifice
to
bring,
Nowe
with
a
Kidde,
now
with
a
sheepe
the
Altars
hallowing.
So
lowted
he
vnto
hys
Lord,
such
fauour
couth
he
fynd,
That
sithens
neuer
was
abhord,
the
simple
shepheards
kynd.
And
such
I
weene
the
brethren
were,
that
came
from
Canaan:
The
brethren
twelue,
that
kept
yfere
the
flockes
of
mighty
Pan.
But
nothing
such
thilk
shephearde
was,
whom
Ida
hyll
dyd
beare,
That
left
hys
flocke,
to
fetch
a
lasse,
whose
loue
he
bought
to
deare:
For
he
was
proude,
that
ill
was
payd,
(no
such
mought
shepheards
bee)
And
with
lewde
lust
was
ouerlayd:
tway
things
doen
ill
agree:
But
shepheard
mought
be
meeke
and
mylde,
well
eyed,
as
Argus
was,
With
fleshly
follyes
vndefyled,
and
stoute
as
steede
of
brasse.
Sike
one
(sayd
Algrin
)
Moses
was,
that
sawe
hys
makers
face,
His
face
more
cleare,
then
Christall
glasse,
and
spake
to
him
in
place.
This
had
a
brother,
(his
name
I
knewe)
the
first
of
all
his
cote,
A
shepheard
trewe,
yet
not
so
true,
as
he
that
earst
I
hote.
Whilome
all
these
were
lowe,
and
lief,
and
loued
their
flocks
to
feede,
They
neuer
strouen
to
be
chiefe,
and
simple
was
theyr
weede.
But
now
(thanked
be
God
therefore)
the
world
is
well
amend,
Their
weedes
bene
not
so
nighly
wore,
such
simplesse
mought
them
shend:
They
bene
yclad
in
purple
and
pall,
so
hath
theyr
god
them
blist,
They
reigne
and
rulen
ouer
all,
and
lord
it,
as
they
list:
Ygyrt
with
belts
of
glitterand
gold
(Mought
they
good
sheepeheards
bene).
Theyr
Pan
theyr
sheepe
to
them
has
sold,
I
saye
as
some
haue
seene.
For
Palinode
(if
thou
him
ken)
yode
late
on
Pilgrimage
To
Rome,
(if
such
be
Kome)
and
then
he
sawe
thilke
misusage.
For
shepeheards
(sayd
he)
there
doen
leade,
as
Lordes
done
other
where.
Theyr
sheepe
han
crustes,
and
they
the
bread:
the
chippes,
and
they
the
chere:
They
han
the
fleece,
and
eke
the
flesh,
(O
seely
sheepe
the
while)
The
corne
is
theyrs,
let
other
thresh,
their
hands
they
may
not
file.
They
han
great
stores,
and
thriftye
stockes,
great
freendes
and
feeble
foes:
What
neede
hem
caren
for
their
flocks?
theyr
boyes
can
looke
to
those.
These
wisards
weltre
in
welths
waues,
pampred
in
pleasures
deepe,
They
han
fatte
kernes,
and
leany
knaues,
their
fasting
flockes
to
keepe.
Sike
mister
men
bene
all
misgone,
they
heapen
hylles
of
wrath:
Sike
syrlye
shepheards
han
we
none,
they
keepen
all
the
path.
Morrell.
Here
is
a
great
deale
of
good
matter,
lost
for
lacke
of
telling,
Now
sicker
I
see,
thou
doest
but
clatter:
harme
may
come
of
melling.
Thou
medlest
more,
then
shall
haue
thanke,
to
wyten
shepheards
welth:
When
folke
bene
fat,
and
riches
rancke,
it
is
a
signe
of
helth.
But
say
me,
what
is
Algrin
he,
that
is
so
oft
bynempt.
Thomalin.
He
is
a
shepheard
great
in
gree,
but
hath
bene
long
ypent.
One
daye
he
sat
vpon
a
hyll,
(as
now
thou
wouldest
me:
But
I
am
taught
by
Algrins
ill,
to
loue
the
lowe
degree).
For
sitting
so
with
bared
scalpe,
an
Eagle
sored
hye,
That
weening
hys
whyte
head
was
chalke,
a
shell
fish
downe
let
flye:
She
weend
the
shell
fishe
to
haue
broake,
but
therewith
bruzd
his
brayne,
So
now
astonied
with
the
stroke,
he
lyes
in
lingring
payne.
Morrell.
Ah
good
Algrin,
his
hap
was
ill,
but
shall
be
bett
in
time.
Now
farwell
shepheard,
sith
thys
hyll
thou
hast
such
doubt
to
climbe.
Thomalins
Embleme.
In
medìo
virtus.
Morrells
Embleme.
In
summo
fœlicitas.
August
August.
Ægloga
octaua.
ARGVMENT.
I
n
this
Æglogue
is
setforth
a
delectable
controuersie,
made
in
imitation
of
that
in
Theocritus:
whereto
also
Virgile
fashioned
his
third
&
seuenth
Æglogue.
They
choose
for
vmpere
of
their
strife,
Cuddie
a
neatheards
boye,
who
hauing
ended
their
cause,
reciteth
also
himselfe
a
proper
song,
whereof
Colin
he
sayth
was
Authour.
VVillye.
Perigot.
Cuddie.
T
ell
me
Perigot,
what
shalbe
the
game,
Wherefore
with
myne
thou
dare
thy
musick
matche?
Or
bene
thy
Bagpypes
renne
farre
out
of
frame?
Or
hath
the
Crampe
thy
ioynts
benomd
with
ache?
Perigot.
Ah
Willye,
when
the
hart
is
ill
assayde,
How
can
Bagpipe,
or
ioynts
be
well
apayd?
VVillye.
What
the
foule
euill
hath
thee
so
bestadde?
Whilom
thou
was
peregall
to
the
best,
And
wont
to
make
the
iolly
shepeheards
gladde
With
pyping
and
dauncing,
didst
passe
the
rest.
Perigot.
Ah
Willye
now
I
haue
learnd
a
newe
daunce:
My
old
musick
mard
by
a
newe
mischaunce.
VVillye.
Mischiefe
mought
to
that
newe
mischaunce
befall,
That
so
hath
raft
vs
of
our
meriment.
But
reede
me,
what
payne
doth
thee
so
appall?
Or
louest
thou,
or
bene
thy
younglings
miswent?
Perigot.
Loue
hath
misled
both
my
younglings,
and
mee:
I
pyne
for
payne,
and
they
my
payne
to
see.
VVillye.
Perdie
and
wellawaye:
ill
may
they
thriue:
Neuer
knewe
I
louers
sheepe
in
good
plight.
But
and
if
in
rymes
with
me
thou
dare
striue,
Such
fond
fantsies
shall
soone
be
put
to
flight.
Perigot.
That
shall
I
doe,
though
mochell
worse
I
fared:
Neuer
shall
be
sayde
that
Perigot
was
dared.
VVillye.
Then
loe
Perigot
the
Pledge,
which
I
plight:
A
mazer
ywrought
of
the
Maple
warre:
Wherein
is
enchased
many
a
fayre
sight
Of
Beres
and
Tygres,
that
maken
fiers
warre:
And
ouer
them
spred
a
goodly
wild
vine,
Entrailed
with
a
wanton
Yuie
twine.
Thereby
is
a
Lambe
in
the
Wolues
iawes:
But
see,
how
fast
renneth
the
shepheard
swayne,
To
saue
the
innocent
from
the
beastes
pawes:
And
here
with
his
shepehooke
hath
him
slayne.
Tell
me,
such
a
cup
hast
thou
euer
sene?
Well
mought
it
beseme
any
haruest
Queene.
Perigot.
Thereto
will
I
pawne
yonder
spotted
Lambe,
Of
all
my
flocke
there
nis
sike
another:
For
I
brought
him
vp
without
the
Dambe.
But
Colin
Clout
rafte
me
of
his
brother,
That
he
purchast
of
me
in
the
playne
field:
Sore
against
my
will
was
I
forst
to
yield.
VVillye.
Sicker
make
like
account
of
his
brother.
But
who
shall
iudge
the
wager
wonne
or
lost?
I
Perigot.
That
shall
yonder
heardgrome,
and
none
other,
Which
ouer
the
pousse
hetherward
doth
post.
VVillye.
But
for
the
Sunnebeame
so
sore
doth
vs
beate,
Were
not
better,
to
shunne
the
scortching
heate?
Perigot.
Well
agreed
Willy:
then
sitte
thee
downe
swayne:
Sike
a
song
neuer
heardest
thou,
but
Colin
sing.
Cuddie.
Gynne,
when
ye
lyst,
ye
iolly
shepheards
twayne:
Sike
a
iudge,
as
Cuddie,
were
for
a
king.
Perigot.
I
t
fell
vpon
a
holly
eue,
Willye.
hey
ho
hollidaye,
Per.
When
holly
fathers
wont
to
shrieue:
Wil.
now
gynneth
this
roundelay.
Per.
Sitting
vpon
a
hill
so
hye,
Wil.
hey
ho
the
high
hyll,
Per.
The
while
my
flocke
did
feede
thereby,
Wil.
the
while
the
shepheard
selfe
did
spill:
Per.
I
saw
the
bouncing
Bellibone,
Wil.
hey
ho
Bonibell,
Per.
Tripping
ouer
the
dale
alone,
Wil.
she
can
trippe
it
very
well:
Per.
Well
decked
in
a
frocke
of
gray,
Wil.
hey
ho
gray
is
greete,
Per.
And
in
a
Kirtle
of
greene
saye,
Wil.
the
greene
is
for
maydens
meete:
Per.
A
chapelet
on
her
head
she
wore,
Wil.
hey
ho
chapelet,
Per.
Of
sweete
Uiolets
therein
was
store,
Wil.
she
sweeter
then
the
Uiolet.
Per.
My
sheepe
did
leaue
theyr
wonted
foode,
Wil.
hey
ho
seely
sheepe,
Per.
And
gazd
on
her,
as
they
were
wood,
Wil.
Woode
as
he,
that
did
them
keepe.
Per.
As
the
bonilasse
passed
bye,
Wil.
hey
ho
bonilasse,
Per.
She
roude
at
me
with
glauncing
eye,
Wil.
as
cleare
as
the
christall
glasse:
Per.
All
as
the
Sunnye
beame
so
bright,
Wil.
hey
ho
the
Sunne
beame,
Per.
Glaunceth
from
Phœbus
face
forthright,
Wil.
so
loue
into
my
hart
did
streame:
Per.
Or
as
the
thonder
cleaues
the
cloudes,
Wil.
hey
ho
the
Thonder,
Per.
Wherein
the
lightsome
leuin
shroudes,
Wil.
so
cleaues
thy
soule
a
sonder:
Per.
Or
as
Dame
Cynthias
siluer
raye
Wil.
hey
ho
the
Moonelight,
Per.
Upon
the
glyttering
waue
doth
playe:
Wil.
such
play
is
a
pitteous
plight.
Per.
The
glaunce
into
my
heart
did
glide,
Wil.
hey
ho
the
glyder,
Per.
Therewith
my
soule
was
sharply
gryde,
Wil.
such
woundes
soone
wexen
wider.
Per.
Hasting
to
raunch
the
arrow
out,
Wil.
hey
ho
Perigot,
Per.
I
left
the
head
in
my
hart
roote:
Wil.
it
was
a
desperate
shot.
Per.
There
it
ranckleth
ay
more
and
more,
Wil.
hey
ho
the
arrowe,
Per.
Ne
can
I
find
salue
for
my
sore:
Wil.
loue
is
a
curelesse
sorrowe.
Per.
And
though
my
bale
with
death
I
bought,
Wil.
hey
ho
heauie
cheere,
Per.
Yet
should
thilk
lasse
not
from
my
thought:
Wil.
so
you
may
buye
gold
to
deare.
Per.
But
whether
in
paynefull
loue
I
pyne,
Wil.
hey
ho
pinching
payne,
Per.
Or
thriue
in
welth,
she
shalbe
mine.
Wil.
but
if
thou
can
her
obteine.
Per.
And
if
for
gracelesse
greefe
I
dye,
Wil.
hey
ho
gracelesse
griefe,
Per.
Witnesse,
shee
slewe
me
with
her
eye:
Wil.
let
thy
follye
be
the
priefe.
Per.
And
you,
that
sawe
it,
simple
shepe,
Wil.
hey
ho
the
fayre
flocke,
Per.
For
priefe
thereof,
my
death
shall
weepe,
Wil.
and
mone
with
many
a
mocke.
Per.
So
learnd
I
loue
on
a
hollye
eue,
Wil.
hey
ho
holidaye,
Per.
That
euer
since
my
hart
did
greue.
Wil.
now
endeth
our
roundelay.
Cuddye.
Sicker
sike
a
roundle
neuer
heard
I
none.
Little
lacketh
Perigot
of
the
best.
And
Willye
is
not
greatly
ouergone,
So
weren
his
vndersongs
well
addrest.
VVillye.
Herdgrome,
I
feare
me,
thou
haue
a
squint
eye:
Areede
vprightly,
who
has
the
victorye?
Cuddie.
Fayth
of
my
soule,
I
deeme
ech
haue
gayned.
For
thy
let
the
Lambe
be
Willye
his
owne:
And
for
Perigot
so
well
hath
hym
payned,
To
hm
be
the
wroughten
mazer
alone.
Perigot.
Perigot
is
well
pleased
with
the
doome:
Ne
can
Willye
wite
the
witelesse
herdgroome.
VVillye.
Neuer
dempt
more
right
of
beautye
I
weene,
The
shepheard
of
Ida,
that
iudged
beauties
Queene.
Cuddie.
But
tell
me
shepherds,
should
it
not
yshend
Your
roundels
fresh,
to
heare
a
doolefull
verse
Of
Rosalend
(who
knowes
not
Rosalend?)
That
Colin
made,
ylke
can
I
you
rehearse.
Perigot.
Now
say
it
Cuddie,
as
thou
art
a
ladde:
With
mery
thing
its
good
to
medle
sadde.
VVilly.
Fayth
of
my
soule,
thou
shalt
ycrouned
be
In
Colins
stede,
if
thou
this
song
areede:
For
neuer
thing
on
earth
so
pleaseth
me,
As
him
to
heare,
or
matter
of
his
deede.
Cuddie.
Then
listneth
ech
vnto
my
heauy
laye,
And
tune
your
pypes
as
ruthful,
as
ye
may.
Y
e
wastefull
woodes
beare
witnesse
of
my
woe,
Wherein
my
plaints
did
oftentimes
resound:
Ye
carelesse
byrds
are
priuie
to
my
cryes,
Which
in
your
songs
were
wont
to
make
apart:
Thou
pleasaunt
spring
hast
luld
me
oft
a
sleepe,
Whose
streames
my
tricklinge
teares
did
ofte
augment.
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,
I
hate
the
house,
since
thence
my
loue
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
groue
therefore,
till
my
last
sleepe
Doe
close
mine
eyes:
so
shall
I
not
augment
With
sight
of
such
a
chaunge
my
restlesse
woe:
Helpe
me,
ye
banefull
byrds,
whose
shrieking
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
craueth
sleepe,
Increase,
so
let
your
yrksome
yells
augment.
Thus
all
the
night
in
plaints,
the
daye
in
woe
I
vowed
haue
to
wayst,
till
safe
and
sound
She
home
returne,
whose
voyces
siluer
sound
To
cheerefull
songs
can
chaunge
my
cherelesse
cryes.
Hence
with
the
Nightingale
will
I
take
part,
That
blessed
byrd,
that
spends
her
time
of
sleepe
In
songs
and
plaintiue
pleas,
the
more
taugment
The
memory
of
hys
misdeede,
that
bred
her
woe:
And
you
that
feele
no
woe,
|
when
as
the
sound
Of
these
my
nightly
cryes
|
ye
heare
apart,
Let
breake
your
sounder
sleepe
|
and
pitie
augment.
Perigot.
O
Colin,
Colin,
the
shepheards
ioye,
How
I
admire
ech
turning
of
thy
verse:
And
Cuddie,
fresh
Cuddie
the
liefest
boye,
How
dolefully
his
doole
thou
didst
rehearse.
Cuddie.
Then
blowe
your
pypes
shepheards,
til
you
be
at
home:
The
night
nigheth
fast,
yts
time
to
be
gone.
Perigot
his
Embleme.
Vincenti
gloria
victi.
Willyes
Embleme.
Vinto
non
vitto.
Cuddies
Embleme.
Felice
chj
puo.
September
September.
Ægloga
Nona.
ARGVMENT.
H
erein
Diggon
Dauie
is
deuised
to
be
a
shepheard,
that
in
hope
of
more
gayne,
droue
his
sheepe
into
a
farre
countrye.
The
abuses
whereof,
and
loose
liuing
of
Popish
prelates,
by
occasion
of
Hobbinols
demaũd,
he
discour-
seth
at
large.
Hobbinol.
Diggon
Dauie.
D
iggon
Dauie,
I
bidde
her
god
day:
Or
Diggon
her
is,
or
I
missaye.
Diggon.
Her
was
her,
while
it
was
daye
light,
But
now
her
is
a
most
wretched
wight.
For
day,
that
was,
is
wightly
past,
And
now
at
earst
the
dirke
night
doth
hast.
Hobbinoll.
Diggon
areede,
who
has
thee
so
dight?
Neuer
I
wist
thee
in
so
poore
a
plight.
Where
is
the
fayre
flocke,
thou
was
wont
to
leade?
Or
bene
they
chaffred?
or
at
mischiefe
dead?
Diggon.
Ah
for
loue
of
that,
is
to
thee
moste
leefe,
Hobbinol,
I
pray
thee
gall
not
my
old
griefe:
Sike
question
ripeth
vp
cause
of
newe
woe,
For
one
opened
mote
vnfolde
many
moe.
Hobbinoll.
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:
Since
when
thou
hast
measured
much
grownd,
And
wandred
I
wene
about
the
world
rounde,
So
as
thou
can
many
thinges
relate:
But
tell
me
first
of
thy
flocks
astate.
Diggon.
My
sheepe
bene
wasted,
(wae
is
me
therefore)
The
iolly
shepheard
that
was
of
yore,
Is
nowe
nor
iollye,
nor
shepehearde
more.
In
forrein
costes,
men
sayd,
was
plentye:
And
so
there
is,
but
all
of
miserye.
I
dempt
there
much
to
haue
eeked
my
store,
But
such
eeking
hath
made
my
hart
sore.
In
tho
countryes,
whereas
I
haue
bene,
No
being
for
those,
that
truely
mene,
But
for
such,
as
of
guile
maken
gayne,
No
such
countrye,
as
there
to
remaine.
They
setten
to
sale
their
shops
of
shame,
And
maken
a
Mart
of
theyr
good
name.
The
shepheards
there
robben
one
another,
And
layen
baytes
to
beguile
her
brother.
Or
they
will
buy
his
sheepe
out
of
the
cote,
Or
they
will
caruen
the
shepheards
throte.
The
shepheards
swayne
you
cannot
wel
ken,
But
it
be
by
his
pryde,
from
other
men:
They
looken
bigge
as
Bulls,
that
bene
bate,
And
bearen
the
cragge
so
stiffe
and
so
state,
As
cocke
on
his
dunghill,
crowing
cranck.
Hobbinoll.
Diggon,
I
am
so
stiffe,
and
so
stanck,
That
vneth
may
I
stand
any
more:
And
nowe
the
Westerne
wind
bloweth
sore,
That
nowe
is
in
his
chiefe
souereigntee,
Beating
the
withered
leafe
from
the
tree.
Sitte
we
downe
here
vnder
the
hill:
Tho
may
we
talke,
and
tellen
our
fill,
And
make
a
mocke
at
the
blustring
blast.
Now
say
on
Diggon,
what
euer
thou
hast.
Diggon.
Hobbin,
ah
Hobbin,
I
curse
the
stounde,
That
euer
I
cast
to
haue
lorne
this
grounde.
Wel-away
the
while
I
was
so
fonde,
To
leaue
the
good,
that
I
had
in
hande,
In
hope
of
better,
that
was
vncouth:
So
lost
the
Dogge
the
flesh
in
his
mouth.
My
seely
sheepe
(ah
seely
sheepe)
That
here
by
there
I
whilome
vsd
to
keepe,
All
were
they
lustye,
as
thou
didst
see,
Bene
all
sterued
with
pyne
and
penuree.
Hardly
my
selfe
escaped
thilke
payne,
Driuen
for
neede
to
come
home
agayne.
Hobbinoll.
Ah
fon,
now
by
thy
losse
art
taught,
That
seeldome
chaunge
the
better
brought.
Content
who
liues
with
tryed
state,
Neede
feare
no
chaunge
of
frowning
fate:
But
who
will
seeke
for
vnknowne
gayne,
Oft
liues
by
losse,
and
leaues
with
payne.
Diggon.
I
wote
ne
Hobbin
how
I
was
bewitcht
With
vayne
desyre,
and
hope
to
be
enricht.
But
sicker
so
it
is,
as
the
bright
starre
Seemeth
ay
greater,
when
it
is
farre:
I
thought
the
soyle
would
haue
made
me
rich:
But
nowe
I
wote,
it
is
nothing
sich.
For
eyther
the
shepeheards
bene
ydle
and
still,
And
ledde
of
theyr
sheepe,
what
way
they
wyll:
Or
they
bene
false,
and
full
of
couetise,
And
casten
to
compasse
many
wrong
emprise.
But
the
more
bene
fraight
with
fraud
and
spight,
Ne
in
good
nor
goodnes
taken
delight:
But
kindle
coales
of
conteck
and
yre,
Wherewith
they
sette
all
the
world
on
fire:
Which
when
they
thinken
agayne
to
quench
With
holy
water,
they
doen
hem
all
drench.
They
saye
they
con
to
heauen
the
high
way,
But
by
my
soule
I
dare
vndersaye,
They
neuer
sette
foote
in
that
same
troade,
But
balk
the
right
way,
and
strayen
abroad.
They
boast
they
han
the
deuill
at
commaund:
But
aske
hem
therefore,
what
they
han
paund.
Marrie
that
great
Pan
bought
with
deare
borrow,
To
quite
it
from
the
blacke
bowre
of
sorrowe.
But
they
han
sold
thilk
same
long
agoe:
For
thy
woulden
drawe
with
hem
many
moe.
But
let
hem
gange
alone
a
Gods
name:
As
they
han
brewed,
so
let
hem
beare
blame.
Hobbinoll.
Diggon,
I
praye
thee
speake
not
so
dirke.
Such
myster
saying
me
seemeth
to
mirke.
Diggon.
Then
playnely
to
speake
of
shepheards
most
what,
Badde
is
the
best
(this
English
is
flatt).
Their
ill
hauiour
garres
men
missay,
Both
of
their
doctrine,
and
of
their
faye.
They
sayne
the
world
is
much
war
then
it
wont,
All
for
her
shepheards
bene
beastly
and
blont.
Other
sayne,
but
how
truely
I
note,
All
for
they
holden
shame
of
theyr
cote.
Some
sticke
not
to
say,
(whote
cole
on
her
tongue)
That
sike
mischiefe
graseth
hem
emong,
All
for
they
casten
too
much
of
worlds
care,
To
deck
her
Dame,
and
enrich
her
heyre:
For
such
encheason,
if
you
goe
nye,
Fewe
chymneis
reeking
you
shall
espye:
The
fatte
Oxe,
that
wont
ligge
in
the
stal,
Is
nowe
fast
stalled
in
her
crumenall.
Thus
chatten
the
people
in
theyr
steads,
Ylike
as
a
Monster
of
many
heads.
But
they
that
shooten
neerest
the
pricke,
Sayne,
other
the
fat
from
their
beards
doen
lick.
For
bigge
Bulles
of
Basan
brace
hem
about,
That
with
theyr
hornes
butten
the
more
stoute:
But
the
leane
soules
treaden
vnder
foote.
And
to
seeke
redresse
mought
little
boote:
For
liker
bene
they
to
pluck
away
more,
Then
ought
of
the
gotten
good
to
restore.
For
they
bene
like
foule
wagmoires
ouergrast,
That
if
thy
galage
once
sticketh
fast,
The
more
to
wind
it
out
thon
doest
swinck,
Thou
mought
ay
deeper
and
deeper
sinck.
Yet
better
leaue
of
with
a
little
losse,
Then
by
much
wrestling
to
leese
the
grosse.
Hobbinoll.
Nowe
Diggon,
I
see
thou
speakest
to
plaine:
Better
it
were,
a
little
to
feyne,
And
cleanly
couer,
that
cannot
be
cured.
Such
il,
as
is
forced,
mought
nedes
be
endured
But
of
sike
pastoures
howe
done
the
flocks
creepe?
Diggon.
Sike
as
the
shepheards,
sike
bene
her
sheepe,
For
they
nill
listen
to
the
shepheards
voyce,
But
if
he
call
hem
at
theyr
good
choyce,
They
wander
at
wil,
and
stray
at
pleasure,
And
to
theyr
foldes
yead
at
their
owne
leasure.
But
they
had
be
better
come
at
their
cal:
For
many
han
into
mischiefe
fall,
And
bene
of
rauenous
Wolues
yrent,
All
for
they
nould
be
buxome
and
bent.
Hobbinoll.
Fye
on
thee
Diggon,
and
all
thy
foule
leasing,
Well
is
knowne
that
sith
the
Saxon
king,
Neuer
was
Woolfe
seene
many
nor
some,
Nor
in
all
Kent,
nor
in
Christendome:
But
the
fewer
Woolues
(the
soth
to
sayne),
The
more
bene
the
Foxes
that
here
remaine.
Diggon.
Yes,
but
they
gang
in
more
secrete
wise,
And
with
sheepes
clothing
doen
hem
disguise,
They
walke
not
widely
as
they
were
wont
For
feare
of
raungers,
and
the
great
hunt:
But
priuely
prolling
two
and
froe,
Enaunter
they
mought
be
inly
knowe.
Hobbinol.
Or
priue
or
pert
yf
any
bene,
We
han
great
Bandogs
will
teare
their
skinne.
Diggon.
Indeede
thy
ball
is
a
bold
bigge
curre,
And
could
make
a
iolly
hole
in
theyr
furre.
But
not
good
Dogges
hem
needeth
to
chace,
But
heedy
shepheards
to
discerne
their
face.
For
all
their
craft
is
in
their
countenaunce,
They
bene
so
graue
and
full
of
mayntenaunce.
But
shall
I
tell
thee
what
my
selfe
knowe,
Chaunced
to
Roffynn
not
long
ygoe?
Hobbinol.
Say
it
out
Diggon,
what
euer
it
hight,
For
not
but
well
mought
him
betight.
He
is
so
meeke,
wise,
and
merciable,
And
with
his
word
his
worke
is
conuenable.
Colin
clout
I
wene
be
his
selfe
boye,
(Ah
for
Colin
he
whilome
my
ioye)
Shepheards
sich,
God
mought
vs
many
send,
That
doen
so
carefully
theyr
flocks
tend.
Diggon.
Thilk
same
shepheard
mought
I
well
marke:
He
has
a
Dogge
to
byte
or
to
barke,
Neuer
had
shepheard
so
kene
a
kurre,
That
waketh,
and
if
but
a
leafe
sturre.
Whilome
there
wonned
a
wicked
Wolfe,
That
with
many
a
Lambe
had
glutted
his
gulfe.
And
euer
at
night
wont
to
repayre
Unto
the
flocke,
when
the
Welkin
shone
faire,
Ycladde
in
clothing
of
seely
sheepe,
When
the
good
old
man
vsed
to
sleepe.
Tho
at
midnight
he
would
barke
and
ball,
(For
he
had
eft
learned
a
curres
call).
As
if
a
Woolfe
were
emong
the
sheepe.
With
that
the
shepheard
would
breake
his
sleepe,
And
send
out
Lowder
(for
so
his
dog
hote)
To
raunge
the
fields
with
wide
open
throte.
Tho
when
as
Lowder
was
farre
awaye,
This
Woluish
sheepe
would
catchen
his
pray,
A
Lambe,
or
a
Kidde,
or
a
weanell
wast:
With
that
to
the
wood
would
he
speede
him
fast.
Long
time
he
vsed
this
slippery
pranck,
Ere
Roffy
could
for
his
laboure
him
thanck.
At
end
the
shepheard
his
practise
spyed,
(For
Roffy
is
wise,
and
as
Argus
eyed)
And
when
at
euen
he
came
to
the
flocke,
Fast
in
theyr
folds
he
did
them
locke,
And
tooke
out
the
Woolfe
in
his
counterfect
cote,
And
let
out
the
sheepes
bloud
at
his
throte.
Hobbinoll.
Marry
Diggon,
what
should
him
affraye,
To
take
his
owne
where
euer
it
laye?
For
had
his
wesand
bene
a
little
widder,
He
would
haue
deuoured
both
hidder
&
shidder.
Diggon.
Mischiefe
light
on
him,
and
Gods
great
curse,
Too
good
for
him
had
bene
a
great
deale
worse:
For
it
was
a
perilous
beast
aboue
all,
And
eke
had
he
cond
the
shepherds
call.
And
oft
in
the
night
came
to
the
shepecote,
And
called
Lowder,
with
a
hollow
throte,
As
if
it
the
old
man
selfe
had
bene.
The
dog
his
maisters
voice
did
it
weene,
Yet
halfe
in
doubt,
he
opened
the
dore,
And
ranne
out,
as
he
was
wont
of
yore.
No
sooner
was
out,
but
swifter
then
thought,
Fast
by
the
hyde
the
Wolfe
Lowder
caught:
And
had
not
Roffy
renne
to
the
steuen,
Lowder
had
be
slaine
thilke
same
euen.
Hobbinoll.
God
shield
man,
he
should
so
ill
haue
thriue,
All
for
he
did
his
deuoyr
beliue.
If
sike
bene
Wolues,
as
thou
hast
told,
How
mought
we
Diggon,
hem
behold.
Diggon.
How,
but
with
heede
and
watchfulnesse,
Forstallen
hem
of
their
wilinesse?
For
thy
with
shepheard
sittes
not
playe,
Or
sleepe,
as
some
doen,
all
the
long
day:
But
euer
liggen
in
watch
and
ward,
From
soddein
force
theyr
flocks
for
to
gard.
Hobbinoll.
Ah
Diggon,
thilke
same
rule
were
too
straight,
All
the
cold
season
to
wach
and
waite.
We
bene
of
fleshe,
men
as
other
bee;
Why
should
we
be
bound
to
such
miseree?
What
euer
thing
lacketh
chaungeable
rest,
Mought
needes
decay,
when
it
is
at
best.
Diggon.
Ah
but
Hobbinol,
all
this
long
tale,
Nought
easeth
the
care,
that
doth
me
forhaile.
What
shall
I
doe?
what
way
shall
I
wend,
My
piteous
plight
and
losse
to
amend?
Ah
good
Hobbinol,
mought
I
thee
praye,
Of
ayde
or
counsell
in
my
decaye.
Hobbinoll.
Now
by
my
soule
Diggon,
I
lament
The
haplesse
mischief,
that
has
thee
hent,
Nethelesse
thou
seest
my
lowly
saile,
That
froward
fortune
doth
euer
auaile.
But
were
Hobbinoll,
as
God
mought
please,
Diggon
should
soone
find
fauour
and
ease.
But
if
to
my
cotage
thou
wilt
resort,
So
as
I
can,
I
wil
thee
comfort:
There
mayst
thou
ligge
in
a
vetchy
bed,
Till
fayrer
Fortune
shewe
forth
her
head.
Diggon.
Ah
Hobbinol,
God
mought
it
thee
requite.
Diggon
on
fewe
such
freends
did
euer
lite.
Diggons
Embleme.
Inopem
me
copia
fecit.
October
October.
Ægloga
decima.
ARGVMENT.
I
Nn
Cuddie
is
set
out
the
perfecte
paterne
of
a
Poete,
whiche
finding
no
maintenaunce
of
his
state
and
studies,
complayneth
of
the
contempte
of
Poetrie,
and
the
causes
thereof:
Specially
hauing
bene
in
all
ages,
and
even
amõgst
the
most
barbarous
alwayes
of
singular
accounpt
&
honor,
&
being
indede
so
worthy
and
commendable
an
arte:
or
rather
no
arte,
but
a
diuine
gift
and
heauenly
instinct
not
to
bee
gotten
by
laboure
and
learning,
but
a-
dorned
with
both:
and
poured
into
the
witte
by
a
certaine
ἐνθουσιασμóς.
and
ce-
lestiall
inspiration,
as
the
Author
hereof
els
where
at
large
discourseth,
in
his
booke
called
the
English
Poete,
which
booke
being
lately
come
to
my
hands,
I
mynde
also
by
Gods
grace
vpon
further
aduisement
to
publish.
Pierce.
Cuddie.
C
Vddie,
for
shame
hold
vp
thy
heauye
head,
And
let
vs
cast
with
what
delight
to
chace:
And
weary
thys
long
lingring
Phœbus
race.
Whilome
thou
wont
the
shepheards
laddes
to
leade,
In
rymes,
in
ridles,
and
in
bydding
base:
Now
they
in
thee,
and
thou
in
sleepe
art
dead?
Cuddye.
Piers,
I
haue
pyped
erst
so
long
with
payne,
That
all
mine
Oten
reedes
bene
rent
and
wore:
And
my
poore
Muse
hath
spent
her
spared
store,
Yet
little
good
hath
got,
and
much
lesse
gayne.
Such
pleasaunce
makes
the
Grashopper
so
poore,
And
ligge
so
layd,
when
Winter
doth
her
straine:
The
dapper
ditties,
that
I
wont
deuise,
To
feede
youthes
fancie,
and
the
flocking
fry,
Delighten
much:
what
I
the
bett
for
thy?
They
han
the
pleasure,
I
a
sclender
prise.
I
beate
the
bush,
the
byrds
to
them
doe
flye:
What
good
thereof
to
Cuddie
can
arise?
Piers.
Cuddie,
the
prayse
is
better,
then
the
price,
The
glory
eke
much
greater
then
the
gayne:
O
what
an
honor
is
it,
to
restraine
The
lust
of
lawlesse
youth
with
good
aduice:
Or
pricke
them
forth
with
pleasaunce
of
thy
vaine,
Whereto
thou
list
their
trayned
willes
entice.
Soone
as
thou
gynst
to
sette
thy
notes
in
frame,
O
how
the
rurall
routes
to
thee
doe
cleaue:
Seemeth
thou
dost
their
soule
of
sence
bereaue,
All
as
the
shepheard,
that
did
fetch
his
dame
From
Plutoes
balefull
bowre
withouten
leaue:
His
musicks
might
the
hellish
hound
did
tame.
Cuddie.
So
praysen
babes
the
Peacoks
spotted
traine,
And
wondren
at
bright
Argus
blazing
eye:
But
who
rewards
him
ere
the
more
for
thy?
Or
feedes
him
once
the
fuller
by
a
graine?
Sike
prayse
is
smoke,
that
sheddeth
in
the
skye,
Sike
words
bene
wynd,
and
wasten
soone
in
vayne.
Piers.
Abandon
then
the
base
and
viler
clowne,
Lyft
vp
thy
selfe
out
of
the
lowly
dust:
And
sing
of
bloody
Mars,
of
wars,
of
giusts.
Turne
thee
to
those,
that
weld
the
awful
crowne,
To
doubted
Knights,
whose
woundlesse
armour
rusts,
And
helmes
vnbruzed
wexen
dayly
browne.
There
may
thy
Muse
display
her
fluttryng
wing,
And
stretch
her
selfe
at
large
from
East
to
West:
Whither
thou
list
in
fayre
Elisa
rest,
Or
if
thee
please
in
bigger
notes
to
sing,
Aduaunce
the
worthy
whome
shee
loueth
best,
That
first
the
white
beare
to
the
stake
did
bring.
And
when
the
stubborne
stroke
of
stronger
stounds,
Has
somewhat
slackt
the
tenor
of
thy
string:
Of
loue
and
lustihead
tho
mayst
thou
sing,
And
carrol
lowde,
and
leade
the
Myllers
rownde,
All
were
Elisa
one
of
thilke
same
ring.
So
mought
our
Cuddies
name
to
Heauen
sownde.
Cuddye.
Indeede
the
Romish
Tityrus,
I
heare,
Through
his
Mecœnas
left
his
Oaten
reede,
Whereon
he
earst
had
taught
his
flocks
to
feede,
And
laboured
lands
to
yield
the
timely
eare,
And
eft
did
sing
of
warres
and
deadly
drede,
So
as
the
Heauens
did
quake
his
verse
to
here.
But
ah
Mecœnas
is
yclad
in
claye,
And
great
Augustus
long
ygoe
is
dead:
And
all
the
worthies
liggen
wrapt
in
leade,
That
matter
made
for
Poets
on
to
play:
For
euer,
who
in
derring
doe
were
dreade,
The
loftie
verse
of
hem
was
loued
aye.
But
after
vertue
gan
for
age
to
stoupe,
And
mighty
manhode
brought
a
bedde
of
ease:
The
vaunting
Poets
found
nought
worth
a
pease,
To
put
in
preace
emong
the
learned
troupe.
Tho
gan
the
streames
of
flowing
wittes
to
cease,
And
sonnebright
honour
pend
in
shamefull
coupe.
And
if
that
any
buddes
of
Poesie,
Yet
of
the
old
stocke
gan
to
shoote
agayne:
Or
it
mens
follies
mote
be
forst
to
fayne,
And
rolle
with
rest
in
rymes
of
rybaudrye:
Or
as
it
sprong,
it
wither
must
agayne:
Tom
Piper
makes
vs
better
melodie.
Piers.
O
pierlesse
Poesye,
where
is
then
thy
place?
If
nor
in
Princes
pallace
thou
doe
sitt:
(And
yet
is
Princes
pallace
the
most
fitt)
Ne
brest
of
baser
birth
doth
thee
embrace.
Then
make
thee
winges
of
thine
aspyring
wit,
And,
whence
thou
camst,
flye
backe
to
heauen
apace.
Cuddie.
Ah
Percy
it
is
all
to
weake
and
wanne,
So
high
to
sore,
and
make
so
large
a
flight:
Her
peeced
pyneons
bene
not
so
in
plight,
For
Colin
fittes
such
famous
flight
to
scanne:
He,
were
he
not
with
loue
so
ill
bedight,
Would
mount
as
high,
and
sing
as
soote
as
Swanne.
Piers.
Ah
fon,
for
loue
does
teach
him
climbe
so
hie,
And
lyftes
him
vp
out
of
the
loathsome
myre:
Such
immortall
mirrhor,
as
he
doth
admire,
Would
rayse
ones
mynd
aboue
the
starry
skie.
And
cause
a
caytiue
corage
to
aspire,
For
lofty
loue
doth
loath
a
lowly
eye.
Cuddie.
All
otherwise
the
state
of
Poet
stands,
For
lordly
loue
is
such
a
Tyranne
fell:
That
where
he
rules,
all
power
he
doth
expell.
The
vaunted
verse
a
vacant
head
demaundes.
Ne
wont
with
crabbed
care
the
Muses
dwell:
Unwisely
weaues,
that
takes
two
webbes
in
hand.
Who
euer
casts
to
compasse
weightye
prise,
And
thinks
to
throwe
out
thondring
words
of
threate:
Let
powre
in
lauish
cups
and
thriftie
bitts
of
meate,
For
Bacchus
fruite
is
frend
to
Phœbus
wise.
And
when
with
Wine
the
braine
begins
to
sweate,
The
nombers
flowe
as
fast
as
spring
doth
ryse.
Thou
kenst
not
Percie
howe
the
ryme
should
rage.
O
if
my
temples
were
distaind
with
wine,
And
girt
in
girlonds
of
wild
Yuie
twine,
How
I
could
reare
the
Muse
on
stately
stage,
And
teache
her
tread
aloft
in
buskin
fine,
With
queint
Bellona
in
her
equipage.
But
ah
my
corage
cooles
ere
it
be
warme,
For
thy,
content
vs
in
thys
humble
shade:
Where
no
such
troublous
tydes
han
vs
assayde,
Here
we
our
slender
pipes
may
safely
charme.
Piers.
And
when
my
Gates
shall
han
their
bellies
layd:
Cuddie
shall
haue
a
Kidde
to
store
his
farme.
Cuddies
Embleme.
Agitante
calescimus
illo
&c.
November
Nouember.
Ægloga
vndecima.
ARGVMENT.
I
n
this
xi.
Æglogue
he
bewayleth
the
death
of
some
mayden
of
greate
bloud,
whom
he
calleth
Dido.
The
personage
is
secrete,
and
to
me
alto-
gether
vnknowne,
albe
of
him
selfe
I
often
required
the
same.
This
Æglo-
gue
is
made
in
imitation
of
Marot
his
song,
which
he
made
vpon
the
death
of
Loys
the
frenche
Queene.
But
farre
passing
his
reache,
and
in
myne
opi-
nion
all
other
the
Eglogues
of
this
booke.
Thenot.
Colin.
C
olin
my
deare,
when
shall
it
please
thee
sing,
As
thou
were
wont
songs
of
some
iouisaunce?
Thy
Muse
to
long
slombreth
in
sorrowing,
Lulled
a
sleepe
through
loues
misgouernaunce,
Now
somewhat
sing,
whose
endles
souenaunce,
Emong
the
shepeheards
swaines
may
aye
remaine,
Whether
thee
list
thy
loued
lasse
aduaunce,
Or
honor
Pan
with
hymnes
of
higher
vaine.
Colin.
Thenot,
now
nis
the
time
of
merimake.
Nor
Pan
to
herye,
nor
with
loue
to
playe:
Sike
myrth
in
May
is
meetest
for
to
make,
Or
summer
shade
vnder
the
cocked
haye.
But
nowe
sadde
Winter
welked
hath
the
day,
And
Phœbus
weary
of
his
yerely
taske:
Ystabled
hath
his
steedes
in
lowlye
laye,
And
taken
vp
his
ynne
in
Fishes
haske.
Thilke
sollein
season
sadder
plight
doth
aske:
And
loatheth
sike
delightes,
as
thou
doest
prayse:
The
mornefull
Muse
in
myrth
now
list
ne
maske,
As
shee
was
wont
in
youngth
and
sommer
dayes.
But
if
thou
algate
lust
light
virelayes,
And
looser
songs
of
loue
to
vnderfong
Who
but
thy
selfe
deserues
sike
Poetes
prayse?
Relieue
thy
Oaten
pypes,
that
sleepen
long.
Thenot.
The
Nightingale
is
souereigne
of
song,
Before
him
sits
the
Titmose
silent
bee:
And
I
vnfitte
to
thrust
in
skilfull
thronge,
Should
Colin
make
iudge
of
my
fooleree.
Nay,
better
learne
of
hem,
that
learned
bee,
And
han
be
watered
at
the
Muses
well:
The
kindlye
dewe
drops
from
the
higher
tree,
And
wets
the
little
plants
that
lowly
dwell.
But
if
sadde
winters
wrathe
and
season
chill,
Accorde
not
with
thy
Muses
meriment:
To
sadder
times
thou
mayst
attune
thy
quill,
And
sing
of
sorrowe
and
deathes
dreeriment.
For
deade
is
Dido,
dead
alas
and
drent,
Dido
the
greate
shepehearde
his
daughter
sheene:
The
fayrest
May
she
was
that
euer
went,
Her
like
shee
has
not
left
behinde
I
weene.
And
if
thou
wilt
bewayle
my
wofull
tene:
I
shall
thee
giue
yond
Cosset
for
thy
payne:
And
if
thy
rymes
as
rownd
and
rufull
bene,
As
those
that
did
thy
Rosalind
complayne,
Much
greater
gyfts
for
guerdon
thou
shalt
gayne,
Then
Kidde
or
Cosset,
which
I
thee
bynempt:
Then
vp
I
say,
thou
iolly
shepeheard
swayne,
Let
not
my
small
demaund
be
so
contempt.
Colin.
Thenot
to
that
I
choose,
thou
doest
me
tempt,
But
ah
to
well
I
wote
my
humble
vaine,
And
howe
my
rymes
bene
rugged
and
vnkempt:
Yet
as
I
conne,
my
conning
I
will
strayne.
V
P
then
Melpomene
thou
mournefulst
Muse
of
nyne,
Such
cause
of
mourning
neuer
hadst
afore:
Up
grieslie
ghostes
and
vp
my
rufull
ryme,
Matter
of
myrth
now
shalt
thou
haue
no
more.
For
dead
shee
is,
that
myrth
thee
made
of
yore.
Dido
my
deare
alas
is
dead,
Dead
and
lyeth
wrapt
in
lead:
O
heauie
herse,
Let
streaming
teares
be
poured
out
in
store:
O
carefull
verse.
Shepheards,
that
by
your
flocks
on
Kentish
downes
abyde,
Waile
ye
this
wofull
waste
of
natures
warke:
Waile
we
the
wight,
whose
presence
was
our
pryde:
Waile
we
the
wight,
whose
absence
is
our
carke.
The
sonne
of
all
the
world
is
dimme
and
darke:
The
earth
now
lacks
her
wonted
light,
And
all
we
dwell
in
deadly
night,
O
heauie
herse.
Breake
we
our
pypes,
that
shrild
as
lowde
as
Larke,
O
carefull
verse.
Why
doe
we
longer
liue,
(ah
why
liue
we
so
long)
Whose
better
dayes
death
hath
shut
vp
in
woe?
The
fayrest
floure
our
gyrlond
all
emong,
Is
faded
quite
and
into
dust
ygoe.
Sing
now
ye
shepheards
daughters,
sing
no
moe
The
songs
that
Colin
made
in
her
prayse,
But
into
weeping
turne
your
wanton
layes,
O
heauie
herse,
Now
is
time
to
dye.
Nay
time
was
long
ygoe,
O
carefull
verse.
Whence
is
it,
that
the
flouret
of
the
field
doth
fade,
And
lyeth
buryed
long
in
Winters
bale:
Yet
soone
as
spring
his
mantle
doth
displaye,
It
floureth
fresh,
as
it
should
neuer
fayle?
But
thing
on
earth
that
is
of
most
availe,
As
vertues
braunch
and
beauties
budde,
Reliuen
not
for
any
good.
O
heauie
herse,
The
braunch
once
dead,
the
budde
eke
needes
must
quaile,
O
carefull
verse.
She
while
she
was,
(that
was,
a
woful
word
to
sayne)
For
beauties
prayse
and
plesaunce
had
no
pere:
So
well
she
couth
the
shepherds
entertayne,
With
cakes
and
cracknells
and
such
country
chere.
Ne
would
she
scorne
the
simple
shepheards
swaine,
For
she
would
cal
hem
often
heme
And
giue
hem
curds
and
clouted
Creame.
O
heauie
herse,
Als
Colin
cloute
she
would
not
once
disdayne.
O
carefull
verse.
But
nowe
sike
happy
cheere
is
turnd
to
heauie
chaunce,
Such
pleasaunce
now
displast
by
dolors
dint:
All
Musick
sleepes,
where
death
doth
leade
the
daunce,
And
shepherds
wonted
solace
is
extinct.
The
blew
in
black,
the
greene
in
gray
is
tinct,
The
gaudie
girlonds
deck
her
graue,
The
faded
flowres
her
corse
embraue.
O
heauie
herse,
Morne
nowe
my
Muse,
now
morne
with
teares
besprint.
O
carefull
verse.
O
thou
greate
shepheard
Lobbin,
how
great
is
thy
griefe,
Where
bene
the
nosegayes
that
she
dight
for
thee:
The
colourd
chaplets
wrought
with
a
chiefe,
The
knotted
rushrings,
and
gilte
Rosemaree?
For
shee
deemed
nothing
too
deere
for
thee.
Ah
they
bene
all
yclad
in
clay,
One
bitter
blast
blewe
all
away.
O
heauie
herse,
Thereof
nought
remaynes
but
the
memoree.
O
carefull
verse.
Ay
me
that
dreerie
death
should
strike
so
mortall
stroke,
That
can
vndoe
Dame
natures
kindly
course:
The
faded
lockes
fall
from
the
loftie
oke,
The
flouds
do
gaspe,
for
dryed
is
theyr
sourse,
And
flouds
of
teares
flowe
in
theyr
stead
perforse.
The
mantled
medowes
morune,
Theyr
sondry
colours
torune.
O
heauie
herse,
The
heauens
doe
melt
in
teares
without
remorse.
O
carefull
verse.
The
feeble
flocks
in
field
refuse
their
former
foode,
And
hang
theyr
heads,
as
they
would
learne
to
weepe:
The
beastes
in
forest
wayle
as
they
were
woode,
Except
the
Wolues,
that
chase
the
wandring
sheepe:
Now
she
is
gon
that
safely
did
hem
keepe,
The
Turtle
on
the
bared
braunch,
Laments
the
wound,
that
death
did
launch.
O
heauie
herse,
And
Philomele
her
song
with
teares
doth
steepe.
O
carefull
verse.
The
water
Nymphs,
that
wont
with
her
to
sing
and
daunce,
And
for
her
girlond
Oliue
braunches
beare,
Now
balefull
boughes
of
Cypres
doen
aduaunce:
The
Muses,
that
were
wont
greene
bayes
to
weare,
Now
bringen
bitter
Eldre
braunches
seare:
The
fatall
sisters
eke
repent,
Her
vitall
threde
so
soone
was
spent.
O
heauie
herse,
Morne
now
my
Muse,
now
morne
with
heauie
cheare.
O
carefull
verse.
O
trustlesse
state
of
earthly
things,
and
slipper
hope
Of
mortal
men,
that
swincke
and
sweate
for
nought,
And
shooting
wide,
doe
misse
the
marked
scope:
Now
haue
I
learnd
(a
lesson
derely
bought)
That
nys
on
earth
assuraunce
to
be
sought:
For
what
might
be
in
earthlie
mould,
That
did
her
buried
body
hould.
O
heauie
herse,
Yet
saw
I
on
the
beare
when
it
was
brought
O
carefull
verse.
But
maugre
death,
and
dreaded
sisters
deadly
spight,
And
gates
of
hel,
and
fyrie
furies
forse:
She
hath
the
bonds
broke
of
eternall
night,
Her
soule
vnbodied
of
the
burdenous
corpse.
Why
then
weepes
Lobbin
so
without
remorse?
O
Lobb,
thy
losse
no
longer
lament,
Dido
nis
dead,
but
into
heauen
hent.
O
happye
herse,
Cease
now
my
Muse,
now
cease
thy
sorrowes
sourse,
O
ioyfull
verse.
Why
wayle
we
then?
why
weary
we
the
Gods
with
playnts,
As
if
some
euill
were
to
her
betight?
She
raignes
a
goddesse
now
emong
the
saintes,
That
whilome
was
the
saynt
of
shepheards
light:
And
is
enstalled
nowe
in
heauens
hight.
I
see
thee
blessed
soule,
I
see,
Walke
in
Elisian
fieldes
so
free.
O
happy
herse,
Might
I
once
come
to
thee
(O
that
I
might)
O
ioyfull
verse.
Unwise
and
wretched
men
to
weete
whats
good
or
ill,
We
deeme
of
Death
as
doome
of
ill
desert:
But
knewe
we
fooles,
what
it
vs
bringes
vntil,
Dye
would
we
dayly,
once
it
to
expert.
No
daunger
there
the
shepheard
can
astert:
Fayre
fieldes
and
pleasaunt
layes
there
bene,
The
fieldes
ay
fresh,
the
grasse
ay
greene:
O
happy
herse,
Make
hast
ye
shepheards,
thether
to
reuert,
O
ioyfull
verse.
Dido
is
gone
afore
(whose
turne
shall
be
the
next?)
There
liues
shee
with
the
blessed
Gods
in
blisse,
There
drincks
she
Nectar
with
Ambrosia
mixt,
And
ioyes
enioyes,
that
mortall
men
doe
misse.
The
honor
now
of
highest
gods
she
is,
That
whilome
was
poore
shepheards
pryde,
While
here
on
earth
she
did
abyde.
O
happy
herse,
Ceasse
now
my
song,
my
woe
now
wasted
is.
O
ioyfull
verse.
Thenot.
Ay
francke
shepheard,
how
bene
thy
verses
meint
With
doolful
pleasaunce,
so
as
I
ne
wotte,
Whether
reioyce
or
weepe
for
great
constrainte?
Thyne
be
the
cossette,
well
hast
thow
it
gotte.
Up
Colin
vp,
ynough
thou
morned
hast,
Now
gynnes
to
mizzle,
hye
we
homeward
fast.
Colins
Embleme.
La
mort
ny
mord.
December
December.
Ægloga
Duodecima.
ARGVMENT.
T
his
Æglogue
(euen
as
the
first
beganne)
is
ended
with
a
complaynte
of
Colin
to
God
Pan.
Wherein
as
weary
of
his
former
wayes,
he
pro-
portioneth
his
life
to
the
foure
seasons
of
the
yeare,
comparing
hys
youthe
to
the
spring
time,
when
he
was
fresh
and
free
from
loues
follye.
His
man-
hoode
to
the
sommer,
which
he
sayth,
was
consumed
with
greate
heate
and
excessiue
drouth
caused
throughe
a
Comet
or
blasinge
starre,
by
which
hee
meaneth
loue,
which
passion
is
comenly
compared
to
such
flames
and
immo-
derate
heate.
His
riper
yeares
hee
resembleth
to
an
vnseasonable
harueste
wherein
the
fruites
fall
ere
they
be
rype.
His
latter
age
to
winters
chyll
&
frostie
season,
now
drawing
neare
to
his
last
ende.
T
he
gentle
shepheard
satte
beside
a
springe,
All
in
the
shadowe
of
a
bushye
brere,
That
Colin
hight,
which
wel
could
pype
and
singe,
For
he
of
Tityrus
his
songs
did
lere.
There
as
he
satte
in
secreate
shade
alone,
Thus
gan
he
make
of
loue
his
piteous
mone.
O
soueraigne
Pan
thou
God
of
shepheards
all,
Which
of
our
tender
Lambkins
takest
keepe:
And
when
our
flocks
into
mischaunce
mought
fall,
Doest
saue
from
mischiefe
the
vnwary
sheepe:
Als
of
their
maisters
hast
no
lesse
regarde,
Then
of
the
flocks,
which
thou
doest
watch
and
ward:
I
thee
beseche
(so
be
thou
deigne
to
heare,
Rude
ditties
tund
to
shepheards
Oaten
reede,
Or
if
I
euer
sonet
song
so
cleare,
As
it
with
pleasaunce
mought
thy
fancie
feede)
Hearken
awhile
from
thy
greene
cabinet,
The
rurall
song
of
carefull
Colinet.
Whilome
in
youth,
when
flowrd
my
ioyfull
spring,
Like
Swallow
swift
I
wandred
here
and
there:
For
heate
of
heedlesse
lust
me
so
did
sting,
That
I
of
doubted
daunger
had
no
feare.
I
went
the
wastefull
woodes
and
forest
wyde,
Withouten
dreade
of
Wolues
to
bene
espyed.
I
wont
to
raunge
amydde
the
mazie
thickette,
And
gather
nuttes
to
make
me
Christmas
game:
And
ioyed
oft
to
chace
the
trembling
Pricket,
Or
hunt
the
hartlesse
hare,
til
shee
were
tame.
What
wreaked
I
of
wintrye
ages
waste,
Tho
deemed
I,
my
spring
would
euer
laste.
How
often
haue
I
scaled
the
craggie
Oke,
All
to
dislodge
the
Rauen
of
her
neste:
Howe
haue
I
wearied
with
many
a
stroke,
The
stately
Walnut
tree,
the
while
the
rest
Under
the
tree
fell
all
for
nuts
at
strife:
For
ylike
to
me
was
libertee
and
lyfe.
And
for
I
was
in
thilke
same
looser
yeares,
(Whether
the
Muse,
so
wrought
me
from
my
birth,
Or
I
tomuch
beleeued
my
shepherd
peres)
Somedele
ybent
to
song
and
musicks
mirth,
A
good
olde
shephearde,
Wrenock
was
his
name,
Made
me
by
arte
more
cunning
in
the
same.
Fro
thence
I
durst
in
derring
to
compare
With
shepheards
swayne,
what
euer
fedde
in
field:
And
if
that
Hobbinol
right
iudgement
bare,
To
Pan
his
owne
selfe
pype
I
neede
not
yield.
For
if
the
flocking
Nymphes
did
folow
Pan,
The
wiser
Muses
after
Colin
ranne.
But
ah
such
pryde
at
length
was
ill
repayde,
The
shepheards
God
(perdie
God
was
he
none)
My
hurtlesse
pleasaunce
did
me
ill
vpbraide,
My
freedome
lorne,
my
life
he
lefte
to
mone.
Loue
they
him
called,
that
gaue
me
checkmate,
But
better
mought
they
haue
behote
him
Hate.
Tho
gan
my
louely
Spring
bid
me
farewel,
And
Sommer
season
sped
him
to
display
(For
loue
then
in
the
Lyons
house
did
dwell)
The
raging
fyre,
that
kindled
at
his
ray.
A
comett
stird
vp
that
vnkindly
heate,
That
reigned
(as
men
sayd)
in
Venus
seate.
Forth
was
I
ledde,
not
as
I
wont
afore,
When
choise
I
had
to
choose
my
wandring
waye:
But
whether
luck
and
loues
vnbridled
lore
Would
leade
me
forth
on
Fancies
bitte
to
playe,
The
bush
my
bedde,
the
bramble
was
my
bowre,
The
Woodes
can
witnesse
many
a
wofull
stowre.
Where
I
was
wont
to
seeke
the
honey
Bee,
Working
her
formall
rowmes
in
Wexen
frame:
The
grieslie
Todestoole
growne
there
mought
I
se
And
loathed
Paddocks
lording
on
the
same.
And
where
the
chaunting
birds
luld
me
a
sleepe,
The
ghastlie
Owle
her
grieuous
ynne
doth
keepe.
Then
as
the
springe
giues
place
to
elder
time,
And
bringeth
forth
the
fruite
of
sommers
pryde:
Also
my
age
now
passed
youngthly
pryme,
To
thinges
of
ryper
reason
selfe
applyed.
And
learnd
of
lighter
timber
cotes
to
frame,
Such
as
might
saue
my
sheepe
and
me
fro
shame.
To
make
fine
cages
for
the
Nightingale,
And
Baskets
of
bulrushes
was
my
wont:
Who
to
entrappe
the
fish
in
winding
sale
Was
better
seene,
or
hurtful
beastes
to
hont?
I
learned
als
the
signes
of
heauen
to
ken,
How
Phœbe
fayles,
where
Venus
sittes
and
when.
And
tryed
time
yet
taught
me
greater
thinges,
The
sodain
rysing
of
the
raging
seas:
The
soothe
of
byrds
by
beating
of
their
wings,
The
power
of
herbs,
both
which
can
hurt
and
ease:
And
which
be
wont
to
tenrage
the
restlesse
sheepe,
And
which
be
wont
to
worke
eternall
sleepe.
But
ah
vnwise
and
witlesse
Colin
cloute,
That
kydst
the
hidden
kinds
of
many
a
wede:
Yet
kydst
not
ene
to
cure
thy
sore
hart
roote,
Whose
ranckling
wound
as
yet
does
rifelye
bleede.
Why
liuest
thou
stil,
and
yet
hast
thy
deathes
wound?
Why
dyest
thou
stil,
and
yet
aliue
art
founde?
Thus
is
my
sommer
worne
away
and
wasted,
Thus
is
my
haruest
hastened
all
to
rathe:
The
eare
that
budded
faire,
is
burnt
&
blasted,
And
all
my
hoped
gaine
is
turnd
to
scathe.
Of
all
the
seede,
that
in
my
youth
was
sowne,
Was
nought
but
brakes
and
brambles
to
be
mowne.
My
boughes
with
bloosmes
that
crowned
were
at
firste,
And
promised
of
timely
fruite
such
store,
Are
left
both
bare
and
barrein
now
at
erst:
The
flattring
fruite
is
fallen
to
grownd
before,
And
rotted,
ere
they
were
halfe
mellow
ripe:
My
haruest
wast,
my
hope
away
dyd
wipe.
The
fragrant
flowres,
that
in
my
garden
grewe,
Bene
withered,
as
they
had
bene
gathered
long.
Theyr
rootes
bene
dryed
vp
for
lacke
of
dewe,
Yet
dewed
with
teares
they
han
be
euer
among.
Ah
who
has
wrought
my
Rosalind
this
spight
To
spil
the
flowres,
that
should
her
girlond
dight?
And
I,
that
whilome
wont
to
frame
my
pype,
Unto
the
shifting
of
the
shepheards
foote:
Sike
follies
nowe
haue
gathered
as
too
ripe,
And
cast
hem
out,
as
rotten
and
vnseote.
The
loser
Lasse
I
cast
to
please
nomore,
One
if
I
please,
enough
is
me
therefore.
And
thus
of
all
my
haruest
hope
I
haue
Nought
reaped
but
a
weedye
crop
of
care:
Which,
when
I
thought
haue
thresht
in
swelling
sheaue,
Cockel
for
corne,
and
chaffe
for
barley
bare.
Soone
as
the
chaffe
should
in
the
fan
be
fynd,
All
was
blowne
away
of
the
wauering
wynd.
So
now
my
yeare
drawes
to
his
latter
terme,
My
spring
is
spent,
my
sommer
burnt
vp
quite:
My
harueste
hasts
to
stirre
vp
winter
sterne,
And
bids
him
clayme
with
rigorous
rage
hys
right.
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
dooth
wright.
Delight
is
layd
abedde,
and
pleasure
past,
No
sonne
now
shines,
cloudes
han
all
ouercast.
Now
leaue
ye
shepheards
boyes
yonr
merry
glee,
My
Muse
is
hoarse
and
weary
of
thys
stounde:
Here
will
I
hang
my
pype
vpon
this
tree,
Was
neuer
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
folds
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
loue
I
bought
so
deare:
Adieu
my
little
Lambes
and
loued
sheepe,
Adieu
ye
Woodes
that
oft
my
witnesse
were:
Adieu
good
Hobbinol,
that
was
so
true,
Tell
Rosalind,
her
Colin
bids
her
adieu.
Validictory
Poem
Loe
I
haue
made
a
Calender
for
euery
yeare,
That
steele
in
strength,
and
time
in
durance
shall
outweare:
And
if
I
marked
well
the
starres
reuolution,
It
shall
continewe
till
the
worlds
dissolution.
To
teach
the
ruder
shepheard
how
to
feede
his
sheepe,
And
from
the
falsers
fraud
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
hys
style,
Nor
with
the
Pilgrim
that
the
Ploughman
playde
a
whyle:
But
followe
them
farre
off,
and
their
high
steppes
adore,
The
better
please,
the
worse
despise,
I
aske
nomore.
Merce
non
mercede.
Imprinted
at
London
by
Hugh
Singleton,
dwelling
in
Creede
lane
at
the
signe
of
the
gylden,
Tunn
neere
vnto
Ludgate.