A Pastorall Aeglogue A pastorall Aeglogue vpon upon the death of Sir Phillip Sidney Knight & et c. Lycon. Colin. COlin, Colin, well fits thy sad cheare this sad stownd, This wofull stownd, wherein all things complaine This great mishap, this greeuous greevous losse of owres. Hear’st thou the Orown? how with hollow sownd He slides away, and murmuring doth plaine, And seemes to say vnto unto the fading flowres, Along his bankes, vnto unto the bared trees; Phillisides is dead. Vp Up iolly jolly swaine, Thou that with skill canst tune a dolefull lay, And Help him to mourn. My hart with grief doth freese, Hoarse is my voice with crying, else a part Sure would I beare, though rude: But as I may, With sobs and sighes I second will thy song, And so expresse the sorrowes of my hart. Colin. Ah Lycon, Lycon, what need skill, to teach A grieued grieved mynd powre forth his plaints? how long Hath the pore Turtle gon to school (weenest thou) To learne to mourne her lost make? No, no, each Creature by nature can tell how to waile. Seest not these flocks, how sad they wander now? Seemeth their leaders bell their bleating tunes In dolefull sound. Like him, not one doth faile With hanging head to shew a heauie heavie cheare, What bird (I pray thee) hast thou seen, that prunes Himselfe of late? did any cheerfull note Come to thine eares, or gladsome sight appeare Vnto Unto thine eies, since that same fatall howre? Hath not the aire put on his mourning coat, And testfied his grief with flowing teares? Sith then, it seemeth each thing to his powre Doth vs us inuite invite to make a sad consort; Come let vs us ioyne joyne our mournfull song with theirs. Griefe will endite, and sorrow will enforce Thy voice, and Eccho will our words report. Lyc. Though my rude rymes, ill with thy verses (frame, That others farre excell; yet will I force My selfe to answere thee the best I can, And honor my base words with his high name. But if my plaints annoy thee where thou sit In secret shade or cave; vouchsafe (O Pan) To pardon me, and here this hard constraint With patience while I sing, and pittie it. H3 With And eke ye rurall Muses, that do dwell In these wilde woods; If euer ever piteous plaint We did endite, or taught a wofull minde VVith With words of pure affect, his griefe to tell, Instruct me now. Now Colin then goe on, And I will follow thee, though farre behinde. Colin. Phillisides is dead. O harmfull death, O deadly harme. Vnhappie Unhappie Albion VVhen When shalt thou see emong thy shepheards all, Any so sage, so perfect? VVhom Whom vneath uneath Enuie Envie could touch for vertuous life and skill; Curteous, valiant, and liberall. Behold the sacred Pales, where with haire Vntrust Untrust she sitts, in shade of yonder hill. And her faire face bent sadly downe, doth send A floud of teares to bathe the earth; and there Doth call the heau’ns heav’ns despightfull, enuious envious , Cruell his fate, that made so short an end Of that same life, well worthie to haue have bene Prolongd with many yeares, happie and famous. The Nymphs and Oreades her round about Do sit lamenting on the grassie grene; And with shrill cries, beating their whitest brests, Accuse the direfull dart that death sent out To giue give the fatall stroke. The starres they blame, That deafe or carelesse seeme at their request. The pleasant shade of stately groues groves they shun; They leaue leave their cristall springs, where they wont frame Sweet bowres of Myrtel twigs and Lawrel faire, To sport themselues themselves free from the scorching Sun. And now the hollow caues caves where horror darke Doth dwell, whence banisht is the gladsome aire They seeke; and there in mourning spend their time Eke With wailfull tunes, whiles wolues wolves do howle and (barke, And seem to beare a bourdon to their plaint. Lyc. Phillisides is dead. O dolefull ryme. Why should my toong expresse thee? who is left Now to vphold uphold thy hopes, when they do faint, Lycon vnfortunate unfortunate ? What spitefull fate, What lucklesse destinie hath thee bereft Of thy chief comfort; of thy onely stay? Where is become thy wonted happie state, (Alas) wherein through many a hill and dale, Through pleasant woods, and many an vnknowne unknowne (way, Along the bankes of many siluer silver streames, Thou with him yodest; and with him didst scale The craggie rocks of th’Alpes and Appenine? Still with the Muses sporting, while those beames Of vertue kindled in his noble brest, Which after did so gloriously forth shine? But (woe is me) they now yquenched are All suddeinly, and death hath them opprest. Loe father Neptune, with sad countenance, How he sitts mourning on the strond now bare, Yonder, where th’Ocean with his rolling waues waves The white feete washeth (wailing this mischance) Of Douer Dover cliffes. His sacred skirt about The sea-gods all are set; from their moist caues caves All for his comfort gathered there they be. The Thamis rich, the Humber rough and stout, The fruitfull Seuerne Severne , with the rest are come To helpe their Lord to mourne, and eke to see The dolefull sight, and sad pomp funerall Of the dead corps passing through his kingdome. And all their heads with Cypres gyrlonds crown’d With wofull shrikes salute him great and small. (VVhose (Whose Eke wailfull Eccho, forgetting her deare Narcissus, their last accents, doth resownd. Col. Phillisides is dead. O lucklesse age; O widow world; O brookes and fountains cleere; O hills, O dales, O woods that oft haue have rong With his sweet caroling, which could asswage The fiercest wrath of Tygre or of Beare. Ye Siluans Silvans , Fawnes, and Satyres, that emong These thickets oft haue have daunst after his pipe, Ye Nymphs and Nayades with golden heare, That oft haue have left your purest cristall springs To harken to his layes, that coulden wipe Away all griefe and sorrow from your harts. Alas who now is left that like him sings? When shall you heare againe like harmonie? So sweet a sownd, who to you now imparts? Loe where engraued engraved by his hand yet liues lives The name of Stella, in yonder bay tree. Happie name, happie tree; faire may you grow, And spred your sacred branch, which honor giues gives , To famous Emperours, and Poets crowne. Vnhappie Unhappie flock that wander scattred now, What maruell marvell if through grief ye woxen leane, Forsake your food, and hang your heads adowne? For such a shepheard neuer never shall you guide, whose parting, hath of weale bereft you cleane. Lyc. Phillisides is dead. O happie sprite, That now in heau’n heav’n with blessed soules doest bide: Looke down a while from where thou sitst aboue above , And see how busie shepheards be to endite Sad songs of grief, their sorrowes to declare, And gratefull memory of their kynd loue love . Behold my selfe with Colin, gentle swaine (Whose lerned Muse thou cherisht most whyleare) Where we thy name recording, seeke to ease The inward torment and tormenting paine, That thy departure to vs us both hath bred; Ne can each others sorrow yet appease. Behold the fountains now left desolate, And withred grasse with cypres boughes be spred, Behold these floures which on thy graue grave we strew; Which faded, shew the giuers givers faded state, (Though eke they shew their feruẽt fervẽt feruent fervent zeale & and pure) VVhose Whose onely comfort on thy welfare grew. Whose praiers importune shall the heau’s heav’s for ay, That to thy ashes, rest they may assure: That learnedst shepheards honor may thy name With yeerly praises, and the Nymphs alway Thy tomb may deck with fresh & and sweetest flowres; And that for euer ever may endure thy fame. Colin. The Sun (lo) hastned hath his face to steep In western waues waves : and th’aire with stormy showres Warnes vs us to driue drive homewards our silly sheep, Lycon, lett’s rise, and take of them good keep. Virtute summa: cætera fortuna. L. B.