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And Syrinx rejoyse that ever was her lot

To bear 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.


Bring hether the pinke and purple cul


With gelliflowres;
Bring coronations, and sops in wine,

Worne of paramoures:
Strowe me the ground with daffadown-

dillies, And cowslips, and kingcups, and loved

lillies :
The pretie pawnce,

And the chevisaunce
Shall match with the fayre flowre delice.

I see Calliope speede her to the place,

Where my goddesse shines;
And after her the other Muses trace,

With their violines.
Bene they not bay braunches which they

do beare, All for Elisa in her hand to weare?

So sweetely they play,

And sing all the way, That it a heaven is to heare.

Now ryse up, Elisa, decked as thou art

In royall array; And now ye daintie damsells may depart

Eche one her way. I feare I have troubled your troupes to

longe : Let dame Elisa thanke you for her song:

And if you come hether

When damsines I gether,
I will part them all you among.


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 even? Let that rowme to my Lady be yeven:

She shal be a Grace,

To fyll the fourth place, And reigne with the rest in heaven. And whither rennes this bevie of ladies


Raunged in a rowe? They bene all ladyes of the lake behight,

That unto her goe. Chloris, that is the chiefest nymph of all, Of olive braunches beares the coronall :

Olives bene for peace,

When wars doe surcease:
Such for a princess bene principall.

a Ye shepheards daughters, that dwell on

the greene,

Hye you there apace: Let none come there but that virgins bene,

To adorne her grace: And, when you come whereas shee is in

place, See that your rudenesse doe not you

Binde your fillets faste,

And gird in your waste,
For more finenesse, with a tawdrie lace.

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no moe

The sonne of all the world is dimme and And give him curds and clouted darke:

creame. The earth now lacks her wonted light, O heavie herse! And all we dwell in deadly night. Als Colin Cloute she would not once O heavie herse!

disdayne; Breake we our pypes, that shrild as lowde O carefull verse!

as larke; O carefull verse!

But nowe sike happy cheere is turnd to

heavie chaunce, Why doe we longer live, (ah! why live we Such pleasaunce now displast by dolours so long?)

dint: Whose better dayes death hath shut up in All musick sleepes, where death doth woe?

leade the daunce, The fayrest floure our gyrlond all emong And shepheards wonted solace is extinct. Is faded quite, and into dust ygoe.

The blew in black, the greene in gray is Sing now, ye shepheards daughters, sing


The gaudie girlonds deck her grave, The songs that Colin made you in her The faded flowres her corse embrave. praise,

O heavie herse! But into weeping turne your wanton Morne nowe, my Muse, now morne with layes.

teares besprint; O heavie herse!

O carefull verse ! Nowe is time to dye: nay, time was long ygoe:

O thou great shepheard, Lobbin, how great O carefull verse !

is thy griefe!

Where bene the nosegayes that she dight Whence is it, that the flouret of the field

for thee? doth fade,

The coloured chaplets wrought with a And lyeth buryed long in winters bale;

chiefe. Yet, soone as spring his mantle hath dis- The knotted rush-ringes, and gilt roseplayde,

maree? It floureth fresh, as it should never fayle? For shee deemed nothing too deere for But thing on earth that is of most availe,

thee. As vertues braunch and beauties Ah! they bene all yclad in clay; budde,

One bitter blast blewe all away. Reliven not for any good.

O heavie herse! O heavie herse!

Thereof nought remaynes

but the The braunch once dead, the budde eke

memoree; needes must quaile;

O carefull verse! O carefull verse!

Ay me! that dreerie death should strike She, while she was, (that was, a woful word so mortall stroke, to sayne !)

That can undoe Dame Natures kindly For beauties prayse and plesaunce had no

course; peere;

The faded lockes fall from the loftie oke, So well she couth the shepheards enter- The flouds do gaspe, for dryed is theyr tayne

sourse, With cakes and cracknells, and such And flouds of teares flowe in theyr stead country chere:

perforse: Ne would she scorne the simple shepheards The mantled medowes mourne, swaine;

Theyr sondry colours tourne. For she wold cal him often heame,

O heavie herse!

The heavens doe melt in teares without But maugre death, and dreaded sisters remorse ;

deadly spight, O carefull verse!

And gates of hel, and fyre furies forse,

She hath the bonds broke of eternall night, The feeble flocks in field refuse their former Her soule unbodied of the burdenous foode,

corpse. And hang theyr heads as they would learne Why then weepes Lobbin so without to weepe;

remorse? The beastes in forest wayle as they were O Lobb! thy losse no longer lament; woode,

Dido nis dead, but into heaven hent. Except the wolves, that chase the wand

O happye herse! ring sheepe,

Cease now, my Muse, now cease thy Now she is gone that safely did hem

sorrowes sourse ; keepe:

O joyfull verse! The turtle on the bared braunch Laments the wound that death did Why wayle we then? why weary we the launch.

Gods with playnts, O heavie herse!

As if some evill were to her betight? And Philomele her song with teares doth She raignes a goddesse now emong the steepe;

saintes, O carefull verse!

That whilome was the saynt of shepheards

light, The water nymphs, that wont with her to And is enstalled nowe in heavens hight. sing and daunce,

I see thee, blessed soule, I see
And for her girlond olive braunches beare, Walke in Elisian fieldes so free.
Nowe balefull boughes of cypres doen O happye herse!

Might I once come to thee, (O that I The Muses, that were wont greene bayes might!) to weare,

O joyfull verse!
Now bringen bitter eldre braunches seare;
The fatall sisters eke repent

Unwise and wretched men, to weete whats Her vitall threde so soone was spent.

good or ill, O heavie herse!

We deeme of death as doome of ill Morne now, my Muse, now morne with

desert; heavy cheare,

But knewe we, fooles, what it us bringes O carefull verse !


Dye would we dayly, once it to expert! O! trustlesse state of earthly things, and No daunger there the shepheard can slipper hope

astert; Of mortal men, that swincke and sweate Fayre fieldes and pleasaunt layes there

for nought, And, shooting wide, doe misse the marked The fieldes ay fresh, the grasse ay scope;

greene. Now have I learnd, a lesson derely O happy herse! bought,

Make haste, ye shepheards, thether to That nys on earth assuraunce to be sought;

revert :
For what might be in earthlie mould, O joyfull verse!
That did her buried body hould.
O heavie herse!

Dido is gone afore; whose turn shall be the Yet saw I on the beare when it was

next? brought;

There lives shee with the blessed Gods in O carefull verse !



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