Nor Doris, that lass that drew the swains to behold her, Not one amongst all these, nor all should gain any graces,

But Rosamond alone, to herself should have her Alexis. Now, to revenge the perjur'd vows of faithless Alexis, Pan, great Pan, that heard'st his oaths, and mighty Diana,

You Dryades, and watery Nymphs that sport by the fountains,

Fair Tempe, the gladsome grove of greatest Apollo, Shrubs and dales and neighbouring hills, that heard when he swore him,

Witness all, and seek to revenge the wrongs of a virgin!
Had any swain been lief to me but guileful Alexis,
Had Rosamond twin'd myrtle boughs, or rosemary
branches,

Sweet hollyhock, or else daffodil, or slips of a bay-tree,
And given them for a gift to any swain but Alexis,
Well had Alexis done t' have left his rose for a giglot :
But Galate ne'er lov'd more dear her lovely Menalcas,
Than Rosamond did dearly love her trothless Alexis;
Endymion was ne'er beloved of his Cytherea,
Half so dear as true Rosamond belov'd her Alexis.
Now, seely lass, hie down to the lake, haste down to
the willows,

And with those forsaken twigs go make thee a chaplet; Mournful sit, and sigh by the springs, by the brooks, by the rivers,

Till thou turn for grief, as did Niobe, to a marble; Melt to tears, pour out thy plaints, let Echo reclaim

them,

How Rosamond that loved so dear is left of Alexis. Now die, die, Rosamond! let men engrave o' thy

tomb-stone,

Here lies she that loved so dear the youngster Alexis,
Once beloved, forsaken late of faithless Alexis,
Yet Rosamond did die for love, false-hearted Alexis !

PHILADOR'S ODE

THAT HE LEFT WITH THE DESPAIRING LOVER.

WHEN merry autumn in her prime,
Fruitful mother of swift time,
Had filled Ceres' lap with store
Of vines and corn, and mickle more
Such needful fruits as do grow
From Terra's bosom here below;
Tityrus did sigh, and see
With heart's grief and eyes' gree,
Eyes and heart both full of woes,
Where Galate his lover goes.
Her mantle was vermilion red;
A gaudy chaplet on her head,
A chaplet that did shroud the beams
That Phoebus on her beauty streams,
For sun itself desir'd to see

So fair a nymph as was she,
For, viewing from the east to west
Fair Galate did like him best.
Her face was like to welkin's shine;
Crystal brooks such were her* eyne,
And yet within those brooks were fires
That scorched youth and his desires.
Galate did much impair

Venus' honour for her fair;†
For stately stepping, Juno's pace,
By Galate did take disgrace;

*her] The 4to. "his."

+ fair] See note vol. i. p. 61.

And Pallas' wisdom bare no prize Where Galate would shew her wise. This gallant girl thus passeth by, Where Tityrus did sighing lie, Sighing sore, for love strains More than sighs from lovers' veins : Tears in eye, thought in heart, Thus his grief he did impart. Fair Galate, but glance thine eye; Here lies he, that here must die, For love is death, if love not gain Lover's salve for lover's pain. Winters seven and more are past, Since on thy face my thoughts I cast: When Galate did haunt the plains, And fed her sheep amongst the swains, When every shepherd left his flocks To gaze on Galate's fair locks, When every eye did stand at gaze, When heart and thought did both amaze,

When heart from body would asunder,

On Galate's fair face to wonder ;

Then amongst them all did I

Catch such a wound, as I must die
If Galate oft say not thus,
I love the shepherd Tityrus.
'Tis love, fair nymph, that doth pain
Tityrus, thy truest swain ;

True, for none more true can be
Than still to love, and none but thee.
Say, Galate, oft smile and say,
"Twere pity love should have a nay;
But such a word of comfort give,
And Tityrus thy love shall live:
Or with a piercing frown reply,
I cannot live, and then I die,

For lover's nay is lover's death,

And heart-break frowns do* stop the breath.
Galate at this arose,

And with a smile away she goes,
As one that little car'd to ease
Tityr, pain'd with love's disease.
At her parting, Tityrus
Sigh'd amain, and sayed thus:
O, that women are so fair,

To trap men's eyes in their hair,
With beauteous eyes, love's fires,
Venus' sparks that heat + desires!
But O, that women have such hearts,
Such thoughts, and such deep-piercing darts,
As in the beauty of their eye

Harbour nought but flattery!

Their tears are drawn that drop deceit,
Their faces calends of all sleight,
Their smiles are lures, their looks guile,
And all their love is but a wile.
Then, Tityr, leave, leave, Tityrus,
To love such as scorns you thus;
And say to love and women both,
What I lik'd, now I do loath.
With that he hied him to the flocks,
And counted love but Venus' mocks.

*do] The 4to. "doth."

t heat] The 4to. "heates."

THE SONG

OF A COUNTRY SWAIN AT THE RETURN OF PHILADOR.

THE silent shade had shadow'd every tree,
And Phœbus in the west was shrouded low;
Each hive had home her busy labouring bee,
Each bird the harbour of the night did know :
Even then,

When thus

All things did from their weary labour lin,*
Menalcas sate and thought him of his sin :

His head on hand, his elbow on his knee ;
And tears like dew, be-drench'd upon his face,
His face as sad as any swain's might be ;
His thoughts and dumps befitting well the place;
Even then,

When thus

Menalcas sate in passions all alone,

He sighed then, and thus he 'gan to moan.

I that fed flocks upon Thessalia plains,

And bade my lambs to feed on daffodil,

That liv'd on milk and curds, poor shepherds' gains, And merry sate, and pip'd upon a pleasant hill; Even then,

When thus

I sate secure, and fear'd not Fortune's ire,
Mine eyes eclips'd, fast blinded by desire.

Then lofty thoughts began to lift my mind,
I grudg'd and thought my fortune was too low;
A shepherd's life 'twas base and out of kind
The tallest cedars have the fairest grow:

Even then,

When thus

lin] i. e. cease.