THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER by EDMUND SPENSER Digitized by Richard Bear for the SCRIPTORUM Project. Posted to Wiretap July 1994. This text is noncommercially distributable. The Shepheardes Calender [1579] Edmund Spenser Transcribed by Richard S. Bear, University of Oregon, Winter 1993, From the John C. Nimmo facsimile (London, 1895) of the British Museum copy of the first edition. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Note on this e-text edition. This etext edition of /The Shepheardes Calender/ derives from the John C. Nimmo facsimile (London, 1895) of the British Museum copy of the first edition of 1579. It has been carefully compared with the Variorum edition (Baltimore: 1943) and the Oxford edition (Smith and De Selincourt) of 1935. Long "s" has been modernized, "vv" has been replaced by "w", and catchwords have been omitted. Capital vowel-ligatures and ornamental initial letters are indicated by capitalization of the first two characters (e.g. "AEgloga"). Sixteenth century usage of "i" for "j" and of "u" and "v" has been retained, along with the original spelling. Text found in the original in Greek has been transliterated within brackets. A few printer's errors have been emended, also within brackets. Some, though not all, italics are indicated within slashes; many italics, such as those which were used for proper names, have been omitted. (In the original, the "argument" for each month is in italics, the poem is in black letter, and the gloss by E.K. is in roman type.) Pagination is in the form of folio numbers in the upper right corner of right hand pages; these are here indicated within the text within angle brackets. /The Shepheardes Calender/ is a carefully planned visual experience which cannot be fully represented by this text-only edition; The twelve woodcuts are here described within boxes in their proper locations within the text, but readers not familiar with them are urged to see them in a paper edition. Anyone desiring to create a "second" edition containing graphic files, should certainly feel free to do so. Please send the editor of the current edition a copy of any modified version. The copyright for this etext (1993) is owned by the University of Oregon; it is distributed for scholarly and teaching purposes only. It is anticipated that linguistic or statistical studies of the text may require removal of leading spaces, letterspacing, folios, and matter enclosed within brackets and boxes. 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Attribution for the original transcription must be retained. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Introduction Edmund Spenser Born in or near 1552 to a family of small means, Edmund Spenser attended the Merchant Taylor's School under Richard Mulcaster, and went to Cambridge, about 1569-76, as a sizar of Pembroke Hall, where he befriended Gabriel Harvey. He took his Bachelor's degree in 1573 and his Master's in 1576. By 1578 he was serving as secretary to Bishop John Young, in Kent, the landscape of which is frequently mentioned in /The Shepheardes Calender/. Entering into employment by the Earl of Leicester the following year, Spenser became friends with Philip Sidney, Edward Dyer, and Fulke Greville; they formed a literary group called by Spenser the "Areopagus," and their talents were enlisted in supporting the cause of the Leicester faction in matters of religion and politics (Heninger xii-xiii). /The Shepheardes Calender/ appeared at the end of the year, in time to serve as, among other things, propaganda for the Leicester position on the Queen's proposed marriage with the Duc d'Alencon. The following year he began work on /The Faerie Queene/, and entered the employ of Lord Grey of Wilton, Lord Deputy of Ireland. In 1581 Spenser was appointed Clerk in Chancery for Faculties, and soon after befriended Sir Walter Ralegh, whose estate was not far from his own. The year 1589 saw Spenser's return to London, partly to oversee the publication of the first three books of /The Faerie Queene/. Soon thereafter the /Daphnaida/ and the /Complaints/ also appeared. After two years Spenser returned to Ireland, where he courted and married Elizabeth Boyle, and continued to produce a number of works, including the /Amoretti/ and /Epithalamion/, /Colin Clouts Come Home Againe/, /Fowre Hymnes/, and /Prothalamion/. An edition of /The Faerie Queene/, Books I-VI, appeared in 1596. The Stationers Register carries an entry for /A Vewe of the present state of Irelande/ in April, 1598, but this did not appear until 1633. A general uprising of the Irish forced Spenser to flee to London in 1598, where he brought correspondence from Sir Thomas Norris to the Privy Council; a few weeks later, January 13th, 1599, he died in Westminster and was buried in Westminster Abbey. The /Cantos of Mutabilitie/ first appeared in the edition of /The Faerie Queene/ of 1609 (MacLean xv-xvi). /The Shepheardes Calender/ /The Shepheardes Calender/, published anonymously in 1579 by Hugh Singleton, consists of twelve eclogues named for the twelve months, comprising together a year symbolic, in its turning of the seasons, of the whole of human life. The work is greatly expanded by introductory matter and glosses, written by one E.K., and each eclogue is preceded by a carefully designed woodcut and followed by a motto or "embleme" summing up the attitude of each speaker. Models for the poem include Theocritus, Virgil, Mantuan, and Marot, and the style is influenced by, among others, Chaucer and Skelton. Chaucer, indeed, is the one poet to whom Spenser acknowledges a direct debt (De Selincourt xvii); he strives for a language more purely English than the "gallimaufry and hodge podge of al other speeches" which the literary diction of England had become. Although Spenser's language and rhythm is or attempts to be that of Chaucer, his precedent for the pastoral form is that of debut efforts of antiquity: Virgil, for example, whose /Aeneid/ begins by acknowledging the pastoral apprenticeship. E.K. notes the tradition: ...and as young birdes, that be newly crept out of the nest, by little first to proue theyr tender wyngs, before they make a greater flyght. So flew Theocritus, as you may percieue he was all ready full fledged. So flew Virgile, as not yet well feeling his winges So flew Mantuane, as being not full somd. So Petrarque. So Boccace; So Marot, Sanazarus, and also diuers other excellent both Italian and French Poetes, whose foting this Author euery where followeth, yet so as few, but they be well sented can trace him out. E.K. predicts that Spenser, "our new Poete...shall be hable to keepe wing with the best," a foreshadowing of the appearance of /The Faerie Queene/. Five editions of /The Shepheardes Calender/ appeared in the years 1579- 1597, proving its staying power despite the topicality of its allegories. In the years since, the work has provoked considerable critical disagreement, with contrary estimations of its success, the meaning of its arrangement, the identities of the voices of the eclogues and of the protagonists of their fables, the extent to which E.K. himself is but a /persona/ of Spenser, and the extent to which the poem reaches beyond topical allegory into expression of Spenser's poetical and patriotic vision. On the success of the poem there can be no doubt. Though its diction demands even more effort from us than from its contemporary readers, the rewards remain very great. /Aprill/ offers a marvelously lyrical "laye" in honor of the Queen: 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. /Maye/ provides, in its fable, finely observed description and characterization: But the false Foxe came to the dore anone: Not as a Foxe, for then he had be kend, But all as a poore pedlar 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 sweet Saint Charitee, That some good body woulde once pitie mee. /October/ delves into the "great matter" of poetic inspiration: 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 captiue corage to aspire, For lofty loue doth loath a lowly eye. /Nouember/ contains the memorable lyrical elegiac of "some mayden of great bloud, whom he calleth Dido": Whence is it, that the flouret of the field doth fade, And lyeth buryed long in Winters bale: Yet soone as spring his mantle hath displayd, It floureth fresh, as it should neuer fayle? But thing on earth that is of most auaile, 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. /December/ beautifully gathers the threads of the poem's life and ties them in the circle of a year, as the poet imagines himself in old age regretful of a misspent life: 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 turned to scathe. Of all the seede, that in my youth was sowne, Was nought but brakes and brambles to be mowne. Although its mode is classical pastoral, the arrangement of /The Shepheardes Calender/ has two sources: one is the ancient almanac, /The Kalender of Sheepehards/, to which E.K. alludes, remarking that Spenser applied "an olde name to a new worke." The other source is the vogue for Emblem Books in Elizabethan times. Each of the twelve woodcuts forms part of a whole impression of the year, yet each easily stands alone with its eclogue as an enclosed work. The cyclical pattern of the "monethes" -- name, woodcut, argument, eclogue, "embleme," gloss -- is enhanced by the repetition of graphic elements: argument in italics, eclogue in black letter, glosses in roman type. All this local variation helps to unify the whole, as it is the same throughout. The effect is to bring the reader simultaneously to an awareness of the present moment and of the cycle of months and years throughout eternity. In this way, even the weakest moments of the verse are vested with the grandeur of timelessness. That the eclogues are allegorical and topical is asserted by E.K. himself, and some of the voices are by him deliberately identified: Colin Clout (the name is from Skelton) is Spenser, Hobbinol represents Gabriel Harvey, and "the worthy whom she [the Queen] loved best" is the Earl of Leicester. Of the rest there is little agreement. Rosalind, Colin's great love, has been the object of much exasperated speculation. In recent years the whole effort to assign names of historical persons to these /personae/ has come to be regarded as misguided, but I think that, provided we remember that identifications are /always/ provisional, they serve two complementary purposes: one, we are forced, in considering candidates, to observe the work closely and critically, and to study attentively the history of a complex and fascinating period; two, we come to realize the rich multiplicity of readings an allegorical work can support, particularly in a culture steeped in typological readings of its classics and scriptures. Paul E. McLane, writing in 1961, sought to identify dozens of Spenser's allegorical figures and topical allusions. In /Januarye/, for example, he sees the famous Rosalind as Elizabeth I herself. Colin represents not merely Spenser the poet, but the people of England, rejected by her in her apparently reckless consideration of the French marriage. In /Februarie/, the Oake is Leicester, the Brier the Earl of Oxford, the Husbandman is Elizabeth I. /Maye/'s Foxe is Esme Stuart, Duc D'Aubigny, the Kidd is King James of Scotland, and the Gate (Scottish for goat) is George Buchanan, the young King's tutor. /October/'s Cuddie is Edward Dyer, a member of the Areopagus, whose poetry finds acceptation but no patronage at Court, while Piers, who suggests to Cuddie that he try composing epics starring the Queen and the Earl of Leicester, is John Piers, bishop of Salisbury and friend of Leicester. The "mayden of great bloud" in /Nouember/, called Dido, is Elizabeth I, "dead" to her people because of the impending French marriage; Lobbin the chief mourner is the Earl of Leicester. McLane's analysis presents /The Shepheardes Calender/ as another in the long series of propaganda pieces originating with the Leicester faction, including works by Sidney, Gascoigne and Dyer. Like Sidney's May Lady entertainment, Spenser's cautionary tales may be read as concerned mainly with the danger of the Queen's proposed marriage to a Catholic Frenchman. A strong piece of evidence supporting McLane's interpretation is the anonymous publication of Spenser's book: if the point of the allegory is to warn against Catholicism generally, it can hardly be dangerous for the author to be known. Yet it was not generally known that Spenser was the author for nearly a decade after the book first appeared (Heninger x). Spenser's printer, the radical Puritan propagandist Hugh Singleton, had in August or September of 1579 brought out /The Discoverie of a Gaping Gulf Whereinto England Is Like To Be Swallowed by Another French Marriage, If the Lord Forbid Not the Banes, by Letting her Maiestie See the Sin and Punishment Thereof/ by John Stubbs. Stubbs, his publisher William Page, and Singleton were all arrested and sentenced to have their right hands cut off. The sentence was carried out in November upon Stubbs and Page, but someone at Court procured a pardon for Singleton, who appears to have been a peripheral member of the Leicester group as well as a returned Marian exile. Undeterred, Singleton produced /The Shepheardes Calender/ within a month of his narrow escape. Not until January of 1580 did Elizabeth write to Alencon to tell him the marriage was not to be (McLane 18-19). Yet it is always possible to overshoot the mark in discovering specific referents in allegory. While everyone knew that pastorals were intended "under the vaile of homely persons and in rude speeches to insinuate and glaunce at greater matters" (Puttenham, /Arte of English Poesy/), they also understood that the "glaunce" was done through layers of accessible meaning that have their own validity. Without this validity the work could not serve as the protection to its author that it surely was. "The shepherd's cloak was the acknowledged disguise of the lover, the poet, the pastor of souls, the critic of contemporary life" (De Selincourt xv.). Pan might represent, at various places in the text, a Greek god, Henry VIII, the divine patron of poets, or (as pointed out several times by E.K.) Christ. The uncertainty, in any given passage, as to any character's precise identity not only gives some protection to the author but deepens and enriches the texture of the eclogues, and rewards repeated readings with the dawning of new possibilities. The problem of E.K. has been "resolved" many times. Edward Kirke, who attended Cambridge at the same time as Spenser, and was also a friend of Gabriel Harvey, was for many years regarded as the obvious choice (De Selincourt xiv.), but it could have been no safer to sign one's own initials to the sometimes heavily polemical glosses than to the eclogues. In recent years the preferred assumption has been that Spenser himself is E.K. (Sommer 8), and this is supported by many internal and external evidences. A notable one is given by Sommer (23): in the gloss on /Maye/, E.K. quotes Sardanapalus as rendered by Cicero: Haec habui quae edi, quaeque exaturata libido Hausit, at illa manent multa ac praeclara relicta. and translates him into English thus: All that I eate did I ioye, and all that I greedily gorged: As for those many goodly matters left I for others. Sommer notes that in a letter to Harvey dated 10 April 1580, Spenser sends him verses in Latin-style hexameters, and adds: Seeme they comparable to those two which I translated you extempore in bed, the last time we lay togither in Westminster? That which I eate did I joy, and that which I greedily gorged, As for those many goodly matters leaft I for others. Yet this is not proof that Spenser is E.K.; it is at best evidence that Spenser was on the committee that created and sustained him. Arguments have been advanced for every member of the Areopagus, including Sidney, Harvey, and more recently Fulke Greville (McLane 280-95). In the end, we are left with no more of E.K. than the Areopagites have given us, and they protected his identity for the remainder of their lives. What we have of him, however, can afford to stand on its own. His contribution is a highly interesting text that forms an integral part of /The Shepheardes Calender/, amplifying the gist of the eclogues as needed, fine tuning our sense of the poet's technical attainment, erudition, and allegorical intent, yet at the same time deliberately adding confusion where it is needed, in order to distract powerful and potentially vindictive readers. In his "Argument" to /Februarie/, which contains a detailed allegory of court intrigue, E.K. carefully draws attention to the "literal" sense in which the tale may be taken: For as in this time of yeare, so then in our bodies there is a dry & withering cold, which congealeth the crudled blood, and frieseth the wetherbeaten 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 lively, and so feelingly, as if the thing were set forth in some Picture before our eyes, more plainly could not appeare. After we have read the eclogue, we might expect some exegesis of the veiled meaning from E.K., but he sticks, with tongue in cheek, to his obfuscation: This tale of the Oake and the Brere, he telleth as learned of Chaucer, but it is cleane in another kind, and rather like to Aesopes fables. It is very excellente for pleasaunt descriptions, being altogether a certaine Icon or Hypotyposis of disdainfull younkers. The poetic aims of /The Shepheardes Calender/ are multiple: Spenser seeks to recover a native voice, and to warn his nation and his Queen of dangers to England and to the English Church from within and without. He seeks his own place in the affairs of his country, and a place among men of letters. Diverse as these aims may seem, they do not destroy the unity of his work, and even the garrulous E.K. presents no real threat to it. This is because there is one aim which Spenser regards as the highest, and he never loses sight of it even when addressing himself to the most current of current events. This aim will sustain him through the composition of /The Faerie Queene/ and will become most evident, perhaps, in the unfinished Mutabilitie Cantos. Spenser's great aim is that of all poets: the defeat of death. This is a battle one cannot win individually, but the possibilities are greater for a collective effort, and E.K. explains the poet's role in the collective, or public, arena: Plato...sayth, that the first inuention of Poetry was of very vertuous intent. For...some learned man being more hable then the rest, for speciall gyftes of wytte and Musicke, would take vpon him to sing fine verses to the people, in prayse eyther of vertue or of victory or of immortality or such like. At whose wonderful gyft al men being astonied and as it were rauished, with delight, thinking (as it was indeede) that he was inspired from aboue, called him vatem. This agrees with Sidney, who in /The Defence of Poesie/ asserts: Among the Romans a poet was called /vates/, which is as much as a diviner, foreseer, or prophet (Duncan-Jones 214). For Sidney and Spenser, the role of the poet is to bring divine instruction from the heavenly sphere into our own fallen realm, and so raise up the minds of men into such semblance of divinity as may be possible for them, and by that much defeat the Fall. Thus it is the poet's business to teach, through divine inspiration, virtue above all, for virtues are public enactments of what in scripture is called righteousness, the doing of God's work in the world. The Redcrosse Knight does not defeat the dragon for himself, but for us all. His prowess is not his own, but God's gift to him and to us for the defeat of fallenness, a figure for entropy. This giving or sharing of means to defeat entropy, or death, is called by the theologians /grace/, and is the cornerstone of Spenser's poetic vision of knighthood and civility as the means to bring in a new Golden Age. Spenser is well aware of the might of the opposition. The beauty of the present moment faces the "great enmity" of ...wicked Time, who with his scyth addrest, Does mow the flowring herbes and goodly things, And all their glory to the ground downe flings, Where they doe wither, and are fowly mard: He flyes about, and with his flaggy wings Beates downe both leaues and buds without regard, Ne euer pittie may relent his malice hard (FQ III.vi.39). There can be no successful /private/ reply to such an assault. Time destroys all moments in the world of mutability. Divine moments, however, are from beyond Time and safe from his power. The prophetic moment of Poesy, like that of the inspired prophets of Israel, accepts divine grace and distributes it to the community with rhetorical exhortation to carry out the instructions encoded in the divine gift. Spenser is best known for his effort to pass on these instructions through epic, in the superhuman efforts of the Faerie Queene's knights to beat back darkness. It is a stirring image. But I would argue that he is actually more successful in his vatic vocation when he is in the pastoral mode, for the deliberate lowliness of his shepherds is accessible to those of us who lack the prowess of a Britomart or an Artegall. It is his unarmed Colin Clout whose piping informs the dance of the Graces seen by Sir Calidore in the sixth book of the /Faerie Queene/: Of a shrill pipe he playing heard on hight, And many feete fast thumping th'hollow ground, That through the woods their Eccho did rebound. He nigher drew, to weete what mote it be; There he a troupe of Ladies dancing found Full merrily, and making gladful glee, And in the midst a Shepheard piping he did see (FQ VI.x.10). The vision is explained to Sir Calidore by the shepherd thus: These three on men all gracious gifts bestow, Which decke the body or adorne the mynde, To make them louely or well fauoured show, As comely carriage, entertainement kynde, Sweet semblaunt, friendly offices that bynde, And all the complements of curtesie: They teach vs, how to each degree and kynde We should our selves demeane, to low, to hie; To friends, to foes, which skill men call Ciuility. Therefore they alwaies smoothly seeme to smile, That we likewise should mylde and gentle be, And also naked are, that without guile Or false dissemblaunce all them plaine may see, Simple and true from couert malice free: And eeke them selues so in their daunce they bore, That two of them still froward seem'd to bee, But one still towards shew'd her selfe afore; That good should from vs goe, then come in greater store (FQ VI.x.23-4). This passage is at the heart of Spenser's message in his great poem, for it sums up the one rule central to both the Classical and Christian traditions of accepting, and passing on, divine grace, and the one means of defeating entropy on the social scale: treat others as you yourself wish to be treated. This is to be understood in Spenser's context of rigidly defined /degrees/ of social position: honor those who are above you and below you in the hierarchy. Kindness is particularly to be offered to those below, as divine grace to us all is seen as a mimetic progression of /imitatio Christi/ from the top of society to its lowest level. Divine inspiration comes through poets, but not poets alone: the sovereign, chosen by God to be both the head and the personification of the State, bears the highest responsibility and indeed must be, for the sake of stability, the most gracious of all. It is in /The Shepheardes Calender/ that Spenser first broaches his great theme: Lo how finely the graces can it foote to the Instrument: They daucen deffly, and singen soote, in their merriment. 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. The Graces are graceful. That is, their actions exemplify the best that form (of which Time is the enemy) has to offer. They are divine beings, for their abode is heaven; therefore their gracefulness cannot be flung to the ground, nor beaten with flaggy wings, nor cruelly scythed. Elisa, the Queen of England, is offered a place among them, to "reigne with the rest in heauen." Here, beyond the reach of Time, she may continue to represent the high and public virtue of Civility, as glossed by E.K.: The Graces....make three, to wete, that men first ought to be gracious & bountiful to other freely, then to receiue benefits at other mens hands curteously, and thirdly to requite them thankfully: which are three sundry Actions in liberalitye. And Boccace saith, that they be painted naked...the one hauing her backe toward vs, and her face fromwarde, as proceeding from vs: the other two toward vs, noting double thanke to be due to vs for the benefit, we haue done. By accepting the place of the fourth Grace, and thus completing the Dance, Elisa will complete the pantheon of the highest circle of the Elizabethan cosmos: the sphere of Immutabilitie. From there, she will be able to defeat the Grim Reaper, reign over England as a new Eden, and recover for all time the Golden Age that was lost. Hobbinol's Embleme for that moment of divinization is explicit: "O dea certe." We are painfully aware, through hindsight, that the Golden Age of Elizabeth was not sustained, if it ever existed. All the principals now lie "wrapt in lead." The poet's allegorical praises were self-serving in that he constructed them to attain his own political and financial ends, and the monarch he praised was one who bent all such praise to the maintenance of a repressive, authoritarian regime. But we must understand that such judgments are no new discovery; with them Spenser himself would have no quarrel. The civility he commends to us he believed in as something from beyond our world of decay, indeed the only immutable gift, and we might do worse than accept its commendation from his pen. --Richard Bear Works cited: De Selincourt, E., and J.C. Smith, ed. _The Poetical Works of Edmund Spenser_. London: OUP, 1935. Duncan-Jones, Katherine. _Sir Philip Sidney_. Oxford: OUP, 1989. Heninger, S.K., Jr., ed. _The Shepheardes Calender_. Delmar, NY: Scholars' Facsimiles & Reprints, 1979. McLane, Paul E. _Spenser's Shepheardes Calender: A Study in Elizabethan Allegory_. Notre Dame, IN: UNDP, 1961. MacLean, Hugh, ed. _Edmund Spenser's Poetry_. New York: Norton, 1968. Puttenham, George. _The Arte of English Poesie_. London, 1589. Sommer, H. Oskar, ed. _The Shepheardes Calender_. London: Nimmo, 1895. Spenser, Edmund. _The Works of Edmund Spenser: A Variorum Edition. The Minor Poems, Volume One_. Henry Gibbons Lotspeich and Charles Grosvenor Osgood, eds. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1943. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- /T H E/ /Shepheardes Calender/ Conteyning tvvelue AEglogues proportionable to the twelve monethes. /Entitled/ T O T H E N O B L E A N D V E R T V- /ous Gentleman most worthy of all titles/ both of learning and cheualrie M. Philip Sidney. ('.') [Printers ornament] 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. 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 fedd: And when his honor has thee redde, Crave 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. Immerito. /T o t h e m o s t e x c e l l e n t a n d l e a r n e d b o t h/ Orator and Poete, Mayster Gabriell Haruey, his verie special and singular good friend E.K. comend- deth the good lyking of this his labour, and the patronage of the new Poete. ('.') VNCOVTHE VNKISTE, Sayde the olde famous Poete Chaucer: whom for his excellencie and wonderfull skil in making, his scholler Lidgate, a worthy scholler of so excellent a maister, calleth the Loadstarre of our Language: and whom our Colin clout in his AEglogue calleth Tityrus the God of shepheards, comparing hym to the worthines of the Roman Tityrus Virgile. Which prouerbe, myne owne good friend Ma. Haruey, as in that good old Poete it serued well Pandares purpose, for the bolstering of his baudy brocage, so very well taketh place in this our new Poete, who for that he is vncouthe (as said Chaucer) is vnkist, and vnknown to most men, is regarded but of few. But I doubt not, so soone as his name shall come into the knowledg of men, and his worthines be sounded in the tromp of fame, but that he shall be not only kiste, but also beloued of all, embraced of the most, and wondred at of the best. No lesse I thinke, deserueth his wittinesse in deuising, his pithinesse in vttering, his complaints of loue so louely, his discourses of pleasure so pleasantly, his pastorall rudenesse, his morall wiseness, his dewe obseruing of Decorum euerye where, in personages, in seasons, in matter, in speach, and generally in al seemely simplicitie of handeling his matter, and framing his words: the which of many thinges which in him be straunge, I know will seeme the straungest, the words them selues being so auncient, the knitting of them so short and intricate, and the whole Periode and compasse of speache so delightsome for the roundnesse, and so graue for the straungenesse. And firste of the wordes to speake, I graunt they be something hard, and of most men vnused, yet both English, and also vsed of most Authors and most famous Poetes. In whom whenas this our Poet hath bene much traueiled and throughly redd, how could it be, (as that worthy Oratour sayde) but that walking in the sonne although for other cause he walked, yet needes he mought be sunburnt: and hauing the sound of those auncient 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 would make his rymes more ragged and rusticall, 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 would say, auctoritie to the verse. For albe amongst many other faultes it specially be obiected of Valla against Liuie, and of other against Saluste, that with ouer much studie they affect antiquitie, as courting thereby 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 and 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 memory fayle not, Tullie in that booke, wherein 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 we 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 and 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 baseness of such parts, more excellency may accrew to the principall; for oftimes we fynde ourselues, I knowe not how, 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 and glorious words. So oftentimes 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 will rashly blame such his purpose in choyse of old and vnwonted words, him may I more iustly blame and condemne, or of witlesse headinesse in iudging, or of heedlesse hardinesse in condemning for not marking the compasse of hys bent, he wil judge of the length of his cast. For in my opinion it is one special prayse, of many which are dew to this Poete, that he hath laboured to restore, as to theyr rightfull heritage such good and naturall English words, as have ben long time out of vse and almost cleane disinherited. Which is the onely cause, that our Mother tonge, which truely of it selfe is both ful enough for prose and stately enough for verse, hath long time ben counted most bare and barrein of both. Which default when as some endeuoured to salue and recure, they patched vp the holes with peces and rags of other languages, borrowing here of the french, there of the Italian, euery where of the Latine, not weighing how il those tongues accorde with themselues, but much worse with ours: So now they have 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 languages, if they happen to here an olde word albeit very naturall and significant, crye out streight way, that we speak no English, but gibbrish, or rather such, as in old time Euanders mother spake. Whose first 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 they so vnderstand not, they streight way deeme to be sencelesse, and not at al to be vnderstode. Much like to the Mole in AEsopes fable, that being blynd her selfe, would in no wise be perswaded, that any beast could see. The last more shameful then both, that of their owne country and natural speach, which together with their Nources milk they sucked, they have so base regard and bastard iudgement that they will not onely themselues not labor to garnish and beautifie it, but also repine, that of other it should be embellished. Like to the dogge in the maunger, that him selfe can eate no hay, and yet barketh at the hungry bullock, that so faine would feede: whose currish kind though it cannot be kept from barking, yet I conne them thanke that they refrain from byting. Now for the knitting of sentences, whych they call the ioynts and members therof, and for al the compasse of the speach, it is round without roughnesse, and learned wythout hardnes, such indeede as may be perceiued of the leaste, vnderstode of the moste, but iudged onely of the learned. For what in most English wryter vseth to be loose, and as it were vngyrt, in this Author it is well grounded, finely framed, and strongly trussed vp together. In regard whereof, I scorne and spue out the rakehellye route of our ragged rymers (for so themselues vse to hunt the letter) which without learning boste, without iudgement iangle, without reason rage and fome, as if some instinct of Poeticall spirite had newly rauished them above the meanenesse of common capacitie. And being in the midest of all their brauery, sodenly eyther for want of matter, or of ryme, or hauing forgotten theyr former conceipt, they seeme to be so pained and trauelied in theyr remembrance, as it were a woman in childebirth or as that same Pythia, when the traunce came vpon her. Os rabidum fera corda domans &c. Nethelesse let them a Gods name feede on theyr owne folly, so they seeke not to darken the beames of others glory. As for Colin, vnder whose person the Author selfe is shadowed, how furre he is from such vaunted titles and glorious shewes, both him selfe sheweth, where 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, wherein, it seemeth, he chose rather to vnfold great matter of argument couertly, then professing it, not suffice thereto accordingly. Which moued him rather in AEglogues, then other wise to write, doubting perhaps his habilitie, which he little needed, or mynding to furnish our tongue with this kinde, wherein it faulteth, or following 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 manner, at the first to trye theyr habilities? and as young birdes, that be newly crept out of the nest, by little first to proue theyr tender wyngs, before they make a greater flyght. So flew Theocritus, as you may percieue he was all ready full fledged. So flew Virgile, as not yet well feeling his winges So flew Mantuane, as being not full somd. So Petrarque. So Boccace; So Marot, Sanazarus, and also diuers other excellent both Italian and French Poetes, whose foting this Author euery where followeth, yet so as few, but they be well sented can trace him out. So finally flyeth this our new Poete, as a bird, whose principals be scarce growen out, but yet as that in time shall be hable to keepe wing with the best. Now as touching the generall dryft and purpose of his AEglogues, I mind not to say much, him selfe labouring to conceale it. Onely this appeareth, that his vnstayed yougth had long wandred in the common Labyrinth of Loue, in which time to mitigate and allay the heate of his passion, or els to warne (as he sayth) the young shepheards .s. his equalls and companions of his vnfortunate folly, he compiled these xij. AEglogues, which for that they be proportioned to the state of the xij. monethes, he termeth the SHEPHEARDS CALENDAR, applying an olde name to a new worke. Hereunto haue I added a certain Glosse or scholion for thexposition of old wordes & harder phrases: which maner of glosing and commenting, well I wote, wil seeme straunge & rare in our tongue: yet for somuch as I knew many excellent & proper deuises both in wordes and matter would passe in the speedy course of reading, either as vnknowen, or as not marked, and that in this kind, as in other we might be equal to the learned of other nations, I thought good to take the paines vpon me, the rather for that by meanes of some familiar acquaintaunce I was made privy to his counsell and secret meaning in them, as also in sundry other works of his. Which albeit I know 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 will the rather occasion him, to put forth diuers other excellent works of his, which slepe in silence, as his Dreames, his Legendes, his Court of Cupide, and sondry others; whose commendations to set out, were verye vayne; the thinges though worthy of many, yet being knowen to few. These my present paynes if to any they be pleasurable or profitable, be you iudge, mine own good Maister Haruey, to whom I have both in respect of your worthinesse generally, and otherwyse vpon some particular & special considerations voued this my labour, and the maydenhead of this our commen frends Poetrie, himselfe hauing already in the beginning dedicated it to the Noble and worthy Gentleman, the right worshipfull Ma. Phi. Sidney, a special fauourer & maintainer of all kind of learning. Whose cause I pray you Sir, yf Enuie shall stur vp any wrongful accusasion, defend with your mighty Rhetorick & other your rare gifts of learning, as you can, & shield with your good wil, as you ought, against the malice and outrage of so many enemies, as I know wilbe set on fire with the sparks of his kindled glory. And thus recommending the Author vnto you, as vnto his most special good frend, and my selfe vnto you both, as one making singular account of two so very good and so choise frends, I bid you both most hartely farwel, and commit you & your most commendable studies to the tuicion of the greatest. /Your owne assuredly to/ /be commaunded E. K./ /Post scr/ NOw I trust M. Haruey, that vpon sight of your speciall frends and fellow Poets doings, or els for enuie of so many vnworthy Quidams, which catch at the garlond, which to you alone is dewe, you will be perswaded to pluck out of the hateful darknesse, those so many excellent English poemes of yours, which lye hid, and bring them forth to eternall light. Trust me you doe both them great wrong, in depriuing them of the desired sonne, annd also your selfe, in smoothering your deserued prayses, and all men generally, in withholding from them so diuine pleasures, which they might conceive 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. /The generall argument of/ the whole booke. LIttle I hope, needeth me at large to discourse the first Originall of AEglogues, hauing alreadie touched the same. But for the word AEglogues I know is vnknowen to most, and also mistaken of some the best learned (as they think) I wyll say somewhat thereof, being not at all impertinent to my present purpose. They were first of the Greekes the inuentours of them called Aeglogaj as it were [aigon] or [aigonomon]. [logoi]. that is Goteheards tales. For although in Virgile and others the speakers be most [more] shepheards, and [then] Goteheards, yet Theocritus in whom is more ground of authoritie, then in Virgile, this specially from that deriuing, as from the first head and welspring the whole Inuencion of his AEglogues, maketh Goteheards the persons and authors of his tales. This being, who seeth not the grossenesse of such as by colour of learning would make vs beleeue that they are more rightly termed Eclogai, as they would say, extraordinary discourses of vnnecessarie matter, which definition albe in substaunce and meaning it agree with the nature of the thing, yet no whit answereth with the [analysis] and interpretation of the word. For they be not termed Eclogues, but AEglogues. Which sentence this author very well obseruing, vpon good iudgement, though indeede few Goteheards have to doe herein, nethelesse doubteth not to cal them by the vsed and best knowen name. Other curious discourses hereof I reserue to greater occasion. These xij. AEclogues euery where answering to the seasons of the twelue monthes may be well deuided into three formes or ranckes. For eyther they be Plaintiue, as the first, the sixt, the eleuenth, and the twelfth, or recreatiue, such as al those be, which conceiue matter of loue, or commendation of special personages, or Moral: which for the most part be mixed with some Satyricall bitternesse, namely the second of reuerence dewe to old age, the fit of coloured deceipt, the seuenth and ninth of dissolute shepheards & pastours, the tenth of contempt of Poetrie & pleasaunt wits. And to this diuision may euery thing herein be reasonably applyed: A few onely except, whose speciall purpose and meaning I am not priuie to. And thus much generally of these xij. AEclogues. Now will we speake particularly of all, and first of the first. Which he calleth by the first monethes name Ianuarie. wherein to some he may seeme fowly to have faulted, in that he erroniously beginneth with that moneth, which beginneth not the yeare. For it is wel known, and stoutely mainteyned with stronge reasons of the learned, that the yeare beginneth in March. for then the sonne reneweth his finished course, and the seasonable spring refresheth the earth, and the pleasaunce thereof being buried in the sadnesse of the dead winter now worne away, reliueth. This opinion maynteine the olde Astrologers and Philosophers, namely the reuerend Andalo, and Macrobius in his holydayes of Saturne, which accoumpt also was generally observed both of Grecians and Romans. But sauing the leaue of such learned heads, we 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 Sauior and eternall redeemer the L. Christ, who as then renewing the state of the decayed world, and returning the compasse of expired yeres to theyr former date and first commencement, left to vs his heires a memoriall of his birth in the ende of the last yeere and beginning of the next. which reckoning, beside that eternall monument of our saluation, leaneth also vppon good proofe of special iudgement. For albeit that in elder times, when as yet the coumpt of the yere was not perfected, as afterward it was by Iulius Caesar, 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 Iewes to count the moneth Abil [Abib], that which we call March, for the first moneth, in remembraunce that in that moneth he brought them out of the land of AEgipt: yet according to tradition of latter times it hath bene otherwise obserued, both in gouernmrnt of the church, and rule of Mightiest Realmes. For from Iulius Caesar who first obserued the leape yeere which he called Bissextilem Annum, and brought in to a more certain course the odde wandring dayes which of the Greekes were called [hyperBainontes]. 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. which in the first ordinaunce of Romulus were but tenne, counting but CCCiiij. dayes in euery yeare, and beginning with March. But Numa Pompilius, who was the father of al the Romain ceremonies and religion, seeing that reckoning to agree neither with the course of the sonne, nor of the Moone, therevnto added two monethes, Ianuary and February: wherin it seemeth, that wise 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 new comming into the worlde, it seemeth that he therfore to him assigned the beginning and first enrraunce [entrance] of the yeare. which account for the most part hath hetherto continued. Notwithstanding that the AEgiptians beginne theyr yeare at September, for that according to the opinion of the best Rabbins, and very purpose of the scripture selfe, God made the worlde 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, which 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 begin with Ianuarie, wening it perhaps no decorum, that Shepheard should be seene in a matter of so deepe insight, or canuase a case of so doubtful iudgment. So therefore beginneth he, & so continueth he throughout. /Ianuarye./ ----------------------------------------------------------- | | | Here a woodcut depicting a shepherd in doleful humour. | | He is dressed in tattered clothing, and leans upon a | | crook. At his feet, a bagpipe lies broken. Behind him | | are his sheep and a barn; before him is a large town. | | At the upper left, Aquarius with his Sign in a cloud. | | | ----------------------------------------------------------- /AEgloga prima./ A R G V M E N T. IN this fyrst AEglogue Colin clout a shepheardes boy complaineth him of his vnfortunate loue, being but newly (as semeth) enamoured of a countrie lasse called Rosalinde: with which strong affection being very sore traueled, 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 been 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 doleful 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 mas-kedst late. Such rage as winters, reigneth in my heart, My life bloud friesing wtih vnkindly cold: Such stormy stoures do breede my balefull smarte, 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 leaves 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 weak through fast and evill fare: Mayst witnesse well by thy ill gouernement, Thy maysters mind is ouercome with care. Thou weak, I wanne: thou leabe, 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: snch [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 gives 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 Phoebus gan availe, His weary waine, and nowe the frosty Night Her mantle black through heauen gan overhaile. Which seene, the pensife boy halfe in despight Arose, and homeward drove his sonned sheepe, Whose hanging heads did seeme his carefull case to weepe. Colins Embleme. /Anchora speme./ GLOSSE. COLIN Cloute) is a name not greatly vsed, and yet haue I sene a Poesie of M. Skeltons vnder that title. But indeede the word Colin is Frenche, and vsed of the French Poete Marot (if he be worthy of the name of a Poete) in a certein AEglogue. Vnder which name this Poete secretly shadoweth himself, as sometime did Virgil vnder the name of Tityrus, thinking it much fitter, then such Latine names, for the great vnlikelihoode of the language. unnethes) scarcely. couthe) commeth of the verbe Conne, that is, to know or to haue skill. As well interpreteth the worthy Sir Tho. Smitth in his booke of gouerment: wherof I haue a perfect copie in wryting, lent me by his kinseman, and my verye singular good freend, M. Gabriel Haruey: as also of some other his most graue & excellent wrytings. Sythe) time. Neighbour towne) the next towne: expressing the Latine Vicina. Stoure) a fitt. Sere) withered. His clownish gyfts) imitateth Virgils verse, Rusticus es Corydon, nec munera curat Alexis. Hobbinol) is a fained country name, whereby, it being so commune and vsuall, seemeth to be hidden the person of some his very speciall and most familiar freend, whom he entirely and extraordinarily beloued, as peraduenture shall be more largely declared hereafter. In thys place seemeth to be some sauour of disorderly loue, which the learned call paederastice: but it is gathered beside his meaning. For who that hath red Plato his dialogue called Alcibiades, Xenophon and Maximus Tyrius of Socrates opinions, may easily perceiue, that such loue is muche to be alowed and liked of, specially so meant, as Socrates vsed it: who sayth, that in deede he loued Alcybiades extremely, yet not Alcybiades person, but hys soule, which is Alcibiades owne selfe. And so is pederastice much to be praeferred before gynerastice, that is the loue whiche enflameth men with lust toward woman kind. But yet let no man thinke, that herein I stand with Lucian or hys deuelish disciple Vnico Aretino, in defence of execrable and horrible sinnes of forbidden and vnlawful fleshlinesse. Whose abominable errour is fuully confuted of Perionius, and others. I loue) a prety Epanorthosis in these two verses, and withall a Paronomasia or playing with the word, where he sayth (I loue thilke lasse (alas &c. Rosalinde) is also a feigned name, which being wel ordered, wil bewray the very name of hys loue and mistresse, whom by that name he coloureth. So as Ouide shadoweth hys loue vnder the name of Corynna, which of some is supposed to be Iulia, themperor Augustus his daughter, and wyfe to Agryppa. So doth Aruntius Stella euery where call his Lady Asteris and Ianthis, albe it is well knowen that her right name was Violantilla: as witnesseth Statius in his Epithalamium. And so the famous Paragone of Italy, Madonna Coelia in her letters enuelopeth her selfe vnder the name of Zima: and Petron vuder [vnder] the name of Bellochia. And this generally hath bene a common custome of counterfeicting the names of secret Personages. Auail) bring downe. Embleme. Overhaile) drawe over. His Embleme or Poesye is here vnder added in Italian, Anchora speme: the meaning wherof is, that notwithstande his extreme passion and lucklesse loue, yet leaning on hope, he is some what recomforted. /Februarie./ ----------------------------------------------------------- | | | Here a woodcut depicting an old man on the left, | | leaning on his crook, in animated conversation | | with a young man on the right, who holds a straight | | staff. To their left are sheep grazing, and a barn. | | To their right a woodcutter lays an axe to a tree | | that appears to overshadow a flowering shrub, | | while cattle graze and browze. Above the scene, | | centered, are the two Fishes of Pisces with their | | Sign, in a cloud. | | | ----------------------------------------------------------- /AEgloga Secunda./ A R G V M E N T. THis AEglogue is rather morall and generall, then bent to any secrete or particlar purpose. It specially conteyneth a discourse of old age, in the persone of Thenot an olde Shepheard, who for his crookednesse and vnlustinesse, is scorned of Cuddie an vnhappy Heardmans boye. The matter very 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 then in our bodies there is a dry & withering cold, which congealeth the crudled blood, and frieseth the wetherbeaten 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 lively, and so feelingly, as if the thing were set forth in some Picture before our eyes, more plainly could not appeare. CVDDIE. THENOT. AH for pittie, wil ranke Winters rage, These bitter blasts neuer ginne tasswage? The keene cold blowes throug 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 th 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 never 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 not 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 laugheth once, You deemen, the Spring is come attonce. Tho gynne you, fond flyes, the cold to scorn, 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 surqedrie, With weeping, and wayling, and misery. CVDDIE. Ah foolish old man, I scorne thy skill, That wouldest me, my springing yougth 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 branch 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 girdle 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 flock 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 wailful 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 taduance 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 Greeuance. 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 than this to applie. Now listen a while, and hearken the end. THere 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 mightily 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 grew 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 thir 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 leaves 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 Sinnamon smell too much annoieth. Wherefore soone I rede thee, hence remove, 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 Hus-bandman selfe to come that way, Of custome to seruewe his grownd, And his trees of state in compasse rownd. Him when the spitefull brere had espyed, Causlesse complained, and lowdly cryed Vnto 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 Vassall 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, Vnto 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: Vntimely my flowres forced to fall, That bene the honor of your Coranall. And oft he lets his cancker wormes light Vpon 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 if 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 listned to thy speche, That graffed to the ground is my breache: 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. /Iddio perche e vecchio,/ /Fa suoi al suo essempio./ Cuddies Embleme. /Niuno vecchio,/ /Spaventa Iddio./ GLOSSE. Kene) sharpe. Gride) perced: an olde word much vsed of Lidgate, but not found (that I know of) in Chaucer. Ronts) young bullockes. Wracke) ruine or Violence, whence commeth shipwracke: and not wreake, that is vengeaunce or wrath. Foeman) a foe. Thenot) the name of a shepheard in Marot his AEglogues. The soueraigne of Seas) is Neptune the God of the seas. The saying is borrowed of Mimus Publianus, which vsed this prouerb in a verse. Improbe Neptunum accusat, qui iterum naufragium facit. Heardgromes) Chaucers verse almost whole. Fond Flyes) He compareth carelesse sluggardes or ill husbandmen to flyes, that so soone as the sunne shineth, or yt wexeth any thing warme, begin to flye abroade when sodeinely they be overtaken with cold. But eft when) A verye excellent and liuely description of Winter, so as may bee indifferently taken, eyther for old Age, or for Winter season. Breme) chill, bitter. Chamfred) chapt, or wrinckled. Accoied) plucked downe and daunted. Surquedrie) pryde. Elde) olde age. Sicker) sure. Tottie) wauering. Corbe) crooked. Herie) worshippe. Phyllis) the name of some mayde vnknowen, whom Cuddie, whose person is secrete, loued. The name is vsuall in Theocritus, Virgile, and Mantuane. Belte) a girdle or wast band. A fon) a foole. Lythe soft & gentile. Venteth) snuffeth in the wind. Thy flockes Father) the Ramme. Crags) neckes. Rather Lambes) that be ewed early in the beginning of the yeare. Youth is) A verye moral and pitthy Allegorie of youth, and the lustes thereof compared to a wearie wayfaring man. Tityrus) I suppose he meane Chaucer, whose prayse for pleasaunt tales cannot dye, so long as the memorie of hys name shal liue, and the name of Poetrie shal endure. Well thewed) that is, Bene moratae, full of morall wisenesse. There grew) This tale of the Oake and the Brere, he telleth as learned of Chaucer, but it is cleane in another kind, and rather like to Aesopes fables. It is very excellente for pleasaunt descriptions, being altogether a certaine Icon or Hypotyposis of disdainfull younkers. Embellisht) beautified and adorned. To wonne) to haunt or frequent. Sneb) checke. Why standst) The speach is scorneful & very presumptuous. Engrained) dyed in grain. Accloieth) encombreth. Adawed) daunted & confounded. Trees of state) taller trees fitte for timber wood. Sterne strife) said Chaucer .s. fell and sturdy. O my leige) a maner of supplication, wherein is kindly coloured the affection and speache of Ambitious men. Coronall) Garlande. Flourets) Young blossomes. The Primrose) The chiefe and worthiest. Naked armes) metaphorically ment of the bare boughes, spoyled of leaues. This colourably he speaketh, as adiudging hym to the fyre. The blood) spoken of a blocke, as it were of a living creature, figuratiuely, and (as they saye) [kat eikasmon]. Hoarie lockes) metaphorically for withered leaues. Hent) caught. Nould) for would not. Ay) euermore. Wounds) gashes. Enaunter) least that. The priestes crewe) holy water pott, wherewith the popishe priest vsed to sprinckle & hallowe the trees from mischaunce. Such blindnesse was in those times, which the Poete supposeth, to haue bene the finall decay of this auncient Oake. The blocke oft groned) A liuelye figure, whiche geueth sence and feeling to vnsensible creatures, as Virgile also sayeth: Saxa gemunt grauido &c. Boreas) the Northerne wynd, that bringeth the most stormie weather. Glee) chere and iollitie. For scorning Eld) and minding (as shoulde seme) to haue made ryme to the former verse, he is conningly cutte of by Cuddye, as disdayning to here any more. Galage) a startuppe or clownish shoe. Embleme. This embleme is spoken of Thenot, as a moral of his former tale: namelye, that God, which is himselfe most aged, being before al ages, and without beginninge, maketh those, whom he loueth like to himselfe, in heaping yeares vnto theyre dayes, and blessing them wyth longe lyfe. For the blessing of age is not giuen to all, but vnto those, whom God will so blesse: and albeit that many euil men reache vnto such fulnesse of yeares, and some also wexe olde in myserie and thraldome, yet therefore is not age euer the lesse blessing. For euen to such evill men such number of yeares is added, that they may in their last dayes repent, and come to their first home. So the old man checketh the rashheaded for despysing his gray and frosty heares. Whom Cuddye doth counterbuff with a byting and bitter prouerbe, spoken indeede at the first in contempt of old age generally. for it was an old opinion, and yet is continued in some mens conceipt, that men of yeares have no feare of god at al, or not so much as younger folke. For that being rypened with long experience, and hauing passed many bitter brunts and blastes of vengeaunce, they dread no stormes of Fortune, nor wrathe of Gods, nor daunger of menne, as being eyther by longe and ripe wisedome armed against all mischaunces and aduersitie, or with much trouble hardened against all troublesome tydes: lyke vnto the Ape, of which is sayd in AEsops fables, that oftentimes meeting the Lyon, he was at first sore aghast & dismayed at the grimnes and austeritie of hys countenance, but at last being acquianted with his lookes, he was so furre from fearing him, that he would familiarly gybe and iest with him: Suche long experience breedeth in some men securitie. Although it please Erasimus a great clerke and good old father, more fatherly and fauourablye to construe it in his Adages for his own behoofe, That by the prouerbe Nemo Senex metuit Iouem, is not meant, that old men haue no feare of God at al, but that they be furre from superstition and Idolatrous regard of false Gods, as is Iupiter. But his greate learning notwithstanding, it is to plaine, to be gainsayd, that olde men are muche more enclined to such fond fooleries, then younger heades. /March./ ----------------------------------------------------------- | | | There is in this place a woodcut showing two shepherd | | boys with their crooks, in earnest conversation. To | | the right rear, a winged Boy with bow and arrow sits | | beneath a tree, while a youth raises a stone in hand | | as if preparing to throw it. To the left rear a figure | | appears to be caught in a net beneath a tree. Above, | | center, the Ram of Aries, with his Sign, appears in | | a cloud. | | | ----------------------------------------------------------- /AEgloga Tertia./ A R G V M E N T. IN this AEglogue two shepheards boyes taking occasion of the season, beginne to make purpose of loue and other pleasaunce, 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 unwares wounded with the dart of some beautifull regard, which is Cupides arrowe. Willye Thomalin. THomalin, why sytten we soe, As weren ouerwent with woe, Vpon so fayre a morow? The ioyous time now nighest 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 now ginnes to be refresht, The Swallow peepes out of her nest, And clowdie Welkin cleareth. Willye. 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. Willye. 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. Willye. 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, Willye. 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 bow 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 silver 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, that 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. Willye. 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./ GLOSS. THIS AEglogue seemeth somewhat to resemble that same of Theocritus, wherein the boy likewise telling the old man, that he had shot at a winged boy in a tree, was by hym warned, to beware of mischiefe to come. Ouerwent) overgone. Alegge) to lessen or aswage. To quell) to abate. Welkin) the skie. The swallow) which bird vseth to be counted the messenger, as it were, the fore runner of springe. Flora) the Goddesse of flowres, but indede (as saith Tacitus) a famous harlot, which with the abuse of her body hauing gotten great riches, made the people of Rome her heyre: who in remembraunce of so great beneficence, appointed a yearely feste for the memoriall of her, calling her, not as she was, nor as some doe think, Andronica, but Flora: making her the Goddesse of all floures, and doing yerely to her solemne sacrifice. Maias bowre) that is the pleasaunt fielde, or rather the Maye bushes. Maia is a Goddes and the mother of Mercurie, in honour of whome the moneth of Maye is of her name so called, as sayth Macrobius. Lettice) the name of some country lasse. Ascaunce) askewe or asquint. For thy) therefore. Lethe) is a lake in hell, which the Poetes call the lake of forgetfulnes. For Lethe signifieth forgetfulnes. Wherein the soules being dipped, did forget the cares of their former lyfe. So that by loue sleeping in Lethe lake, he meaneth he was almost forgotten and out of knowledge, by reason of winters hardnesse, when al pleasures, as it were, sleepe and weare out of mynde. Assotte) to dote. His slomber) To breake Loues slomber, is to exercise the delightes of Loue and wanton pleasures. Winges of purple) so is he feigned of the Poetes. For als) he imitateth Virgils verse. Est mihi namque domi pater, est iniusta nouerca &c. A dell) a hole in the ground. Spell) is a kind of verse or charme, that in elder tymes they vsed often to say ouer euery thing, that they would haue preserued, as the Nightspel for theeues, and the woodspell. And herehence I thinke is named the gospell, as it were Gods spell or worde. And so sayth Chaucer, Listeneth Lordings to my spell. Gange) goe An Yuie todde) a thicke bushe. Swaine) a boye: for so he is described of the Poetes, to be a boye .s. alwayes freshe and lustie: blindfolded, because he maketh no difference of Personages: wyth diuers coloured winges, .s. ful of flying fancies: with bowe and arrow, that is with glaunce of beautye, which prycketh as a forked arrowe. He is sayd also to haue shafts, some leaden, some golden: that is, both pleasure for the gracious and loued, and sorow for the louer that is disdayned or forsaken. But who liste more at large to behold Cupids colours and furniture, let him reade ether Propertius, or Moschus his Idyllion of wandring loue, being now most excellently translated into Latine by the singuler learned man Angelus Politianus: Whych worke I haue seene amongst other of thys Poets doings, very wel translated also into Englishe Rymes. Wimble and wighte) Quicke and deliuer. In the heele) is very Poetically spoken, and not without speciall iudgement. For I remember, that in Homer it is sayd of Thetis, that shee tooke her young babe Achilles being newely borne, and holding him by the heele, dipped him in the River of Styx. The vertue whereof is, to defend and keepe the bodyes washed therein from any mortall wound. So Achilles being washed al ouer, saue anely his hele, by which his mother held, was in the rest invnluerable [invulnerable]: therfore by Paris was feyned to bee shotte with a poysoned arrowe in the heele, whiles he was busie about the marying of Polyena in the temple of Apollo. Which mysticall fable Eustathius vnfolding, sayth: that by wounding in the hele, is meant lustfull loue. For from the heele (as say the best Phisitions) to the preuie partes there passe certaine veines and slender synnewes, as also the like come from the head, and are carryed lyke little pypes behynd the eares: so that (as sayth Hippocrates) yf those veynes there be cut a sonder, the partie straighte becometh cold and vnfruiteful. which reason our Poete wel weighing, maketh this shepheards boye of purpose to be wounded by Loue in the heele. Latched) caught. Wroken) reuenged. For once) In this tale is sette out the simplicitye of shepheards opinion of Loue. Stouping Phaebus) Is a Periphrasis of the sunne setting. Embleme. Hereby is meant, that all the delights of Loue, wherein wanton youth walloweth, be but follye mixt with bitternesse, and sorow sawced with repentaunce. For besides that the very affection of Loue it selfe tormenteth the mynde, and vexeth the body many wayes, with vnrestfulnesse all night, and wearines all day, seeking for that we can not haue: euen the selfe things which best before vs liked, in course of time and chaung of ryper yeares, whiche also therewithall chaungeth our wonted lyking and former fantasies, will then seeme lothsome and breede vs annoyaunce, when yougthes flowre is withered, and we fynde our bodyes and wits aunswere not to suche vayne iollitie and lustfull pleasaunce. [Printers ornament] /Aprill./ ----------------------------------------------------------- | | | Here a woodcut with a group of twelve women dressed | | as Court ladies; some carry musical instruments which | | they play. One wears a crown of leaves and bears a | | scepter. On the right, a tree in leaf, and on the | | horizon an especially brilliant sunrise or sunset. | | On the left, a piper playing, and two shepherds with | | crooks, their sheep about them. Behind them, a barn. | | On the left horizon, a town on a steep hill. Above, | | center, the Bull of Taurus with his Sign, in a cloud. | | | ----------------------------------------------------------- /AEgloga Quarta./ A R G V M E N T. THis AEglogue is purposely intended to the honor and prayse of our most gracious souereigne, Queene Elizabeth. The speakers herein be Hobbinoll and Thenott, two shepheardes: The which Hobinoll being before mentioned, greatly to haue loued Colin, is here set forth more largely, complayning 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 song, which the sayd Colin sometime made in honor of her Maiestie, whom abruptely he termeth Elysa. Thenot. Hobbinoll. TEll 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 thye thirstye payne. Hobbinoll. Nor thys, not that, so muche doeth make me mourne, But for the ladde, whom long I lovd so deare, Nowe loues a lasse, that all his loue doth scorne: He plonged 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 now fayre Rosalind hath bred hys smart, So now his frend is chaunged for a frenne. Thenot. But if his ditties bene so trimly dight, I pray thee Hobbinoll, record 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. YE dayntye Nymphs, that in this blessed Brooke doe bathe your brest, Forsake your watry bowres, and hether looke, at my request: And eke you Virgins, 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 Virgins, may shee florish long, In princely plight. For she is Syrinx daughter without spotte, Which Pan the shepheards God of her begot: So sprong her grace Of heauenly race, No mortal blemishe may her blotte. See, where she sits vpon the grassie greene, (O seemly sight) Yclad in Scarlot like a mayden Queene, And Ermines white. Vpon her head a Cremosin coronet, With Damaske roses and Dafadillies set: Bayleaues betweene, And Primroses greene Embellish the sweete Violet. Tell me, haue ye seene her angelick face, Like Phoebe 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 Phoebus 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 siuer 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 others 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 Violines. 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 daucen deffly, and singen soote, in their merriment. Wants not not [sic] 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 Virgins 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 Kingcups, 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 saong of Colins owne making? Ah foolish boy, that is with loue yblent: Great pittie is, he be in such taking, For nought 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 virgo?/ Hobbinols Embleme. /O dea certe./ GLOSSE. Gars thee greete) causeth thee to weepe and complain. Forlorne) left & forsaken. Attempred to the yeare) agreeable to the season of the yeare. that is Aprill, which moneth is most bent to shoures and seasonable rayne: to quench, that is, to delaye the drought, caused through drynesse of March wyndes. The Ladde) Colin Clout) The Lasse) Rosalinda. Tressed locks) wrethed & curled. Is he for a ladde) A straunge manner of speaking .s. what maner of Ladde is he? To make) to rime and versifye. For in this word making, our olde Englishe Poetes were wont to comprehend all the skil of Poetrye, according to the Greeke woorde [poiein], to make, whence commeth the name of Poets. Colin thou kenst) knowest. Seemeth hereby that Colin perteyneth to some Southern noble man, and perhaps in Surrye or Kent, the rather bicause he so often nameth the Kentish downes, and before, As lythe as lasse of Kent. The Widowes) He calleth Rosalind the Widowes daughter of the glenne, that is, of a country Hamlet or borough, which I thinke is rather sayde to coloure and concele the person, then simply spoken. For it is well knowen, euen in spight of Colin and Hobbinoll, that shee is a Gentle woman of no meane house, nor endewed with anye vulgare and common gifts both of nature and manners: but such indeede, as neede nether Colin be ashamed to haue her made knowne by his verses, nor Hobbinoll be greued, that so she should be commended to immortalitie for her rare and singular Vertues: Specially deserving it no lesse, then eyther Myrto the most excellent Poete Theocritus his dearling, or Lauretta the diuine Petrarches Goddesse, or Himera the worthye Poete Stesichorus hys Idole: Vpon whom he is sayd so much to haue doted, that in regard of her excellencie, he scorned & wrote against the beauty of Helena. For which his praesumptuous and vnheedie hardinesse, he is sayde by vengeaunce of the Gods, thereat being offended, to haue lost bothe his eyes. Frenne) a straunger. The word I thinke was first poetically put, and afterwarde vsed in commen custome of speach fo forenne. Dight) adorned. Laye) a songe. as Roundelayes and Virelayes. In all this songe is not to be respected, what the worthinesse of her Maiestie deserueth, nor what to the highnes of a Prince is agreeable, but what is moste comely for the meanesse of a shepheards witte, or to conceiue, or to vtter. And therefore he calleth her Elysa, as through rudenesse tripping in her name: & a shepheards daughter, it being very vnfit, that a shepheards boy brought vp in the shepefold, should know, or euer seme to haue heard of a Queenes roialty. Ye daintie) is, as it were an Exordium ad preparandos animos. Virgins) the nine Muses, daughters of Apollo and Memorie, whose abode the Poets faine to be on Parnassus, a hill in Grece, for that in that countrye specially florished the honor of all excellent studies. Helicon) is both the name of a fountaine at the foote of Parnassus, and also of a mounteine in Baeotia, out of which floweth the famous Spring Castalius, dedicate also to the Muses: of which spring it is sayd, that when Pegasus the winged horse of Perseus (whereby is meant fame and flying renowme) strooke the grownde with his hoofe, sodenly thereout sprange a wel of moste cleare and pleasaunte water, which from thence forth was consecrate to the Muses & Ladies of learning. Your siluer song) seemeth to imitate the lyke in Hesiodus [argureon melos]. Syrinx) is the name of a Nymphe of Arcadie, whom when Pan being in loue pursued, she flying from him, of the Gods was turned into a reede. So that Pan catching at the Reedes in stede of the Damosell, and puffing hard (for he was almost out of wind) with hys breath made the Reedes to pype: which he seeing, tooke of them, and in remembraunce of his lost loue, made him a pype thereof. But here by Pan and Syrinx is not to bee thoughte, that the shephearde simplye meante those Poetical Gods: but rather supposing (as seemeth) her graces progenie to be divine and immortall (so as the Paynims were wont to iudge of all Kinges and Princes, according to Homeres saying. [Thumos de megas esti diotrepheos Basileos,] [time d' ek dios esti philei o metiea Zeus]) could deuise no parents in his iudgement so worthy for her, as Pan the shepeheards God, and his best beloued Syrinx. So that by Pan is here meant the most famous and victorious King, her highnesse Father, late of worthy memorye K. Henry the eyght. And by that name, oftymes (as hereafter appeareth) be noted kings and mighty Potentates: And in some place Christ himself, who is the verye Pan and god of Shepheardes. Cremosin coronet) he deuiseth her crowne to be of the finest and most delicate flowers, instede of perles and precious stones, wherewith Princes Diademes vse to bee adorned and embost. Embellish) beautifye and set out. Phebe) the Moone, whom the Poets faine to be sister vnto Phaebus, that is the Sunne. Medled) mingled. Yfere) together. By the mingling of the Redde rose and the White, is meant the vniting of the two principall houses of Lancaster and of Yorke: by whose longe discord and deadly debate, this realm many yeares was sore traueiled, & almost cleane decayed. Til the famous Henry the seuenth, of the line of Lancaster, taking to wife the most vertuous Princesse Elisabeth, daughter to the fourth Edward of the house of Yorke, begat the most royal Henry the eyght aforesayde, in whom was the firste vnion of the Whyte Rose and the Redde. Calliope) one of the nine Muses: to whome they assigne the honor of all Poeticall Inuention, and the firste glorye of the Heroicall verse. other say, that shee is the Goddesse of Rhetorick: but by Virgile it is manifeste, that they mystake the thyng. For there in hys Epigrams, that arte semeth to be attributed to Polymnia, saying: Signat cuncta manu, loquiturque Polymnia gestu. which seemeth specially to be meant of Action and elocution, both special partes of Rhetorick: besyde that her name, which (as some construe it) importeth great remembraunce, conteineth another part. but I holde rather with them, which call her Polymnia or Polyhymnia of her good singing. Bay branches) be the signe of honor & victory, & therfore of myghty Conquerors worn in theyr triumphes, & eke of famous Poets, as saith Petrarch in hys Sonets. Arbor vittoriosa triomphale, Honor d'Imperadori & di Poeti, &c. The Graces) be three sisters, the daughters of Iupiter, whose names are Aglaia, Thalia, Euphrosyne, & Homer onely addeth a fourth .s. Pasithea) otherwise called Charites, that is thanks. whom the Poetes feyned to be the Goddesses of al bountie & comelines, which therefore (as sayth Theodontius) they make three, to wete, that men first ought to be gracious & bountiful to other freely, then to receiue benefits at other mens hands curteously, and thirdly to requite them thankfully: which are three sundry Actions in liberalitye. And Boccace saith, that they be painted naked, (as they were indeede on the tombe of C. Iulius Caesar) the one hauing her backe toward vs, and her face fromwarde, as proceeding from vs: the other two toward vs, noting double thanke to be due to vs for the benefit, we haue done. Deaffly) Finely and nimbly. Soote) Sweete. Meriment) Mirth. Beuie) A beauie of Ladyes, is spoken figuratiuely for a company or troupe. the terme is taken of Larkes. For they say a Beuie of Larkes, euen as a Couey of Partridge, or an eye of Pheasaunts. Ladyes of the lake) be Nymphes. For it was an olde opinion amongst the Auncient Heathen, that of euery spring and fountaine was a goddesse the Soueraigne. Whiche opinion stucke in the myndes of men not manye yeares sithence, by meanes of certain fine fablers and lowd lyers, such as were the Authors of King Arthure the great and such like, who tell many an vnlawfull leasing of the Ladyes of the Lake, that is, the Nymphes. For the word Nymphe in Greeke signifieth Well water, or otherwise a Spouse or Bryde. Bedight) called or named. Cloris) the name of a Nymph, and signifieth greenesse, of whome is sayd, that Zephyrus the Westerne wind being in loue with her, and coueting her to wyfe, gaue her for a dowrie, the chiefedome and soueraigntye of al flowres and greene herbes, growing on earth. Olives bene) The Oliue was wont to be the ensigne of Peace and quietnesse, eyther for that it cannot be planted and pruned, and so carefully looked to, as it ought, but in time of peace: or els for that the Oliue tree, they say, will not growe neare the Firre tree, which is dedicate to Mars the God of battaile, and vsed most for speares and other instruments of warre. Whereupon is finely feigned, that when Neptune and Minerua strove for the naming of the citie of Athens, Neptune striking the ground with his mace, caused a horse to come forth, that importeth warre, but at Mineruaes stroke sprong out an Oliue, so note that it should be a nurse of learning, and such peaceable studies. Binde your) Spoken rudely, and according to shepheardes simplicitye. Bring) all these be names of flowers. Sops in wine a flowre in colour much like to a Coronation, but differeing in smel and quantitye. Flowre delice, that which they vse to misterme, Flowre de luce, being in Latine called Flos delitiarum. A Bellibone) or a bonibell. homely spoken for a fayre mayde or Bonilasse. Forswonck and forswatt) ouerlaboured and sunneburnt. I saw Phaebus) the sunne. A sensible Narration, and present view of the thing mentioned, which they call [parousia]. Cynthia) the Moone so called of Cynthus a hyll, where she was honored. Latonaes seede) Was Apollo and Diana. Whom when as Niobe the wife of Amphion scorned, in respect of the noble fruict of her wombe, namely her seuen sonnes, and so many daughters, Latona being therewith displeased, commaunded her sonne Phoebus to slea al the sonnes, and Diana all the daughters: whereat the vnfortunate Niobe being sore dismayed, and lamenting out of measure, was feigned of the Poetes, to be turned into a stone vpon the sepulchre of her children. for which cause the shepheard sayth, he will not compare her to them, for feare of like mysfortune. Now rise) is the conclusion. For hauing so decked her with prayses and comparisons, he returneth all the thanck of hys laboure to the excellencie of her Maiestie. When Damsins) A base reward of a clownish giuer. Yblent) Y, is a poeticall addition. blent blinded. Embleme This Poesye is taken out of Virgile, and there of him vsed in the person of AEneas to his mother Venus, appearing to him in likenesse of one of Dianaes damosells: being there most divinely set forth. To which similitude of diuinitie Hobbinoll comparing the excelency of Elisa, and being through the worthynes of Colins song, as it were ouercome with the hugenesse of his imagination, brusteth out in great admiration, (O quam te memore virgo?) being otherwise vnhable, then by soddein silence, to expresse the worthinesse of his conceipt. Whom Thenot answereth with another part of the like verse, as confirming by his graunt and approuaunce, that Elisa is nowhit inferiour to the Maiestie of her, of whome that Poete so boldly pronounced, O dea certe. /Maye./ ----------------------------------------------------------- | | | Here a woodcut with a wagon, bearing a male and a | | female figure, drawn by winged horses. A ring of May | | dancers encircles them. On the right, above, a sunrise | | or sunset and a tree in leaf; foreground, the Gate | | warns the Kidde. On the left, foreground, the Kidde at | | home listens to the Foxe; background, two shepherds | | with their crooks, their sheep behind them. To their | | right, behind the wagon, the Foxe escaping with his | | dinner in his pack. Above, center, the Twins of Gemini | | with their Sign, in a cloud. | | | ----------------------------------------------------------- /AEgloga Quinta/ A R G V M E N T. In this [fifte] AEglogue, vnder the persons of two shepheards Piers & Palinodie, be represented two formes of pastoures or Ministers, or the protestant 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 colourable 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 bus-kets 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 flock of Faeries, and a fresh bend Of louely Nymphes. (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 tas-ke, When gread [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 foud [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 giueth good 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 worldly 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 shephears [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 suc securitie, That not content with loyal 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 things 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 tranqullitie, Vsen 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 Vellet head began to shoot 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. Foe 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 new 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 have of thy health and thy welfare, Which many wylde 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 pedlar 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 sweet Saint Charitee, That some good body woulde once pitie mee. Well heard Kiddie al this sore constraint, And lenged to know the cause of his complaint: Tho creeping close behind the Wickets clinck, Preuelie he peeped out through a chinck: Yet not so preuelie, 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 traueile 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 favour 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 enamoured 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. Bimg within, the Kidde made him good glee, All for the loue of the glasse he did see. After his chere the Pedlar 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 bas-ket for the Kidde to fynd. Which when the Kidde stooped down to catch, He popt him in, and his bas-ket did latch, Ne stayed he once, the dore to make fast, But ran awaye with him in all hast. Home when the doubtful Damme had her hyde, She mought see the dore stand open wyde. All aghast, 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 false 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 Iohn, 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 know. 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. [Pas men apiotos apistei] Piers his Embleme. [Tis d' ara piotis apisto] GLOSSE. Thilke) this same moneth. It is applyed to the season of the moneth, when all menne delight them selues with pleasaunce of fieldes, and gardens, and garments. Bloncket liueries) gray coates. Yclad) arrayed, Y, redoundeth, as before. In euery where) a straunge, yet proper kind of speaking. Buskets) a Diminutiue .s. little bushes of hauthorne. Kirke) church. Queme) please. A shole) a multitude; taken of fishe, whereof some going in great companies, are sayde to swimme in a shole. Yode) went. Iouyssance) ioye. Swinck labour. Inly) entirely Faytours) vagabonds. Great pan) is Christ, the very God of all the shepheards, which calleth himselfe the greate and good shepherd. The name is most rightly (me thinkes) applyed to him, for Pan signifieth all or omnipotent, which is onely the Lord Iesus. And by that name (as I remember) he is called of Eusebius in his fifte booke de Preparat. Euang; who thereof telleth a proper storye to that purpose. Which story is first recorded of Plutarch, in his booke of the ceasing of oracles, & of Lauetere translated, in his booke of walking sprightes. Who sayth, that about the same time, that our Lord suffered his most bitter passion for the redemtion of man, certein passengers sayling from Italy to Cyprus and passing by certein Iles called Paxae, heard a voyce calling alowde Thamus, Thamus, (now Thamus was the name o