My strength decayed, my grave already dressed,
I count my life my loss, my

death my

AQUARIUS.

best.

When with Aquarius Phoebe's brother stays,
The blithe and wanton winds are whist and still;
Cold frost and snow the pride of earth betrays:
When age my head with hoary hairs doth fill,
Reason sits down, and bids me count my days,
And pray for peace, and blame my froward will;
In depth of grief, in this distress I cry,
Peccavi, Domine, miserere mei!

PISCES.

When in the Fishes' mansion Phoebus dwells,
The days renew, the earth regains his rest:
When old in years, my want my death foretells,
My thoughts and prayers to heaven are whole ad-
Repentance youth by folly quite expels ;

I long to be dissolvèd for my best,

That young in zeal, long beaten with my rod, may grow old to wisdom and to God.

[dressed;

FROM THE MOURNING GARMENT.*

THE DESCRIPTION OF THE SHEPHERD AND

HIS WIFE.

T was near a thicky shade,

IT

That broad leaves of beech had made,
Joining all their tops so nigh,

That scarce Phoebus in could pry,

* Greene's Mourning Garment: given him by Repentance at the funerals of Love; which he presents for a favour to all young gentlemen that wish to wean themselves from wanton desires. Both pleasant and profitable. By R. Greene. Utriusque Academiæ in Artibus Magister. Sero sed serio. 1590.

G

milk.

To see if lovers in the thick
Could dally with a wanton trick;
Where sat the swain and his wife,
Sporting in that pleasing life,
That Coridon commendeth so,
All other lives to overgo.

He and she did sit and keep
Flocks of kids and folds of sheep:

He upon his pipe did play;
She tuned voice unto his lay,

And, for you might her huswife know,
Voice did sing and fingers sew.

He was young: his coat was green,
With welts of white seamed between,
Turned over with a flap,

That breast and bosom in did wrap.
Skirts side and plighted free,
Seemly hanging to his knee:
A whittle with a silver chape:
Cloak was russet, and the cape
Served for a bonnet oft

To shrowd him from the wet aloft:
A leather scrip of colour red,
With a button on the head.
A bottle full of country whig*
By the shepherd's side did lig;
And in a little bush hard by,
There the shepherd's dog did lie,
Who, while his master 'gan to sleep,
Well could watch both kids and sheep.
The shepherd was a frolic swain;
For though his 'parel was but plain,
Yet doon the authors soothly say,
His colour was both fresh and gay,
And in their writs plain discuss,
Fairer was not Tityrus,

Whey, according to some authorities; according to others, butter.

Nor Menalcas, whom they call
The alderliefest swain of all.
Seeming him was his wife,
Both in line and in life:
Fair she was as fair might be,
Like the roses on the tree;
Buxom, blithe, and young, I ween,
Beauteous like a summer's queen,
For her cheeks were ruddy-hued,
As if lilies were imbrued

With drops of blood, to make the white
Please the eye with more delight:
Love did lie within her eyes

In ambush for some wanton prize.
A liefer lass than this had been
Coridon had never seen,
Nor was Phillis, that fair may,
Half so gaudy or so gay.

She wore a chaplet on her head;
Her cassock was of scarlet red,
Long and large, as straight as bent:
Her middle was both small and gent;
A neck as white as whale's bone,
Compassed with a lace of stone.
Fine she was, and fair she was,
Brighter than the brightest glass;
Such a shepherd's wife as she
Was not more in Thessaly.

THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG.

AH, what is love? It is a pretty thing,

As sweet unto a shepherd as a king;
And sweeter too,

For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown:

Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

His flocks are folded, he comes home at night,
As merry as a king in his delight;

And merrier too,

For kings bethink them what the state require,
Where shepherds careless carol by the fire:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat
His cream and curds, as doth the king his meat;
And blither too,

For kings have often fears when they do sup,
Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween,
As is a king in dalliance with a queen;
More wanton too,

For kings have many griefs affects to move,
Where shepherds have no greater grief than love:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound,
As doth the king upon his beds of down;
More sounder too,

For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill,
Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

Thus with his wife he spends the year, as blithe
As doth the king at every tide or sith;

And blither too,

For kings have wars and broils to take in hand,
When shepherds laugh and love upon the land:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

HEXAMETRA ALEXIS IN LAUDEM ROSAMUNDÆ.*

OFT have I heard my lief Coridon report on a love

day,

When bonny maids do meet with the swains in the valley by Tempe,

How bright-eyed his Phillis was, how lovely they glanced,

When fro th' arches ebon-black flew looks as a light

ning,

That set a-fire with piercing flames even hearts adamantine:

Face rose-hued, cherry-red, with a silver taint like a lily:

Venus' pride might abate, might abash with a blush to behold her;

Phoebus' wires compared to her hairs unworthy the praising;

Juno's state and Pallas' wit disgraced with the Graces That graced her, whom poor Coridon did choose for a love-mate.

Ah, but had Coridon now seen the star that Alexis

* Nash humorously describes English hexameters as that drunken, staggering kind of verse, which is all up hill and down hill, like the way betwixt Stamford and Beechfield, and goes like a horse plunging through the mire in the deep of winter, now soused up to the saddle, and straight aloft on his tip-toes.'-Have with You to Saffron-Walden.