But were it not too painfull to repeat
The passed fortunes, which to thee befell
In thy late voyage, we thee would entreat,
Now at thy leisure them to us to tell.

To whom the shepheard gently answered thus,
Hobbin thou temptest me to that I covet :
For of good passed newly to discus,
By dubble usurie doth twise renew it.
And since I saw that Angels blessed eie,
Her worlds bright sun, her heavens fairest light,
My mind full of my thoughts satietie,

Doth feed on sweet contentment of that sight:
Since that same day in nought I take delight,
Ne feeling have in any earthly pleasure,
But in remembrance of that glorious bright,
My lifes sole blisse, my hearts eternall threasure.
Wake then my pipe, my sleepie Muse awake,
Till I have told her praises lasting long :
Hobbin desires, thou maist it not forsake,
Harke then ye jolly shepheards to my song.

With that they all gan throng about him neare,
With hungrie eares to heare his harmonie :
The whiles their flocks devoyd of dangers feare,
Did round about them feed at libertie.

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One day (quoth he) I sat, (as was my trade) Under the foote of Mole that mountaine hore, Keeping my sheepe amongst the cooly shade, Of the greene alders by the Mullaes shore : There a straunge shepheard chaunst to find me out, 60 Whether allured with my pipes delight,

Whose pleasing sound yshrilled far about,

Or thither led by chaunce, I know not right:
Whom when I asked from what place he came,
And how he hight, himselfe he did ycleepe,
The shepheard of the Ocean by name,

And said he came far from the main-sea deepe.
He sitting me beside in that same shade,
Provoked me to plaie some pleasant fit,
And when he heard the musicke which I made,
He found himselfe full greatly pleasd at it:
Yet æmuling my pipe, he tooke in hond
My pipe before that æmuled of many,
And plaid theron; (for well that skill he cond)
Himselfe as skilfull in that art as any.

He pip'd, I sung; and when he sung, I piped,
By chaunge of turnes, each making other mery,
Neither envying other, nor envied,

So piped we, untill we both were weary.

When thus our pipes we both had wearied well,
(Quoth he) and each an end of singing made,
He gan to cast great lyking to my lore,
And great dislyking to my lucklesse lot:
That banisht had my selfe, like wight forlore,
Into that waste, where I was quite forgot.
The which to leave, thenceforth he counseld mee,
Unmeet for man, in whom was ought regardfull,
And wend with him, his Cynthia to see :

Whose grace was great, and bounty most rewardfull.
Besides her peerlesse skill in making well
And all the ornaments of wondrous wit,
Such as all womankynd did far excell:
Such as the world admyr'd and praised it:
So what with hope of good, and hate of ill,
He me perswaded forth with him to fare:
Nought tooke I with me, but mine oaten quill:
Small needments else need shepheard to prepare.
So to the sea we came; the sea? that is
A world of waters heaped up on hie,
Rolling like mountaines in wide wildernesse,

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Horrible, hideous, roaring with hoarse crie.

And is the sea (quoth Coridon) so fearfull?

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Fearful much more (quoth he) then hart can fear: Thousand wyld beasts with deep mouthes gaping direfull Therin stil wait poore passengers to teare.

Who life doth loath, and longs death to behold,
Before he die, alreadie dead with feare,

And yet would live with heart halfe stonie cold,
Let him to sea, and he shall see it there.

And yet as ghastly dreadfull, as it seemes,
Bold men presuming life for gaine to sell,

Dare tempt that gulf, and in those wandring stremes 210
Seek waies unknowne, waies leading down to hell.

Queen Elizabeth and her Poets

Both heaven and heavenly graces do much more.
(Quoth he) abound in that same land, then this.
For there all happie peace and plenteous store
Conspire in one to make contented blisse :
No wayling there nor wretchednesse is heard,
No bloodie issues nor no leprosies,

No griesly famine, nor no raging sweard,
No nightly bodrags, nor no hue and cries;
The shepheards there abroad may safely lie,
On hills and downes, withouten dread or daunger:
No ravenous wolves the good mans hope destroy,
Nor outlawes fell affray the forest raunger.
There learned arts do florish in great honor,
And Poets wits are had in peerlesse price :
Religion hath lay powre to rest upon her,
Advancing vertue and suppressing vice.
For end, all good, all grace there freely growes,
Had people grace it gratefully to use:

For God his gifts there plenteously bestowes,

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But gracelesse men them greatly do abuse.
But say on further, then said Corylas,
The rest of thine adventures, that betyded.

Foorth on our voyage we by land did passe,
(Quoth he) as that same shepheard still us guyded,
Untill that we to Cynthiaes presence came :
Whose glorie, greater then my simple thought,
I found much greater then the former fame ;
Such greatnes I cannot compare to ought:
But if I her like ought on earth might read,
I would her lyken to a crowne of lillies
Upon a virgin brydes adorned head,
With Roses dight and Goolds and Daffadillies;
Or like the circlet of a Turtle true,

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In which all colours of the rainbow bee;
Or like faire Phebes garlond shining new,
In which all pure perfection one may see.
But vaine it is to thinke by paragone
Of earthly things, to judge of things divine:
Her power, her mercy, and her wisedome, none
Can deeme, but who the Godhead can define.
Why then do I base shepheard bold and blind,
Presume the things so sacred to prophane ?
More fit it is t'adore with humble mind,
The image of the heavens in shape humane.
With that Alexis broke his tale asunder,
Saying, By wondring at thy Cynthiaes praise,
Colin, thy selfe thou mak'st us more to wonder,
And her upraising, doest thy selfe upraise.
But let us heare what grace she shewed thee,
And how that shepheard strange, thy cause advanced?
The shepheard of the Ocean (quoth he)
Unto that Goddesse grace me first enhanced,
And to mine oaten pipe enclin'd her eare,
That she thenceforth therein gan take delight,

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And it desir'd at timely houres to heare,

All were my notes but rude and roughly dight.
For not by measure of her owne great mynd,
And wondrous worth she mott my simple song,
But joyd that country shepheard ought could fynd
Worth harkening to, emongst the learned throng.

Why? (said Alexis then) what needeth shee
That is so great a shepheardesse her selfe,
And hath so many shepheards in her fee,
To heare thee sing, a simple silly Elfe?

Or be the shepheards which do serve her laesie,
That they list not their mery pipes applie?
Or be their pipes untunable and craesie,
That they cannot her honour worthylie ?

Ah nay (said Colin) neither so, nor so:
For better shepheards be not under skie,
Nor better hable, when they list to blow
Their pipes aloud, her name to glorifie.
There is good Harpalus, now woxen aged
In faithfull service of faire Cynthia :
And there is Corydon though meanly waged,
Yet hablest wit of most I know this day.
And there is sad Alcyon bent to mourne,
Though fit to frame an everlasting dittie,

Whose gentle spright for Daphnes death doth tourn
Sweet layes of love to endlesse plaints of pittie.
Ah pensive boy pursue that brave conceipt,
In thy sweet Eglantine of Meriflure,
Lift up thy notes unto their wonted height,

That may thy Muse and mates to mirth allure.
There eke is Palin worthie of great praise,
Albe he envie at my rustick quill:

And there is pleasing Alcon, could he raise

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