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For she is not like as the other crew

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Of shepheards daughters which emongst you bee,
But of divine regard and heavenly hew,
Excelling all that ever ye did see.
Not then to her that scorned thing so base,
But to my selfe the blame that lookt so hie:
So hie her thoughts as she her selfe have place,
And loath each lowly thing with loftie eie.
Yet so much grace let her vouchsafe to grant
To simple swaine, sith her I may not love:
Yet that I may her honour paravant,
And praise her worth, though far my wit above.
Such grace shall be some guerdon for the griefe,

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ASTROPHEL.

A PASTORALL ELEGIE

UPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST NOBLE AND VALOROUS KNIGHT, SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

DEDICATED TO THE MOST BEAUTIFULL AND VERTUOUS LADIE, THE COUNTESS OF ESSEX.

SHEPHEARDS, that wont, on pipes of oaten reed, Oft times to plaine your loves concealed smart ; And with your piteous layes have learnd to breed Compassion in a countrey lasses hart: Hearken, ye gentle shepheards, to my song, And place my dolefull plaint your plaints emong.

To you alone I sing this mournfull verse,

The mournfullst verse that ever man heard tell : To you whose softened hearts it may empierse

With dolours dart for death of Astrophel.
To you I sing and to none other wight,
For well I wot my rymes bene rudely dight.

Yet as they been, if any nycer wit

Shall hap to heare, or covet them to read:
Thinke he, that such are for such ones most fit,
Made not to please the living but the dead.
And if in him found pity ever place,
Let him be moov'd to pity such a case.

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Ne Spight it selfe, that all good things doth spill, Found ought in him, that she could say was ill.

His sports were faire, his ioyance innocent,
Sweet without sowre, and honny without gall:
And he himselfe seemd made for meriment,
Merily masking both in bowre and hall.
There was no pleasure nor delightfull play,
When Astrophel so ever was away.

For he could pipe, and daunce, and caroll sweet,
Emongst the shepheards in their shearing feast;
As somers larke that with her song doth greet
The dawning day forth comming from the East.
And layes of love he also could compose:
Thrise happie she, whom he to praise did chose.

Full many Maydens often did him woo,
Them to vouchsafe emongst his rimes to name,
Or make for them as he was wont to doo
For her that did his heart with love inflame.
For which they promised to dight for him
Gay chapelets of flowers and gyrlonds trim.

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And many a Nymph both of the wood and brooke,
Soone as his oaten pipe began to shrill,
Both christall wells and shadie groves forsooke

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In wrestling nimble, and in renning swift,
In shooting steddie, and in swimming strong:
Well made to strike, to throw, to leape, to lift,
And all the sports that shepheards are emong.
In every one he vanquisht every one,

He vanquisht all, and vanquisht was of none.

Besides, in hunting such felicitie
Or rather infelicitie he found,

That every field and forest far away

He sought, where salvage beasts do most abound.
No beast so salvage but he could it kill,
No chace so hard, but he therein had skill.

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Full happie man (misweening much) was hee,
So rich a spoile within his power to see.

Eftsoones, all heedlesse of his dearest hale,
Full greedily into the heard he thrust,

To slaughter them, and worke their finall bale,
Least that his toyle should of their troups be brust.
Wide wounds emongst them many one he made,
Now with his sharp borespear, now with his blade.

His care was all how he them all might kill,
That none might scape, (so partiall unto none :) 110
Ill mynd so much to mynd anothers ill,
As to become unmyndfull of his owne.
But pardon that unto the cruell skies,

That from himselfe to them withdrew his eies.

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So deadly was the dint and deep the wound,
And so huge streames of blood thereout did flow,
That he endured not the direfull stound,
But on the cold deare earth himselfe did throw;
The whiles the captive heard his nets did rend, 125
And, having none to let, to wood did wend.

Ah! where were ye this while his shepheard peares,
To whom alive was nought so deare as hee:
And ye faire Mayds, the matches of his yeares,
Which in his grace did boast you most to bee! 130
Ah! where were ye, when he of you had need,
To stop his wound that wondrously did bleed!

Ah! wretched boy, the shape of dreryhead,
And sad ensample of mans suddein end:
Full litle faileth but thou shalt be dead,
Unpitied, unplaynd, of foe or frend!
Whilest none is nigh, thine eylids up to close,
And kisse thy lips like faded leaves of rose.

A sort of shepheards sewing of the chace,
As they the forest raunged on a day,
By fate or fortune came unto the place,
Where as the lucklesse boy yet bleeding lay;
Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still have bled,
Had not good hap those shepheards thether led.

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And in the midst thereof a star appeares,
As fairly formd as any star in skyes:
Resembling Stella in her freshest yeares,
Forth darting beames of beautie from her eyes;
And all the day it standeth full of deow,
Which is the teares, that from her eyes did flow.

That hearbe of some, Starlight is cald by name,
Of others Penthia, though not so well:

But thou, where ever thou doest finde the same,
From this day forth do call it Astrophel:
And, when so ever thou it up doest take,
Do pluck it softly for that shepheards sake.

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Untimely cropt, before it well were growne,
And cleane defaced in untimely howre.

Great losse to all that ever him did see,
Great losse to all, but greatest losse to mee!

Breake now your gyrlonds, Oye shepheards lasses,
Sith the faire flowre, which them adornd, is gon:
The flowre, which them adornd, is gone to ashes,
Never againe let lasse put gyrlond on.

In stead of gyrlond, weare sad Cypres nowe,
And bitter Elder, broken from the bowe.

Ne ever sing the love-layes which he made, Who ever made such layes of love as hee Ne ever read the riddles, which he sayd Unto your selves, to make you mery glee. Your mery glee is now laid all abed, Your mery maker now alasse! is dead.

Death, the devourer of all worlds delight,
Hath robbed you, and reft fro me my ioy:
Both you and me, and all the world he quight
Hath robd of ioyance, and left sad annoy.

Ioy of the world, and shepheards pride was hee!
Shepheards, hope never like againe to see!

Oh Death! that hast us of such riches reft, Tell us at least, what hast thou with it done? What is become of him whose flowre here left Is but the shadow of his likenesse gone?

Scarse like the shadow of that which he was, Nought like, but that he like a shade did pas.

But that immortall spirit, which was deckt
With all the dowries of celestiall grace,

By soveraine choyce from th' hevenly quires select,
And lineally deriv'd from Angels race,

O! what is now of it become aread.
Ay me, can so divine a thing be dead?

Ah! no: it is not dead, ne can it die,
But lives for aie, in blisfull Paradise:
Where like a new-borne babe it soft doth lie,
In bed of lillies wrapt in tender wise;

And compast all about with roses sweet, And daintie violets from head to feet.

There thousand birds all of celestiall brood,
To him do sweetly caroll day and night;
And with straunge notes, of him well understood,
Lull him a sleep in ángelick delight;

Whilest in sweet dreame to him presented bee
Immortall beauties, which no eye may see.

But he them sees and takes exceeding pleasure
Of their divine aspects, appearing plaine,
And kindling love in him above all measure,
Sweet love still ioyous, never feeling paine.
For what so goodly forme he there doth see,
He may enjoy from iealous rancor free.
There liveth he in everlasting blis,
Sweet Spirit never fearing more to die:
Ne dreading harme from any foes of his,
Ne fearing salvage beasts more crueltie.
Whilest we here, wretches, waile his private lack,
And with vaine vowes do often call him back.

But live thou there, still happie, happie Spirit,
And give us leave thee here thus to lament!
Not thee that doest thy heavens ioy inherit,
But our owne selves that here in dole are drent.
Thus do we weep and waile, and wear our eies,
Mourning, in others, our owne miseries.

WHICH When she ended had, another swaine
Of gentle wit and daintie sweet device,
Whom Astrophel full deare did entertaine,
Whilest here he liv'd, and held in passing price,
Hight Thestylis, began his mournfull tourne:
And made the Muses in his song to mourne.

And after him full many other moe,
As everie one in order lov'd him best,

Gan dight themselves t' expresse their inward woe,
With dolefull layes unto the time addrest.
The which I here in order will rehearse,

As fittest flowres to deck his mournfull hearse.

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Of such a shining light to leave us destitute?
Thou with benigne aspect sometime didst us behold,
Thou hast in Britons valour tane delight of old,
And with thy presence oft vouchsaft to attribute
Fame and renowme to us for glorious martiall deeds.
But now their [thy] ireful bemes have chill'd our
harts with cold;

Thou hast estrang'd thy self, and deignest not our land:

Farre off to others now thy favour honour breeds, And high disdaine doth cause thee shun our clime, (I feare ;)

For hadst thou not bene wroth, or that time neare at hand,

Thou wouldst have heard the cry that wofull England made;

Eke Zelands piteous plaints, and Hollands toren heare,

Would haply have appeas'd thy divine angry mynd: Thou shouldst have seen the trees refuse to yeeld their shade,

And wailing to let fall the honor of their head; And birds in mournfull tunes lamenting in their kinde.

Up from his tombe the mightie Corineus rose, Who cursing oft the fates that this mishap had bred, His hoary locks he tare, calling the heavens unkinde. The Thames was heard to roare, the Reyne and eke the Mose,

The Schald, the Danow selfe, this great mischance did rue,

With torment and with grief: their fountains pure and cleere

Were troubled, and with swelling flouds declar'd

their woes.

The Muses comfortles, the Nymphs with paled hue, The Silvan gods likewise, came running farre and neere,

[hie;

And all with teares bedeawd, and eyes cast up on O help, O help, ye gods, they ghastly gan to crie. O chaunge the cruell fate of this so rare a wight, And graunt that natures course may measure out his age. [fully, The beasts their foode forsooke, and, trembling fearEach sought his cave or den, this cry did them so fright.

Out from amid the waves, by storme then stirr'd to rage,

This crie did cause to rise th' old father Ocean hoare, Who grave with eld, and full of maiestie in sight, Spake in this wise. "Refrain (quoth he) your teares and plaints,

Cease these your idle words, make vaine requests

no more.

No humble speech, nor mone, may move the fixed stint

Of destinie or death: Such is his will that paints The earth with colours fresh; the darkest skies with store [flint

Of starry lights: And though your teares a hart of Might tender make, yet nought herein they will prevaile."

Whiles thus he said, the noble knight, who gan to feele

His vitall force to faint, and death with cruell dint Of direfull dart his mortall bodie to assaile, [steele, With eyes lift up to heav'n, and courage franke as With cheerfull face, where valour lively was exprest, But humble mynd, he said. "O Lord, if ought this

fraile

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Thy name, thy truth, then spare me (Lord) if thou think best;

Forbeare these unripe yeares. But if thy will be bent,

If that prefixed time be come which thou hast set; Through pure and fervent faith, I hope now to be plast

In th' everlasting blis, which with thy precious blood

Thou purchase didst for us." With that a sigh he set, And straight a cloudie mist his sences overcast; His lips waxt pale and wan, like damaske roses bud Cast from the stalke, or like in field to purple flowre, Which languisheth being shred by culter as it past. A trembling chilly cold ran throgh their veines,

which were

With eies brimfull of teares to see his fatall howre, Whose blustring sighes at first their sorrow did declare,

Next, murmuring ensude; at last they not forbeare
Plaine outeries, all against the heav'ns that enviously
Depriv'd us of a spright so perfect and so rare.
The Sun his lightsom beames did shrowd, and hide
his face

For griefe, whereby the earth feard night eternally: The mountaines eachwhere shooke, the rivers turn'd their streames,

And th' aire gan winterlike to rage and fret apace: And grisly ghosts by night were seene, and fierie gleames,

seeme

Amid the clouds with claps of thunder, that did [afeard: To rent the skies, and made both man and beast The birds of ill presage this lucklesse chance fore

told,

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with paine,

And piteously gan say: "My true and faithfull pheere,

Alas, and woe is me, why should my fortune frowne
On me thus frowardly to rob me of my ioy!
What cruell envious hand hath taken thee away,
And with thee my content, my comfort, and my stay!
Thou onelie wast the ease of trouble and annoy,
When they did me assaile; in thee my hopes did rest
Alas, what now is left but grief, that night and day
Afflicts this wofull life, and with continuall rage
Torments ten thousand waies my miserable brest!
O greedie envious heav'n, what needed thee to have
Enricht with such a lewell this unhappie age;
To take it back againe so soone! Alas, when shall

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