For she is not like as the other crew 935 Of shepheards daughters which emongst you bee, 940 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. Yet as they been, if any nycer wit Shall hap to heare, or covet them to read: 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, For he could pipe, and daunce, and caroll sweet, Full many Maydens often did him woo, And many a Nymph both of the wood and brooke, In wrestling nimble, and in renning swift, He vanquisht all, and vanquisht was of none. Besides, in hunting such felicitie That every field and forest far away He sought, where salvage beasts do most abound. 60 70 75 80 Full happie man (misweening much) was hee, Eftsoones, all heedlesse of his dearest hale, To slaughter them, and worke their finall bale, His care was all how he them all might kill, That from himselfe to them withdrew his eies. So deadly was the dint and deep the wound, Ah! where were ye this while his shepheard peares, Ah! wretched boy, the shape of dreryhead, A sort of shepheards sewing of the chace, 740 And in the midst thereof a star appeares, That hearbe of some, Starlight is cald by name, But thou, where ever thou doest finde the same, 191 196 Untimely cropt, before it well were growne, Great losse to all that ever him did see, Breake now your gyrlonds, Oye shepheards lasses, In stead of gyrlond, weare sad Cypres nowe, 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, Ioy of the world, and shepheards pride was hee! 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 By soveraine choyce from th' hevenly quires select, O! what is now of it become aread. Ah! no: it is not dead, ne can it die, And compast all about with roses sweet, And daintie violets from head to feet. There thousand birds all of celestiall brood, Whilest in sweet dreame to him presented bee But he them sees and takes exceeding pleasure But live thou there, still happie, happie Spirit, WHICH When she ended had, another swaine And after him full many other moe, Gan dight themselves t' expresse their inward woe, As fittest flowres to deck his mournfull hearse. Of such a shining light to leave us destitute? 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 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 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, with paine, And piteously gan say: "My true and faithfull pheere, Alas, and woe is me, why should my fortune frowne |