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HODBINOL.

PALINODE.

PALINODE.

And all that it containes, should as my heart Can make her onely thine ; for she will doe
Be knowne but to myselfe; if we impart

With those, that shall make thee mistrust them too,
What golden rings

The Fairy brings,
We loose the jem, nor will they give us more:

Wilt thou not leave to taint a virgine's name?
Wives loose their value, if once knowne before :
Behold this violet that cropped lyes,

A virgine! Yes: as sure as is her mother! I know not by what hand first from the stem,

Dost thou not heare her good report by fame? With what I plucke myselfe shall I it prise ?

HOBBINOL.
I scorne the offals of a diadem.
A virgin's bed hath millions of delights,

Fame is a lyer, and was never other.
If than goods parents please she know no more:
Nor hath her servants, nor her favourites,

Nay, if she ever spoke true, now she did ;
That waite her husband's issuing at dore :

And thou wilt once confesse wbat I foretold : She that is free both from the act and eie,

The fire will be disclos'd that now lies hid, Onely deserves the due of chastitie.

Nor will thy thought of her thus long time hold.
But Pbillis is

Yet may she (if that possible can fall)
As farre from this,

Be true to thee, that hath been false to all.
As are the poles in distance from each other,
She well beseemes the daughter of her mother.

HOBBINOL.
Is there a brake

So pierce the rocks
By bill or lake,

A red-breast's knocks,
In all our plaines, that hath not guilty been, As the beleefe of aught thou tell'st me now.
In keeping close her stealths ; the Papbian queene Yet be my guest to-morrow.
Ne're us'd her skill

PALINODE.
To win her will
Of yong Adonis, with more heart than she

Speed your plow.

I fear ere long Hath her allurements spent to work on me.

You'le sing a song
Leave, leave her, Hobbinol; she is so ill,

Like that was sung hereby not long ago ;
That any one is good that's naught of her,
Tho' she be faire, the ground which oft we till

Where there is carrion, never wants a crow.
Growes with his burden old and barrener.

HOBBINOL.

Ill-tutour'd swaine,
HOBBINOL,

If on the plaine

[feed, With much ado, and with no little paine,

Thy sheep hence-forward come where mine do Have I out-heard thy railing 'gainst my love :

They shall be sure to smart for thy misdeed.
But it is common, what we cannot gaine
We oft disvalew : sooner shalt thou move

PALINODE.
Yond lofty mountaine from the place it stands,

Such are the thankes a friend's fore-warning brings. Or count the meadowe's flowers, or Isis' sands,

Now, by the love I ever bore thee, stay !
Than stirre one thought

Meete not mishaps! themselves have speedy
In me, that aught

wings. Can be in Phillis which Diana faire,

HOBBINOL.
And all the goddesses, would not wish their. It is in vainc. Farewel. . I must away.

Fond man, then cease
To crosse that

peace
Which Phillis' vertue and this heart of mine
Have well begun; and for those words of thine

EGLOGUES.
I doe forgive,

If thou wilt live
Hereafter free from such reproches moe,

MASTER BROOKE AND MASTER DAVIES,
Since goodnesse never was without her foe.
PALINODE.

To W. BROWNE, ON THE PUBLICATION OF THE Beleeve me, Hobbinol, what I have said

SHEPHEARD'S PIPE.
Was more in love to thee than hate to her:
Thinke on thy liberty ; let that be weigh’d;

TO HIS MUCH-LOVED FRIEND,
Great good may oft betide, if we deferre
And use some short delayes ere marriage rites;

MASTER W. BROWNĖ,
Wedlocke hath daies of toile as joy some nigbts.

OF THE INNER TEMPLE, D.D.
Canst thou be free

From jealousie ?
Oh, no! that plague will so infect thy braine,
That only death must worke thy peace againe.
Thou canst not dwell

Willie, well met, now whiles thy flocks do feed
One minute well

So dangerlesse, and free from any feare; From whence thou leav'st her; locke on her thy Lay by thy hooke, and take thy pleasant reed, Yet will her mind be still adulterate. [gate, And with thy melodie reblesse mine eare, Not Argos' eyes,

Which (upon Lammas last) and on this plaine, Nor ten such spies,

Thou plaidst so sweetly to thy skipping traine,

BY

ADDRESSED

CUTTY.

WILLIE.

I, Cutty, then I plaid unto my sheepe
Notes apt for them, but farre unfit for thee;
How should my layes (alas!) true measure keepe
With thy choice eares, or make thee melodie?

For in thy straine thou do'st so farre exceed,
Thou canst not rellish such my homely reede.

CUTTY.

Thy nicenesse shows thy cunning, nothing more,
Yet since thou seem'st so lowly in thy thought,
(Who in thy pastorall veine, and learned lore,
Art so much prais'd, so farre and neere art sought)

Lend me thine eares, and thou shalt heare me
sing

In praise of shepheards, and of thee, their king.

My loved Willie, if there be a man
That never heard of a browne-colour'd swan,
Whose tender pinions, scarcely fledg'd in show,
Could make his way with whitest swans in Po:
Or if there be among the spawne of earth,
That thinkes so vilely of a shepheard's birth,
That though he tune his reed in meanest key,
Yet in his braine holds not Heaven, earth, and sea:
Then let him know, thou art that young brown swan,
That through the winding streames of Albion
Taking thy course, dost seeme to make thy pace
With flockes full plum'd, equall in love and grace;
And thou art he (that tho' thy humble straines
Do move delight to those that love the plaines :)
Yet to thyselfe (as to thy sort) is given

A Jacob's staffe, to take the height of Heaven;
And with a naturall cosmography

To comprehend the Earth's rotunditie:
Besides, the working plummet of thy braine

Can sound the deepes and secrets of the maine:
For if the shepheard a true figure be
Of contemplation, (as the learn'd agree)
Which, in his seeming rest, doth (restlesse) move
About the center, and to Heav'n above?
And in his thought is onely bounded there,
Sees Nature's chaine fast'ned to Jove's high chaire,
Then thou (that art of Pan the sweetest swaine,
And far transcending all his lowly traine)
In thy discoursive thought, dost range as farre,
Nor canst thou erre, led by thine owne faire starre.
Thought hath no prison, and the mind is free
Under the greatest king and tyranny.
Tho' low thou seem'st, thy genius mounts the hill,
Where heavenly nectar doth from Jove distil;
Where bayes still grow, (by thunder not struck

down)

The victor's garland, and the poet's crown;
And underneath the horse-foote-fount doth flow,
Which gives wit verdure, and makes learning

grow.

To this faire hill (from stormes and tempests free)
Thou oft repair'st for truthe's discovery;
A prospect, upon all time's wand'ring mazes,
Displaying vanity, disclosing graces :
Nay, in some cliffe it leads the eye beyond
The time's horizon, stripping sea and land.
And farther (not obscurely) doth divine
All future times: here doc the Muses shine,
Here dignitie with safetie doe combine,
Pleasure with merit makes a lovely twine.
Vitam vitalem they shall ever leade,

That mount this hill and learning's path do treade:

[lasses;

Here admiration without envie's wonne,
All in the light, but in the heate sit none.
And to this mount thou dost translate thine essence,
Altho' the plaines contain thy corporal presence;
Where tho' poore people's miserie thou show,
That under griping lords they undergoe,
And what content they (that do lowest lie)
Receive from good men, that do sit on hie.
And in each witty ditty (that surpasses)
Dost, for thy love, make strife 'mongst country
Yet in thy humble straine, fame makes thee rise,
And strikes thy mounting forehead 'gainst the skies.
To memorize thy name? Would I could praise
Renowned friend, what trophie may I raise
(In any meane) thy worth; strike Envy dumbe,
But I die here; thou liv'st in time to come :
States have their period, statucs lost with rust;
Soules to Elizium, Nature ycelds to dust;
All monuments of armes and power decay,
But that which lives to an eternall day,
Letters preserve; nay, gods with mortall men
Do sympathize by vertue of the penne,
And so shalt thou. Sweet Willie, then proceede,
And in eternall merit fame thy reede.
Pan to thy fleeced numbers give increase,
And Pales to thy love-thoughts give true peace;
Let faire Feronia (goddesse of the woods)
Preserve thy yong plants, multiply thy buds;
And whiles thy rams doe tup, thy ewes do twyn,
Doe thou in peacefull shade (froin men's rude dyn)
Adde pinyons to thy fame: whose active wit
With Hermes' winged cap doth suite most fit.

CHRISTOPHER BROOKE.

THIRSIS AND ALEXIS.

THIRSIS.

ALEXIS, if thy worth doe not disdaine The humble friendship of a meaner swaine; Or some more needfull businesse of the day Urge thee to be too hasty on thy way; Come (gentle shepheard) rest thee here by me, Under the shadow of this broad-leav'd tree: For though I seeme a stranger, yet mine eye Observes in thee the markes of curtisie: And if my judgement erre not, noted too More than in those that more would sceme to doc: Such vertues thy rude modesty doth hide, Which by thy proper luster I espi'd; And tho' long mask't in silence they have beene, į I have a wisedom thro' that silence seene: Yea, I have learned knowledge from thy tongue, And heard when thou hast in concealment sung: Which me the bolder and more willing made Thus to invite thee to this homely shade. And tho' (it may be) thon couldst never spye Such worth in me to make me known thereby, In thee I doe; for here my neighbouring sheepe Upon the border of these downes I kecpe: Where often thou at pastorals and playes Hast grac'd our wakes on sommer holy-dayes: And many a time with thee at this cold spring Met I, to heare your learned shepherds sing, Saw them disporting in the shady groves, And in chast sonnets wcoe their chaster loves: When I, endued with the mean et skill, 'Mongst others have been urg'd to tune my quill;

Where (cause but little cunning I had got)
Perhaps thou saw'st me, tho' thou knew'st me not.

ALEXIS.

Yes, Thirsis, I doe know thee and thy name,
Nor is my knowledge grounded all on fame;
Art not thou he, that but this other yeare,
Scard'st all the wolves and foxes in the sheere?
And in a match at foot-ball lately try'd,
(Having scarce twenty satyres on thy side)
Held'st play and, tho' assailed, kept'st thy stand
'Gainst all the best try'd ruffians in the land:
Didst thou not then in doleful sonnets mone,
When the beloved of great Pan was gone;
And, at the wedding of faire Thame and Rhyne,
Sing of their glories to thy Valentine?
I know it, and I must confesse that long
In one thing I did doe thy nature wrong:
For till I markt the aime thy satyrs had,
I thought them overbold, and Thirsis mad;
But, since I did more neerely on thee looke,
I soon perceiv'd that I had all mistooke:
I saw that of a cynicke thou mad'st show,
Where since I find that thou wert nothing so,
And that of many thou much blame hadst got,
When as thy imocence deserv'd it not.
But this too good opinion thou hast seem'd
To have of me (not so to be esteem'd)
Prevailes not aught to stay him who doth feare,
He rather should reproofes than praises heare;
'Tis true I found thee plaine and honest too,
Which made me like, then love, as now I do;
And, Thirsis, though a stranger, this I say,
Where I do love, I am not coy to stay.

THIRSIS.

Thankes, gentle swayne, that dost so soone unfold
What I to thee as gladly would have told,
And thus thy wonted curtesie exprest
In kindly entertaining this request:
Sure I should injury my owne content,
Or wrong thy love, to stand on complement,
Who hast acquaintance in one word begunne
As well as I could in an age have done:
Or by an over-weaning slownesse marre
What thy more wisedome hath brought on so farre,
Then sit thou downe, and I'le my minde declare
As frely as if we familiars were:

And if thou wilt but daigne to give me eare,
Something thou maist for thy more profit heare.

ALEXIS.

Willingly, Thirsis, I thy wish obey,

THIRSIS.

Then know, Alexis, from that very day,
When as I saw thee at that shepheard's coate,
Where each, I thinke, of other tooke first noate,
I meane that pastor who by Tavie's springs,
Chaste shepheards' loves in sweetest numbers sings,
And with his musicke (to his greater fame)
Hath late made proud the fairest nimphes of Thame.
E'ne then, me thought, I did espy in thee
Some unperceiv'd and hidden worth to be,
Which in thy more apparent virtues shin'd,
And among many I in thought devin'd,
By something my conceit had understood,
That thou wert markt one of the Muses' brood,
That made me love thee: and that love I beare
Begat a pitty, and that pitty care:

Pitty I had to see good parts conceal'd,
Care I had how to have that good reveal'd,
Since 'tis a fault admitteth no excuse

To possesse much, and yet put nought in use:
Hereon I vow'd, (if we two ever met)

The first request that I would strive to get [skill,
Should be but this, that thou wouldst show thy
How thou couldst tune thy verses to thy quill:
And teach thy Muse, in some well-framed song,
To show the art thou hast supprest so long:
Which, if my new acquaintance may obtaine,
Thirsis will ever honour this daie's gaine.

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Then use their gifts thou must,
Or be ungratefull, and so be unjust:
For if it cannot truly be deny'd,
Ingratitude men's benefits do hide,
Then more ungratefull must he be by oddes,
Who doth conceale the bounty of the gods.

ALEXIS.

That's true indeed; but Envy hateth those
Who, seeking fame, their hidden ski!l disclose :
Where else they might (obscur'd) from her espying
Escape the blasts and danger of envying:
Critickes will censure our best straines of wit,
And purblinde ignorance misconster it.
All which is bad, yet worse than this doth follow,
Most hate the Muses, and contemne Apollo.

THIRSIS.

So let them; why should we their hate esteeme?
Is't not enough we of ourselves can deeme?
'Tis more to their disgrace that we scorne them,
Than unto us that they our art contemne;
Can we have better pastime than to see
Our grosse heads may so much deceived be,
As to allow those doings best, where wholly
We scoffe them to their face, and flout their folly?
Or to behold blacke Envy in her prime
Die selfe-consum'd, whilst we vie lives with time?
And, in despight of her, more fame attaine
Than all her malice can wipe out againe.

ALEXIS.

Yea, but if I apply me to those straines,
Who should drive forth my flockes unto the plaines,
Which whilst the Muses rest, and leasure crave,
Must watering, folding, and attendance have?
For if I leave with wonted care to cherish
Those tender heards, both I and they should perish.

THIRSIS.

Alexis, now I see thou dost mistake, There is no meaning thou thy charge forsake; Nor would I wish thee so thyselfe abuse, As to neglect thy calling for thy Muse: But let these two so of each other borrow, That they may season mirth, and lessen sorrow. Thy flocke will helpe thy charges to defray, Thy Muse to passe the long and tedious day. Or whilst thou tun'st sweet measures to thy reed, Thy sheepe to listen will more neere thee feed; The wolves will shun them, birds above thee sing, And lambkins dance about thee in a ring; Nay, which is more, in this thy low estate Thou in contentment shalt with monarkes mate: For mighty Pan, and Ceres to us grants, Our fields and flockes, shall help our outward wants. The Muses teach us songs to put off cares, Grac'd with as rare and sweet conceits as theirs: And we can thinke our lasses on the greenes As faire, or fairer than the fairest queenes; Or, what is more than most of them shall do, Wee'le make their juster fatnes last longer too, Having our lines by greatest princes grac'd, When both their name and memory's defac'd. Therefore, Alexis, though that some disdaine The heavenly musicke of the rural plaine, What is't to us, if they (or'eseene) contemne The dainties which were nere ordain'd for them? And though that there be other some envy The praises due to sacred poesie,

Let them disdaine and fret till they are wearie, We in ourselves have that shall make us merrie : Which he that wants, and had the power to know it, Would give his life that he might dye a poet.

ALEXIS.

Thou hast so well (yong Thirsis) plaid thy part,
I am almost in love with that sweet art:
And if some power will but inspire my song,
Alexis will not be obscured long.

THIRSIS.

Enough, kinde pastor: but, oh! yonder see
Two shepheards, walking on the lay-banke be,
Cuttie and Willie, that so dearly love,
Who are repairing unto yonder grove:
Let's follow them: for never braver swaines
Made musicke to their flockes upon these plaines.
They are more worthy, and can better tell
What rare contents do with a poet dwell. [shere,
Then whiles our sheepe the short sweet grasse do
And till the long shade of the hilles appeare,
Wee'le heare them sing; for though the one be
Never was any that more sweetly sung. [young,

AN EGLOGUE

CEO. WITHER.

BETWEEN YONGE WILLIE, THE SINGER OF HIS NATIVE PASTORALS, AND OLD WERNOCK, HIS FRIEND.

WERNOCK.

WILLIE, why lig'st thou (man) so wo-be-gon?
What! been thy rather lamkins ill-apaid?
Or, hath some drerie chance thy pipe misdone?
Or, hast thou any sheep-cure mis-assaid?
Or, is some conteck 'twixt thy love and thee?
Or, else some love-warke arsie-varsie ta'ne?
Or, Fates lesse frolicke than they wont to be?

What gars my Willie that he so doth wane?
If it be for thou hast mis-said, or done,
Take keepe of thine owne councell; and thou art
As sheene and cleare fro' both-twaine as the Sunne :
For, all swaines laud thine haviour, and thine art.
May hap thine heart (that unneath brooke neglect,
And jealous of thy fresh fame) liggs upon
Thy rurall songs, which rarest clarkes affect,
Dreading the descant that mote fall thereon.
Droope not for that (man) but unpleate thy browes,
And blithly, so, fold envies up in pleats:
For, fro' thy makings, milke and melly flowes,
To feed the songster-swaines with art's soot-meats.

WII LIE.

Now, sileer (Wernock) thou hast spilt the marke,
Albe that I ne wot I han mis-song:
But, for I am so yong, I dread my warke
Woll be misvalued both of old and yong.

WERNOCK,

Is thilke the cause that thou been ligge so laid,
Who whilom no encheson could fore-haile;
And caitive-courage nere made misapaid, [saile?
But with chicfe yongsters, songsters, bar'st thy
As swoot as swans thy strains make Thams to ring
Fro' Cotswould, where her sourse her course doth
take,

To her wide mouth, which vents thy carolling
Beyond the hether and the further lake..
Than up (said swaine) pull fro' thy vailed cheeks
Hur prop, thy palme: and let thy virilaies
Kill envious cunning swaines (whom all do seeke)
With envy, at thy earned gaudy praise.
Up lither, lad, thou reck'st much of thy swinke,
When swinke ne swat thou shouldst ne reck for

fame.

At Aganip, than, lay thee downe to drinke
Untill thy stomacke swell, to raise thy name.
What tho' time yet hannot bedowld thy chin?
Thy dam's deere wombe was Helicon to thee;
Where (like a loach) thou drew'st thilke liquor in,
Which on thy heart-strings ran with musicke's

glee.

Than up betimes, and make the sullen swaines
With thy shrill reed such jolly-jovisance,
That they (entranc'd) may wonder at thy straines ;
So, leave of thee ne're ending sovenance.

WILLIE.

Ah, Wernock, Wernock ! so my sp'rits beene steept
In dulnesse, thro' these duller times missawes
Of sik-like musicke, (riming rudely cleept)
That yer I pipe well, must be better cause.
Ah! who (with lavish draughts of Aganip)
Can swill their soule to frolicke so, their Muse,
When courts and camps, that erst the Muse did
clip,

Do now forlore her; nay, her most abuse?
Now, with their witlesse, causelesse surquedry,
They been transpos'd fro' what of yore they were,
That swaines, who but to looser luxurie
Can show the way, are now most cherisht there.
These times been crimefull, (ah!) and being so,
Bold swaines, (deft songsters) sing them criminall;
So, make themselves oft gleefull in their wo:
For thy tho' songsters are misween'd of all.
Mecenas woont in blonket liveries
Yclad sike chanters; but these miser times
Uncase hem quite, that all may hem despise,
As they don all their best embellisht rimes.

And harvest-queenes of yore would chaplets make To crowne their scalps that couth most swootly sing,

And give hem many a gaude at ale or wake,
But now ne recke they of soot carolling.
Enaunter they should be as seeme they would,
Or songen lowdly for so deere desart;
Or else be peregall to nymphes of old,
From which their beastlihed now freely start.
Than must they latch the blowes of fates too fell
With their too feeble clowches as they con:
For, none regards or guards hem for their spell,
Tho' they, on point-device, empt Helicon !
There nis thilke chivisance they whilome had
For piping swoote; sith, with an heydeguies,
Pipt by Tom-piper, or a Lorrel-lad,
(So be he clawes hem) they idolatrize.
And those that should presse proper songs for sale,
Bene, in their doomes, so dull; in skill, so crude;
That they had leaver printen Jacke a vale,
Or Clim ô Clough, (alacke!) they been so rude!
And sith so few feate songsters in an age
Bene founden; few do weigh hem as they been,
For, swaines, that con no skill of holy rage,
Bene foe-men to faire skil's enlawreld queene.
Enough is mee, for thy, that I ma vent
My wit's spels to myselfe, or unto thee,
(Deer Wernock) which dost feel like miscontent
Sith thou, and all unheeded, singt with me.

WERNOCK.

Vartue it's sed (and is an old said-saw)
Is for hurselfe, to be forsought alone:
Then eftsoones fro' their case thy shrill pipes draw,
And make the welkin ringen with their tone.
Of world, ne worly men take thou no keepe,
What the one doth, or what the other say;
For should I so, I so should cyne out-weepe:
Then, with me; Willie, ay sing care away.
It's wood to be fore-pind with wastefull carke
In many a noyfull stoure of willing bale
For vading toyes: but trim wit's poorest wark
The upper Heav'n han hent fro' nether dale.
Thilks all our share of all the quelling heape
Of this world's good enough is us to tell
How rude the best bene, caduke, and how cheape,
But, laude for well-done warks, done all excel!
For thy we shoulden take keepe of our race
That here we rennen, and what here we doon
That whan we wenden till another place,
Our sovenance may here, ay-gayly woon.
For, time will undersong us; and our voice
Woll woxen weake; and our devising lame:
For, life is briefe; and skils been long, and

choice:

[fame. Then spend we time, that time may spare our Looke how breeme winter chamfers earth's bleeke face!

So, corbed elde accoyes youth's surquedry;
And, in the front, deepe furrowes doon enchase,
Inveloped with falling snow a hy.

Then nought can be achiev'd with witty shewes,
Sith griefe of elde accloyen wimble wit;
Then, us behoven, yer elde sick accrewes,
Time to forelay, with spels retarding it.

I not what blisse is whelm'd with Heav'n's coape,
So be the pleasance of the Muse be none:
For, when thilke gleesome joyes han hallowed
scope,

They been as those that Heav'n's folke warble on.
I con my good; for, now my scalpe is frost
Yeelding to snow; the crow-feete neer mine cyne
Been markes of mickle precfe I have, that most
Of all glees else alow, han suddaine fine.
O how it garres old Wernock swynck with glee
In that emprise that chiven featest fame,
It heats my heart above abilitie

To leave parduring sovenance of my name.
And when mine engine han heav'd by my thought,
An that on poynt device eftsooncs yfell,
O! how my hart's joy rapt, as I had cought,
A princedome to my share, of thilke newell.
They beene of picasances the alderbest:
Than, God to forne; I wol no mo but tho:
Tho' been the summe of all I loven best:
And for hem love I life; else nold I so.
Drive on thy flocke, then, to the motley plaines,
Where by some prill, that 'mong the pibbles plods,
Thou, with thine oaten reede and queintest
straines,

Maist rapt the senior swaines, and minor gods:
That as on Ida, that mych-famed mount,

A shepheard swaine; that sung lesse soote than thon,

By light love's goddesse, had the grace to mount
To owe the sheenest queene that Earth did owe:
So, thou maist, with thy past'rall minstralsy
Beating the aire, atweene resounding hils,
Draw to thee bonibels as smirke, as hy,
And wrap hem in thy love begrey their wils:
For (ah!) had Phoebus' clarkes the meanes of some
Worse clarkes (parav'nter) so to sing at ease;
They soone would make high long-wing'd hag-
gards come;

And vaile unto their lures; so, on hem seise.
For, bright nymphes buxume breasts do eas'ly ope
To let in thirling notes of noted laies:

For, deftly song they han a charming scope;
So, nymphs themselves adore brows girt with bayes.
Then, Willie, (ah! for pitty of thine heart,
That drouping yearnes, at misses of these times)
Take thou thy pipe, and of glee take thy part;
Or cheere thyselfe with cordials of thy rimes.
Before the world's sterne face, the world back-bite
So slyly, that her parts ne'it perceive :
Morall thy matter so, that, tho' thou smite,
Thou maist with tickling her dull sence, deceive.
Then hy thee, Willie, to the neighbour wasts,
Where thou (as in another world alone)
Maist (while thy flocke doe feede) blow bitter blasts
On thy loud'st pipe, to make il's pertly knowne.
For, sith the rude world doon us misplease
That well deserven, tell we hur hus owne;
And let her ken our cunning can, with ease,
Aye shend, or lend her sempiterne renowne.

WILLIE.

Ah, Wernock! so thy sawes mine heart downe thril
With love of Muses' skill in speciall,
That I ne wot, on mould what feater skill
Can be yhugg'd in lordings pectorall.
Ne would I it let bee for all the store

In th' uncoth scope of both-twain hemispheres ;
Ynough is me, perdy, nor strive for more
But to be rich in hery for my leeres.
Ne would I sharen that soule-gladding glee
In th' ever gaudy gardens of the blest
Not there to han, the Muses' companee,
Which, God to-fore, is, of the best, the best,

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