Minor Poems of Michael Drayton Part 27

Loue taught my Muse her perfect skill, loue gaue me first to Poesie: Loue is the Soueraigne of my will, loue bound me first to loyalty.

Loue was the first that fram'd my speech, loue was the first that gaue me grace: Loue is my life and fortunes leech, loue made the vertuous giue me place.

Loue is the end of my desire, 40 loue is the loadstarre of my loue, Loue makes my selfe, my selfe admire, loue seated my delights aboue.

Loue placed honor in my brest, loue made me learnings fauoret, Loue made me liked of the best, loue first my minde on virtue set.

Loue is my life, life is my loue, loue is my whole felicity, Loue is my sweete, sweete is my loue, 50 I am in loue, and loue in mee.

_From Eclogue viij_

Farre in the countrey of _Arden_ There wond a knight hight _Ca.s.s.e.m.e.n_, as bolde as _Isenbras_: Fell was he and eger bent, In battell and in Tournament, as was the good sir _Topas_.

He had as antique stories tell, A daughter cleaped _Dowsabell_, a mayden fayre and free: And for she was her fathers heire, 10 Full well she was ycond the leyre, of mickle curtesie.

The silke wel couth she twist and twine, And make the fine Marchpine, and with the needle werke, And she couth helpe the priest to say His Mattens on a holyday, and sing a Psalme in Kirke.

She ware a frocke of frolicke greene, Might well beseeme a mayden Queene, 20 which seemly was to see.

A hood to that so neat and fine, In colour like the colombine, ywrought full featously.

Her feature all as fresh aboue, As is the gra.s.se that grows by Doue, as lyth as la.s.se of Kent: Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll, As white as snow on peakish hull, or Swanne that swims in Trent. 30 This mayden in a morne betime, Went forth when May was in her prime, to get sweet Cetywall, The hony-suckle, the Harlocke, The Lilly and the Lady-smocke, to decke her summer hall.

Thus as she wandred here and there, Ypicking of the bloomed Breere, she chanced to espie A shepheard sitting on a bancke, 40 Like _Chanteclere_ he crowed crancke, and pip'd with merrie glee: He leard his sheepe as he him list, When he would whistle in his fist, to feede about him round: Whilst he full many a caroll sung, Vntill the fields and medowes rung, and that the woods did sound: In fauour this same shepheards swayne, Was like the bedlam _Tamburlayne_, 50 which helde prowd Kings in awe: But meeke he was as Lamb mought be, Ylike that gentle _Abel_ he, whom his lewd brother slaw.

This shepheard ware a sheepe gray cloke, Which was of the finest loke, that could be cut with sheere, His mittens were of Bauzens skinne, His c.o.c.kers were of Cordiwin his hood of Meniueere. 60 His aule and lingell in a thong, His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong, his breech of Coyntrie blew: Full crispe and curled were his lockes, His browes as white as _Albion_ rockes, so like a louer true.

And pyping still he spent the day, So mery as the Popingay: which liked _Dowsabell_, That would she ought or would she nought, 70 This lad would neuer from her thought: she in loue-longing fell, At length she tucked vp her frocke, White as the Lilly was her smocke, she drew the shepheard nie, But then the shepheard pyp'd a good, That all his sheepe forsooke their foode, to heare his melodie.

Thy sheepe quoth she cannot be leane, That haue a iolly shepheards swayne, 80 the which can pipe so well.

Yea but (sayth he) their shepheard may, Jf pyping thus he pine away, in loue of _Dowsabell_.

Of loue fond boy take thou no keepe, Quoth she, looke well vnto thy sheepe, lest they should hap to stray.

Quoth he, so had I done full well, Had I not seene fayre _Dowsabell_, come forth to gather Maye. 90 With that she gan to vaile her head, Her cheekes were like the Roses red, but not a word she sayd.

With that the shepheard gan to frowne, He threw his pretie pypes adowne, and on the ground him layd.

Sayth she, I may not stay till night, And leaue my summer hall vndight, and all for long of thee.

My Coate sayth he, nor yet my foulde, 100 Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould, except thou fauour me.

Sayth she yet leuer I were dead, Then I should lose my maydenhead, and all for loue of men: Sayth he yet are you too vnkind, If in your heart you cannot finde, to loue vs now and then: And J to thee will be as kinde, As _Colin_ was to _Rosalinde_, 110 of curtesie the flower; Then will I be as true quoth she, As euer mayden yet might be, vnto her Paramour: With that she bent her snowe-white knee, Downe by the shepheard kneeled shee, and him she sweetely kist.

With that the shepheard whoop'd for ioy, Quoth he, ther's neuer shepheards boy, that euer was so blist. 120

[From the Edition of 1605]

_From Eclogue ij_

Then this great Vniuerse no lesse, Can serue her prayses to expresse: Betwixt her eies the poles of Loue, The host of heauenly beautyes moue, Depainted in their proper stories, As well the fixd as wandring glories, Which from their proper orbes not goe, Whether they gyre swift or slowe: Where from their lips, when she doth speake, The musick of those sphears do breake, 10 Which their harmonious motion breedeth: From whose cheerfull breath proceedeth: That balmy sweetnes that giues birth To euery ofspring of the earth.

Her shape and cariage of which frame In forme how well shee beares the same, Is that proportion heauens best treasure, Whereby it doth all poyze and measure, So that alone her happy sight Conteynes perfection and delight. 20

_From Eclogue ij_

Vppon a bank with roses set about, Where pretty turtles ioyning bil to bill, And gentle springs steale softly murmuring out Washing the foote of pleasures sacred hill: There little loue sore wounded lyes, His bowe and arowes broken, Bedewd with teares from Venus eyes Oh greeuous to be spoken.

Beare him my hart slaine with her scornefull eye Where sticks the arrowe that poore hart did kill, 10 With whose sharp pile request him ere he die, About the same to write his latest will, And bid him send it backe to mee, At instant of his dying, That cruell cruell shee may see My faith and her denying.

His chappell be a mournefull Cypresse Shade, And for a chauntry Philomels sweet lay, Where prayers shall continually be made By pilgrim louers pa.s.sing by that way. 20 With Nymphes and shepheards yearly moane His timeles death beweeping, In telling that my hart alone Hath his last will in keeping.

[From the Edition of 1606]

_From Eclogue vij_

Now fye vpon thee wayward loue, Woe to _Venus_ which did nurse thee, Heauen and earth thy plagues doe proue, G.o.ds and men haue cause to curse thee.

What art thou but th' extreamst madnesse, Natures first and only error That consum'st our daies in sadnesse, By the minds Continuall terror: Walking in Cymerian blindnesse, In thy courses voy'd of reason. 10 Sharp reproofe thy only kindnesse, In thy trust the highest treason?

Both the Nymph and ruder swaine, Vexing with continuall anguish, Which dost make the ould complaine And the young to pyne and languishe, Who thee keepes his care doth nurse, That seducest all to folly, Blessing, bitterly doest curse, Tending to destruction wholly: 20 Thus of thee as I began, So againe I make an end, Neither G.o.d neither man, Neither faiery, neither feend.

BATTE.

What is Loue but the desire Of the thing that fancy pleaseth?

A holy and resistlesse fier, Weake and strong alike that ceaseth, Which not heauen hath power to let, Nor wise nature cannot smother, 30 Whereby _Phoebus_ doth begette On the vniuersall mother.

That the euerlasting Chaine, Which together al things tied, And vnmooued them retayne And by which they shall abide: That concent we cleerely find, All things doth together drawe, And so strong in euery kinde, Subiects them to natures law. 40 Whose hie virtue number teaches In which euery thing dooth mooue, From the lowest depth that reaches To the height of heauen aboue: Harmony that wisely found, When the cunning hand doth strike Whereas euery amorous sound, Sweetly marryes with his like.

The tender cattell scarcely take From their damm's the feelds to proue, 50 But ech seeketh out a make, Nothing liues that doth not loue: Not soe much as but the plant As nature euery thing doth payre, By it if the male it want Doth dislike and will not beare: Nothing then is like to loue In the which all creatures be.

From it nere let me remooue Nor let it remooue from me. 60

_From Eclogue ix_

BATTE.

_Gorbo_, as thou cam'st this waye By yonder little hill, Or as thou through the fields didst straye Sawst thou my _Daffadill_?

Shee's in a frock of Lincolne greene The colour maides delight And neuer hath her beauty seen But through a vale of white.

Then Roses richer to behold That trim vp louers bowers, 10 The Pansy and the Marigould Tho _Phbus_ Paramours.

_Gorbo._ Thou well describ'st the Daffadill It is not full an hower Since by the spring neare yonder hill I saw that louely flower.

_Batte._ Yet my faire flower thou didst not meet, Nor news of her didst bring, And yet my Daffadill more sweete, Then that by yonder spring. 20

_Gorbo._ I saw a shepheard that doth keepe In yonder field of Lillies, Was making (as he fed his sheepe) A wreathe of Daffadillies.

_Batte._ Yet _Gorbo_ thou delud'st me stil My flower thou didst not see, For know my pretie _Daffadill_ Is worne of none but me.

To shew it selfe but neare her seate, No Lilly is so bould, 30 Except to shade her from the heate, Or keepe her from the colde:

_Gorbo._ Through yonder vale as I did pa.s.se, Descending from the hill, I met a smerking bony la.s.se, They call her _Daffadill_:

Whose presence as along she went, The prety flowers did greet, As though their heads they downward bent, With homage to her feete. 40

And all the shepheards that were nie, From toppe of euery hill, Vnto the vallies lowe did crie, There goes sweet _Daffadill_.

_Gorbo._ I gentle shepheard, now with ioy Thou all my flockes dost fill, That's she alone kind shepheards boy, Let vs to _Daffadill_.

_From Eclogue ix_

_Motto._ Tell me thou skilfull shepheards swayne, Who's yonder in the vally set?

_Perkin._ O it is she whose sweets do stayne, The Lilly, Rose, or violet.