So deadly was the dint, and deep the wound,
And fo huge ftreams of blood thereout did
flow,

That he endured not the direful ftound,
But on the cold dear earth himself did throw;
The whiles the captive herd his rets did rend,
And having none to lett, to wood did wend.

Ah! where were ye this while, his fhepherd peers,

To whom alive was nought fo dear as he?
And ye, fair Maids! the matches of his years,
Which in his grace did boast you most to be?
Ah! where were ye, when he of you had need
To ftop his wound, that wondrously did bleed?

Ah! wretched Boy! the fhape of Dreryhead,
And fad enfaniple of man's fudden end,
Full little faileth but thou shalt be dead,
Unpitied, unplain'd, or foe or friend;
Whilft none is nigh thine cye-lids up to close,
And kifs thy lips like faded leaves of rofe.

A fort of fliepherds fuing of the chace,
As they the forest ranged on a day,
By Fate or Fortune came unto the place,
Whereas the lucklefs boy yet bleeding lay;
Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still have bled,
Had not good hap thofe fhepherds thither led.

They ftopt his wound (too late to step it was
And in their arms then foftly did him rear;
Tho (as he will'd) unto his loved lafs,
His dearest love, him doicfully did bear:
The dolefulft bier that ever man did fee
Was Aftrophel, but deareft unto me.

She, when the faw her love in fuch a plight,
With crudled blood and filthy gore deformed,
That wont to be with flowers and girlonds
dight,

And her dear favours dearly well adorned,
Her face the faireft face that eye mote fee,
She likewife did deform, like him to be.

Her yellow locks, that fhone fo bright and long,
As funny beams in faireft fummer's day,
She fiercely tore, and with outrageous wrong
From her red checks the roles rent away;
And her fair breaft, the treafury of joy,
She spoyl'd thereof, and filled with annoy.
His pallid face, impi&ured with death,
She bathed oft with tears, and dried oft;
And with fweet kiffes fuck'd the wafling breath
Out of his lips, like lilies, pale and foft;
And oft the call'd to him, who antwer'd nought,
But only by his looks did tell his thought.

The rest of her impatient regret
And piteous mone the which the for him made,
No tongue can tell, nor any forth can fet,
But he whole heart like forrow did invade.
At laft, when pain his vital powers had spent,
His walled life her weary lodge forwent.

Which when fhe faw, the ftaied not a whit,
But after him did make untimely haste;
Forth-with her ghoft out of her corps did flit,
And followed her mate, like turtle chafte,
To prove that death their hearts cannot divide,
Which living were in love fo firmly tide.

The gods, which all things fee, this fame be held,

And pitying this pair of lovers true,
Transformed them there lying on the field,
Into one flowre, that is both red and blue:
It first grows red, and then to blue doth fade,
Like Altrophel, which thereinto was made.

And in the midft thereof a ftar appears,
As fairly form'd as any flar in fkyes,
Refembling Stella in her fresheft years,
Forth darting beams of beauty from her eyes;
And all the day it ftandeth full of dew,
Which is the tears that from her eyes did flow.

That herb of fome Starlight is call'd by name,
Of others Penthia, though not fo well;
But thou, where-ever thou doft find the fame,
From this day forth do call it Aftrophel;
And whenfoever thou it up doost take,
Do pluck it foftly, for that thepherd's fake.

Hereof when tydings far abroad did pass,
The thepherds all, which loved him full dear,
(And fure full dear of all he loved was)
Did thither flock, to fee what they did hear;
And when that piteous fpectacle they viewed,
The fame with bitter tears they all bedewed.

And every one did make exceeding mone,
With inward anguifh and great grief oppreft;
And every one did weep, and wail, and more,
And means devis'd to fhew his forrow best;
That from that howre, fince first on graffie greet
Shepherds kept fheep, was not like mourning

feen.

But first his fifter, that Clarinda hight,
That gentleft fhepherdess that lives this day,
And moft refembling both in fhare and spright,
Her brother dear, began this doleful lay;
Which, left I mar the fweetness of the verse,
In fort as the it fung I will reherse.

Aye me! to whom fhall I my cafe complain,
That may compaflion my impatient grief?
Or where fhall I unfold my inward pain,
That my enriven heart may find relief?
Shall I unto the heavenly powres it show?
Or unto earthly men that dwell below?

"To heavens? ah! they, alas the authors were,
And workers, of my unremedied wo;
For they foresee what to us happens here,
And they forefaw, yet fuffred this be fo.
From them comes good, from them comes alfo il:
That which they made, who can them warn to

fpill?

"To men? ah! they, alas! like wretched be,
And fubject to the Heavens' ordinance,
Bound to abide whatever they decree;
Their best redress is their best sufferance.
How then can they, like wretched, comfort me,
The which no lefs need comforted to be?

"Then to my self will I my forrow mourn,
Sith none alive like forrowful remains,
And to my felf my plaints fhall back retourn,
To pay their ufury with double pains:
The woods, the hills, the rivers, shall refound
The mournful accent of my forrows' ground.

"Woods, hills, and rivers, now are defolate,
Sith he is gone the which them all did grace;
And all the fields do wail their widow ftate,
Sith death their fairest flower did late deface:
The fairest flowre in field that ever grew
Was Aftrophel; that was we all may rue.

"What cruel hand of curfed foe unknown
Hath cropt the ftalk which bore fo fair a flowre?
Untimely cropt, before it well were grown,
And clean defaced in untimely howre:
Great lofs to all that ever him did fee,
Great lofs to all, but greatest lofs to me.

"Break now your girlonds, O ye fhepherds Laffes!

Sith the fair flowre which them adorn'd is gone; The flowre which them adorn'd, is gone to afhes,

Never again let lafs put girlond on:
In ftead of girlond, wear fad cypress now,
And bitter elder, broken from the bough.

"Ne ever fing the love-lays which he made;
Who ever made fuch lays of love as he?
Ne ever read the riddles which he said
Unto your feives to make you merry glee:
Your merry glee is now laid all abed,
Your merry maker now, alas! is dead.

"Death, the devourer of all world's delight,
Hath robbed you, and reft fro me my joy;
Both you and me, and all the world, he quight
Hath robb'd of joyance, and left fad annoy.
Joy of the world, and fhepherds' pride, was he;
Shepherds, hope never like again to fee.

"O Death! that haft us of fuch riches reft,
Tell us, at leaft, what haft thou with it done?
What is become of him whofe flowre here left
Is but the fhadow of his likencfs gone?
Scarce like the fhadow of that which he was,
Nought like, but that he like a fhade did pafs.

"But that immortal spirit, which was deckt With all the dowries of celeftial grace,

By foveraign choice from th' heavenly quires
Lelect,

And lineally deriv'd from angels' race,
O what is now of it become? aread:
Aye me! can fo divine a thing be dead:

"Ah! no: it is not dead, ne can it die,
But lives for aye in blifsful paradife,
Where like a new-born babe it foft doth lie
In bed of lillies, wrapt in tender wife,
And compast all about with roses sweet,
And dainty violets from head to feet.

"There thoufand birds, all of celeftial brood,
To him do sweetly carol day and night,
And with ftrange notes, of him well understood,
Lull him afleep in angel-like delight;
Whilft in fweet dream to him prefented be
Immortal beautics, which no eye may fee.

"But he them fees, and takes exceeding pleasure
Of their divine aspects, appearing plain,
And kindling love in him above all measure;
Sweet love, ftil joyous, never feeling pain:
For what fo goodly form he there doth fee
He may enjoy, from jealous rancour free.
"There liveth he in everlasting blifs,
Sweet Spirit! never fearing more to die,
Ne dreading harm from any focs of his,
Ne fearing favage beafts' more cruelty,
Whilft we here wretches wail his private lack,
And with vain vows do often call him back.

"But live thou there ftill, happy, happy Spirit!
And give us leave thee here thus to lament;
Not thee that doit thy heaven's joy inherit,
But our own felves, that here in dole are drent.
Thus do we weep and wail, and wear our eyes,
Mourning in others our own miferies."

Which when she ended had, another (wain,
Of gentle wit and dainty fweet device,
Whom Aftrophel full dear did entertain
Whilft here he liv'd, and held in pafling price,
Hight Theftylis, began his mournful tourn,
And made the Mufes in his fong to mourn.

And after him full many other nioe,
And every one in order lov'd him beft,
'Gan dight themselves t'exprefs their inward woe
With doleful layes, unto the time addreft;
The which I here in order will rehearse,
As fitteft flowres to deck his mournful hearse.

M m ij

And help me to lament;

Help me to tune my doleful notes

To gurgling found

Of Liffie's tumbling streams:
Come let falt tears of ours

Mix with his waters fresh:
O come! let one confent

Joyn us to mourn with wailful plaints
The deadly wound

Which fatal clap hath made,
Decreed by higher powres;
The drery day in which
They have from us yrent
The nobleft plant that might
From caft to weft be found.
Mourn, mourn great Philip's fall!
Mourn, we his woful end,
Whom fpightful Death hath pluckt
Untimely from the tree,
Whiles yet his years in flowre
Did promife worthy fruit.
Ah! dreadful Mars! why didft
Thou not thy knight defend?
What wrathful mood, what fault
Of ours hath moved thee
Of fuch a fhining light
To leave us deftitute?
Thou with benigre afpect
Sometime didft us behold;
Thou haft in Briton's valour
Ta'en delight of old,

And with thy prefence oft
Vouchfaft to attribute
Fame and renown to us
For glorious martial deeds;
But now thy ireful beams

Have chill'd our hearts with cold;
Thou haft eftrang'd thy felf,
And digneft not our lands:
Far off, to others now
Thy favour honour breeds,
And high difdain doth cause
Thee fhun our clime, I fear;
For hadft thou not been wroth,
Or that time near at hand,
Thou wouldst have heard the cry
That woful England made;
Eke Zealand's piteous plaints,
And Holland's toren hair,
Would haply have appeas'd
Thy divine angry mind.
Thou fhouldft have feen the trees
Refufe to yield their fhade,
And wailing, to let fall
The honours of their head;
And birds in mournful tunes
Lamenting in their kind.
Up from his tomb
The mighty Corineus rofe,
Who curfing oft the Fates,
That his mishap had bred,
His hoary locks he tare,
Calling the Heavens unkind.
The Thames was heard to roar,
The Reyne and eke the Mofe,

The Schald, the Danow' felf This great mifchance did rue With torment and with grief; Their fountains pure and clear

Were troubled, and with fwelling floods
Declar'd their woes.

The Mufes comfortless,
The Nymphs with pallid hue,
The fylvian gods likewife
Came running far and near,
And all with tears bedew'd,
And eyes caft up on high,
O help. O help! ye Gods!
They ghaftly 'gan to cry;
O change the cruel fate
Of this fo rare a wight,

And grant that Nature's courfe
May meafure out his age.
The beafts their food forfook,
And trembling fearfully,

Each fought his cave or den,
This cry did them fo fright.
Out from amid the waves,
By ftorm then stir'd to rage,
This cry did caufe to rife
Th' old Father Ocean hoar,
Who, grave with eld, and full
Of majesty in fight,

Spake in this wife; "Refrain,"

Quoth he," your tears and plaints;

Cease these your idle words,

"Make vain requests no more; "No humble fpeech nor mone

May move the fixed ftint

Of Destiny or Death: * Such is his will that paints The earth with colours fresh, "The darkest fkyes with store "Of starry lights; and though Your tears a heart of flint "Might tender make, yet nought "Herein they will prevail." Whiles thus he faid,

The noble knight, who 'gan' to feel
His vital force to faint,
And Death with cruel dint
Of direful dart

up

His mortal body to affail,
With eyes lift to heav'n,
And courage frank as steel,
With chearful face,

Where valour lively was expreft,

But humble mind, he said,

O Lord! if ought this frail

"And earthly carcafs have

Thy fervice fought t'advance;

If my defire hath been

"Still to relieve th' oppreft;

If juftice to maintain,

"That valour I have ipent "Which thou me gavift; or if "Henceforth I might advance Thy name, thy truth, then spare "Me (Lord!) if thou think bet

"Forbear these unripe years:
"But if thy will be bent,
"If that prefixed time

"Be come which thou haft fet,
"Through pure and fervent faith
"I hope now to be plac'd

In the everlasting blifs
"Which with thy precious blood
"Thou purchase did for us."
With that a figh he fet,
And straight a cloudy mist
His fenfes over-caft;
His lips wex pale and wan,
Like damaík rofes' bud
Caft from the ftalk, or like
In field to purple flowre,
Which languisheth, being shred
By culter as it paft.

A trembling chilly cold

Ran through their veins, which were
With eyes brim-full of tears

To fee his fatal howre,
Whofe bluftering fighs at firft
Their forrow did declare,
Next murmuring enfude:
At laft they not forbear
Plain out-crics, all against
The Heav'ns, that enviously
Depriv'd us of a spright
So perfect and fo rare
The fun his lightfom beams
Did fhroud, and hide bis face
For grief, whereby the earth
Fear'd night eternally :

The mountains each were fhook;
The rivers turn'd their ftreams;
And th' air 'gan winter-like,
To rage and fret apace;
And grily ghofts by night
Were feen, and fiery gleams
Amid the clouds, with claps
Of thunder, that did feem
To rent the fkies, and made
Both men and beafts afeard.
The birds of ill prefage
This luckless chance fore-told
By dernful noife, and dogs
With howling made men deeni
Some mifchief was at hand;
For fuch they do esteem
As tokens of mishap,
And fo have done of old.
Ah! that thou hadft but heard
His lovely Stella 'plain
Her grievous lofs, or feen
Her heavy mourning cheer,
While fhe with woe oppreft
Her forrows did unfold:
Her hair hung loofe neglect
About her fhoulders twain;
And from thofe two bright ftars,

To him fometime fo deer,
Her heart fent drops of pearl,
Which fell in foyfon down
M m iij

Twixt lilly and the rofe:

She wrong her hands with pain, And piteoufly 'gan fay, "My true and faithful Pheer, "Alas and woe is me!

"Why fhould my fortune frown "On me thus frowardly, "To rob me of my joy? "What cruell envious hand "Hath taken thee away, "And with thee my content, My comfort and my stay? "Thou only woft the cafe "Of trouble and annoy; "When they did me affail, "In thee my hopes did reft. "Alas! what now is left "But grief, that night and day "Aflies this woful life, "And with continual rage "Torments ten thousand ways "My miferable breft? "O greedy, envious Heav'n! "What needeth thee to have "Errich'd with fuch a jewel "This unhappy age, "To take it back again "So foon? Alas! when fhall "Mine eyes fee ought that may

"Content them, fince the grave

My only treasure hides

"The joys of my poor heart? "As here with thee on earth I liv'd ev`n fo equal, "Methinks it were with thee "In heav'n I did abide; "And as our troubles all "We hear on earth did part, "So reafon would that there "Of thy most happy ftate "I had my fhare. Alas! "If theu my trusty guide "Were wont to be how can't "Thou leave me thus alone "In darkness, and astray? "Weak, weary, defolate, "Plung'd in a world of woe, Refufing for to take

"Me with thee to the place
"Of reft where thou art gone."
This faid, fhe held her peace,
For forrow tide her tongue,
And instead of more words,
Seem'd that her eyes a lake
Of tears had been, they flow'd
So plenteously therefro;
And with her fobs and fighs
Th' air round about her rung.
If Venus' when the wail'd
Her dear Adonis flain,
Ought mov'd in thy fierce heart
Compaflion of her woe,
His noble fifter's plaints,
Her fighs and tears emong,

Would fure have made thee mild,
And inly rue her pain.

Aurora half fo fair
Herfelf did never fhow,

When from old Fithon's bed

She weeping did arise.
The blinded Archer-boy,
Like lark in fhowre of rain,
Sate bathing of his wings,
And, glad, the time did spend
Under those chrystal drops
Which fell from her fair eyes,
And at their brightest beams
Him proyn'd in lovely wife:
Yet forry for her grief,
Which he could not amend,
The gentle boy 'gan wipe
Her eyes, and clear thofe lights,
Thofe lights through which
His glory and his conquefts fhine.
The Graces tuck'd her hair,
Which hung like threds of gold
Along her ivory breit,
The treasure of delights.
All things with her to weep
It seemed did incline;
The trees, the hills, the dales,
The caves, the ftones fo cold;
The air did help them mourn,
With dark clouds, rain and miit.
Forbearing many a day
To clear itself again,

Which made them eftfoons fear
The days of Pyrrah fhould
Of creatures fpoil the earth,
Their fatal threds untwift;
For Phoebus' gladfome rays
Were wished for in vain ;
And with her quivering light
Latona's daughter fair,
And Charles Wain eke, refus'd
To be the shipman's guide.
On Neptune war was made
By Eolus and his train,
Who letting loofe the winds,
Toft and tormented th' air;.
So that on ev'ry coaft
Men fhipwrack did abide,
Or elfe were fwallow'd up
In open fea with waves;
And fuch as came to shore,
Were beaten with despair.
The Medway's filver streams,
That wont fo ftill to flide,
Were troubled now and wroth,
Whofe hidden hollow caves
Along his banks, with fog
Then throuded from man's eye,
Ay Philip! did refound,
Ay Philip! they did cry.
His nymphs were feen no more
(Though custom still it craves)
With hair fpred to the wind,
Themielves to bathe or sport,