Or with the hook or net, Bare-footed, wantonly The pleasant dainty fish fo entangle or deceive. The thepherds left

Their wonted places of refort,
Their bagpipes now were still;
Their loving merry lays
Were quite forgot; and now
Their flocks, men might perceive
To wander and to stray,
All carelessly neglect;
And in the ftead of mirth
And pleasure, nights and days,
Tought elfe was to be heard

ut woes, complaints, and mone.
lut thou (O bleffed Soul!)
toft haply not respect

hefe tears we fhed, though full f loving pure afpe&; · laving affix'd thine eye n that most glorious throne, There, full of majesty. he high Creator reigns; i whofe bright shining face by joys are all complete, Thofe love kindles thy fpright; There happy always one hou liv'it in blifs

hat earthly paffion never stains There from the purest spring, 'he facred nectar sweet thy continual drink ;

Where thou doft gather now
Of well employed life
Th' ineftimable gains;
Where Venus on thee fmiles,
Apollo gives thee place,
And Mars, in reverent wife
Doth to thy vertue bow,
And decks his fiery fphear
To do thee honour most :
In highest part whereof,
Thy valour for to grace,
A chair of gold he fets
To thee, and there doth tell
Thy noble acts anew,
Whereby even they that boast
Themfelves of ancient fame,
As Pyrrhus, Hannibal,
Scipio, and Cæfar, with
The reft that did excel
In martial prowess, high
Thy glory to admire.
All haill! therefore,

O worthy Philip, immortal!
The flowre of Sydney's race!
The honour of thy name!
Whose worthy praise to fing
My Mufes not afpire;
But, forrowful and fad,
These tears to thee let fall,
Yet with their verfes might
So far and wide thy fame
Extend, that envy's rage
Nor time might end the fame.

M m iiij

Nor fince that fair Caliope did lofe
Her loved twins, the dearlings of her joy,
Her Palici, whom her unkindly foes,
The Fatal Sifters, did for fpight destroy,
Whom all the Mufes did bewail long space,
Was ever heard fuch wailing in this place.

For all their groves, which with the heavenly noifes

Of their sweet inftruments were wont to found, And th' hollow hills, from which their filver voices

Were wont redoubled ecchoes to rebound,
Did now rebound with nought but rueful cries,
And yelling fhrieks thrown up into the skies.

The trembling ftreams, which wont in channels clear

To rumble gently down with murmur soft,
And were by them right tuneful taught to bear,
A base's part amongst their conforts oft,
Now forc'd to overflow with brackish tears,
With troublous noife did dull their dainty ears.

The joyous Nymphs and light-foot Fairies,
Which thither came to hear their mufick fweet,
And to the measures of their melodies
Did learn to move their nimble-fhifting feet,
Now hearing them fo heavily lament,
Like heavenly lamenting from them went.

And all that elfe was wont to work delight
Through the divine infufion of their skill,
And all that else feem'd fair and fresh in fight,
So made by Nature for to ferve their will,
Was turned now to difmal heaviness,
Was turned now to dreadful ugliness.

Ay me! what thing on earth, that all things breeds,

Might be the cause of so impatient plight?
What fury or what fiend, with felon deeds,
Hath stirred up fo mifchievous defpight?
Can grief then enter into heavenly hearts,
And pierce immortal breasts with mortal smarts?

Vouchsafe ye then, whom only it concerns,
To me thofe fecret caufes to display,
For none but you, or who of you it learns,
Can rightfully aread fo doleful lay.
Begin, thou eldeft fifter of the crew,
And let the reft in order thee enfue.

CLIO.

HEAR, thou great Father of the gods on high,
That moft art dreaded for thy thunder-darts,
And thou our fire, that reign'ft in Caftalic,
And Mount Parnafs, the god of goodly art;
Hear and behold the miferable state
Of us, thy daughters, doleful defolate.

Behold the foul reproach and open shame
The which is day by day unto us wrought,
By fuch as hate the honour of our name,
The foes of learning, and each gentle thought;
They, not contented us themselves to fcorn,
Do feek to make us of the world forlorn.

Ne only they that dwell in lowly duft,
The fons of Darknefs and of Ignorance,
But they whom thou, great Jove! by doom
unjust,

Didft to the type of honour earft advance;
They now, puft up with 'fdeignful infolence,
Despise the brood of bleffed Sapience

The fectaries of my celeftial fkill,

That wont to be the world's chief ornament,
And learned imps that wont to shoot up ftill,
And grow to height of kingdom's government,
They under keep, and with their spreading arms
Do beat their buds, that perifh through their
harms.

It most behoves the honourable race
Of mighty peers true wisdom to fuftain,
And with their noble countenance to grace
The learned foreheads without gift or gain;
Or rather learn'd themselves behoves to be,
That is the girlond of nobility.

But (ah!) all otherwife they do esteem
Of th' heavenly gift of wisdom's influence,
And to be learned it a base thing deem;
Bafe minded they that want intelligence;
For God himself for wifdom is praif'd,
And men to God thereby are nighest raif'd.

But they do only strive themselves to raise
Through pompous pride and foolish vanity;
In th' eyes of people they put all their praife,
And only boat of arms and ancestry;

But vertuous deeds, which did thofe arms first give

To their grandfires, they care not to atchieve.

So I, that do all noble feats profefs
To register, and found in trump of gold,'
Through their bad doings or bafe flothfulness
Find nothing worthy to be writ or told;
For better far it were to hide their names,
Than telling them to blazon out their blanies.

So fhall fucceeding ages have no light
Of things forepaft, nor monuments of time,
And all that in this world is worthy hight
Shall die in darknefs, and lie hid in flime;
Therefore I mourn with deep heart's forrowing,
Because I nothing noble have to fing.

With that the rain'd fuch ftore of ftreaming

And all her fifters rent their golden hears, And their fair faces with falt humour steep. So ended the; and then the next in rew Began her grievous plaint, as doth enfue.

MELPOMENE.

O WHо fhall pour into my swollen eyes
A fea of tears that never may be dride!
A brazen voice that may with fhrilling cries
Pierce the dull heavens, and fill the air
wide!

And iron fides, that fighing may endure,
To wail the wretchednefs of world impure?

Ah! wretched world! the den of wickedness,
Deform'd with filth and foul iniquity;
Ah' wretched World! the house of heaviness,
Fill'd with the wrecks of mortal mifery;
Ah! wretched World! and all that is therein,
The vaffals of God's wrath, and flaves of fin.

Most miferable creature under sky
Man without understanding doth appear,
For all this world's affliction he thereby,
And Fortune's freaks, is wifely taught to bear;
Of wretched life the only joy fhe is,
And the only comfort in calamities.

She arms the breaft with conftant patience
Against the bitter throws of Dolour's darts;
She folaceth with rules of fapience

The gentle minds, in midft of worldly smarts:
When he is fad fhe feeks to make him merry,
And doth refresh his fprights when they be
weary.

But he that is of reason's skill bereft,
And wants the staff of wisdom him to stay,
Is like a fhip in midst of tempeft left,
Withouten helm or pilot her to sway:
Full fad and dreadful is that fhip's event;
So is the man that wants entendiment.

Why then do foolish men fo much despise
The precious ftore of these celestial riches?
Why do they banish us, that patronize
The name of learning? Most unhappy wretches!
The which lie drowned in deep wretchedness,
Yet do not fee their own unhappiness.

My part it is, and my profeffed fkill,
The ftage with tragick bufkins to adorn,
And fill the scene with plaints and outcries fhrill
Of wretched perfons to misfortune born;
But none more tragick matter I can find
Than this, of men depriv'd of fenfe and mind.

For all man's life me feems a tragedy
Full of fad fights and fore catastrophees;
First coming to the world with weeping eye,
Where all his days, like dolorous trophees,

All these, and all that elfe the comick stage
With feafon'd wit and goodly pleasance grac'd,
By which man's life, in his likeft image,
Was limned forth, are wholly now defac'd;
And those sweet wits, which wont the like to
frame.

Are now despif'd, and made a laughing game.

And he, the man whom Nature felf had made
To mock her felf, and truth to intimate,
With kindly counter under mimick fhade,
Our pleafant Willy, ah! is dead of late;
With whom all joy and jolly merriment
Is alfo deaded, and in dolour drent.

In ftead thereof, fcoffing Scurrility,
And fcorning Folly with Contempt is crept,
Rolling in rimes of fhameless ribaudry
Without regard, or due decorum kept;
Each idle wit at will perfumes to make,
And doth the learned's talk upon him take.

But that fame gentle fpirit, from whofe pen
Large ftreams of honey and fweet nectar flow,
Scorning the boldness of fuch bafe-born men,
Which dare their follies forth fo rafhly throw,
Doth rather choofe to fit in idle cell,
Than fo himself to mockery to fell.

So am I made the fervant of the many,
And laughing-ftock of all that lift to fcorn,
Not honoured nor cared for of any,
But loath'd of lofels as a thing forlorn;
Therefore I mourn and forrow with the rest,
Until my caufe of forrow be redrest.

Therewith fhe loudly did lament and fhrike,
Pouring forth ftreams of tears abundantly,
And all her fifters, with compaffion like,
The breaches of her fingults did fupply.
So rested she; and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth enfew.

EUTERPE.

LIKE as the dearling of the summer's pride,
Fair Philomele! when winter's stormy wrath
The goodly fields, that erft fo gay were dy'd
In colours divers, quite defpoiled hath,
All comfortless doth hide her cheerlefs head
During the time of that her widowhead;

So we, that earft were wont in fweet accord
All places with our pleasant notes to fill,
Whilft favourable times did us afford
Free liberty to chaunt our charms at will,
All comfortless upon the bared bow,
Like woful culvers, do fit wailing now,

For far more bitter ftorm than winter's flower,
The beauty of the world hath lately wasted,
And thofe fresh buds, which wont fo fair to

flower,

Hath marred quite, and all their bloffoms blafted; And thofe young plants, which wont with fruit

abound,

Now without fruit or leaves are to be found.

A ftony coldness hath benumb'd the fenfe
And lively fpirits of each living wight,
And dimm'd with darkness their intelligence,
Darknets more than Cymmerians' daily night;
And monftrous Error, flying in the air,
Hath marr'd the face of all that seemed fair.

Image of hellish horror, Ignorance,
Born in the bofom of the black abyfs,
And fed with Furies' milk for fuftenance
Of his weak infancy, begot amifs

By yawning Cloth on his own mother Night, So he is ions both fire and brother hight:

He, arm'd with blindnefs and with boldnefs ftout, (For blind is bold) hath our fair light defaced, And gathering unto him a ragged rout Of Fauns and Satyrs, hath our dwellings raced, And our chafte bowers, in which all vertue reign'd,

With brutishness and beaftly filth had stain'd.

The facred fprings of horse-foot Helicon,
So oft hedewed with our learned layes,
And fpeaking ftreams of pure Castalion,
The famous witnefs of our wonted praise,
They trampled have with their foul footing's
tread,

And like to troubled puddles have them made.

Our pleasant groves, which planted were with

plains,

That with our mufick wont fo oft to ring, And arbours fweet, in which the thepherds' fwains

Were wont fo oft their paftorals to fing,

They have cut down, and all their plcafures marr'd,

That now no paftoral is to be heard.

In ftead of them, foul goblins and fhriek-owls,
With fearful howling do all places fill,
And feeble Eccho now laments and howls
The dreadful accents of their out-cries fhrill:
So all is turned into wilderness,

Whilft Ignorance the Mufes doth opprefs.

And I, whofe joy was earft with spirit full
To teach the warbling pipe to found aloft,
My fpirits, now difmay'd with forrow dull,
Do mone my mifery with filence foft;
Therefore I mourn and wail inceffantly,
Till pleafe th' Heavens afford me remedy.
Therewith the wailed with exceeding wo,
And piteous lamentation did make,
And all her fifters feeing her do so,
With equal plaints her forow did partake.
So refted the; and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth enfue.

TERPSICHORE.

Wuoso hath in the lap of foft Delight

Been long time lull'd, and fed with pleasures fweet,

Fearlefs through his own fault or Fortune's fpright

To ftumble into forrow and regret,
If chance him fall into calamity,
Finds greater burthen of his mifery.

So we, that earst in joyance did abound,
And in the bofom of all blifs did fit,

Like virgin queens, with laurel garlands crown'd,

For vertue's meed and ornament of wit,