The careful cold hath nipt my rugged rind,
And in my face deep furrows eld hath plight;
My head befprent with hoary froft I find,
And by mine eye the crow his claw doth wright:
Delight is laid abed, and pleafure, paft;
No fun now fhines, clouds han all over-caft.

Now leave, you Shepherds' Boys, your merry glee,
My Mufe is hoarfe and weary of this ftound;
Here will I hang my pipe upon this tree,
Was never pipe of reed did better found:
Winter is come that blows the bitter blast,
And after winter drery death does haste.

Gather together ye my little flock,
My little flock, that was to me most lief;

Let me, ah! let me in your folds ye lock,
E'er the breme winter breed your greater grief.
Winter is come, that blows the baleful breath,
And after winter cometh timely death.

Adieu, Delights, that lulled me aflcep;
Adieu, my Dear, whofe love I bought fo dear;
Adieu, my little Lambs and loved Sheep;
Adieu, ye Woods, that oft my witness were:
Adieu, good Hobbinol, that was so true,
Tell Rofalind Colin bids her adieu.

COLIN'S EMBLEM.

Vivitur ingenio, cætera mortis erunt.

Love, that long fince haft to thy mighty powre
Perforce fubdu'd my poor captived heart,
And raging now therein with reflefs flowre,
Doft tyrannize in every weaker part,
Fain would I feek to eafe my bitter smart
By any fervice I might do to thee,

Or ought that clfe might to thee pleafing be.

And now t' affuage the force of this new flame,
And make thee more propitious in my need,
I mean to fing the praifes of thy namie,
And thy victorious conqueft to areed,
By which thou madeft many hearts to bleed
Of mighty victors, with wide wounds embru'd,
And by thy cruel darts to thee fubdu'd.

Only I fear my wits, enfeebled late

Through the fharp forrows which thou haft me bred,

Should faint, and words fhould fail me to relate
The wondrous triumphs of thy great god-head:
But if thou wouldst vouchsafe to over spread
Me with the fhadow of thy gentle wing,

I fhould enabled be thy acts to fing.

For to receive the triumph of your glory,
That made you merry oft when you were sorry,

And ye, fair bloffoms of youth's wanton breed!
Which in the conquefts of your beauty's boast,
Wherewith your lover's feeble eyes you feed,
But ftarve their hearts, that needeth nurture most,
Prepare your felves to march amongst his heft,
And all the way this facred Hymn to fing,
Made in the honour of your fovereign king.

GREAT God of might, that reigneth in the mind,
And all the body to thy heft doft frame,
Victor of gods, fubduer of mankind,
That doft the lions and feil tygers tame,
Making their cruel rage thy fcornful game,
And in their roaring taking great delight,
Who can exprefs the glory of thy might?

Or who alive can perfectly declare
The wondrous cradle of thine infancy,
When thy great mother Venus first thee bare,
Begot of Plenty and of Penury,

Though elder than thine own nativity,
And yet a child, renewing ftill thy years,

Love!

Out of thy filver bowres and fecret blifs,
Where thou doft fit in Venus' lap above,
Bathing thy wings in her ambrofial kifs,
That fweeter far than any nectar is;
Come foftly, and my feeble breast inspire
With gentle fury, kindled of thy fire.

And ye, fweet Mufes! which have often proved
The piercing points of his avengeful darts;
And ye, fair Nymphs! which oftentimes have
loved

The cruel worker of your kindly fmarts,
Prepare yourselves, and open wide your hearts

For e'er this world's ftill moving mighty maf
Out of great Chaos' ugly prifon crept,
In which his goodly face long hidden was
From heaven's view, and in deep darkneff kept
Love, that had now long time fecurely flept
In Venus' lap, unarmed then and naked,
Gan rear his head, by Clotho being waked.

And taking to him wings of his own heat,
Kindled at firft from heaven's life-giving fire,
He gan to move out of his idle feat;
Weakly at firft, but after with defire
Lifted aloft, he 'gan to mount up higher,

And, like fresh eagle, made his hardy flight Thro all the great wide waste yet wanting light.

Yet wanting light to guide his wandring way,
His own fair mother, for all creatures' fake,
Did lend him light from her own goodly ray;
Then through the world his way he gan to take,
The world, that was not till he did it make,
Whose fundry parts he from themselves did fever,
The which before had lyen confused ever.

The earth, the air, the water, and the fire,
Then gan to range themselves in huge array,
And with contrary forces to confpire
Each against other by all means they may,
Threatning their own confufion and decay:
Air hated earth, and water hated fire,
Till Love relented their rebellious ire.

He then them took, and tempering goodly well
Their contrary dislikes with loved means,
Did place them all in order, and compell
To keep themfelves within their fundry reigns,
Together link'd with adamantine chains;
Yet fo as that in every living wight

They mix themielves, and thew their kindly might.

So ever fince they firmly have remained,
And duly well obferved his beheast;
Thro which now all these things that are contained
Within this goodly cope, both most and least,
Their being have, and daily are increast
Through fecret sparks of his infused fire,
Which in the barren cold he doth inspire.

Thereby they all do live, and moved are
To multiply the likeness of their kind,
Whilft they feek only, without further care,
To quench the flame which they in burning find;
But man, that breathes a more immortal mind,
Not for luft's fake, but for eternity,
Seeks to enlarge his lafting progeny:

For having yet in his deducted spright
Some fparks remaining of that heavenly fire,
He is enlumin'd with that goodly light,
Unto like goodly femblant to aspire;
Therefore in choice of love he doth defire
That feems on earth most heavenly to embrace,
That fame is Beauty, born of heavenly race.

For fure of all that in this mortall frame
Contained is, nought more divine doth feem,
Or that refembleth more th' immortal flame
Of heavenly light, than beauty's glorious beam.
What wonder then if with fuch rage extreme
Frail men, whofe eyes feck heavenly things to fee,
At fight thereof so much enravish'd be?

Which well perceiving, that imperious boy
Doth therewith tip his fharp empoifoned darts,
Which glancing thro the eyes with count'nance
Coy,

Reft not till they have piesc'd the trembling hearts,

And kindled flame in all their inner parts, Which fucks the blood, and drinketh up the life Of careful wretches with confuming grief.

Thenceforth they 'plain, and make full piteous

moan

Unto the author of their baleful bane;

The days they wafte, the nights they grieve and groan,

Their lives they loath, and heaven's light difdain;
No light but that whose lamp doth yet remain
Fresh burning in the image of their eye,
They 'fdeign to fee, and feeing it ftill die.

The whilft thou tyrant Love doft laugh and scorn
At their complaints, making their pain thy play,
Whilft they lie languishing like thralls forlorn,
The whiles thou doft triumph in their decay;
And otherwhiles, their dying to delay,
Thou doft enmarble the proud heart of her
Whofe love before their life they do prefer.

So haft thou often done (ay me, the more!)
To me thy vaffal, whose yet bleeding heart
With thousand wounds thou mangled haft fo
fore,

That whole remains fcarce any little part;
Yet to augment the anguish of my smart,
Thou hatt enfrozen her difdainful breft,
That no one drop of pity there doth rest.

Why then do I this honour unto thee,
Thus to ennoble thy victorious name,
Sith thou doft fhew no favour unto me,
Ne once move ruth in that rebellious dame,
Somewhat to flake the rigour of my shame?
Certes fmall glory doft thou win hereby,
To let her live thus free, and me to die.

But if thou be indeed, as men thee call,
The world's great parent, the most kind preferver
Of living wights, the foveraign lord of all,
How falls it then that with thy furious fervour
Thou doft affli& as well the not-deferver,
As him that doth thy lovely heasts defpife,
And on thy fubjects most doft tyrannize?

Yet herein eke thy glory feemeth more,

By fo hard handling thofe which beft thee serve,
That ere thou doft them unto grace reftore,
Thou maift well try if thou wilt ever fwerve,
And maift them make it better to deserve,
And having got it, may it more esteem;
For things hard gotten men more deadly deem.

So hard thofe heavenly beauties be enfir'd
As things divine, leaft paflions do impress,
The more of ftedfaft minds to be admir'd,
The more they stayed be on ftedfastness;
But bafeborn minds fuch lamps regard the lefs,
Which at first blowing take not hafty fire;
Such fancies feel no love, but loose defire.

For Love is lord of Truth and Loyalty,
Lifting himfelf out of the lowly duft
On golden plumes up to the purest sky,
Above the reach of loathly finful luft,
Whofe base effect through cowardly diftruft
Of his weak wings dare not to heaven flie,
But like a moldwarp in the earth doth lie.

His dunghill thoughts, which do themselves

enure

To dirty drofs, no higher dare afpire,
Ne can his feeble earthly eyes endure
The flaming light of that celeftial fire
Which kindleth love in generous defire,
And makes him mount above the native might
Of heavy earth, up to the heavens hight.

Such is the powre of that fweet paffion,
That it all fordid bafenefs doth expel,
And the refined mind doth newly fashion
Unto a fairer form, which now doth dwell
In his high thought, that would it felf excel,
Which he beholding ftill with conftant fight,
Admires the mirrour of fo heavenly light.

Whofe image printing in his deepest wit,
He thereon feeds his hungry fantafic,
Still full, yet never fatisfide with it,
Like Tantale, that in store doth starved lie,
So doth he pine in moft faticty;
For nought may quench his infinite defire,
Once kindled through that first conceived fire.

Thereon his mind affixed wholly is,
Ne thinks on ought but how it to attain;
His care, his joy, his hope, is all on this,
That feems in it all bliffes to contain,
In fight whereof all other blifs feems vain :
Thrife happy Man! might he the fame poffefs,
He fains himself, and doth his fortune bless.

And though he do not win his wish to end,
Yet thus far happy he himself doth ween,
That heavens fuch happy grace did to him lend,
As thing on earth fo heavenly to have feen
His heart's enshrined faint, his heaven's queen,
Fairer then faireft, in his faining eye,
Whofe fole afpect he counts felicity.

Then forth he cafts in his unquiet thought,
What he may do her favour to obtain;
What brave exploit, what peril hardly wrought,
What puiffant conqueft, what adventrous pain
May please her beft, and grace unto him gain;
He dreads no danger, nor misfortune fears,
His faith, his fortune, in his breast he bears.

Thou art his god, thou art his mighty guide,
Thou, being blind, letft him not fee his fears,
But carrieft him to that which he hath ey'd,
Through feas, through flames, through thousand
fwords and fpears;

Ne ought fo ftrong that may his force withstand,
With which thou armeft his refiftlefs hand.

Witness Leander in the Euxine waves,
And fout Æneas in the Trojan fire,
Achilles prefling through the Phrygian glaves,
And Orpheus, daring to provoke the ire
Of damned fiends, to get his love retire;
For both through heaven and hell thou makef
way.

To win them worship'd which do thee obay.

And if by all thefe perils and these pains
He may but purchafe liking in her eye,
What heavens of joy then to himself he feigns!
Eftfoones he wipes quite out of memory
Whatever ill before he did aby:
Had it been death, yet would he die again,
To live thus happy as her grace to gain.

Yet when he hath found favour to his will,
He nathemore can fo contented reft,
But forceth further on, and ftriveth ftill
Tapproach more near, till in her inmoft breft
He may embofon'd be and loved beft;
And yet not beft, but to be lov'd alone;
For love cannot endure a paragone.

The fear whereof, O how doth it torment
His troubled mind with more than hellish pain!
And to his feigning fanfie reprefent
Sights never feen, and thousand shadows vain,
To break his fleep, and wafte his idle brain :
Thou that haft never lov'd canft not believe
Leaft part of th' evils which poor lovers grieve.

The gnawing envy, the heart-fretting fear
The vain furmifes, the distrustful shows,
The falfe reports that flying tales do bear,
The doubts, the dangers, the delays, the woes,
The feigned friends, the unaffured foes,
With thoufands more than any tongue can tell,
Do make a lover's life a wretch's hell.

Yet is there one more curfed than they all,
That canker-worm, that monster, Jealoufie,
Which eats the heart and feeds upon the gall,
Turning all Love's delight to mifery,
Through fear of looting his felicity.
Ah, Gods that ever ye that monfter placed
n gentle love, that all his joys defaced!
By thee, O Love! thou doft thy entrance make
Unto thy heaven, and doft the more endear
Thy pleasures unto those which them partake,
As after ftorms, when clouds begin to clear,
The fun more bright and glorious doth appear;
So thou thy folk, through pains of Purgatory,
Doft bear unto thy blifs, and heaven's glory.

There thou them placeft in a paradise
Of all delight and joyous happy reft,
Where they do feed on nectar heavenly wife,
With Hercules and Hebe, and the reft,
Of Venus' dearlings, through her bounty bleft,
And lie like gods in ivory beds arayd,
With rofe and lillies over them displayd.