I bent my bolt against the bush,
List'ning if any thing did rush,

But then heard no more rustling.
Then, peeping close into the thick,1
Might see the moving of some quick,2
Whose shape appeared not;
But were it faery, fiend, or snake,
My courage yearn'd it to awake,
And manfully thereat shot:

With that sprang forth a naked swain;
With spotted wings like peacock's train,
And laughing lope3 to a tree;

His gilden quiver at his back,

And silver bow, which was but slack,
Which lightly he bent at me:

That seeing, I levell'd again,

And shot at him with might and main,
As thick as it had hail'd.

So long I shot, that all was spent ;
Then pumie stones I hast'ly hent,

And threw; but naught avail'd:
He was so wimble5 and so wight,
From bough to bough he leapéd light,
And oft the pumies latch'd:7
Therewith afraid I ran away;
But he, that erst seem'd but to
play,

A shaft in earnest snatch'd,
And hit me running in the heel:
For then I little smart did feel,

But soon it sore increased;

And now it rankleth more and more.
And inwardly it fest'reth sore,

Ne wote? I how to cease it.

1 Truly.

• Avenged.

WIL. Thomalin, I pity thy plight,
Perdie1 with Love thou didest fight;
I know him by a token:

For once I heard my father say,
How he him caught upon a day,
(Whereof he will be wroken,2)
Entangled in a fowling net,

Which he for carrion crows had set
That in our pear-tree haunted:

Then said, he was a wingéd lad,
But bow and shafts as then none had,
Else had he sore been daunted.
But see, the welkin thicks apace,
And stooping Phoebus steeps his face;
It's time to haste us homeward.

WILLY'S EMBLEM.

To be wise and eke to love,
Is granted scarce to gods above.

THOMALIN'S EMBLEM.

Of honey and of gall in love there is store;
The honey is much, but the gall is more.

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APRIL.

EGLOGA QUARTA.

ARGUMENT.

This Eglogue is purposely intended to the honour and praise of our most gracious sovereign, Queen Elizabeth. The speakers hereof be Hobbinol and Thenot, two shepherds: the which Hobbinol, being before mentioned greatly to have loved Colin, is here set forth more largely, complaining him of that boy's great misadventure in love; whereby his mind was alienated and withdrawn not only from him, who most loved him, but also from all former delights and studies, as well in pleasant piping, as cunning rhyming and singing, and other his laudable exercises. Whereby he taketh occasion, for proof of his more excellency and skill in poetry, to record a song, which the said Colin sometime made in honour of her Majesty, whom abruptly he termeth Elisa.

TELL me, good Hobbinol, what gars1 thee greet ?2
What! hath some wolf thy tender lambs ytorn?
Or is thy bagpipe broke, that sounds so sweet?
Or art thou of thy lovéd lass forlorn?

Or be thine eyes attemper'd to the year,

Quenching the gasping furrows' thirst with rain?
Like April shower, so stream the trickling tears

Adown thy cheek, to quench thy thirsty pain.
HOB. Nor this, nor that, so much doth make me mourn,
But for the lad, whom long I lov'd so dear,
Now loves a lass that all his love doth scorn:

He, plung'd in pain, his tresséd locks doth tear;
Shepherds' delights he doth them all forswear;
His pleasant pipe, which made us merriment,
He wilfully hath broke, and doth forbear

His wonted songs wherein he all outwent.
THE. What is he for a lad3 you so lament?

Is love such pinching pain to them that prove?

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1 Versify. And hath he skill to make1 so excellent,
Yet hath so little skill to bridle love?
HOB. Colin thou kenst, the southern shepherd's
boy;

2 Knowest.

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Him Love hath wounded with a deadly dart: Former Whilome3 on him was all my care and joy,

ly.

'Stranger.

Repeat.

Forcing with gifts to win his wanton heart.
But now from me his madding mind is start,
And wooes the widow's daughter of the glen;
So now fair Rosalind hath bred his smart;

So now his friend is changéd for a frenne.
Adorned. THE. But if his ditties be so trimly dight,5
I pray thee, Hobbinol, record some one,
The whiles our flocks do graze about in sight,
And we close shrouded in this shade alone.
HOB. Contented I: then will I sing his lay
Of fair Elisa, queen of shepherds all,
Which once he made as by a spring he lay,
And tuned it unto the waters' fall.

'Ye dainty Nymphs, that in this blessed brook
Do bathe your breast,

Forsake your wat'ry bowers, and hither look,

At my request.

And eke you Virgins, that on Parnass dwell,
Whence floweth Helicon, the learned well,
Help me to blaze

Her worthy praise,

Which in her sex doth all excel.

'Of fair Elisa be your silver song,

That blessed wight,

The flower of virgins; may she flourish long

In princely plight!

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For she is Syrinx' daughter without spot,
Which Pan, the shepherds' god, of her begot:

So sprung

her grace

Of heav'nly race,

No mortal blemish may her blot.

'See, where she sits upon the grassy green,

(O seemly sight!)

Yclad in scarlet, like a maiden queen,

And ermines white:

Upon her head a crimson coronet,

With damask roses and daffadillies set;

Bay leaves between,

And primroses green,

Embellish the sweet violet.

Tell me, have ye seen her angelic face,
Like Phoebe fair?

Her heav'nly havéour,1 her princely grace,
Can you well compare?

The red rose medled2 with the white yfere,3
In either cheek depeincten lively cheer:

Her modest eye,

Her majesty,

Where have you seen the like but there?

I saw Phoebus thrust out his golden head,
Upon her to gaze;

But, when he saw how broad her beams did spread,

It did him amaze.

He blush'd to see another sun below,

Ne durst again his fiery face out show.

Let him, if he dare,

His brightness compare

With hers, to have the overthrow.

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