PAN

Pretty souls and bodies too, fair shephardisse, or sweet Mistress, you know my suit, love, my virtue, Music, my power, a godhead. I cannot tickle the sheeps guts of a Lute, bid, bid, bid, Like the calling of Chickens, but for a Pipe that squeeketh Like a Pig, I am he. How do you burn time, & drown beauty in prick king of clouts, when you should be penning of Sonnets? You are more simple then the sheep you keep, but not so gentle. I love you both, I know not which best, and you both scorn me, I know not which most. Sure I am, that you are not so young as not to understand love, nor so wise as to withstand it, unless you think your selves greater than ̄ gods, whereof I am one. How often have I brought you Chestnuts for a love token, & desired but acceptance for a favour. Little did you know the mystery, that as the husk was thorny and tough, yet the meat sweet, so though my hide were rough and unkempt, yet my heart was smooth and loving: you are but the Farmers daughters of the Dale, I the God of the flocks that feed upon the hills. Though I cannot force love, I may obedience, or else send your sheep a wandering, with my fancies. Coy ness must be revenged with curstness, but be not aghast sweet mice, my godhead continued ̄ meth so fast upon me, that Ma iestye had almost ouerru ̄ n affectio ̄ , Can you love? Will you? I, for oft I have heard, that two Pigeons may be caught with one bean. Not for want of matter, but to know the meaning, what is wrought in this sampler? What in this? But what be these? What these? I never hard the odds between men's tongues, and women's, therefore they may be both double, unless you tell me how they differ. What does Jupiter come this ways? Say on sweet soul? No, give me leave to die with wondering, & trip you to your mother. Here I yield all the flocks of these fields to your highness: green be the grass where you tread: calm the water where you row: sweet the air, where you breathe: long the life that you live, happy the people that you love: this is all I can wish. During your a bode, no theft shall be in the woods: in the field no noise, in the valleys no spies, my self will keep all safe: that is all I can offer. And hear I break my pipe, which Apollo could never make me do; and follow that sound which follows you. Swell Ceres now for other Gods are shrinking, Pomona pines, Fruitless her tree; Fair Phœbus shines Only on me. Conceit does make me smile while I am thinking, How every one does read my story, How every bough on Ceres lowreth, Cause heavens plenty on me poureth, And they in leaves do only glory, All other Gods of power bereuen, Ceres only Queen of heaven. With Robes and flowers let me be dressed. Cynthia that shines, Is not so clear, Cynthia declineth, When I appear, Yet in this I'll she reigns as blessed, And every one at her does wonder, And in my ears still fond fame whispers, Cynthia shall be Ceres Mistress, But first my Car shall rive asunder, Help Phœbus help my fallen is sudden, Cynthia, Cynthia, must be sovereign. GReater then Ceres, receive Ceres Crown, the orna meant of my plenty, the honour of your peace, here at your highness feet, I lay down my feigned deity, which Poets have honoured, truth contemned. To your May sty whom the heavens have crowned with happiness, the world with wonder, birth with dignity, nature with per fection, we do all Homage, accounting nothing ours but what comes from ̄ you. And this much dare we promise for the Lady of the farm, that your presence hath added many days to her life, by the infinite joys she conceives in her heart, who presents your highness with this toy and this short prayer, poured from her heart, that your days may increase in happiness, your happiness have no end till there be no more days. V Ouchsafe to hear, a sim ple Shepherd, shepherds and simpli city cannot partly, your highness is continued ̄ e into Cotshold, and uneven ̄ cou ̄ try, but a people, that carry their thoughts level with their Fortune's, low spi rites, but true hearts, using plain deam linge, once counted a Jewel now beggary, these hills afoorde nothing but cottages, and no thing can we present to your highness, but shepherds. The country healthy, and harmless, a fresh air, where there are no damps, and where a black sheep is a perilous beast, no monsters, we carry our hearts, at our tongues ends, being as far from dissembling, as our sheep from fierceness, and if in any thing, we shall chance to discover our lewd nes, it will be in over boldness, in gazing at you, who fills our hearts with joy, and our eyes with wonder, as for the ho norable Lord and Lady of the Castle, what happiness they conceive, I would it were possible for them selves to ex press, then should your Majesty see, that all outward en terteinment, were but a smoke rising from their inward affections, which as they cannot be seen, being in the heart, so can they not be smothered, appearing in their count nance, this lock of wool Cotsholdes best fruit, and my poor gift, I offer to your highness, in which nothing is to be esteemed, but the whiteness, virginities colour, nor to be expected but duty, shepherds religion. Nescis temeraria; nescis, Quem fugias; idio que fugis. A short tale, but a sorrowful, a joust complaint, but re medelesse, I loved, (for shepherds have their Saints) long I loved (for beauty binds prentices) a Nymph most fair & as chased as fair, yet not more fair, then I un happy, Apollo who calls him self a God (a title among men, when they will commit injuries) term them selves gods, pursued my Daphne with bootless love, and me, with endless hate, her he wooed; with fair words, the flatteries of men, with great gifts, the sorceries of gods, with cruel threats, the terrefiing of weak damosels Néc prece néc pretio néc movet ille minis. me; he terrified with a mon strous word metamorphosing, saying that he would turn me into a wolf and of a shepherd make me a sheepe-bi ter, or into a Cockatrice and cause mine eyes which gazed on her, to blind hers which made mine dazzle, or to a mould that I should hear his flattering speech, but never behold her fair face, tantaené animis caelestibus irae? some times would he allure her with sweet music, but har money is harsh when it is lustest broaker, often with promise of immortality, but chastity is of it self immortal, ever pursuing her with swiftness, but virtue tying wings to the thoughts of Virgins, swiftness becomes surbated; thus lived he betwixt love and jealousy; I betwixt love and danger; she betwixt fear and virtue. At last and alas, this day I fear of all my joys the last, I cannot as a Poet (who describing the morning, and before he tell what it is, make it night,) stand on the time, love coineth no circumloquutions, but by the sun, a Shepherds Dial, which goes as true as our hearts, it was four of the clock, when ̄ she flying from ̄ his trea son was turned into a tree; which made me stand, as though I had be turned into a stone, and Apollo so enchanted as wounded with her lose, or his own cruelty, the fingers which were wont to play on the Lute, found no other in strument then his own face, the golden hair the pride of his head pulde off in locks and stamped at his feet, his sweet voice, turned to howling; and there sitteth he, (long may he sorrow,) wondering, and weeping, and kissing the laurel, his late love, and mine ever. Pleases your May stye to view the melancholy of Apollo, my distress, and Daphne's mischance, it may be the sighed of so rare perfectio ̄ , will make him die for grief, which I wish, or Daphne re turn to her old shape, which must be your wonder; if neither, it shall content me that I have revealed my griefs, and that you may behold his. SIng you, play you, but sing and play my truth, This tree my Lute, these sighs my notes of ruth: The Laurel leaf for ever shall be green, And chastety shall be Apollo's Queen. If gods may die, here shall my tomb be placed, And this engraved, fond Phœbus, Daphne chaste. MY heart and tongue were twins, at once conceived, The eldest was my heart, born dumb by destiny, The last my tongue, of all sweet thoughts bereaved, Yet strung and tunde, to play hearts harmony. Both knit in one, and yet asunder placed, What heart would speak, the tongue doth still discover, What tongue does speak, is of the heart embraced, And both are one to make a new found lover: New found, and only found in Gods and Kings, Whose words are deeds, but deeds nor words regarded: Chaste thoughts do mount and fly with swiftest wings, My love with pain, my pain with lose rewarded: Engrave upon this tree, Daphne's perfection, That neither men nor gods, can force affection. NImpha mane, per me concordant carmina nervis. Fair Daphne stay, too chaste because too fair, Yet fairer in mine eyes, because so chaste, And yet because so chaste, must I despair? And to despair, I yielded have at last. Shepherd possess thy love, for me too cruel, Possess thy love, thou knowest not how to measure, A dunghill cock doth often find a Jewel, Enjoying that, he knows not to be treasure. When broomy beard, to sweep thy lips presume, When on thy neck, his rough hewed arms shall move, And gloat on thee with eyes that drizell reume, When that his toothless mouth shall call thee love, Nought will I say of him, but pity thee, That btauty might, but would no wiser be. I stay, for whither should chastety fly for succour, but to the Queen of chastety, by thee was I interred in a tree, that by craft, way might be made to lust, by your highness restored, that by virtue, there might be assurance in ho nor: these tables, to set down your praises long since Si billas prophecies I humbly present to your Majesty, not thinking, that your virtues can be deciphered in so slight a volume, but noted; the whole world is drawn in a small map, Homers Illiades in a nutshell, and the riches of a More narch, in a few ciphers, and so much ods, betwixt explai ning of your perfections, and the touching, as is betwixt painting and thinking, the one, running over a little table in a whole day, the other over the whole world in a mi nute, with this vouchsafe a poor virgins wish, that often wish for good husbands, mine, only for the endless prospe rity of my sovereign.