"I first upon the mountains high "I taught the shepherds on the downs "Thy colours I devis'd with care, Which were unknown before: Which since that in their braided hair The nymphs and sylvans wore. "Transform me to what shape you can, I pass not what it be: Yea, what most hateful is to man, (Quoth she), "Most welcome to these woods Too mean for one so true. "Here from the hateful world we'll live, "To people the infernal pit, That more and more doth strive; "Whose vileness us shall never awe: "Of simples in these groves that grow, Which cures and which can kill. "The waxen palace of the bee, We seeking will surprise, "We'll suck the sweets out of the comb And make the gods repine, As they do feast in Jove's great room, "Yet when there haps a honey fall, "The nimble squirrel noting here, Her mossy dray that makes, And laugh to see the dusty deer Come bounding o'er the brakes. "The spider's web to watch we'll stand, And when it takes the bee, We'll help out of the tyrant's hand "Sometime we'll angle at the brook, The freckled trout to take, Which when she heard, full pearly floods With silken worms and bait the hooks I in her eyes might view. Which him our prey shall make. "Of meddling with such subtle tools, Such dangers that enclose, The moral is, that painted fools Are caught with silken shews. "And when the moon doth once appear, We'll trace the lower grounds, "And have a flock of turtle doves, Which spoke, I felt such holy fires By Cynthia thus do I subsist, On earth heaven's only pride; Let her be mine, and let who list Take all the world beside. THE TRENT. NEAR to the silver Trent She to whom nature lent And the neat Graces, Wherewith to crown her, As it belong'd to them Most to renown her. Let thy swans sing her, Along let them bring her. Tagus and Pactolus Are to thee debtor, Nor for their gold to us Are they the better; Henceforth of all the rest, Be thou the river, And every little grass Nor flower is so sweet In this large cincture, But it upon her feet Leaveth some tincture. Chorus.-On thy bank In a rank Let thy swans sing her, And with their music Along let them bring her. The fishes in the flood When she doth angle, For the hook strive agood Them to entangle ; And leaping on the land From the clear water, Their scales upon the sand Lavishly scatter; Therewith to pave the mold Whereon she passes, So herself to behold As in her glasses. Let thy swans sing her, When she looks out by night Fearfully blazing; With their much brightness, Which so amaze the skies, Dimming their lightness. The raging tempests are calm When she speaketh, Such most delightsome balm From her lips breaketh. Chorus.-On thy bank In a rank Let thy swans ring her, And with their music Along let them bring her. In all our Brittany There's not a fairer, Nor can you fit any, Should you compare her, Angels her eye-lids keep, All hearts surprising; Which look while she doth sleep Like the sun's rising: She alone of her kind Knoweth true measure, Chorus.-On thy bank Let thy swans sing her, Along let them bring her. Fair Dove and Darwent clear, Tow'rds the full fountains, Humble as is the stream, Which by her slideth. Chorus.-On thy bank In a rank Let thy swans sing her, And with their music Along let them bring her. Yet my poor rustic Muse, Nothing can move her, Nor the means I can use, Though her true lover: Many a long winter's night Have I wak'd for her, Yet this my piteous plight Nothing can stir her. All thy sands, silver Trent, Down to the Humber, The sighs that I have spent Never can number. Chorus.-On thy bank In a rank Let thy swans sing her, And with their music Along let them bring her |