Global Utilities

Mary Wroth's Poetry: An Electronic Edition

Wroth Poem - F114 - A sheapherd who noe care did take

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.1.

A sheapherd who noe care did take
    of aught butt of his flock
whoſe thoughts noe pride cowld higher make
    then to maintaine his stock,
Whoſe sheepe his loue was, and his care
    theyr good his best delight,
the lambs his ioye, theyr sport his fare,
    his pleaſure was theyr ſight,

2.

Till loue, an enuier of mans blis
    did turne this merry lyfe
to cares, to wishes wch ne're miſs
    incombrances wth strife,
for wheras hee was best content
    wth looking on his sheepe
his time in woes must now bee spent,
    and broken is his sleepe;

3.

Thus first his woefull chang began
    a lambe hee chanc'd to miſs
wch to find out about hee ran
    yett finds nott wher itt is,
Butt as hee past O! fate vnkind
    his ill lead him that way
wheras a willow tree behind
    a faire young mayden lay;

4.

Her bed was on the humble ground
    her hed vpon her hand
While ſighs did show her hart was bound
    in lou's fast tying band,
clear tears her cleerest eyes lett fall
    vpon her loue borne face
wch heaunly drops did ſorrow call
    prowd wittnes of diſgrace;

5.

The sheapherd stayd, and fed his eyes
    nor furder might hee pas
but ther his freedome to ſight ties
    his bondage his ioye was,
His lambe hee deems nott haulf ſoe faire
    though itt were very white,
and liberty hee thinks a care
    nor breathes butt in her ſight;

6.

His former lyfe is alterd quite
    his sheep feed in her eyes
her face his field is of delight,
    and flocks hee doth dispiſe;
The rule of them hee leaues to none
    his ſcrip hee threw away,
and many hee forſakes for one
    one hee must now obay:

7.

Vnhapy man whoſe looſing found
    what better had bin lost
whoſe gaine doth spring from ſuch a grownd
    wherby hee must bee crost,
The worldly cares hee now neglects
    for Cupids ſeruice ties
care only to his fond respects
    wher wauelike treaſure lies,

8.

As this lost man still gazing stood
    amaſed att ſuch light
imagining noe heaunly food
    to feed on butt her ſight
wishing her bright beams to behold
    yett grieud hee for her griefe
when mournfully she did vnfolde
    her woes wthout reliefe

9.

His new ſun roſe, and riſing ſayd
    farwell faire willow tree
the triumph of my state decayd
    the fruit for haples mee,
What though thy branch a ſigne be made
    of labor lost in loue:
thy beauty doth noe ſooner vade
    then thoſe best fortunes moue;

10.

My ſongs shall end wt willow still
    thy branches I will weare
thou wilt accompany my ill,
    and wt mee ſorrow beare,
true freind ſayd she, then ſigh'd, and turn'd
    leauing that restles place,
and sheapheard who in paſsion burn'd
    lamenting his ſad caſe;

11.

The mayd thus gon, alone he left,
    still on her steps he gaz'd,
and hartles growne by loue bereft
    of mirth, in spiritt rayſd,
to ſatiſfy his toyling thought
    hee after her will hy,
his ruin to bee ſurer bought,
    and ſooner harme to try,

12.


Then thus his latest leaue hee tooke
    my sheepe ſayd hee farwell,
lett ſom new sheapherd to you looke
    whoſe care may mine excell,
I leaue you to your freedome now
    loues lawes ſoe fast mee bind
as noe time I can you allow;
    Or goe poore flock, and find

13

The mayd whom I ſoe deerly loue
    ſay itt was her deere ſight
wch from your keepe doth me remoue,
    and kills my first delight,
goe you my dog who carefull were
    to guard my flock from harme,
looke to them still noe care forbear
    though loue my ſences charme;

14.

Butt you my pipe yt muſique gaue,
    and pleaſd my ſilent rest
of you I company will craue
    our states now ſuteth best,
for if that faire noe pitty giue
    my dying breath shall cry
through thee the paines wherin I liue
    wherby I breathe to dy;

15.

Madly hee ran from eaſe to paine
    nott ſick butt far from well
hart rob'd by tow faire eyes, his gaine
    must proue his earthly hell,
After his hart hee fast doth hy,
    his hart to her did fly,
and for a byding place did cry,
    wthin her brest to ly;

16.

She that refuſ'd; When hee her spide
    her whom hee held most deere
ly weeping by a riuer ſide
    beholding papers neere
Her ruling eyes yett must bee dimd
    while pearlike tears she shed
like shadowes on a picture limd,
    att last thes words she read

17.

When I vnconstant am to thee
    or faulse doe euer proue
lett hapines bee banisht mee
    nor haue least taste of loue;
Butt this too ſoone alas cride she
    is (ô) by thee forgott
my hopes, and ioys now murderd bee,
    and faulshood is my lott;

18.

Too late I find what t'is to trust.
    to words, or othes, or tears,
ſince they that vſe them proue vniust,
    and couler butt owr fears
poore fooles ordain'd to bee deceau'd;
    and trust to bee betraide,
ſcornd when owr harts ar vs bereau'd
    ſought to, awhile delay'd;

19.

Yett though that thou ſoe faulse haue bin,
    I still will faithfull bee,
and though thou think'st to chang, noe ſin
    Ile make my loyalty
to shine ſoe cleere as thy foule fault
    to all men shalbee knowne
thy chang to thy changd hart bee brought
    my faith abroad bee blowne

20.

This hauing ſayd againe she roſe
    the papers putting by,
and once againe a new way choſe
    striuing from griefe to fly,
Butt as she going was along
    that pleaſant runing streame
she ſaw the ſallow trees amonge
    the sheapherd Aradeame,

21.

For ſoe this woefull lad was call'de,
    but when she him beheld,
What wichcraft hath thee now inthralld,
    and brought thee to this field;
What can the cauſe or reaſon bee
    that thou art hether come
wher all must taste of miſery,
    and mirth wth griefe intombe;

22.

Iff mirthe must heere intombed bee
    faire sheapherdes ſayd hee
this place the fittest is for mee
    if you vſe crueltie,
For know I hether com to ſee
    thy ſelf, wherin now lies
my lyfe, whoſe abſence martirs mee
    whoſe ſight my powre tyes

23.

Giue mee butt leaue to liue wt you
    itt is the lyfe I craue
to you I bound am to bee true
    my ſelf to you I gaue,
When first I did behold you ly
    in shade of willow tree
that time, my ſoule did to you ty,
    thoſe eyes did conquer mee,

24.

Is this the reaſon; ah cride she
    the more I waile thy cace
who thus partaker needs will bee
    in griefe, and in diſgrace,
I pitty thee, butt can nott ayde
    thee, nor redreſs thy ill
ſince ioy, and paine together payd
    ſcarce ſatiſfies the will;

25.

Iff I doe ty you I releaſe
    the band wherin you are
your freedome shall nott finde decreaſe
    nor you accuſe my care,
The paine I haue is all mine owne
    non of itt can beare part
ſorrow my strength hath ouerthrowne
    diſdaine hath kil'd my hart;

26.

And sheapherd if that thou dost loue
    this counſell take of mee
this humour fond, in time remoue
    wch can butt torture bee,
take itt from her who too too well
    can wittnes itt is ſoe
whoſe hope ſeem'd heau'n, yett prou'd a hell,
    and comfort chang'd to woe

27.

For I was lou'd, or ſoe I thought,
    and for itt lou'd againe
but ſoone thoſe thoughts my ruin brought,
    and nourisht all my paine,
they gaue the milk that fed beliefe
    till wean'd they proued dry,
theyr latter nourishment was griefe
    ſoe famish'd I must dy;

28.


Then ſee your chance; I can nott chang
    nor my affection turne
diſdaine, wch others moue to rang
    makes mee more constant burne;
My ſighs I'me ſure can nott you pleaſe
    my griefe noe muſique proue.
my flowing teares your paſsions eaſe
    nor woes delight your loue,

29.

Iff my ſight haue your freedome wun
    receaue itt back againe
ſoe much I find my ſelf vndun
    by guifts wch proue noe gaine
as I lament wth them that loue
    ſoe true in loue I ame,
and liberty wish all to proue
    whoſe harts waste in this flame,

30.

Yett giue mee leaue (ſigh'd hee wt tears)
    to liue butt wher you are
my woes shall waite vpon your fears
    my ſighs attend your care,
I'le weepe when you shall euer waile
    if you ſigh I will cry
when you complaine, I'le neuer faile
    to plaine my miſery,

31.


I will you guard, and ſafely keepe
    from danger, and from feare,
still will I wach when you doe sleep;
    and for both ſorrows beare,
make mee nott free I bondage craue
    nor ſeek els butt to ſerue,
this freedom will procure my graue,
    thes bands my lyfe preſerue

32.

For lyfe, and ioye, and eaſe, and all
    alas lies in your hands
then doe nott cauſe my only fall,
    I tyde ame in ſuch bands
part hence I can nott, nor loue leaue
    butt heer must euer byde
then pitty lett my paine receaue
    doe nott from mercy slide;

33.

Iff that ſayd she you constant are
    vnto your coming ill
I'le leaue this place yett lett all care
    accompany mee still;
And sheapherd liue, and hapy bee
    lett iudgment rule thy will,
ſeeke one whoſe hart from loue is free,
    and who thy ioye may fill;

34.

For I lou's bondslaue ame, and tyde
    in fetters of diſdaine
my hopes ar frozen, my spring dri'de
    my autume drownd wt paine;
I lou'd, and wurſe, I ſayd I lou'd
    free truth my ruin brought,
and ſoe your state the like hath mou'd,
    and loſs for gaining bought,

35.

Wth that away she hasted fast
    left him his cares to hold
who now to ſorrow makes all hast,
    woes driue his hopes to fold,
now hee can ſee, and weeping ſay
    his fortune blind hee finds
a hart to harbour his decay,
    a state wch miſchief binds

36.

This now hee feels, and woefully
    his birth, and lyfe hee blames,
yett paſsion rules when reaſons ly
    in dark, or quenched flames;
That place hee first beheld her in
    his biding hee doth make,
The tree his liberty did win
    hee calls his martir stake;

37.

And pleaſingly doth take his fall,
    his griefe accounts delight,
freedome, and ioye his bitter thrall,
    his food her abſent ſight,
In contraries his pleaſures bee
    while mourning giues him eaſe,
his tomb must bee that haples tree,
    wher ſorrows did him ſeaze

38.

And thus did liue, though dayly dide
    the sheapherd Aradeame
whoſe ceasles tears wch neuer drid
    were turn'd into a streame,
him ſelf the hed, his eyes the springs
    wch fed that riuer cleere,
that vnto louers this good brings
    when they aproach itt neere;

39.

And drinke of itt to banish quite
    all ficle thought of chang
butt still in one choyce to delight,
    and neuer think to rang;
Of this ſweet water I did drink
    wch did ſuch faith infuſe
as ſince to change I can nott think
    Loue will death ſooner chuſe;
Shepherd ('A shepherd who no care did take')

1.
A shepherd who no care did take
    Of aught but of his flock
    Whose thoughts no pride could higher make
    Than to maintain his stock,
    Whose sheep his love was, and his care,
    Their good his best delight,
    The lambs his joy, their sport his fare,
    His pleasure was their sight,

2.
Till love, an envier of man's bliss
    Did turn this merry life
    To cares,* to wishes which ne'er miss
    Encumbrances with strife,
    For whereas he was best content
    With looking on his sheep
    His time in woes must now be spent,
    And broken is his sleep.

3.
Thus first his woeful charge began:
    A lamb he chanced to miss
    Which to find out about he ran
    Yet finds not where it is,
    But as he passed, O fate unkind,
    His ill led him that way
    Whereas a willow tree behind
    A fair young maiden lay.

4.
Her bed was on the humble ground
    Her head upon her hand
    While sighs did show her heart was bound
    In love's fast-tying* band,
    Clear tears her clearest eyes let fall
    Upon her love-born face,
    Which heavenly drops did sorrow call
    Proud witness of disgrace.

5.
The shepherd stayed, and fed his eyes
    Nor further might he pass
    But there his freedom to sight ties,
    His bondage his joy was.
    His lamb he deems not half so fair
    Though it were very white,
    And liberty he thinks a care
    Nor breathes but in* her sight.

6.
His former life is altered quite,
    His sheep feed in her eyes
    Her face his field is of delight,
    And flocks he doth despise.
    The rule of them he leaves to none
    His scrip he threw away,
    And many he forsakes for one --
    One he must now obey.

7.
Unhappy man whose losing found
    What better had been lost
    Whose gain doth spring from such a ground
    Whereby he must be crossed.
    The worldly cares* he now neglects,
    For Cupid's service ties
    Care only to his fond respects
    Where wavelike treasure lies.

8.
As this lost man still gazing stood
    Amazed at such light*
    Imagining no heavenly food
    To feed on but her sight
    Wishing her bright* beams to behold
    Yet grieved he for her grief,
    When mournfully she* did unfold
    Her woes without relief.

9.
His new sun rose, and rising said,
    'Farewell fair willow tree,
    The triumph* of my state* decayed
    The fruit for hapless me.
    'What though thy branch a sign be made
    Of labour lost in love:
    Thy beauty doth no sooner fade
    Than those best fortunes move.*

10.
'My songs shall end with willow still
    Thy branches I will wear,
    Thou wilt accompany my ill,
    And with me sorrow bear.
    'True friend,' said she, then sighed, and turned,
    Leaving that restless place
    And shepherd, who in passion* burned,
    Lamenting his sad case.


11.
The* maid thus* gone, alone he left,
    Still on her steps he* gazed,
    And heartless grown by love bereft
    Of mirth, in spirit raised,
    To satisfy his toiling* thought
    He after her will hie,
    His ruin to be surer* bought,*
    And sooner harm to try.


12.
Then thus his latest leave he took:
    'My sheep,' said he, 'farewell,
    Let some new shepherd to you look
    Whose care may mine excel,
    I leave you to your freedom now,
    Love's laws so fast me bind
    As no time I can you allow;
    Or go poor flock, and find


13.
'The maid whom I so dearly love,
    Say it was her dear sight
    Which from your keep doth me remove,
    And kills my first delight.
    'Go you my dog, who careful were
    To guard my flock* from harm,
    Look to them still, no care forbear,
    Though love my senses charm.

14.
'But you my pipe that music gave,
    And pleased my silent rest
    Of you I company will crave,
    Our states now suiteth best,
    For if that fair no pity give
    My dying breath shall cry
    Through thee the pains wherein I live,
    Whereby I breathe to die.'

15.
Madly he ran from ease to pain,
    Not sick, but* far from well,
    Heart robbed by two fair eyes, his gain
    Must prove his earthly* hell.
    After his heart he fast doth hie,
    His heart to her did fly,
    And for a biding place did cry,
    Within her breast to lie.

16.
She that refused, when he her spied,
    Her whom he held most dear
    Lie weeping by a river* side
    Beholding papers near,
    Her ruling eyes yet must* be dimmed
    While pearl-like tears she shed
    Like shadows on a picture limned.
    At last these words she read:

17.
'When I unconstant am to thee
    Or false do ever prove,
    Let happiness be banished me
    Nor have least taste of love;
    But this too soon alas,'* cried she,
    'Is O by thee forgot,
    My hopes, and joys now murdered be,
    aAd falsehood is my lot.

18.
'Too late I find what 'tis to trust.
    To words, or oaths, or tears,
    Since they that use them prove unjust,
    And colour but our fears,
    Poor fools ordained to be deceived
    And trust to be betrayed,
    Scorned when our hearts are us bereaved
    Sought to, a while delayed.

19.
'Yet though that thou so false have* been,
    I still will faithful be,
    And though thou think'st to change* no sin
    I'll make my loyalty
    To shine so clear as thy foul fault
    To all men shall be known
    Thy change to thy changed heart be brought
    My faith abroad be blown.'

20.
This having said, again she rose
    The papers putting by,
    And once again a new way chose
    Striving from grief to fly.
    But as she going was along
    That pleasant running stream,
    She saw the sallow trees among
    The shepherd Aradeame,*

21.
For so this woeful lad was called,
    But when she him beheld,
    'What witchcraft hath thee now enthralled,
    And brought thee to this field?
    'What can the cause or reason be
    That thou art hither come
    Where all must taste of misery,
    And mirth with grief entomb?'

22.
'If mirth must here entombed be,
    Fair shepherdess.' said he,
    'This place the fittest is for me,
    If you use cruelty.
    For know I hither come to see
    Thyself,* wherein now lies
    My life, whose absence martyrs* me
    Whose sight my power ties.

23.
'Give me but leave to live with you
    It is the life I crave,
    To you I bound am to be true
    My life to you I gave
    When first I did behold you lie
    In shade of willow tree:
    That time, my soul did to you tie,
    Those eyes did conquer* me.'

24.
'Is this the reason; ah,' cried she,
    The more I wail thy* case,
    Who thus partaker needs will be
    In grief, and in disgrace,
    I pity thee,* but cannot aid
    Thee,* nor redress thy* ill,
    Since joy and pain together paid
    Scarce satisfies the will.

25.
'If I do tie you, I release
    The band* wherein you are,
    Your freedom shall not find decrease
    Nor you accuse my care,
    The pain I have is all mine* own
    None of it can* bear part,
    Sorrow my strength hath overthrown
    Disdain hath killed my heart.

26.
'And shepherd if that thou dost* love
    This counsel take of me,
    This humour fond, in time remove
    Which can but torture be,*
    Take it from her who too too well
    Can witness it is so
    Whose hope seemed heaven, yet proved a hell,
    And comfort changed to woe.

27.
'For I was loved, or so I thought,
    And for it loved again
    But soon those thoughts my ruin brought,
    And nourished all my pain,
    They gave the milk that fed belief
    Till weaned they proved dry,
    Their latter nourishment was grief,
    So famished, I must die.

28.
'Then see your chance; I cannot change
    Nor my affection turn,
    Disdain, which others move* to range
    Makes me more constant burn;
    My sighs I'm sure cannot you please
    My grief no music prove.
    My flowing tears your passions ease
    Nor woes delight your love.

29.
'If my sight have your freedom won
    Receive it back again
    So much I find myself* undone
    By gifts which prove no gain;
    As I lament with them that love
    So true in love I am,
    And liberty wish all to prove
    Whose hearts waste in this flame,

30.
'Yet give me leave,' sighed he with tears,
    'To live but where you are,
    My woes shall wait upon your fears
    My sighs attend your care,
    I'll weep when you shall ever* wail,
    If you sigh I will cry,
    When you complain, I'll never fail
    To plain* my misery.

31.
'I will you guard, and safely keep
    From danger, and from fear,
    Still will I watch when you do sleep,
    And for both sorrows bear.
    Make me not free, I bondage crave
    Nor seek else but to serve,
    This freedom will procure my grave,
    These bands* my life preserve.

32.
'For life, and joy, and ease, and all,
    Alas lies in your hands
    Then do not cause my only fall,
    I tied am in such bands.
    Part hence I cannot, nor love leave,
    But here must ever bide,
    Then pity let my pain receive
    Do not from mercy slide.'

33.
'If that,' said she, 'you constant are
    Unto your coming ill,
    I'll leave this place yet let all care
    Accompany me still;
    And shepherd live, and happy be,
    Let judgment rule thy* will,
    Seek one whose heart from love is free,
    And who thy* joy may fill.

34.
'For I love's bondslave am, and tied
    In fetters of disdain,
    My hopes are frozen, my spring dried,
    My Autumn* drowned with pain;
    I loved and, worse, I said I loved,
    Free truth my ruin brought,
    And so your state* the like hath moved,
    And loss for gaining bought.'

35.
With that, away she hasted fast,
    Left him his cares to hold,
    Who now to sorrow makes* all haste,
    Woes drive his hopes to fold,
    Now he can see, and weeping say
    His fortune blind he finds
    A heart to harbour his decay,
    A state which mischief binds.

36.
This now he feels, and woefully
    His birth, and life he blames,
    Yet passion* rules when reasons lie
    In dark, or quenched flames.
    That place he first beheld her in
    His biding he doth make,
    The tree his liberty did win
    He calls his martyr stake.

37.
And pleasingly doth take his fall,
    His grief accounts delight,
    Freedom, and joy his* bitter thrall,
    His food her absent sight,
    In contraries his pleasures be,
    While mourning gives him ease,
    His tomb must* be that hapless tree,
    Where sorrows* did him seize.

38.
And thus did live, though daily died,
    The shepherd Aradeame,
    Whose ceaseless* tears which never dried
    Were turned into a stream,
    Himself the head, his eyes the springs*
    Which fed that river clear,
    That unto lovers this good brings*
    When they approach it near,

39.
And drink of it to banish quite
    All fickle thought* of change
    But still in one choice to delight,
    And never think to range.
    Of this sweet water I did drink
    Which did such faith infuse
    As since to change I cannot think
    Love will death sooner choose.


In Urana [U] this poem is written by Lycencia and recited by her lover the Duke of Wertenberg (fol. 520). It is described as a 'pretty pastoral', written 'in shepherdess names to cover her own ill fortune the better'. In the manuscript as an independent poem it stands as the longest poem, as well as the most elaborate narrative.

Gavin Alexander has tentatively suggested that this poem might be a song lyric in response to a brief but in some ways analogous song in a book of lute songs by Robert Jones, The Muses' Garden for Delights (1610) which was dedicated to Wroth (Gavin Alexander, 'The Musical Sidneys', John Donne Journal 25 (2006), 93-5).

Many of the variants in U have the appearance of transcription errors, but some seem authorial (eg. 'Autumn' to 'Summer', in stanza 34).

'cares' = 'tears' in U.
'fast-tying' = 'untying' in U.
'in' = 'by' in U.
'cares' = 'care' in U.
'light' = 'sight' in U.
'her bright' = 'but her' in U.
'she' = 'he' in U.
'triumph' = 'root' in U.
'state' = 'estate' in U.
'move' = 'prove' in U.
'passion' = 'passions' in U.
'The' = 'This' in U.
'thus' = 'now' in U.
'steps he' = footsteps' in U.
'toiling' = 'restless' in U.
'surer' = 'sooner' in U.
'bought' = 'brought' in U.
'flock' = 'sheep' in U.
'but' = 'yet' in U.
'earthly' = 'worldly' in U.
'river' = 'rivers' in U.
'yet must' = 'must yet' in U.
'too soon alas' = 'las too soon' in U.
'have' = 'hast' in U.
change' = 'leave' in U.
Aradeame: the shepherd's name literally means one who ploughs home fields (see Roberts).
'thyself' = 'yourself' in U.
'martyrs' = 'martyred' in U.
'self' = 'life' in U.
'conquer' = 'murder' in U.
'thy' = 'your' in U.
'thee' = 'you' in U.
'thee' = 'you' in U.
'thy' = 'your' in U.
'band' = 'bond' in U.
'mine' = 'my' in U.
'of it can' = 'can on it' in U.
'thou dost' = 'you do' in U.
'be' = 'thee' in U.
'move' = 'moves' in U.
'I find myself' = 'myself I find' in U.
'when you shall ever' = 'whenever you shall' in U.
'plain' = 'wail' in U.
'bands' = 'bonds' in U.
'thy' = 'your' in U.
'thy' = 'your' in U.
'Autumn' = 'Summer' in U.
'state' = 'speech' in U.
'makes' = 'make' in U.
'passion' = 'passions' in U.
'his' = 'this' in U.
'must' = 'shall' in U.
'sorrows' = 'sorrow' in U.
'ceaseless' = 'causeless' in U.
'springs' = 'spring' in U.
'that unto lovers this good brings' = 'and to true hearts this good doth bring' in U.
'thought' = 'thoughts' in U.

I

A Sheephard who no care did take.
    of ought but of his flock,
Whoſe thoughts no pride could higher make,
    Then to maintaine his stock,
Whoſe ſheepe his loue was, and his care,
    Their good, his beſt delight:
The Lambs his ioy, their ſport his fare,
    His pleaſure was their ſight.

2

Till Loue (an enuier of mans bliſſe)
    Did turne this merry life
To teares, to wiſhes which nere miſſe
    Incombrances with ſtrife.
For whereas he was beſt content,
    With looking on his ſheepe:
His time in woes, must now be ſpent,
    And broken is his ſleepe.

3

Thus firſt his wofull change beganne,
    A Lamb he chanc't to miſſe,
Which to finde out, about hee ran.
    Yet finds not where it is.
But as he paſt (O fate vnkind)
    his ill led him that way,
Whereas a willow Tree behind,
    A faire young Maiden lay.

4

Her bed was on the humble ground,
    her head vpon her hand,
While ſighs di'd ſhew, her heart was bound
    In Loue's vntying band.
Cleere teares her cleereſt eyes let fall,
    Vpon her Loue-borne face:
Which Heauenly drops did ſorrow call,
    proud witnes of diſgrace.

5

The Shephard stay'd, and fed his eyes,
    no farther might he paſſe,
But there his freedome to ſight tyes,
    His bondage, his ioy was.
His Lambe he deemes not halfe ſo faire,
    Though it were very white:
And liberty he thinkes a care,
    Nor breath's but by her ſight.

6

His former life is alter'd quite,
    His Sheepe feede in her eyes,
Her face his feild is of delight,
    And flocks he doth deſpiſe.
The rule of them he leaues to none,
    His Scrip he threw away:
And many he forſakes for one,
    One, he muſt now obey.

7

Vnhappy man whoſe looſing found,
    What better had bin lost:
Whoſe gaine doth ſpring from ſuch a ground,
    Whereby he muſt be crost.
The worldly care he now neglects,
    for
Cupids ſeruice tyes,
Care only to his fond reſpects,
    where waue-like treaſure lyes.

8

As this lost ſtood,
    Amaz'd at ſuch a ſight:
Imagining no heauenly food
    To feede on but her ſight;
Wiſhing but her beames to behold,
    Yet greiu'd he for her griefe,
When mournfully he did vnfold
    Her woes without reliefe.

9

His new Sun roſe, and ryſing ſaid,
    Farwell faire Willow tree,
The roote of my estate decay'd,
    The fruit for hapleſſe me:
What though thy branch, a ſigne be made,
    Of labour loſt in loue?
Thy beauty doth no ſooner vade,
    Then thoſe beſt fortunes proue.

10

My ſongs ſhall end with willow ſtill,
    Thy branches I will weare:
Thou wilt accompany my ill,
    And with me ſorrow beare.
True friend ſaid ſhe, then ſigh'd, and turn'd,
    Leauing that reſtleſſe place,
And Sheephard, who in paſiions burn'd
    lamenting his ſad caſe.

11

Ths Maid now gone, alone he left,
    Still on her footſteps gaz'd,
And heartleſſe growne, by loue bereft
    of mirth, in ſpirit raiſ'd,
To ſatisfie his reſtleſſe thought,
    He after her will hye,
His ruine to be ſooner brought,
    And ſooner harme to try.

12

Then thus his lateſt leaue he tooke,
    My Sheepe (ſaid he) farwell,
Let ſome new Shepheard to you looke
    Whoſe care may mine excell.
I leaue you to your freedome now,
    Loues lawes ſo fast me bind,
As no time I can you allow,
    Or goe poore flock, and find

13

The Maid whom I ſo dearely loue,
    Say it was her deare ſight,
Which from your keepe doth me remoue,
    And kills my first delight.
Goe you my Dog, who carefull were
    To guard my Sheepe from harme,
Looke to them ſtill, no care forbeare,
    Though loue my ſenſes charme.

14

But you my Pipe that muſick gaue,
    And pleaſd my ſilent reſt,
Of you I company will craue,
    Our ſtates now ſuteth beſt.
For if that Faire no pity giue,
    My dying breath ſhall cry,
Through thee the paines, wherein I liue,
    Whereby I breath to dye.

15

Madly he ran from eaſe to paine
    Not ſicke, yet farre from well,
Heart robd by two faire eyes, his gaine
    Must prooue his worldly Hell.
After his heart be faſt doth hie,
    His heart to her did flie,
And for a biding place did crie,
    Within her breaſt to lie.

16

She that refuſd, when he her ſpide,
    Her whom he held moſt deare,
Lie weeping by a Riuers ſide
    Beholding papers neare.
Her ruling eyes muſt yet be dimbd,
    While pearle like teares ſhe ſhed,
Like ſhadowes on a Picture limbd;
    At last theſe words ſhe read.

17

When I vnconstant am to thee
    Or falſe doe euer proue,
Let happineſſe be baniſht me,
    Nor haue least of loue.
But this alas too ſoone, cryd ſhe,
    Is O by thee forgot,
My hopes and ioyes now murthered be,
    And falſehood is my lot.

18

Too late I find what tis to trust
    To words, or oathes, or teares,
Since they that vſe them prooue vniuſt
    And colour but our feares.
Poore fooles ordaind to be deceiu'd
    And truſt to be betrayd,
Scornd when our hearts are vs bereau'd
    Sought to, a while delayd.

19

Yet though that thou ſo falſe haſt been,
    I ſtill will faithfull be;
And though thou thinkſt to leaue no ſinne,
    Ile make my loyalty
To ſhine ſo cleare, as thy foule fault
    To all me ſhall be knowne,
Thy change to thy changd heart be brought,
    My faith abroad be blowne.

20

This hauing ſaid, againe ſhe roſe
    The papers putting by,
And once againe a new way choſe
    Striuing from griefe to fly:
But as ſhe going was along
    That pleaſant running ſtreame,
She ſaw the Sallow trees among,
    The Shepheard
Aradeame.

21

For ſo this wofull Lad was call'd,
    But when ſhe him beheld,
What witchcraft hath thee now inthral'd,
    And brought thee to this field?
What can the cauſe, or reaſon be,
    That thou art hither come:
Where all must taſt of miſery,
    And mirth with griefe intombe?

22

If mirth muſt heere intombed be,
    Faire Sheephardeſſe, ſaid he?
This place the fitteſt is for me,
    If you vſe cruelty:
For know I hither come, to ſee
    Your ſelfe, wherein now lyes
My life, whoſe abſence martir'd me,
Whoſe ſight my power tyes.

23

Giue me but leaue to liue with you,
    It is the life I craue:
To you I bound am to be true,
    My life to you I gaue;
When firſt I did behold you lye,
    In ſhade of willow tree:
That time my ſoule did to you tye,
    Thoſe eyes did murther me.

24

Is this the reaſon (ah cryd ſhe?)
    The more I waile your caſe,
Who thus partaker, needs will be
    In griefe, and in diſgrace,
I pitty you, but cannot ayd
    You, nor redreſſe your ill,
Since ioy and paine together pay'd,
    Scarce ſatisfies the will.

25

If I doe tye you, I releaſe
    The bond wherein you are,
Your freedome ſhall not find decreaſe,
    Nor you accuſe my care.
The paine I haue is all my owne,
    None can of it beare part,
Sorrow my ſtrength hath ouerthrowne,
    Diſdaine hath killd my heart.

26

And Sheepheard if that you doe loue,
    This counſell take of me,
This humor fond in time remoue,
    Which can but torture thee;
Take it from her who too too well
    Can witneſſe it is ſo:
Whoſe hope ſeem'd Heauen, yet prou'd a Hell,
    And comfort chang'd to woe.

27

For I was lou'd, or ſo I thought,
    And for it lou'd againe,
But ſoone thoſe thoughts my ruine brought,
    And nouriſh'd all my paine,
They gaue the milke that fed be'eife
    Till wean'd, they proued dry:
Their latter nouriſhment was griefe,
    So famiſh't I muſt dye.

28

Then ſee your chance, I cannot change,
    Nor my affection turne,
Diſdaine which others moues to range,
    Makes me more conſtant burne,
My ſighs I'me ſure cannot you pleaſe,
    My griefe no Muſicke prooue,
My flowing teares your paſsions eaſe,
    Nor woes delight your Loue.

29

If my ſight haue your freedome wonn,
    Receiue it backe againe;
So much my ſelfe I finde vndone,
    By gifts which proue no gaine.
As I lament with them that loue,
    So true in Loue I am,
And liberty wiſh all to proue,
    Whoſe hearts waste in this flame.

30

Yet giue me leaue (ſigh'd he with teares)
    To liue but where you are,
My woes ſhal waite vpon your feares,
    My ſighs attend your care:
Ile weepe wheneuer you ſhall waile,
    If you ſigh, I will cry,
When you complaine, Ile neuer faile
    To waile my miſery.

31

I will you guard, and ſafely keepe
    From danger, and from feare,
Still will I watch when you doe ſleepe,
    And for both, ſorrowes beare.
Make me not free, I bondage craue,
    Nor ſeeke elſe but to ſerue,
This freedome will procure my graue,
    Theſe bonds my life preſerue.

32

For life, and ioy, and eaſe, and all
    Alaſſe lyes in your hands:
Then doe not cauſe my only fall,
    I ty'd am in ſuch bands.
Part hence I cannot, nor loue leaue,
    But heere muſt euer bide:
Then pitty let my paine receiue,
    Doe not from mercy ſlide.

33

If that (ſaid ſhe) you constant are,
    Vnto your comming ill,
Ile leaue this place, yet let all care
    Accompany me ſtill:
And Sheepheard liue, and happy be,
    Let iudgment rule your will,
Seeke one whoſe hart from loue is free,
    And who your ioy may fill.

34

For I loue's bond-ſlaue am, and ty'd
    In fetters of Diſdaine:
My hopes are frozen, my Spring dry'd,
    My Sommer drown'd with paine:
I lou'd, and worſe, I ſaid I lou'd,
    Free truth my ruine brought,
And ſo your ſpeech the like hath mou'd
    and loſſe for gayning bought.

35

With that away ſhe haſted faſt,
    Left him his cares to holde,
Who now to ſorrow make all haſt,
    Woes driue his hopes to fould:
Now he can ſee, and weeping ſay
    His fortune blind he finds,
A heart to harbour his decay,
    A ſtate which miſcheife binds.

39

This now he feeles, and wofully
    His birth, and life he blames,
Yet paſsions rules, when reaſons lye
    in darke, or quenched flames:
That place he firſt beheld her in,
    his byding he doth make:
The Tree his liberty did win,
    He cals his Martyr ſtake.

37

And pleaſingly doth take his fall,
    his griefe accoumpts delight:
Freedome, and ioy this bitter thrall,
    His food her abſent ſight.
In contraryes his pleaſures be,
    While mourning giues him eaſe,
His Tombe ſhall be that hapleſſe Tree,
    Where ſorow did him ceaze.

38

And thus did liue, though daily dy'd,
    The Sheephard
Arideame,
Whoſe cauſleſſe teares which neuer dry'd
    were turnd into a streame,
Himſelfe the head, his eyes the ſpring
    Which fed that Riuer cleere,
Which to true harts this good doth bring
    When they approch it neere,

39

And drinke of it, to baniſh quite
    All fickell thoughts of change,
But ſtill in one choyce to delight,
    And neuer think to range:
Of this ſweete water I did drinke,
    Which did ſuch faith infuſe,
As ſince to change, I cannot thinke,
    Loue will death ſooner chuſe.
Pastoral ('A shepherd who no care did take')

1.
A shepherd who no care did take
    Of aught but of his flock
    Whose thoughts no pride could higher make
    Than to maintain his stock,
    Whose sheep his love was, and his care,
    Their good his best delight,
    The lambs his joy, their sport his fare,
    His pleasure was their sight,

2.
Till love, an envier of man's bliss
    Did turn this merry life
    To tears, to wishes which ne'er miss
    Encumbrances with strife,
    For whereas he was best content
    With looking on his sheep
    His time in woes must now be spent,
    And broken is his sleep.

3.
Thus first his woeful change began:
    A lamb he chanced to miss
    Which to find out about he ran
    Yet finds not where it is,
    But as he passed, O fate unkind,
    His ill led him that way
    Whereas a willow tree behind
    A fair young maiden lay.

4.
Her bed was on the humble ground
    Her head upon her hand
    While sighs did show her heart was bound
    In love's untying band,
    Clear tears her clearest eyes let fall
    Upon her love-born face,
    Which heavenly drops did sorrow call
    Proud witness of disgrace.

5.
The shepherd stayed, and fed his eyes
    Nor further might he pass
    But there his freedom to sight ties,
    His bondage his joy was.
    His lamb he deems not half so fair
    Though it were very white,
    And liberty he thinks a care
    Nor breathes but by her sight.

6.
His former life is altered quite,
    His sheep feed in her eyes
    Her face his field is of delight,
    And flocks he doth despise.
    The rule of them he leaves to none
    His scrip he threw away,
    And many he forsakes for one --
    One he must now obey.

7.
Unhappy man whose losing found
    What better had been lost
    Whose gain doth spring from such a ground
    Whereby he must be crossed.
    The worldly care he now neglects,
    For Cupid's service ties
    Care only to his fond respects
    Where wavelike treasure lies.

8.
As this lost man still gazing stood
    Amazed at such a sight
    Imagining no heavenly food
    To feed on but her sight
    Wishing but her beams to behold
    Yet grieved he for her grief,
    When mournfully he did unfold
    Her woes without relief.

9.
His new sun rose, and rising said,
    'Farewell fair willow tree,
    The root of my estate decayed
    The fruit for hapless me.
    'What though thy branch a sign be made
    Of labour lost in love:
    Thy beauty doth no sooner fade
    Than those best fortunes prove.

10.
'My songs shall end with willow still
    Thy branches I will wear,
    Thou wilt accompany my ill,
    And with me sorrow bear.
    'True friend,' said she, then sighed, and turned,
    Leaving that restless place
    And shepherd, who in passions burned,
    Lamenting his sad case.

11.
This maid now gone, alone he left,
    Still on her footsteps gazed,
    And heartless grown by love bereft
    Of mirth, in spirit raised,
    To satisfy his restless thought
    He after her will hie,
    His ruin to be sooner brought,
    And sooner harm to try.

12.
Then thus his latest leave he took:
    'My sheep,' said he, 'farewell
    Let some new shepherd to you look
    Whose care may mine excel,
    I leave you to your freedom now,
    Love's laws so fast me bind
    As no time I can you allow;
    Or go poor flock, and find


13.
'The maid whom I so dearly love,
    Say it was her dear sight
    Which from your keep doth me remove,
    And kills my first delight.
    'Go you my dog, who careful were
    To guard my sheep from harm,
    Look to them still, no care forbear,
    Though love my senses charm.

14.
'But you my pipe that music gave,
    And pleased my silent rest
    Of you I company will crave,
    Our states now suiteth best,
    For if that fair no pity give
    My dying breath shall cry
    Through thee the pains wherein I live,
    Whereby I breathe to die.'

15.
Madly he ran from ease to pain,
    Not sick, yet far from well,
    Heart robbed by two fair eyes, his gain
    Must prove his worldly hell.
    After his heart he fast doth hie,
    His heart to her did fly,
    And for a biding place did cry,
    Within her breast to lie.

16.
She that refused, when he her spied,
    Her whom he held most dear
    Lie weeping by a river's side
    Beholding papers near,
    Her ruling eyes must yet be dimmed
    While pearl-like tears she shed
    Like shadows on a picture limned.
    At last these words she read:

17.
'When I unconstant am to thee
    Or false do ever prove,
    Let happiness be banished me
    Nor have least taste of love;
    But this alas too soon,' cried she,
    'Is O by thee forgot,
    My hopes, and joys now murdered be,
    And falsehood is my lot.

18.
'Too late I find what 'tis to trust.
    To words, or oaths, or tears,
    Since they that use them prove unjust,
    And colour but our fears,
    Poor fools ordained to be deceived
    And trust to be betrayed,
    Scorned when our hearts are us bereaved
    Sought to, a while delayed.

19.
'Yet though that thou so false hast been,
    I still will faithful be,
    And though thou think'st to leave no sin
    I'll make my loyalty
    To shine so clear as thy foul fault
    To all men shall be known
    Thy change to thy changed heart be brought
    My faith abroad be blown.'

20.
This having said, again she rose
    The papers putting by,
    And once again a new way chose
    Striving from grief to fly.
    But as she going was along
    That pleasant running stream,
    She saw the sallow trees among
    The shepherd Aradeame,

21.
For so this woeful lad was called,
    But when she him beheld,
    'What witchcraft hath thee now enthralled,
    And brought thee to this field?
    'What can the cause or reason be
    That thou art hither come
    Where all must taste of misery,
    And mirth with grief entomb?'

22.
'If mirth must here entombed be,
    Fair shepherdess.' said he,
    'This place the fittest is for me,
    If you use cruelty.
    For know I hither come to see
    Yourself wherein now lies
    My life, whose absence martyred me
    Whose sight my power ties.

23.
'Give me but leave to live with you
    It is the life I crave,
    To you I bound am to be true
    My life to you I gave
    When first I did behold you lie
    In shade of willow tree:
    That time, my soul did to you tie,
    Those eyes did murder me.'

24.
'Is this the reason; ah,' cried she,
    The more I wail your case,
    Who thus partaker needs will be
    In grief, and in disgrace,
    I pity you, but cannot aid
    You nor redress your ill,
    Since joy and pain together paid
    Scarce satisfies the will.

25.
'If I do tie you, I release
    The bond wherein you are,
    Your freedom shall not find decrease
    Nor you accuse my care,
    The pain I have is all my own
    None can of it bear part,
    Sorrow my strength hath overthrown
    Disdain hath killed my heart.

26.
'And shepherd if that you do love
    This counsel take of me,
    This humour fond, in time remove
    Which can but torture thee,
    Take it from her who too too well
    Can witness it is so
    Whose hope seemed heaven, yet proved a hell,
    And comfort changed to woe.

27.
'For I was loved, or so I thought,
    And for it loved again
    But soon those thoughts my ruin brought,
    And nourished all my pain,
    They gave the milk that fed belief
    Till weaned they proved dry,
    Their latter nourishment was grief,
    So famished, I must die.

28.
'Then see your chance; I cannot change
    Nor my affection turn,
    Disdain, which others moves to range
    Makes me more constant burn;
    My sighs I'm sure cannot you please
    My grief no music prove.
    My flowing tears your passions ease
    Nor woes delight your love.

29.
'If my sight have your freedom won
    Receive it back again
    So much myself I find undone
    By gifts which prove no gain;
    As I lament with them that love
    So true in love I am,
    And liberty wish all to prove
    Whose hearts waste in this flame.'

30.
'Yet give me leave,' sighed he with tears,
    'To live but where you are,
    My woes shall wait upon your fears
    My sighs attend your care,
    I'll weep whenever you shall wail,
    If you sigh I will cry,
    When you complain, I'll never fail
    To wail my misery.

31.
'I will you guard, and safely keep
    From danger, and from fear,
    Still will I watch when you do sleep,
    And for both sorrows bear.
    Make me not free, I bondage crave
    Nor seek else but to serve,
    This freedom will procure my grave,
    These bonds my life preserve.

32.
'For life, and joy, and ease, and all,
    Alas lies in your hands
    Then do not cause my only fall,
    I tied am in such bands.
    Part hence I cannot, nor love leave,
    But here must ever bide,
    Then pity let my pain receive
    Do not from mercy slide.'

33.
'If that,' said she, 'you constant are
    Unto your coming ill,
    I'll leave this place yet let all care
    Accompany me still;
    And shepherd live, and happy be,
    Let judgment rule your will,
    Seek one whose heart from love is free,
    And who your joy may fill.

34.
'For I love's bondslave am, and tied
    In fetters of disdain,
    My hopes are frozen, my spring dried,
    My Summer drowned with pain;
    I loved and, worse, I said I loved,
    Free truth my ruin brought,
    And so your speech the like hath moved,
    And loss for gaining bought.'

35.
With that, away she hasted fast,
    Left him his cares to hold,
    Who now to sorrow make all haste,
    Woes drive his hopes to fold,
    Now he can see, and weeping say
    His fortune blind he finds
    A heart to harbour his decay,
    A state which mischief binds.

36.
This now he feels, and woefully
    His birth, and life he blames,
    Yet passion* rules when reasons lie
    In dark, or quenched flames.
    That place he first beheld her in
    His biding he doth make,
    The tree his liberty did win
    He calls his martyr stake.

37.
And pleasingly doth take his fall,
    His grief accounts delight,
    Freedom, and joy this bitter thrall,
    His food her absent sight,
    In contraries his pleasures be,
    While mourning gives him ease,
    His tomb shall be that hapless tree,
    Where sorrow did him seize.

38.
And thus did live, though daily died,
    The shepherd Aradeame,
    Whose causeless* tears which never dried
    Were turned into a stream,
    Himself the head, his eyes the spring
    Which fed that river clear,
    Which to true hearts this good doth bring
    When they approach it near,

39.
And drink of it to banish quite
    All fickle thoughts of change
    But still in one choice to delight,
    And never think to range.
    Of this sweet water I did drink
    Which did such faith infuse
    As since to change I cannot think
    Love will death sooner choose.


'he': clearly a transcription error for 'she'.
'causeless: another clear transcription error for 'ceaseless'.

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