Beautie sat bathing by a spring,

Where fairest shades did hide her,
The windes blew calme, the birds did sing,
The coole streames ranne beside her.
My wanton thoughts entic'd mine eye,
To see what was forbidden:
But better memory said, fie,
So, vaine desire was chidden.
Hey nonnie, nonnie, &c.

Into a slumber then I fell,

When fond Imagination

Seemed to see, but could not tell,

Her feature or her fashion.

But even as babes in dreames doe smile,

And sometimes fall a weeping,

So I awakt, as wise this while,

As when I fell a sleeping.
Hey nonnie, nonnie, &c.

Finis.

Shepheard Tonie.

ROWLAND'S

ROWLAND'S SONG IN PRAISE OF THE FAIREST BETA.

O thou siluer Thames, O clearest christall flood,

Beta alone the Phoenix is of all thy watry brood.
The Queene of virgins onely she,

And thou the Queene of flouds shalt be.

Let all the nimphs be joyfull then to see this happy day,
Thy Beta now alone shall be, the subject of my lay.

With daintie & delightsome straines of sweetest virelayes,

Come, louely shepheards, sit we downe, & chaunt our Beta's praise. And let us sing so rare a verse

Our Beta's praises to rehearse,

That little birds shall silent be, to heare poore shepheards sing,
And rivers backward bend their course, & flow unto the spring.

Range all thy swannes, faire Thames, together on a ranke:
And place them duly one by one upon thy stately banke.
Then set together all a-good,

Recording to the siluer flood:

And craue the tunefull nightingale to helpe ye with her lay;
The ozell & the thrustle cocke, chiefe musicke of our May.

O see what troopes of nimphs been sporting on the strands;

And they beene blessed nimphs of peace, with oliues in their hands. How merrily the Muses sing

That all the flourie meddowes ring;

And Beta sits upon the banke in purple & in pall,

And shee the Queene of Muses is, & weares the coronall.

Trim up her golden tresses with Apollo's sacred tree,
O happy sight unto all those that loue & honour thee.

E ij

The

The blessed angels haue prepar'd

A glorious crown for thy reward.

Not such a golden crowne as haughty Cæsar weares,
But such a glittering starrie crown as Ariadne beares.

Make her a goodly chaplet of azur'd Cullumbine,
And wreath about her coronet with sweetest Eglantine.
Bedeck our Beta all with lillies,

And the dainty daffadillies;

With roses damaske, white & red, & fairest flowre-delice,
With cowslips of lerusalem, & cloaues of paradice.

O thou faire torch of heauen, the dayes most dearest light,
And thou bright shining Cynthia, the glory of the night.
You starres, the eyes of heauen,

And thou the gliding leuen,

And thou O gorgeous Iris, with all strange colours dyed: When she sheaues forth her rayes, then dasht is all your pride.

See how the day stands still, admiring of her face,

And time loe stretcheth forth his armes, thy Beta to embrace.
The syrens sing sweet layes,

The Trytons sound her praise,

Go pass on, Thames, and hie thee fast unto the ocean sea,
And let thy billowes there proclaim thy Beta's holy-day.

And water thou the blessed roote of that green oliue tree,
With whose sweet shadow all thy bankes with peace preserued be.
Laurell for poets & conquerours,

And mirtle for Love's-paramours.

That fame may be thy fruit, the boughs preserved by peace,

And let the mournfull cypres die, now stormes & tempests cease.

Weele

Weele strew the shoare with pearle, where Beta walks alone, And we will paue her princely bower with richest Indian stone. Perfume the ayre, & make it sweete,

For such a goddesse it is meete.

For if her eyes for purity contend with Titan's light,

No meruaile then, although they so doe dazell human sight.

Sound out your trumpets then, from London's stately towers,
To beat the stormie winds a-backe, & calme the raging showers.
Set to the cornet & the flute,

The orpharion & the lute:

And tune the tabor & the pipe to the sweet violins:

And moue the thunder in the ayre with lowdest clarions.

Beta, long may thine altars sinoake with yerely sacrifice,
And long thy sacred temples may their sabbaths solemnize;
Thy shepheards watch by day and night,

Thy maides attend the holy light,

And thy large empire stretch her armes from east to west,
And Albion on the Appenine aduance her conquering crest.
Mich, Drayton.

Finis.

THE BARGINET OF ANTIMACHUS.

In pride of youth, in midst of May,
When birds with many a merry lay
Salute the sun's up-rising;

I sate me downe fast by a spring,
And while there merry chaunters sing,
I fell upon surmizing.

E ij

Amidst

Amidst my doubts & mind's debate,
Of change of time, of world's estate,
I spyed a boy attired

In siluer plumes, yet naked quite,
Some pretty feathers fit for flight,
Wherewith he still aspired.

A bowe he bare, to worke men's wrack,
A little quiver at his back,

With many arrowes filled :
And in his soft & pretty hand,
He held a liuely burning brand,
Where-with he louers killed.
Fast by his side, in rich array,
There sat a louely lady gay,
His mother as I guessed:
That set the lad upon her knee,
And trim'd his bow, & taught him flee,
And mickle loue professed.

Oft from her lap at sundry howres,
He leapt & gathered sommer flowres,
Both violets & roses:

But see the chaunce that followed fast,
As he the pompe of pride doth wast
Before that he supposes,

A bee, that harbour'd hard thereby,
Did sting his band, & made him cry,
Oh, mother, I am wounded!
Fair Venus that beheld her sonne,
Cryed out, alas! I am undone,

And thereupon she swounded.
My little lad, the Goddess sayd,
Who hath my Cupid so dismay'd?

He