Eclogue Between Young Willy the SInger of His Native Pastorals, and Old Wernocke His Friend

Wernocke.

Willy , why lig'st thou (man) so wo-be-gon?
What? been thy rather Lamkins ill-apaid?
Or, hath some drerie chance thy Pipe misdone?
Or, hast thou any sheep-cure mis-assaid?
Or, is some conteck 'twixt thy loue and thee?
Or, else some loue-warke arsie varsie tane?
Or, fates lesse frolicke than they wont to be?
What gars my Willy that he so doth wane?
If it be for thou hast missaid, or done,
Take keepe of thine owne councell; and, thou art
As sheene and cleare fro both-twaine as the Sunne:
For all Swaines laud thine hauiour, and thine Art
Ma hap thine heart (that vnneath brooke neglect.
And iealous of thy fresh fame) liggs vpon
Thy rurall songs; which rarest Clarkes affect,
Dreading the descant that mote fall thereon.
Droope not for that (man) but vnpleate thy browes,
And blithly, so, fold enuies vp in pleats;
For, fro thy Makings, milke, and mellie, flowes
To feed the Songster-swaines with Arts soot-meats.

Willie.

Now, siker ( Wernocke ) thou hast split the marke
Albe that I no wot I han mis song:
But, for I am so yong. I dread my warke
Woll be misualued both of old and yong.

Wernocke.

Is thilke the cause that thou been ligge so laid,
Who whilom no encheson could fore-haile;
And caitiue-courage nere made misapaid,
But with chiefe yongsters songsters bar'st thy saile?
As swoot as Swans thy straines make Thames to ring
Fro Cotswould where her sourse her course doth take,
To her wide mouth, which vents thy carolling
Beyond the hether and the further lake,
Than vp (sad swaine) pull fro thy vailed cheeke
Hur prop, thy palme: and let thy Virilaies
Kill enuious cunning swaines (whom all do seeke)
With enuy, at thine earned gaudy praise.
Vp lither lad, thou rock'st much of thy swinke,
When swinke ne swat thou should'st ne reck for fame:
At Aganip than, lay thee downe to drinke
Vntill thy stomacke swell, to raise thy name.
What though time yet ban not bedowld thy Chin.
Thy Dams deere wombe was Helicon to thee;
Where (like a Loach) thou drew'st thilke liquor in.
Which on thy heart-strings ran with musickes glee
Than vp betimes, and make the sullen swaines
With thy shrill Reed such iolly iovisance;
That they (entranc'd) ma wonder at thy straines;
So, leaue of thee ne're ending souenance.

Willie.

Ah Wernocke, Wernocke , so my sp'rits been steept
In dulnesse, through these duller times missawes
Of sik-like musicke (riming rudely cleept.)
That yer I pipe well, must be better cause
Ah, who (with lauish draughts of Aganip )
Can swill their soule to frolick; so, their Muse,
Whan Courts and Camps, that erst the muse did clip
Do now forlore her; nay, her most abuse?
Now, with their witlesse, causelesse surquedry
They been transpos'd fro what of yore they were.
That Swaines, who but to looser luxurie
Can shew the way, are now most cherisht there
These times been crimefull (ah) and being so,
Bold Swaines (deft Songsters) sing them criminall;
So, make themselues oft gleefull in their woe:
For thy tho Songsters are misween'd of all.
Mecaenas woont in blonket liueries
Yelad sike chanters; but these miser times
Vncase hem quite, that all may hem despise.
As they don all their best embellisht Rimes.
And Haruest queenes, of yore, would Chaplets make
To crowne their scalpes that couth most swootly sing.
And giue hem many a gaude at Ale or Wake:
But now ne recke they of soot carrolling.
Enaunter they should be as seeme they would
Or songen lowdly for so deere desart;
Or else be peregall to Nymphes of old,
From which their beastlihed now freely start.
Than must they latch the blowes of Fates too fell,
With their too feeble clowches as they con:
For none regards, or guards hem for their spell,
Tho they, on point deuice, empt Helicon!
There nis thilke chiuisance they whilome had
For piping swoote; sith, with an Heydeguies,
Pipt by Tom-piper , or a Lorrel-lad.
(So be he clawes hem) they idolatrize.
And those that should presse proper songs for sale.
Bene, in their doomes, so dull; in skill, so crude;
That they had leauer printen lacke a vale,
Or Clim ├┤ Clough (alacke) they beene so rude!
And sith so few feare Songsters in an age
Bene founden, few do weigh hem as they been;
For, Swaines, that con no skill of holy rage,
Bene foe-men to faire skils enlawrel'd Queen.
Enough is mee, for thy, that I ma vent
My wits spels to my selfe, or vnto thee
(Deer Wernock ) which dost feel like miscontent
Sith thou, and all vnheeded, singt with mee.

Wernock.

Vartue it's sed (and is an old said saw)
Is for hur selfe, to be forsought alone:
Then eftsoones fro their case thy shrill pipes draw,
And make the welkin ringen with their tone
Of world, ne worly men take thou no keepe,
What the one doth, or what the other say;
For should I so, I so, should Eyne out-weepe:
Than, with mee; Willy , ay sing care-away.
It's wood to be fore-pinde with wastefull carke
In many a noyfull stoure of willing bale,
For vading toyes; But trim wits poorest wark
The vpper heau'n han hent fro nether Dale
Thilks all our share of all the quelling heape
Of this world's good: enough is vs to tell
How rude the rest bene, caduke, and how cheape;
But, laude for well done warks, don all excell!
For thy we shoulden take keepe of our Race
That here wee rennen, and what here we doon
That whan wee wenden till an other place,
Our souenance may here, ay-gayly wonne.
For, time will vnderfong vs; and our voice
Woll woxon weake; and, our deuising lame:
For, life is briefe; and skils beene long, and choise,
Than, spend we Time , that Time may spare our Fame
Look how breme Winter chamfers Earth's bleeke face;
So, corbed Eld accoyes youths surquedry:
And, in the front, deepe furrowes doon enchase,
Inucloped with falling snow a hy.
Then nought can be atchieu'd with witty shewes,
Sith griefe of Elde accloyen wimble wit;
Than, vs behouen, yer Elde sick accrewes,
Time to forelay, with spells retarding it.
I 'not what blisse is whelm'd with heau'n's coape
So bee the pleasance of the Muse be none:
For, when thilk gleesome ioyes han hallowed scope
They beene as those that heau'ns folke warble on.
I con my good; for, now my scalpe is frost
Yeelding to snow; the crow-feete neere mine Eyne
Beene markes of mickle preefe I haue, that most
Of all glees else a low, han suddaine fine.
O how it garres old Wernock swynck with glee
In that emprise that chiuen featest fame!
It heats my heart aboue ability
To leaue parduring souenance of my name.
And whan mine Engine han heau'd hy my thought.
And that on point-deuice eftsoones y fell,
O! how my heart's ioy-rapt, as I had cought.
A Princedome to my share, of thilk Newell
They beene of pleasances the alderbest:
Than, God to forne; I wol no mo but tho:
Tho beene the summe of all I louen best:
And for hem loue I life; else nold I so
Driue on thy flocke than, to the motley plaines
Where by some prill, that 'mong the Pibbles plods,
Thou, with thyne Oaten reede, and queintest straines,
Maist rapt the senior Swaines, and minor Gods:
That as on Ida that mych-famed Mount,
A Shepheard Swaine; that sung lesse soote than thou,
By light loues Goddesse, had the grace to mount
To owe the sheenest Queene that earth did owe:
So, thou maiest, with thy past'rall Minstralsy
Beating the aire, atweene resounding Hils,
Draw to thee Bonibels as smirke, as hy,
And wrap hem in thy loue begrey their wils:
For (ah) had Phaebus Clarkes the meanes of some
Worse Clarkes (paravnter) so to sing at case;
They soone would make high long-wing'd haggards come;
And vaile vnto their Lures: so, on hem seise.
For, bright Nymphes buxome Breastes do eas'ly ope
To let in thirling notes of noted laies:
For, deftly song they han a charming scope;
So, Nymphs themselues adore Brows girt with Bayes.
Than, Willy (ah for pitty of thine heart
That drouping yearnes, at misses of these times)
Take thou thy Pipe, and of glee take thy part;
Or cheere thy selfe with cordials of thy Rimes;
Before the world's sterne face, the world backe-bite
So slyly that her parts ne' it perceiue.
Morall thy matter so, that, tho thou smite,
Thou maist with tickling her dull sence, deceiue.
Then hy thee, Willy to the neighbour wasts
Where thou (as in another world alone)
Maist (while thy flocke do feede) blow bitter blasts
On thy loudst Pipe, to make il's pertly knowne
For, sith the rude-crude world doon vs misplease
That well deseruen, tell wee hur hur owne;
And let her ken, our cunning can with ease,
Aye shend, or lend hur sempiterne renowne.

Willy.

Ah Wernocke , so thy sawes mine heart down thril
With loue of Muses skill in speciall,
That I ne wot, on mould what feater skill
Can bee yhugg'd in Lordings pectorall
Ne would I it let-bee for all the store
In th' vncoth scope of both-twain hemispheres;
Ynough is mee, perdy , nor striue for more
But to be rich in hery for my leeres.
Ne would I sharen that soule gladding glee
In th' euer gaudy Gardens of the blest,
Not there to han the Muses companee,
Which, God to fore, is of the best, the best.
Now Wernock shalt thou see (so more I thee)
That I nill vsen any skill so mytch
(Faire fall my swinek) as this so nice, and free,
In case I may my name to Heauen stitch.
For why; I am by kind so inly pulde
To these delices; that when I betake
My selfe to other lore I more am dul'd;
And therefro, keenely set, I fall to make
But, well-away thy nis the way to thriuen;
And, my neer kith, for that wol sore me shend:
Who little reck how I by kind am giuen;
But hur wold force to swinck for thriftier end
Hence forward then I must assay, and con
My leere in leeful lore, to pleasen them
That, sib to mee, would my promotion,
And carke for that to prancke our common Stemme:
For, now (as wends the world) no skill to that
(Or rather but that) thriues; sith Swaines are now
So full of contecke, that they wot ne what
They would; so, if they could; they all would owe.
So fares it in calme seasons with curst men;
If frennes forbeare, at home, hem to inuade,
They wry their peace to noy each other then
By plees, till they decease, or fall, or fade,
So times beene keener now with common Swaynes
Than whan as forraigne foe-men with hem fought:
For, now they swyncke, but for slye Law-mens gaines
Or seld they should possessen what they ought
But, what for this? to mee it little longs
To gab of sikliche notes of misery;
Ynough is mee to chaunten swoote my songs,
And blend hem with my rurall mynstrelsy
But, ├┤ (my Wernock ) how am I to thee
Obligen, for thy keene reencouragements
To skill, so mickle lou'd and sought of mee,
As this of making with Arts Elements?
I not how I shall thriue therein; ne how
I shall be dempt of in these nicer times:
But how soere so thou my workes alow,
I nill bee ill apaiden with my Rimes

Wernock

Thou medst not, Willy; wretch were I to laude
Thee in thy misses: for, I so should bee
To th' adultries of thy wits scapes, but a Baude,
Ne, as a friend, in sentence, should bee free
Than, wend thou fairely on, with thyne emprise:
Sing cleerely, Will , on mine encouragement,
And other Swaines, more able to deuise:
And fixe thee for it, in the firmament
Ynough is mee so I may beare a part
Aye in the Muses Quire with those and thee:
Il'e sing (at ease) aloud, with cheerefull hart,
No base, ne meane, but Tenor of best glee.

Willy.

And I, with thee, woll chaunt each counter-verse
So shrilly that wee I make thilk Quire to ring
As euer do the Angels: who rehearse
The loudest lauds of heau'ns-Lord whan they sing.
So, farewell, Wernock , mickle thankes to thee
For thy freedome, that canst so well deuise:
Phaebus now goes to glade; than now goe wee,
Vnto our sheddes to rest vs till he rise.

Wernock

Agree'd deere, Willy , gent and debonaire.
Wee'l hence: for rhumaticke now fares the Aire.
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