THE FIFTH NYMPHAL

CLAIA, LELIPA, CLARINAX A HERMIT.

Of garlands, anadems, and wreaths
This Nymphal nought but sweetness breathes,
Presents you with delicious posies,
And with powerful simples closes.

CLAIA. SEE where old Clarinax is set,
His sundry simples sorting,
From whose experience we may get
What worthy is reporting;
Then, Lelipa, let us draw near,
Whilst he his weeds is weathering,
I see some powerful simples there
That he bath late been gathering.
Hail, gentle hermit, Jove thee speed,
And have thee in his keeping,
And ever help thee at thy need,
Be thou awake or sleeping.

wights

CLARINAX. Ye pair of most celestial lights,
O beauties three times burnish'd,
Who could expect such heavenly
With angels' features furnish'd?
What god doth guide you to this place,
To bless my homely bower?

It cannot be but this high grace
Proceeds from some high power;
The hours like handmaids still attend
Disposed at your pleasure,
Ordained to no other end
But to await your leisure;
The dews drawn up into the air,
And by your breaths perfumed,
In little clouds do hover there
As loth to be consumed;

The air moves not but as you please,
So much, sweet nymphs, it owes you,
The winds do cast them to their ease,
And amorously enclose you.

LELIPA. Be not too layish of thy praise,
Thou good Elysian hermit,

Lest some to hear such words as these,
Perhaps may flattery term it;

But of your simples something say,
Which may discourse afford us, -

We know your knowledge lies that way,
With subjects you have stor'd us.

CLAIA. We know for physic yours you get,

Which thus you here are sorting,
And upon garlands we are set,
With wreaths and posies sporting:
Each garden great abundance yields,
Whose flowers invite us thither;
But you abroad in groves and fields
Your med'cinal simples gather.

LELIPA. The chaplet and the anadem,
The curled tresses crowning,
We looser nymphs delight in them,
Not in your wreaths renowning.

CLARINAX. The garland long ago was worn, As time pleas'd to bestow it,

The laurel only to adorn
The conqueror and the poet.

The palm his due, who, uncontroul'd,
On danger looking gravely,

When fate had done the worst it could,
Who bore his fortunes bravely.

Most worthy of the oaken wreath
The ancients him esteemed,
Who in a battle had from death
Some man of worth redeemed.
About his temples grass they tie,
Himself that so behaved

In some strong siege by th' enemy
A city that hath saved.

A wreath of vervain heralds wear,
Amongst our garlands named,

Being sent that dreadful news to bear,
Offensive war proclaimed.

The sign of peace who first displays,
The olive wreath possesses:

The lover with the myrtle sprays
Adorns his crisped tresses
In love the sad forsaken wight
The willow garland weareth:
The funeral man, befitting night,
The baleful cypress beareth.
To Pan we dedicate the pine,
Whose slips the shepherd graceth:
Again, the ivy and the vine
On his swoln Bacchus placeth.

CLAIA. The boughs and sprays, of which you tell, By you are rightly named:

But we with those of precious smell
And colours are enflamed;

The noble ancients to excite
Men to do things worth crowning,
Not unperformed left a rite
To heighten their renowning:
But they that those rewards devis'd,
And those brave wights that wore them,
By these base times tho' poorly priz'd,
Yet, hermit, we adore them.
The store of every fruitful field,
We nymphs at will possessing,
From that variety they yield
Get flowers for every dressing:
Of which a garland I'll compose,
Then busily attend me,

These flowers I for that purpose chose,

But where I miss amend me.

CLARINAX. Well, Claia, on with your intent,
Let's see how you will weave it;
Which done, here for a monument,

I hope, with me you'll leave it.

CLATA. Here damask roses, white and red,

Out of my lap first take 1,

Which still shall run along the thread,

My chiefest flower this make I;
Amongst these roses in a row,
Next place I pinks in plenty,
These double daisies then for show,
And will not this be dainty?
The pretty pansy then I'll tye
Like stones some chain inchasing;
And next to them, their near ally,
The purple violet placing.

The curious choice clove july-flower,
Whose kinds hight the carnation,
For sweetness of most sovereign power
Shall help my wreath to fashion;
Whose sundry colours, of one kind,
First from one root derived,
Them in their several suits I'll bind,
My garland so contrived:

A course of cowslips then I'll stick,
And here and there (tho' sparely)
The pleasant primrose down I'll prick,
Like pearls, which will show rarely:
Then with these marygoids I'll make
My garland somewhat swelling,
These honeysuckles then I'll take,
Whose sweets shall help their smelling.
The lily and the flower-de-lis,
For colour much contenting,
For that, I them do only prize,
They are but poor in scenting:
The daffadil most dainty is
To match with these in meetness;
The columbine compar'd to this,
All much alike for sweetness;
These in their natures oly are
Fit to emboss the border,
Therefore I'll take especial care
To place them in their order:

Sweet-williams, campions, sops-in-wine
One by another neatly:

Thu have I made this wreath of mine,

And finished it featly.

LELIPA. Your garland thus you finish'd have;

Then as we have attended

Your leisure, likewise let me crave
I may the like be friended.

Those gaudy garish flowers you chuse,
In which our nymphs are flanting,
Which they at feasts and bridals use,
The sight and smell enchanting:
A chaplet me of berbs I'll make,
Than which though yours be braver,
Yet this of mine I'll undertake
Shall not be short in savour.
With basil then I will begin,
Whose scent is wondrous pleasing;
This eglantine I'll next put in,
The sense with sweetness seizing.
Then in my lavender I'll lay,
Muscado put among it,

And here and there a leaf of bay,
Which still shall run along it.
Germander, marjoram, and thyme,
Which used are for strewing,
With hyssop, as an herb most prime,
Here in my wreath bestowing,
Then balm and mint helps to make up
My chaplet, and for trial,
Costmary that so likes the cup,
And next it pennyroyal:

Then burnet shall bear up with this,

Whose leaf I greatly fancy,
Some camomile doth not amiss,
With savory and some tansy;

Then here and there I'll put a sprig

Of rosemary into it:

Thus not too little nor too big,

"Tis done if I can do it.

CEARINAX. Claia, your garland is most gay,
Compos'd of curious flowers,
And so, most lovely Lelipa,
This chaplet is of yours:

In goodly gardens yours you get,
Where you your laps have laded;
My simples are by nature set
In groves and fields untreaded.

Your flowers most curiously you twine,
Each one his place supplying,
But these rough harsher herbs of mine,
About me rudely lying;

Of which some dwarfish weeds there be,
Some of a larger stature,

Some by experience, as we see,
Whose names express their nature.
Here is my moly of much fame,
In magics often used,

Mugwort and night-shade for the same,
But not by me abused;

Here henbane, poppy, hemloc here,
Procuring deadly sleeping,
Which I do minister with fear,
Not fit for each man's keeping:
Here holy vervane, and here dill,
'Gainst witchcraft much availing,
Here horehound 'gainst the mad dog's ill
By biting, never failing.

Here mandrake that procureth love,
In pois'ning filters mixed,

And makes the barren fruitful prove,
The root about them fixed;
Enchanting lunary here lies,
In sorceries excelling.

And this is dictam, which we prize,
Shot shafts and darts expelling;
Here saxifrage against the stone
That powerful is approved,

Here dodder, by whose help alone
Old agues are removed;
Here mercury, here hellebore,
Old ulcers mundifying,

And shepherd's-purse, the flux most sore
That helps by the applying;
Here wholesome plantane, that the pain
Of eyes and ears appeases;
Here cooling sorrel that again
We use in hot diseases:
The med'cinable mallow here,
Assuaging sudden tumours,
The jagged polypodium there,
To purge old rotten humours;
Next these here egremony is,
That helps the serpent's biting,
The blessed betony by this,
Whose cures deserven writing:
This all-heal, and so nam'd of right,
New wounds so quickly healing;
A thousand more I could recite,
Most worthy of revealing,
But that I hinder'd am by fate,
And business doth prevent me,

To cure a madman which of late

Is from Felicia sent me.

CLAIA. Nay, then thou hast enough to do, We pity thy enduring,

For they are there infected so,
That they are past thy curing.

THE SIXTH NYMPHAL.

SILVIUS, HALCIUS, MELANTHUS.

A woodman, fisher, and a swain
This Nymphal through with mirth maintain;

Whose pleadings so the nymph do please,
That presently they give them bays.

CLEAR had the day been from the dawn,
All chequer'd was the sky,

Thin clouds like scarfs of cobweb lawn
Veil'd Heaven's most glorious eye.

The wind had no more strength than this,
That leisurely it blew,

To make one leaf the next to kiss,
That closely by it grew.

The rills that on the pebbles play'd
Might now be heard at will;
This world they only music made,
Else every thing was still.

The flowers, like brave embroider'd girls,
Look'd as they much desir'd,

To see whose head with orient pearls
Most curiously was tyr'd;
And to itself the subtile air
Such sovereignty assumes,
That it receiv'd too large a share
From nature's rich perfumes.
When the Elysian youth were met,
That were of most account,

And to disport themselves were set
Upon an easy mount:

Near which, of stately fir and pine
There grew abundant store,
The tree that weepeth turpentine,
And shady sycamore.

Amongst this merry youthful train
A forester they had,

A fisher, and a shepherd swain,
A lively country lad:

Betwixt which three a question grew,
Who should the worthiest be,
Which violently they pursue,
Nor stickled would they be:
That it the company doth please
This civil strife to stay,
Freely to hear what each of these
For his brave self could say.
When first this forester, of all
That Silvius had to name,

To whom the lot being cast doth fall,
Doth thus begin the game.

[lead,

SILVIUS. For my profession then, and for the life I All others to excel, thus for myself I plead; I am the prince of sports, the forest is my fee, He's not upon the Earth, for pleasure lives like me; The morn no sooner puts her rosy mantle on, But from my quiet lodge I instantly am gone, When the melodious birds from every bush and brier Of the wild spacious wastes, make a continual choir; The mottled meadows then, new varnish'd with the Sun,

Shoot up their spicy sweets upon the winds that run, In easily ambling gales, and softly seem to pace, That it the longer might their lusciousness embrace. I am clad in youthful green, I other colours scorn, My silken bauldric bears my bugle or my horn; Which setting to my lips, I wind so loud and shrill, As makes the echoes shout from every neighbouring hill:

My dog-hook at my belt, to which my lyam's ty'd, My sheaf of arrows by, my wood-knife by my side, My cross-bow in my hand, my gaffle or my rack To bend it when I please, or if 1 list to slack 5

art

My hound then in my lyam, I by the woodman's [hart; Forecast where I may lodge the goodly high-palm'd To view the grazing herds, so sundry times I use, Where by the loftiest head I know my deer to choose, And to unherd him then, I gallop o'er the ground Upon my well-breath'd nag, to cheer my earning hound.

Sometime I pitch my toils the deer alive to take,
Sometime I like the cry, the deep-mouth'd kennel
make.
[strike,

Then underneath my horse, I stalk my game to
And with a single dog to hunt him hurt I like.
The sylvans are to me true subjects, I their king,
The stately hart his hind doth to my presence bring.
The buck his loyed doe, the roe his tripping mate,
Before me to my bower, whereas I sit in state.
The dryads, hamadryads, the satyrs and the fawns,
Oft play at hide and seek before me on the lawns;
The frisking fairy oft, when horned Cynthia shines,
Before me as I walk dance wanton matachines;
The numerous feather'd flocks, that the wild forests
haunt,

Sun,

Their sylvan songs to me, in cheerful ditties chaunt:
The shades like ample shields, defend me from the
run;
Through which me to refresh the gentle rivulets
No little bubbling brook from any spring that falls,
But on the pebbles plays me pretty madrigals.
I' th' morn I climb the hills, where wholesome winds
do blow,

At noon-tide to the vales, and shady groves below;
T'wards evening I again the crystal floods frequent,
In pleasure thus my life continually is spent.
As princes and great lords have palaces, so I
Have in the forests here, my hall and gallery
The tall and stately woods, which underneath are
plain;
[again
The groves my gardens are, the heath and downs
My wide and spacious walks. Then say all what ye
The forester is still your only gallant man. [can,

He of his speech scarce made an end,
But him they load with praise,
The nymphs most highly him commend,
And yow to give him bays:
He's now cry'd up of every one,
And who but only he?

The forester's the man alone,
The worthiest of the three.

When some than th' other far more staid,
Will'd them a while to pause,
For there was more yet to be said,
That might deserve applause.
When Halcius his turn next plies,
And silence having won,
Room for the fisherman he cries,
And thus his plea begun.

HALCIUS. No, forester, it so must not be borne away,

But hear what for himself the fisher first can say ; The crystal current streams continually I keep, Where every pearl-pav'd ford, and every blue-ey'd' deep,

With me familiar are; when in my boat being set, My oar I take in hand, my angle and my net About me; like a prince myself in state I steer, Now up, now down the stream, now am I here, now there,

The pilot and the fraught myself; and at my ease Can land me when I list, or in what place I please; The silver-scaled shoals, about me in the streams, As thick as ye discern the atoms in the beams, Near to the shady bank where slender sallies grow, And willows their shag'd tops down t'wards the waters bow,

I shove in with my boat to shield me from the heat, Where choosing from my bag some prov'd especial bait,

The goodly well-grown trout I with my angle strike,
And with my bearded wire I take the ravenous pike,
Of whom when I bave hold he seldom breaks away,
Though at my line's full length so long I let him
play

Till by my hand I find he well-near weary'd be,
When softly by degrees I draw him up to me.
The lusty salmon too, I oft with angling take,
Which me above the rest most lordly sport doth make,
Who feeling he is caught, such frisks and bounds
doth fetch,

And by his very strength my line so far doth stretch,
As draws my floating cork down to the very ground,
And wresting of my rod, doth make my boat turn
round.

I never idle am, sometime I bait my weels,
With which by night I take the dainty silver eels,
And with my draught-net then, I sweep the stream-
ing flood,

And to my trammel next, and cast-net from the mud,
I beat the scaly brood; no hour I idly spend,
But weary'd with my work I bring the day to end.
The Naiades and nymphs that in the rivers keep,
Which take into their care the store of every deep,
Amongst the flowery flags, the bullrushes and reed,
That of the spawn have charge (abundantly to
breed),

Well mounted upon swans, their naked bodies lend
To my discerning eye, and on my boat attend,
And dance upon the waves, before me (for my sake)
To th' music the soft wind upon the reeds doth
make.

And for my pleasure more, the rougher gods of seas
From Neptune's court send in the blue Neriades,
Which from his bracky realm upon the billows ride,
And bear the rivers back with every streaming tide.
Those billows 'gainst my boat, borne with delight-
ful gales,

Oft seeming as I row to tell me pretty tales, Whilst loads of liquid pearl still load my labouring

oars,

As stretch'd upon the stream they strike me to the

shores:

The silent meadows seem delighted with my lays,
And sitting in my boat I sing my lass's praise.
Then let them that like, the forester up-cry,
Your noble fisher is your only man, say I.

This speech of Halcius turn'd the tide,
And brought it so about,
That all upon the fisher cry'd,
That he would bear it out;

Him for the speech he made, to clap
Who lent him not a hand?

And said t'would be the waters' hap,
Quite to put down the land.
This while Melanthus silent sits,
(For so the shepherd height)

And having heard these dainty wits,
Each pleading for his right;

But to the fields I haste, my folded flock to see,
Where when I find, nor wolf, nor fox hath injur'd me,
I to my bottle straight, and soundly baste my throat,
Which done, some country song or roundelay I roat
So merrily; that to the music that I make,
I force the lark to sing ere she be well awake;
Then Ball my cut-tail'd cur and I begin to play,
He o'er my sheephook leaps, now th' one, now th
other way,

Then on his hinder feet he doth his himself advance,
I tune, and to my note, my lively dog doth dance;
Then whistle in my fist, my fellow swains to call,
Down go our hooks and scrips, and we to nine-holes
fall,

At dust-point, or at quoits, else are we at it hard, All false and cheating games, we shepherds are debarr'd;

Surveying of my sheep, if ewe or wether look
As though it were amiss, or with my cur or crook
I take it, and when once I find what it doth ail,
It hardly hath that hurt, but that my skill can heal;
And when my careful eye I cast upon my sheep,
sort them in my pens, and sorted so I keep:
Those that are bigg'st of bone, I still reserve for
breed,

My cullings I put off, or for the chapman feed. When th' evening doth approach I to my bagpipe take,

And to my grazing flocks such music then I make,
That they forbear to feed; then me a king you see,
I playing go before, my subjects follow me;
My bell-wether most brave, before the rest doth

stalk,

The father of the flock, and after him doth walk My writhen-headed ram, with posies crown'd in pride,

Fast to his crooked horns with ribbons neatly_ty'd; And at our shepherds' board that's cut out of the ground,

My fellow swains and I together at it round With green cheese, clouted cream, with flawns and custards stor'd,

Whig, cyder, and with whey, I domineer a lord. When sheering time is come I to the river drive My goodly well fleec'd flocks, (by pleasure thus I

thrive) [day, Which being wash'd at will, upon the sheering My wool I forth in locks, fit for the winder lay, Which upon lusty heaps into my cote I heave, That in the handling feels as soft as any sleave; When every ewe two lambs that yeaned hath that

year,

About her new shorn neck a chaplet then doth wear; My tar-box, and my scrip, my bagpipe at my back, My sheep-hook in my hand, what can I say I lack? He that a scepter sway'd, a sheephook in his hand Hath not disdain'd to have; for shepherds then I stand.