Diverſe Sonnets, Odes, Elegies, Madrigalls,
and other Poeſies, both in Rime, and
Never yet publiſhed.
The Bee and Spider by a diverſe power,
Sucke Hony & Poyſon from the ſelfe ſame flower.
Printed at London by
John Baily, and
to be ſolde at his Shoppe in Chancerie lane,
neere to the Office of the ſix Clarkes. 16021602.
Dialogue betweene two ſhepheards, Thenot and Piers, in praiſe of Astrea, made by the excellent Lady, the Lady Mary Counteſſe of Pembrook, at the Queenes Majesties being at her houſe at 1500 < x < 1599Anno 15.
Then.I Sing divine Astreas praiſe,
O Muſes! help my wittes to raiſe,
And heave my Verſes higher.
Piers.Thou needſt the truth but plainely tell,
Which much I doubt thou canſt not well,
Thou art ſo oft a lier.
Then.If in my Song no more I ſhow,
Than Heav’n, and Earth, and Sea do know,
Then truely I have ſpoken.
Piers.Sufficeth not no more to name,
But being no leſſe, the like, the ſame,
Elſe lawes of truth be broken.
Then.Then ſay, ſhe is ſo good, ſo faire,
With all the earth ſhe may compare,
Not Momus ſelfe denying.
Piers.Compare may thinke where likeneſſe holds,
Nought like to her the earth enfoldes,
I lookt to finde you lying.
Then.Astrea ſees with Wiſdoms ſight,
Astrea workes by Vertues might,
And joyntly both do ſtay in her.
Piers.Nay take from them, her hand, her minde,
The one is lame, the other blinde,
Shall ſtill your lying ſtaine her?
Then.Soone as Astrea ſhewes her face,
Strait every ill avoides the place,
And every good aboundeth.
Piers.Nay long before her face doth ſhowe,
The laſt doth come, the firſt doth goe,
How lowde this lie reſoundeth!
Then.Astrea is our chiefeſt joy,
Our chiefeſt guarde againſt annoy,
Our chiefeſt wealth, our treaſure.
Piers.Where chiefeſt are, three others bee,
To us none elſe but only ſhee;
When wilt thou ſpeake in meaſure?
Then.Astrea may be juſtly ſayd,
A field in flowry Roabe arrayd,
In Seaſon freſhly ſpringing.
Piers.That Spring indures but ſhorteſt time,
This never leaves Aſtreas clime,
Thou lieſt, inſtead of ſinging.
Then.As heavenly light that guides the day,
Right ſo doth thine each lovely Ray,
That from Aſtrea flyeth.
Piers.Nay, darknes oft that light enclowdes,
Astreas beames no darknes ſhrowdes;
How lowdly Thenot lyeth!
Then.Astrea rightly terme I may,
A manly Palme, a Maiden Bay,
Her verdure never dying.
Piers.Palme oft is crooked, Bay is lowe,
Shee ſtill upright, ſtill high doth growe,
Good Thenot leave thy lying.
Then.Then Piers, of friendhſhip tell me why,
My meaning true, my words ſhould ly,
And ſtrive in vaine to raiſe her.
Piers.Words from conceit do only riſe,
Above conceit her honour flies;
But ſilence, nought can praiſe her.
Mary Counteſſe of Pembroke.