th horses feete,
When flocking Persians did the Greeks affray: 50
But my soft Muse, as for her power more meete,
Delights (with Phoebus friendly leave) to play
An easie running verse with tender feete.
And thou, dread sacred child, to thee alway
Let everlasting lightsome glory strive, 55
Through the worlds endles ages to survive.

And let an happie roome remaine for thee
Mongst heavenly ranks, where blessed soules do rest;
And let long lasting life with ioyous glee,
As thy due meede that thou deservest best, 60
Hereafter many yeares remembred be
Amongst good men, of whom thou oft are blest.
Live thou for ever in all happinesse!
But let us turne to our first businesse.

The fiery Sun was mounted now on Light 65
Up to the heavenly towers, and shot each where
Out of his golden charet glistering light;
And fayre Aurora, with her rosie heare,
The hatefull darknes now had put to flight;
When as the Shepheard, seeing day appeare, 70
His little goats gan drive out of their stalls,
To feede abroad, where pasture best befalls.

To an high mountaines top he with them went,
Where thickest grasse did cloath the open hills:
They, now amongst the woods and thickets ment* 75
Now in the valleies wandring at their wills,
Spread themselves farre abroad through each descent;
Some on the soft greene grasse feeding their fills,
Some, clambring through the hollow cliffes on hy,
Nibble the bushie shrubs which growe thereby. 80
[* _Ment_, mingled.]

Others the utmost boughs of trees doe crop,
And brouze the woodbine twigges that freshly bud;
This with full bit* doth catch the utmost top
Of some soft willow, or new growen stud**;
This with sharpe teeth the bramble leaves doth lop, 85
And chaw the tender prickles in her cud;
The whiles another high doth overlooke
Her owne like image in a christall brooke.
[* _Bit_, bite.]
[** _Stud_, stock.]

O the great happines which shepheards have,
Who so loathes not too much the poore estate 90
With minde that ill use doth before deprave,
Ne measures all things by the costly rate
Of riotise, and semblants outward brave!
No such sad cares, as wont to macerate
And rend the greedie mindes of covetous men, 95
Do ever creepe into the shephe