ards den.

Ne cares he if the fleece which him arayes
Be not twice steeped in Assyrian dye;
Ne glistering of golde, which underlayes*
The summer beames, doe blinde his gazing eye; 100
Ne pictures beautie, nor the glauncing rayes
Of precious stones, whence no good commeth by;
Ne yet his cup embost with imagery
Of Baetus or of Alcons vanity.
[* _Underlayes_, surpasses.]

Ne ought the whelky* pearles esteemeth hee, 105
Which are from Indian seas brought far away:
But with pure brest, from carefull sorrow free,
On the soft grasse his limbs doth oft display,
In sweete spring time, when flowres varietie
With sundrie colours paints the sprincled lay**; 110
There, lying all at ease from guile or spight,
With pype of fennie reedes doth him delight.
[* _Whelky_, shelly (_conchea_).]
[** _lay_, lea.]

There he, lord of himselfe, with palme bedight,
His looser locks doth wrap in wreath of vine:
There his milk-dropping goats be his delight, 115
And fruitefull Pales, and the forrest greene,
And darkesome caves in pleasaunt vallies pight*,
Wheras continuall shade is to be seene,
And where fresh springing wells, as christall neate,
Do alwayes flow, to quench his thirstie heate. 120
[* _Pight_, placed.]

O! who can lead then a more happie life
Than he, that with cleane minde and heart sincere,
No greedy riches knowes nor bloudie strife,
No deadly fight of warlick fleete doth feare,
Ne runs in perill of foes cruell knife, 125
That in the sacred temples he may reare
A trophee of his glittering spoyles and treasure,
Or may abound in riches above measure.

Of him his God is worshipt with his sythe,
And not with skill of craftsman polished: 130
He ioyes in groves, and makes himselfe full blythe
With sundrie flowers in wilde fieldes gathered,
Ne frankincens he from Panchaea buyth:
Sweete Quiet harbours in his harmeles head,
And perfect Pleasure buildes her ioyous bowre, 135
Free from sad cares, that rich mens hearts devowre.

This all his care, this all his whole indevour,
To this his minde and senses he doth bend,
How he may flow in quiets matchles treasour,
Content with any food that God doth send; 140
And how his limbs, resolv'd through idle leisour,
Unto sweete sleepe he may securely lend,
In some