In sweetest prime and blooming of his age,
Deare Alcon ravish'd from this mortall stage,
The shepheards mourn'd as they him lov'd before:
Among the rout him Idmon did deplore,
Idmon, who, whether sun in east did rise
Or dive in west, pour'd torrents from his eyes
Of liquid chrystall, under hawthorne shade;
At last to trees and rocks this plaint he made:
Alcon, delight of heaven, desire of earth,
Off-spring of Phœbus, and the Muses' birth,
The Graces' darling, Adon of our plaines,
Flame of the fairest nymphs the earth sustaines,
What power of thee hath us bereft? what fate
By thy untimely fall would ruinate
Our hopes? O death! what treasure in one houre
Hast thou dispersed? how dost thou devoure
What we on earth hold dearest? All things good,
Too envious heavens, how blast ye in the bud?
The corne the greedy reapers cut not down
Before the fields with golden eares it crown,
Nor doth the verdant fruits the gardener pull,
But thou art cropt before thy yeares were full.
With thee, sweet youth, the glories of our fields
Vanish away, and what contentments yields;
The lakes their silver look, the woods their shades,
The springs their christall want, their verdure meads,
The yeares their early seasons, cheerfull dayes;
Hills gloomy stand now desolate of rayes,
Their amorous whispers zephires not us bring,
Nor do aire's quiresters salute the spring;
The freezing winds our gardens do defloure.
Ah, Destinies! and you whom skies embow'r,
To his faire spoiles his spright againe yet give,
And like another phœnix make him live.
The herbs, though cut, sprout fragrant from their stems,
And make with crimson blush our anadems;
The sun when in the west he doth decline,
Heaven's brightest tapers at his funeralls shine;
His face, when wash't in the Atlantick seas,
Revives, and cheeres the welkin with new raies:
Why should not he, since of more pure a frame,
Returne to us againe, and be the same?
But wretch, what wish I? To the winds I send
These plaints and prayers, Destines cannot lend
Thee more of time, nor heavens consent will thus
Thou leave their starry world to dwell with us;
Yet shall they not thee keep amidst their spheares
Without these lamentations and teares.
Thou wast all vertue, courtesie, and worth,
And as sun's light is in the moon set forth,
World's supreame excellence in thee did shine;
Nor, though eclipsed now, shalt thou decline,
But in our memories live, while dolphins streames
Shall haunt, whilst eaglets stare on Titan's beames,
Whilst swans upon their christall tombes shall sing,
Whilst violets with purple paint the spring.
A gentler shepheard flocks did never feed
On Albion's hills, nor sung to oaten reed:
While what she found in thee my muse would blaze,
Griefe doth distract her, and cut short thy praise.
How oft have we, inviron'd by the throng
Of tedious swaines, the cooler shades among,
Contemn'd earth's glow-worme greatnesse, and the chace
Of fortune scorn'd, deeming it disgrace
To court unconstancy? How oft have we
Some Chloris' name graven in each virgin tree,
And, finding favours fading, the next day
What we had carv'd we did deface away?
Woefull remembrance! Nor time nor place
Of thy abodement shadows any trace,
But there to me thou shin'st: late glad desires,
And ye once roses, how are ye turned bryers?
Contentments passed, and of pleasures chiefe,
Now are ye frightfull horrours, hells of griefe.
When from thy native soyle love had thee driven,
Thy safe returne prefigurating, a heaven
Of flattering hopes did in my fancy move,
Then little dreaming it should atomes prove.
These groves preserve will I, these loved woods,
These orchards rich with fruits, with fish these flouds:
My Alcon will returne, and once againe
His chosen exiles he will entertaine;
The populous city holds him, amongst harmes
Of some fierce Cyclops, Circe's stronger charmes.
These bankes, said I, he visit will and streames,
These silent shades ne're kist by courting beames;
Far, far off I will meet him, and I first
Shall him approaching know, and first be blest
With his aspect; I first shall heare his voice,
Him find the same he parted, and rejoyce
To learne his passed perills, know the sports
Of forraine shepheards, fawns, and fairy courts.
No pleasure to the fields; an happy state
The swaines enjoy, secure from what they hate:
Free of proud cares they innocently spend
The day, nor do black thoughts their ease offend;
Wise nature's darlings they live in the world,
Perplexing not themselves how it is hurl'd.
These hillocks Phœbus loves, Ceres these plaines,
These shades the Sylvans, and here Pales straines
Milke in the pailes, the maids which haunt the springs
Daunce on these pastures, here Amintas sings;
Hesperian gardens, Tempe's shades are here,
Or what the easterne Inde, and west hold deare.
Come then, deare youth, the wood-nymphs twine thee boughs
With rose and lilly, to impale thy brows.
Thus ignorant, I mus'd, not conscious yet
Of what by death was done, and ruthlesse fate:
Amidst these trances fame thy losse doth sound,
And through my eares gives to my heart a wound;
With stretched-out armes I sought thee to embrace,
But clasp'd, amaz'd, a coffin in thy place;
A coffin! of our joyes which had the trust,
Which told that thou was come, but chang'd in dust.
Scarce, even when felt, could I believe this wrake,
Nor that thy tyme and glory Heavens would break.
Now since I cannot see my Alcon's face,
And finde nor vowes nor prayers to have place
With guiltie starres, this mountaine shall become
To mee a sacred altar, and a tombe
To famous Alcon: heere, as dayes, months, yeares
Do circling glide, I sacrifice will teares,
Heere spend my remnant tyme, exil'd from mirth,
Till death in end turne monarch of my earth.
Sheepheards on Forth, and yee by Doven rockes
Which use to sing and sport, and keep your flockes,
Pay tribute heere of teares; yee never had
To aggravate your moanes a cause more sad;
And to their sorrowes hither bring your mandes
Charged with sweetest flowres, and with pure handes,
Faire nymphes, the blushing hyacinth and rose
Spred on the place his relicts doth enclose;
Weave garlands to his memorie, and put
Over his hearse a verse in cypresse cut:
“Vertue did die, goodnesse but harme did give
After the noble Alcon left to live,
Friendship an earth-quake suffer'd; loosing him,
Love's brightest constellation turned dim.”