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Pallas in wit, all three, if you well view,
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity,
Yield to Samela.

XXI. DORON'S ECLOGUE JOINED WITH
CARMELA'S.

A specimen of burlesque pastoral. Doron is not impossibly a skit on Greene's rival, Kyd.

Doron.

SIT down, Carmela; here are cobs for kings,
Sloes black as jet or like my Christmas shoes,
Sweet cider which my leathern bottle brings;
Sit down, Carmela, let me kiss thy toes.

Carmela.

Ah Doron! ah my heart! thou art as white
As is my mother's calf or brinded cow;
Thine eyes are like the glow-worms in the night;
Thine hairs resemble thickest of the snow.

The lines within thy face are deep and clear
Like to the furrows of my father's wain;
The sweat upon thy face doth oft appear
Like to my mother's fat and kitchen-gain.

Ah, leave my toe, and kiss my lips, my love!
My lips are thine, for I have given them thee;
Within thy cap 't is thou shalt wear my glove;
At football sport thou shalt my champion be.

Doron.

Carmela dear, even as the golden ball
That Venus got, such are thy goodly eyes;
When cherries' juice is jumbled there withal,
Thy breath is like the steam of apple-pies.
(M 80)

H

Thy lips resemble two cucumbers fair;
Thy teeth like to the tusks of fattest swine;
Thy speech is like the thunder in the air:

Would God, thy toes, thy lips, and all were mine!

Carmela.

Doron, what thing doth move this wishing grief?

Doron.

'Tis Love, Carmela, ah, 't is cruel Love! That, like a slave and caitiff villain-thief, Hath cut my throat of joy for thy behove.

Where was he born?

Carmela.

Doron.

In faith, I know not where; But I have heard much talking of his dart: Ay me, poor man! with many a trampling tear I feel him wound the fore horse of my heart.

What, do I love? O, no, I do but talk:
What, shall I die for love? O, no, not so.
What, am I dead? O, no, my tongue doth walk:
Come, kiss, Carmela, and confound my woe.

Carmela.

Even with this kiss, as once my father did,
I seal the sweet indentures of delight:
Before I break my vow the gods forbid,
No, not by day, nor yet by darksome night.

Doron.

Even with this garland made of holly hocks
I cross thy brows from every shepherd's kiss:

Heigh-ho, how glad I am to touch thy locks!
My frolic heart even now a freeman is.

Carmela.

I thank you, Doron, and will think on you;
I love you, Doron, and will wink on you;
I seal your charter-patent with my thumbs:
Come, kiss and part, for fear my mother comes.

XXII. THE DESCRIPTION OF THE SHEPHERD AND HIS WIFE.

This and the following are from Greene's Mourning Garment (1590), a romance containing a pastoral episode.

T was near a thicky shade,

IT

That broad leaves of beech had made,

Joining all their tops so nigh,

That scarce Phoebus in could pry,

To see if lovers in the thick

Could dally with a wanton trick:
Where sat the swain and his wife,
Sporting in that pleasing life,
That Coridon commendeth so,
All other lives to over-go.
He and she did sit and keep
Flocks of kids and folds of sheep;

He upon his pipe did play,

She tuned voice unto his lay,

And, for you might her huswife know,
Voice did sing and fingers sew.
He was young; his coat was green,
With welts of white seam❜d between,
Turned over with a flap,

That breast and bosom in did wrap;

Skirtès side1 and plighted free,
Seemly hanging to his knee;
A whittle with a silver chape;
Cloak was russet, and the cape
Served for a bonnet oft

To shroud him from the wet aloft;
A leather scrip of colour red,
With a button on the head;
A bottle full of country whig2

By the shepherd's side did lig;
And in a little bush hard by
There the shepherd's dog did lie,
Who, while his master gang to sleep,
Well could watch both kids and sheep.
The shepherd was a frolic swain;
For though his 'parel was but plain,
Yet doon the authors soothly say,
His colour was both fresh and gay,
And in their writs plain discuss,
Fairer was not Tityrus,

Nor Menalcas, whom they call
The alderliefest3 swain of all.
Seeming him was his wife,

Both in line and in life;
Fair she was as fair might be,
Like the roses on the tree;
Buxom, blythe, and young, I ween,
Beauteous like a summer's queen;
For her cheeks were ruddy hued,
As if lilies were imbrued

With drops of blood, to make the white
Please the eye with more delight.

1 side, long.

2 whig, a drink made from whey.

alderliefest; lief is 'charming'; alder, a genitive form, 'of all'.

Love did lie within her eyes

In ambush for some wanton prize.
A liefer lass than this had been
Coridon had never seen,

Nor was Phyllis, that fair may,
Half so gaudy or so gay.

She wore a chaplet on her head;
Her cassock was of scarlet red,

Long and large as straight as bent;
Her middle was both small and gent;
A neck as white as whalès-bone,
Compass'd with a lace of stone.
Fine she was, and fair she was,
Brighter than the brightest glass;
Such a shepherd's wife as she
Was not more in Thessaly.

XXIII. THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG.

H, what is love? It is a pretty thing,

AH,

As sweet unto a shepherd as a king;
And sweeter too,

For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

His flocks are folded, he comes home at night, As merry as a king in his delight;

And merrier too,

For kings bethink them what the state require, Where shepherds careless carol by the fire:

Ah then, ah then,

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