A pastoral lyric signed "Ignoto," one of three additional anonymous imitations of Shepheardes Calender in A Poetical Rapsody.
W. Davenport Adams: "This collection was edited by Francis Davison in 1602, and includes poems by Charles Best, Thomas Campion, Henry Constable, Sir John Davies, John Donne, Thomas Spelman, Edmund Spenser, Sir Philip Sidney, Joshua Sylvester, Thomas Watson, Davison himself, and others. It was re-edited by Sir Harris Nicholas in 1826" Dictionary of English Literature (1878) 483.
W. W. Greg: "The other three poems are ascribed, either in the Rhapsody itself or in Davison's manuscript list, to a certain A. W., who so far remains unidentified, if, indeed, the letters conceal any individuality and do not merely stand for 'Anonymous Writer,' as has been sometimes thought. The three eclogues at any rate bear evidence of coming from the same pen, and ... show that the writer was no incompetent imitator" Pastoral Poetry and Pastoral Drama (1906) 102.
Hyder E. Rollins notes a manuscript variant with a musical score, Poetical Rapsody (1931-32) 111.
Come gentle Heard-man, sit by mee,
And tune thy Pipe by mine
Heere underneath this Willow tree,
To shield the hote Sunne-shine.
Where I have made my Summer bower,
For proofe of Summer beames,
And decks it up with many a flower,
Sweete seated by the streames.
Where gentle Daphnee once a day,
These flowry bankes doth walke,
And in her bosome beares away
The pride of many a stalke.
But leaves the humble Heart behinde,
That should her Garland dight:
And she, sweete soule, the more unkinde,
To set true love so light.
But, whereas others beare the Bell,
As in her favour blest;
Her shepheard loveth her as well,
As those whome she loves best.
Alas, poore Pastor, I finde,
Thy love is lodg'd so high,
That on thy flocke thou heft no minde,
But feedst a wanton Eie.
If dainty Daphnes lookes besot
Thy doating hearts desire,
Be sure, that farre above thy lot,
Thy liking doth aspire.
To love so sweete a Nymph as shee,
And looke for love againe:
Is fortune fitting high degree,
Not for a Shepheards swaine.
For she of lordly lads becoyd,
And sought of great estates,
Her favour scornes to be enjoyde
By us poore lowly Mates.
Wherefore I warne thee to be wise,
Go with me to my walke,
Where lowly Lasses be not nice,
There like and chuse thy Make.
Where are no pearles nor Gold to view,
No pride of silken sight,
But Petticoates of scarlet hew,
Which vaile the skin snow-white.
There truest Lasses beene to get
For love and little cost:
There sweet desire is payd his det,
And labour seldome lost.
No Heardman, no, thou rav'st too lowde,
Our trade so vile to hold.
My weede as great a Hart doth shrowde,
As his that's clad in gold:
And take the truth that I thee tell,
This Song faire Daphnee sings,
That Cupid will be serv'd as well,
Of Shepheards as of Kings.
For proofe whereof, old bookes recorde,
That Venus Queene of love,
Would sett aside her warlike Lorde,
And youthfull Pastors prove.
How Paris was as well belov'de,
A simple Shepheards Boy,
As after when that he was prov'de
King Priams Son of Troy.
And therefore have I better hope,
As had those Lads of yore,
My courage takes as large a scope,
Although their haps were more.
And for thou shalt not deeme I jest
And beare a mind more base;
No meaner hope shall haunt my brest,
Then deerest Daphnees grace.
My minde no other thought retaines,
Mine Eye nought else admiers:
My hart no other passion straines,
Nor other hap desiers.
My Muse of nothing else entreates,
My Pipe nought else doth sound,
My Veines no other feaver heates,
Such faith's in Shepheards found.
Ah Shepheard, then I see, with griefe
Thy care is past all cure,
No remedy for thy reliefe,
But patiently endure.
Thy wonted libertie is fled,
Fond fancie breeds thy bane,
Thy sence of folly brought a bed,
Thy wit is in the wane.
I can but sorrow for thy sake,
Since love lulles thee asleepe.
And whilst out of thy dreame thou wake,
God shield thy graying sheepe.
Thy wretched Flocke may rue and curse
This proude desire of shine,
Whose woefull state from bad to wurse
Thy carelesse eye will pine.
And e'en as they, thy selfe likewise
With them shalt weare and waste,
To see the spring before shine eyes,
Thou thirsty canst not taste.
Content thee therefore with Conceit,
Where others gaine the grace,
And thinke thy fortune at the height,
To see but Daphnees face.
Although thy truth deserved well
Reward above the rest,
Thy haps shall be but meanes to tell
How other men are blest.
So gentle Shepheard, farewel now,
Bee warned by my reed,
For I see written in thy brow,
Thy Hart for love doth bleed.
Yet longer with thee would I stay,
If ought would do thee good,
But nothing can the heate allay,
Where love enflames the blood.
Then Heardman, since it is my lot,
and my good liking such,
Strive not to breake the faithfull knot
That thinkes no paine too much.
For what contents my Daphnee best
I never will despise;
So she but wish my soule good rest
When death shall close mine eyes.
Then Heard-man, farewel once againe,
For now the day is fled:
So might thy cares, poore Shepheards Swaine,
Flie from thy carefull head.