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But when he spyed her his saint,

He wip'd his greasie shooes,

And clear'd the drivell from his beard,
And thus the shepheard wooes.

'I have, sweet wench, a peece of cheese,
As good as tooth may chawe,

And bread and wildings souling well,' (And therewithall did drawe

His lardrie) and in [yeaning] see

Yon crumpling ewe,' quoth he,

'Did twinne this fall, and twin shouldst thou, If I might tup with thee.

Thou art too elvish, faith thou art,

Too elvish and too coy:

Am I, I pray thee, beggarly,
That such a flocke enjoy?

I wis I am not yet that thou
Doest hold me in disdaine

Is brimme abroad, and made a gybe
To all that keepe this plaine.

There be as quaint (at least that thinke
Themselves as quaint) that crave

The match, that thou, I wot not why,

Maist, but mislik'st to have.

How wouldst thou match? (for well I wot,

Thou art a female) I,

Her know not here that willingly

With maiden-head would die.

Ver. 135, Eating, PCC.-Ver. 153, Her know I not her that. 1602.

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The plowmans labour hath no end,
And he a churle will prove:

The craftsman hath more worke in hand

Then fitteth unto love:

The merchant, traffiquing abroad,

Suspects his wife at home:

A youth will play the wanton; and

An old man prove a mome.

Then chuse a shepheard: with the sun
He doth his flocke unfold,
And all the day on hill or plaine

He merrie chat can hold;

And with the sun doth folde againe;

Then jogging home betime,

He turnes a crab, or turnes a round,

Or sings some merry ryme.

Nor lacks he gleefull tales, whilst round

The nut-brown bowl doth trot;

And sitteth singing care away,

Till he to bed be got:

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Theare sleepes he soundly all the night,

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Forgetting morrow-cares:

Nor feares he blasting of his corne,

Nor uttering of his wares;

Or stormes by seas, or stirres on land,

Or cracke of credit lost:

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Ver. 169, i.e. roasts a crab, or apple.-Ver. 171, to tell, whilst round the

bole doth trot. Ed. 1597.

Not spending franklier than his flocke
Shall still defray the cost.

Well wot I, sooth they say, that say

More quiet nights and daies

The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he
Whose cattel he doth graize.

Beleeve me, lasse, a king is but

A man, and so am I:

Content is worth a monarchie,

And mischiefs hit the hie;

As late it did a king and his
Not dwelling far from hence,
Who left a daughter, save thyselfe,
For fair a matchless wench.'-
Here did he pause, as if his tongue
Had done his heart offence.

The neatresse, longing for the rest,
Did egge him on to tell

How faire she was, and who she was.
'She bore,' quoth he, 'the bell

For beautie: though I clownish am,
I know what beautie is;

Or did I not, at seeing thee,

I senceles were to mis.

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Her stature comely, tall; her gate
Well graced; and her wit

To marvell at, not meddle with,
As matchless I omit.

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A globe-like head, a gold-like haire,

A forehead smooth, and hie, An even nose; on either side. Did shine a grayish eie:

Two rosie cheeks, round ruddy lips,
White just-set teeth within;

A mouth in meane; and underneathe
A round and dimpled chin.

Her snowie necke, with blewish veines,
Stood bolt upright upon

Her portly shoulders: beating balles
Her veined breasts, anon

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Adde more to beautie. Wand-like was

Her middle falling still,

And rising whereas women rise: ***
-Imagine nothing ill.

And more, her long, and limber armes

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And slender fingers aunswere to

Had white and azure wrists;

Her smooth and lillie fists.

A legge in print, a pretie foot;
Conjecture of the rest:

For amorous eies, observing forme,
Think parts obscured best.

With these, O raretie! with these
Her tong of speech was spare;

But speaking, Venus seem'd to speake,
The balle from Ide to bear.

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With Phoebe, Juno, and with both
Herselfe contends in face;
Wheare equall mixture did not want
Of milde and stately grace.

Her smiles were sober, and her lookes
Were chearefull unto all:

Even such as neither wanton seeme,
Nor waiward; mell, nor gall.

A quiet minde, a patient moode,

And not disdaining any;

Not gybing, gadding, gawdy: and
Sweete faculties had many.

A nimph, no tong, no heart, no eie,

Might praise, might wish, might see; For life, for love, for forme; more good, More worth, more faire than shee.

Yea such an one, as such was none,

Save only she was such:

Of Argentile to say the most,

Were to be silent much.'

'I knew the lady very well,

But worthles of such praise,'
The neatresse said: 'and muse I do,
A shepheard thus should blaze
The [coate] of beautie1. Credit me,
Thy latter speech bewraies

Thy clownish shape a coined shew.

But wherefore dost thou weepe?'

1i.e. emblazon beauty's coat. Ed. 1597. 1602. 1612. read Coote.

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