A many princes seek her love, but none might her

obtain,

For gripel Edel to himself her kingdom sought to

gain,

And for that cause, from sight of such he did his ward restrain.

By chance one Curan, son unto a Prince of Danske,

did see

The maid, with whom he fell in love, as much as one might be:

Unhappy youth, what should he do? his saint was kept in mew;

Nor he nor any nobleman admitted to her view: One while in melancholy fits he pines himself

away,

Anon he thought by force of arms to win her if he

may,

And still against the king's restraint did secretly in

veigh.

At length the high controller, Love, whom none may disobey,

Imbased him from lordliness into a kitchen drudge, That so at least of life or death she might become his judge;

Access so had, to see and speak, he did his love bewray,

And tells his birth-her answer was, she husbandless would stay:

Meanwhile the king did beat his brain, his booty to achieve,

Not caring what became of her, so he by her might

thrive;

At last his resolution was some peasant should her

wive:

And (which was working to his wish) he did observe with joy,

How Curan, whom he thought a drudge, scap'd many an am'rous toy:

The king, perceiving such his vein, promotes his vassal still,

Lest that the baseness of the man should let perhaps his will;

Assured, therefore, of his love, but not suspecting who

The lover was, the king himself in his behalf did

The lady, resolute from love, unkindly takes that

he

Should bar the noble and unto so base a match

agree;

And therefore, shifting out of doors, departed hence by stealth,

Preferring poverty before a dangerous life in wealth. When Curan heard of her escape, the anguish of

his heart

Was more than much, and after her he did from court depart;

Forgetful of himself, his birth, his country, friends,

and all,

And only minding whom he miss'd, the foundress of his thrall;

Nor means he after to frequent the court, or stately. towns,

But solitarily to live among the country growns. A brace of years he lived thus, well pleased so to live,

And, shepherd-like, to feed a flock himself did wholly give;

So wasting love, by work and want, grew almost to

the wane,

And then began a second love, the worser of the

twain;

A country wench, a neat-herd's maid, where Curan kept his sheep,

Did feed her drove; and now on her was all the shepherd's keep.

He borrow'd on the working days his holie russets oft,

And of the bacon's fat to make his startups black and soft;

And lest his tar-box should offend, he left it at the

fold:

Sweet grout or whig his bottle had as much as it might hold;

A shave of bread as brown as nut, and cheese as

white as snow,

And wildings, or the season's fruit, he did in scrip

bestow;

And whilst his pyebald cur did sleep, and sheep

hook lay him by,

On hollow quills of oaten straw he piped melody; But when he spied her his saint

*

*

*

Thou art too elvish, faith, thou art; too elvish and

Am I, I pray thee, beggarly, that such a flock

'Believe me, lass, a king is but a man, and so am I; Content is worth a monarchy, and mischiefs hit the high,

As late it did a king, and his, not dwelling far from

hence,

Who left a daughter, save thyself, for fair a matchless wench;

Here did he pause, as if his tongue had done his heart offence:

The neatress, longing for the rest, did egg him on to tell

How fair she was, and who she was. She bore, quoth he, the belle;

For beauty, though I clownish am, I know what beauty is,

Or did I not, yet seeing thee, I senseless were to miss:

Suppose her beauty Helen's like, or Helen's something less,

And every star consorting to a pure complexion

guess;

Her stature comely tall, her gait well graced, and her wit

To marvel at, not meddle with, as matchless I

omit;

A globe-like head, a gold-like hair, a forehead smooth and high,

An even nose; on either side did shine a greyish

Her smiles were sober, and her looks were cheerful

unto all,

And such as neither wanton seem, nor wayward, mell

nor gall:

A nymph no tongue, no heart, no eye, might praise, might wish, might see,

For life, for love, for form, more good, more worth, more fair than she;

Yea, such a 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 worthless of such

praise,

The neatress said, and muse I do a shepherd thus should blaze

The coat of beauty; credit me, thy latter speech be

wrays

Thy clownish shape a colour'd shew; but wherefore dost thou weep?—