LXIX. SIRENA.

From The Shepherd's Sirena (1627).

EAR to the silver Trent

NEAR

Sirena dwelleth,

She to whom Nature lent
All that excelleth;

By which the Muses late,
And the neat Graces,
Have for their greater state
Taken their places,

Twisting an anadem,

Wherewith to crown her,

As it belong'd to them,

Most to renown her.

Cho. On thy bank,

In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her, And with their music

Along let them bring her.

Tagus and Pactolus

Are to thee debtor,
Nor for their gold to us
Are they the better.
Henceforth of all the rest,

Be thou the river,
Which as the daintiest,

Puts them down ever; For as my precious one O'er thee doth travel, She to pearl paragon Turneth thy gravel.

Cho. On thy bank,
In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her,
And with their music

Along let them bring her.

Our mournful Philomel,

That rarest tuner, Henceforth in April

Shall wake the sooner;
And to her shall complain
From the thick cover,
Redoubling every strain
Over and over;

For when my love too long
Her chamber keepeth,
As though it suffer'd wrong;

The morning weepeth.
Cho. On thy bank,

In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her, And with their music

Along let them bring her.

Oft have I seen the sun,

To do her honour,
Fix himself at his noon

To look upon her,
And hath gilt every grove,
Every hill near her,

With his flames from above,

Striving to cheer her:

And when she from his sight

Hath herself turned, He, as it had been night,

In clouds hath mourned.

Cho. On thy bank,
In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her,
And with their music

Along let them bring her.

The verdant meads are seen, When she doth view them, In fresh and gallant green Straight to renew them; And every little grass

Broad itself spreadeth,

Proud that this bonny lass

Upon it treadeth;

Nor flower is so sweet

In this large cincture,

But it upon her feet

Leaveth some tincture.

Cho. On thy bank,

In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her,

And with their music

Along let them bring her.

The fishes in the flood,
When she doth angle,
For the hook strive a good
Them to intangle;
And leaping on the land

From the clear water,

Their scales upon the sand

Lavishly scatter;

Therewith to pave the mould

Whereon she passes,

So herself to behold
As in her glasses.
Cho. On thy bank,
In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her,

And with their music

Along let them bring her.

When she looks out by night,
The stars stand gazing,
Like comets to our sight
Fearfully blazing;

As wondering at her eyes,

With their much brightness,

Which so amaze the skies,

Dimming their lightness. The raging tempests calm Are when she speaketh, Such most delightsome balm From her lips breaketh. Cho. On thy bank,

In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her,

And with their music

Along let them bring her.

In all our Britanny

There's not a fairer,

Nor can you fit any,

Should you compare her.

Angels her eyelids keep,

All hearts surprising;

Which look while she doth sleep

Like the sun's rising:

She alone of her kind

Knoweth true measure, And her unmatched mind Is Heaven's treasure. Cho. On thy bank,

In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her,

And with their music,

Along let them bring her.

Fair Dove and Darwent clear,
Boast ye your beauties,

To Trent your mistress here

Yet pay you

duties.

My love was higher born

Towards the full fountains, Yet she doth Moorland scorn,

And the Peak mountains;

Nor would she none should dream Where she abideth,

Humble as is the stream,

Which by her slideth.

Cho. On thy bank,

In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her,

And with their music

Along let them bring her.

Yet my poor rustic Muse
Nothing can move her,
Nor the means I can use,
Though her true lover:
Many a long winter's night
Have I waked for her,