_Melanthus._ Well Fisher you haue done, and Forrester for you Your Tale is neatly tould, s'are both's to giue you due, And now my turne comes next, then heare a Shepherd speak: My watchfulnesse and care giues day scarce leaue to break, But to the Fields I haste, my folded flock to see, Where when I finde, nor Woolfe, nor Fox, hath iniur'd me, 190 I to my Bottle straight, and soundly baste my Throat, Which done, some Country Song or Roundelay I roate So merrily; that to the musick that I make, I Force the Larke to sing ere she be well awake; Then _Baull_ my cut-tayld Curre and I begin to play, He o'r my Shephooke leapes, now th'one, now th'other way, Then on his hinder feet he doth himselfe aduance, I tune, and to my note, my liuely Dog doth dance, Then whistle in my Fist, my fellow Swaynes to call, Downe goe our Hooks and Scrips, and we to Nine-holes fall, 200 At Dust-point, or at Quoyts, else are we at it hard, All false and cheating Games, we Shepheards are debard; Suruaying of my sheepe if Ewe or Wether looke As though it were amisse, or with my Curre, or Crooke I take it, and when once I finde what it doth ayle, It hardly hath that hurt, but that my skill can heale; And when my carefull eye, I cast vpon my sheepe I sort them in my Pens, and sorted soe I keepe: Those that are bigst of Boane, I still reserue for breed, My Cullings I put off, or for the Chapman feed. 210 When the Euening doth approach I to my Bagpipe take, And to my Grazing flocks such Musick then I make, That they forbeare to feed; then me a King you see, I playing goe before, my Subiects followe me, My Bell-weather most braue, before the rest doth stalke, The Father of the flocke, and after him doth walke My writhen-headed Ram, with Posyes crowned in pride Fast to his crooked hornes with Rybands neatly ty'd And at our Shepheards Board that's cut out of the ground, My fellow Swaynes and I together at it round, 220 With Greencheese, clouted Cream, with Flawns, and Custards, stord, Whig, Sider, and with Whey, I domineer a Lord, When shering time is come I to the Riuer driue, My goodly well-fleec'd Flocks: (by pleasure thus I thriue) Which being washt at will; vpon the shering day, My wooll I foorth in Loaks, fit for the wynder lay, Which vpon lusty heapes into my Coate I heaue, That in the Handling feeles as soft as any Sleaue, When euery Ewe two Lambes, that yeaned hath that yeare, About her new shorne neck a Chaplet then doth weare; 230 My Tarboxe, and my Scrip, my Bagpipe, at my back, My Sheephooke in my hand, what can I say I lacke; He that a Scepter swayd, a sheephooke in his hand, Hath not disdaind to haue, for Shepheards then I stand; Then Forester and you my Fisher cease your strife