[Printed as an Appendix to _COLIN CLOUT's come home again_, first printed in 1595; but the epistle of which is dated "From my house of Kilcolman, the 27 of December, 1591."] [Illustration] [Illustration] Astrophel. [Illustration] _Shepherds that wont, on pipes of oaten reed,_ _Ofttimes to plain your love's concealèd smart;_ _And with your piteous lays have learned to breed_ _Compassion in a country lass's heart:_ _Hearken, ye gentle shepherds, to my song!_ _And place my doleful plaint, your plaints emong._ _To you alone, I sing this mournful verse,_ _The mournful'st verse that ever man heard tell:_ _To you whose softened hearts it may empierce_ _With dolour's dart, for death of ASTROPHEL._ _To you I sing, and to none other wight,_ _For well I wot my rhymes been rudely dight._ _Yet as they been, if any nicer wit_ _Shall hap to hear, or covet them to read:_ _Think he, that such are for such ones most fit,_ _Made not to please the living but the dead:_ _And if in him, found pity ever place;_ _Let him be moved to pity such a case._ [Illustration] [Illustration] _ASTROPHEL._ _A Pastoral Elegy upon the death of_ _the most noble and valorous Knight,_ _Sir PHILIP SIDNEY._ [Illustration] A gentle shepherd born in Arcady, Of gentlest race that ever shepherd bore; About the grassy banks of Hæmony, Did keep his sheep, his little stock and store. Full carefully he kept them day and night In fairest fields; and ASTROPHEL he hight. Young ASTROPHEL! the pride of shepherds' praise. Young ASTROPHEL! the rustic lasses' love. Far passing all the pastors of his days In all that seemly shepherd might behove. In one thing only failing of the best; That he was not so happy as the rest. For from the time that first the nymph his mother Him forth did bring; and taught, her lambs to feed: A slender swain, excelling far each other In comely shape, like her that did him breed: He grew up fast in goodness and in grace; And doubly fair wox both in mind and face. Which daily more and more he did augment With gentle usage and demeanour mild; That all men's hearts with secret ravishment He stole away, and wittingly beguiled. Ne Spite itself--that all good things doth spill-- Found ought in him, that she could say was ill. His sports were fair, his joyance innocent, Sweet without sour, and honey without gall; And he himself seemed made for merriment, Merrily masking both in bower and hall. There was no pleasure nor delightful play When ASTROPHEL so ever was away.