This Æglogue is purposely intended to the honour and praise of our most gracious sovereign, Queen Elizabeth. The speakers hereof be Hobbinol and Thenot, two shepheards: the which Hobbinol, being beforementioned greatly to have loved Colin, is here set forth more largely, complaining him of that boy's great misadventure in love; whereby his mind was alienated and withdrawn not only from him, who most loved him, but also from all former delights and studies, as well in pleasant piping, as cunning rhyming and singing, and other his laudable exercises. Whereby he taketh occasion, for proof of his more excellency and skill in poetry, to record a song, which the said Colin sometime made in honour of her Majesty, whom abruptly he termeth Elisa. THENOT. HOBBINOL. THENOT. Tell me, good Hobbinol, what gars thee greet? What! hath some wolf thy tender lambs ytorn? Or is thy bagpipe broke, that sounds so sweet? Or art thou of thy loved lass forlorn? Or be thine eyes attemper'd to the year, Quenching the gasping furrows' thirst with rain? Like April shower, so stream the trickling tears Adown thy cheek, to quench thy thirsty pain. HOB. Nor this, nor that, so much doth make me mourn, But for the lad, whom long I lov'd so dear, Now loves a lass that all his love doth scorn: He, plunged in pain, his tressed locks doth tear; Shepheard's delights he doth them all forswear; His pleasant pipe, which made us merriment, He wilfully hath broke, and doth forbear His wonted songs wherein he all outwent. THE. What is he for a lad you so lament? Is love such pinching pain to them that prove? And hath he skill to make so excellent, Yet hath so little skill to bridle love? HOB. Colin thou kenst, the southern shepheard's boy; Him Love hath wounded with a deadly dart: Whilome on him was all my care and joy, Forcing with gifts to win his wanton heart. But now from me his madding mind is start, And wooes the widow's daughter of the glen; So now fair Rosalind hath bred his smart; So now his friend is changed for a frenne. THE. But if his ditties be so trimly dight, I pray thee, Hobbinol, record some one, The whiles our flocks do graze about in sight, And we close shrouded in this shade alone. HOB. Contented I: then will I sing his lay Of fair Elisa, queen of shepheards all, Which once he made as by a spring he lay, And tuned it unto the waters' fall. "Ye dainty Nymphs, that in this blessed brook Do bathe your breast, Forsake your watry bowers, and hither look, At my request. And eke you virgins, that on Parnass dwell, Whence floweth Helicon, the learned well, Help me to blaze Her worthy praise, Which in her sex doth all excel.