Pastorals: Dedication to Lord Wenman

by William Basse

Since, (Noble Lord), your groves have been the bowers
Where Shepherds' songs not only sung have been,
But Shepherds' selves been sheltered from the powers
Of Summer's heat and blasts of Winters keen,
The gentle fruits of all these friendly hours
To climb your hand are thus ambitious seen.
For Swain is none so simple on the green
But knows these honours all so much your due,
That other claim there can be none between
Your title unto them and theirs to you.
For this, that of all Islands is the Queen,
Never Maecenas bred more nobly true:
And O what virtue more, than life to give
To verse, whereby all other virtues live ?

The famous Shepherd Collin, whom we look
Never to match, (though follow him we may
That follow sheep, and carry scrip and hook)
By just advantage of his time and way
Has placed the months in his eternal book,
All in their own due order and array;
(A Calendar to last, we cannot say
For one year, but as long as years shall be);
Yet of the week has left me every day
Virtues to sing, though in more low degree.
And could they reach, my Lord, a higher key,
Yours as the Shepherd is the songs should be.
Great merit may claim grace in Noble breast;
Favour is greatest where desert is least.

And were I not an English workman right,
That never thought his work enough well done.
These sooner had unto your noble sight
Been offered by the all-beholding Sun.
Pardon the bashful Shepherd: Tis no slight
Adventure through a world of eyes to run.
As in some Climate half a year is spun
Away by Night before the Day appeared.
And when Aurora there hath rays begun
There is again no Night for half a year;
Like that is this my Muse, who, having won
From half an age’s sleep a Morning clear
Of your aspect and favour, hopes she may
For so long Night purchase perpetual Day.

Your Lordship's very humble servant,
William Basse