Her plaints were interrupted with a sound That seem'd from thickest bushes to proceed, Some iolly shepheard sung a lustie round, And to his voice had tun'd his oaten reed; Thither she went, an old man there she found, (At whose right hand his little flock did feed) Sat making baskets, his three sonnes among, That learn'd their father's art, and learn'd his song.
Beholding one in shining armes appeare, The seelie man and his were sore dismaid; But sweet Erminia comforted their feare, Her ventall vp, her visage open laid. You happie folke, of heau'n beloued deare, Work on (quoth she) vpon your harmlesse traid, These dreadfull armes, I beare, no warfare bring To your sweet toile, nor those sweet tunes you sing.
But father, since this land, these townes and towres, Destroied are with sword, with fire and spoile, How may it be, unhurt, that you and yours In safetie thus, applie your harmlesse toile? My sonne (quoth he) this pore estate of ours Is euer safe from storme of warlike broile; This wildernesse doth vs in safetie keepe, No thundring drum, no trumpet breakes our sleepe.
Haply iust heau'n's defence and shield of right, Doth loue the innocence of simple swaines, The thunderbolts on highest mountains light, And seld or neuer strike the lower plaines: So kings haue cause to feare Bellonaes might, Not they whose sweat and toile their dinner gaines, Nor ever greedie soldier was entised By pouertie, neglected and despised.
O pouertie, chefe of the heau'nly brood, Dearer to me than wealth or kingly crowne! No wish for honour, thirst of other's good, Can moue my hart, contented with my owne: We quench our thirst with water of this flood, Nor fear we poison should therein be throwne: These little flocks of sheepe and tender goates Giue milke for food, and wooll to make us coates.
We little wish, we need but little wealth, From cold and hunger vs to cloath and feed; These are my sonnes, their care preserues from stealth Their father's flocks, nor servants moe I need: Amid these groues I walke oft for my health, And to the fishes, birds, and beastes giue heed, How they are fed, in forrest, spring and lake, And their contentment for ensample take.
Time was (for each one hath his doting time, These siluer locks were golden tresses than) That countrie life I hated as a crime, And from the forrests sweet contentment ran, To Memphis stately pallace would I clime, And there became the mightie Caliphes man, And though I but a simple gardner weare, Yet could I marke abuses, see and heare.