still load my laboring Oares,
    As streacht vpon the Streame they stryke me to the Shores: 
    The silent medowes seeme delighted with my Layes,
    As sitting in my Boate I sing my Lasses praise,
    Then let them that like, the Forrester vp cry,
    Your noble Fisher is your only man say I.

    This speech of Halcius turn’d the Tyde,
    And brought it so about, 170
    That all vpon the Fisher cryde,
    That he would beare it out;
    Him for the speech he made, to clap
    Who lent him not a hand,
    And said t’would be the Waters hap,
    Quite to put downe the Land. 
    This while Melanthus silent sits,
    (For so the Shepheard hight)
    And hauing heard these dainty wits,
    Each pleading for his right; 180
    To heare them honor’d in this wise,
    His patience doth prouoke,
    When for a Shepheard roome he cryes,
    And for himselfe thus spoke.

      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,