On Westwell Downes

When Westwell Downes I gan to tread, Where cleanely wynds the greene did sweepe, Methought a landskipp there was spread, Here a bush and there a sheepe: The pleated wrinkles of the face Of wave-swolne earth did lend such grace, As shadowings in Imag'ry Which both deceive and please the eye. The sheepe sometymes did tread the maze By often wynding in and in, And sometymes round about they trace Which milkmayds call a Fairie ring: Such semicircles have they runne, Such lynes acrosse so trymly spunne That sheppeards learne whenere they please A new Geometry with ease. The slender food upon the downe Is allwayes even, allwayes bare, Which neither spring nor winter's frowne Can ought improve or ought impayre: Such is the barren Eunuches chynne, Which thus doth evermore begynne With tender downe to be orecast Which never comes to haire at last. Here and there twoe hilly crests Amiddst them hugg a pleasant greene, And these are like twoe swelling breasts That close a tender fall betweene. Here would I sleepe, or read, or pray From early morne till flight of day: But harke! a sheepe-bell calls mee upp, Like Oxford colledge bells, to supp.