The Poetical Works of Edmund Spenser, Volume 5 eBook

The Poetical Works of Edmund Spenser, Volume 5 by Edmund Spenser

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Table of Contents

Page 1

MISCELLANIES.

COMPLAINTS.

Containing sundrie small poemes of the
worlds vanitie: 

Whereof the next page maketh mention.

By ed. SP.

* * * * *

London: 

Imprinted for William PONSONBIE, dwelling in Paules
churchyard at the signe of the Bishops head.

1591.

* * * * *

A note of the sundrie poemes contained in this volume.

1.  The Ruines of Time.

2.  The Teares of the Muses.

3.  Virgils Gnat.

4.  Prosopopoia, or Mother Hubberds Tale.

5.  The Ruines of Rome:  by Bellay.

6.  Muiopotmos, or The Tale of the Butterflie.

7.  Visions of the Worlds Vanitie.

8.  Bellayes Visions.

9.  Petrarches Visions.

* * * * *

The Printer to the gentle Reader.

Since my late setting foorth of the Faerie Queene, finding that it hath found a favourable passage amongst you, I have sithence endevoured by all good meanes, (for the better encrease and accomplishment of your delights,) to get into my handes such smale poemes of the same Authors as I heard were disperst abroad in sundrie hands, and not easie to bee come by by himselfe; some of them having bene diverslie imbeziled and purloyned from him, since his departure over sea.  Of the which I have by good meanes gathered togeather these fewe parcels present, which I have caused to bee imprinted altogeather, for that they al seeme to containe like matter of argument in them, being all complaints and meditations of the worlds vanitie, verie grave and profitable.  To which effect I understand that he besides wrote sundrie others, namelie:  Ecclesiastes and Canticum Canticorum translated, A Senights Slumber, The Hell of Lovers, his Purgatorie, being all dedicated to ladies, so as it may seeme he ment them all to one volume:  besides some other pamphlets looselie scattered abroad; as The Dying Pellican, The Howers of the Lord, The Sacrifice of a Sinner, The Seven Psalmes, &c., which, when I can either by himselfe or otherwise attaine too, I meane likewise for your favour sake to set foorth.  In the meane time, praying you gentlie to accept of these, and graciouslie to entertaine the new Poet*, I take leave.

[* Spenser had printed nothing with his name before the Faerie Queene.—­Ponsonby’s account of the way in which this volume was collected is rather loose.  The Ruins of Time and The Tears of the Muses were certainly written shortly before they were published, and there can be equally little doubt that Mother Hubberd’s Tale was retouched about the same time.  C.]

Page 2

THE RUINES OF TIME.

DEDICATED

To the right noble and beautifull ladie,

The La:  Marie,

Countesse of PEMEBROOKE.

Most honourable and bountifull Ladie, there bee long sithens deepe sowed in my brest the seede of most entire love and humble affection unto that most brave knight, your noble brother deceased; which, taking roote, began in his life time somewhat to bud forth, and to shew themselves to him, as then in the weakenes of their first spring; and would in their riper strength (had it pleased High God till then to drawe out his daies) spired forth fruit of more perfection.  But since God hath disdeigned the world of that most noble spirit which was the hope of all learned men, and the patron of my young Muses, togeather with him both their hope of anie further fruit was cut off, and also the tender delight of those their first blossoms nipped and quite dead.  Yet, sithens my late cumming into England, some frends of mine, which might much prevaile with me, and indeede commaund me, knowing with howe straight bandes of duetie I was tied to him, as also bound unto that noble house, of which the chiefs hope then rested in him, have sought to revive them by upbraiding me, for that I have not shewed anie thankefull remembrance towards him or any of them, but suffer their names to sleep in silence and forgetfulnesse.  Whome chieflie to satisfie, or els to avoide that fowle blot of unthankefulnesse, I have conceived this small Poeme, intituled by a generall name of The Worlds Ruines; yet speciallie intended to the renowming of that noble race from which both you and he sprong, and to the eternizing of some of the chiefe of them late deceased.  The which I dedicate unto your La. as whome it most speciallie concerneth, and to whome I acknowledge my selfe bounden by manie singular favours and great graces.  I pray for your honourable happinesse, and so humblie kisse your handes.

Your Ladiships ever

humblie at commaund,

E.S.

* * * * *

THE RUINES OF TIME.

It chaunced me on* day beside the shore
Of silver streaming Thamesis to bee,
Nigh where the goodly Verlame stood of yore,
Of which there now remaines no memorie,
Nor anie little moniment to see, 5
By which the travailer that fares that way
This once was she may warned be to say.
  [* On, one.]

There, on the other side, I did behold
A Woman sitting sorrowfullie wailing,
Rending her yeolow locks, like wyrie golde 10
About her shoulders careleslie downe trailing,
And streames of teares from her faire eyes forth railing*: 
In her right hand a broken rod she held,
Which towards heaven shee seemd on high to weld,
  [* Railing, flowing.]

Page 3

Whether she were one of that rivers nymphes, 15
Which did the losse of some dere Love lament,
I doubt; or one of those three fatall impes
Which draw the dayes of men forth in extent;
Or th’auncient genius of that citie brent*;
But, seeing her so piteouslie perplexed, 20
I, to her calling, askt what her so vexed.
  [* Brent, burnt.]

“Ah! what delight,” quoth she, “in earthlie thing,
Or comfort can I, wretched creature, have? 
Whose happines the heavens envying,
From highest staire to lowest step me drave, 25
And have in mine owne bowels made my grave,
That of all nations now I am forlorne*,
The worlds sad spectacle, and Fortunes scorne.”
  [* Forlorne, forsaken.]

Much was I mooved at her piteous plaint,
And felt my heart nigh riven in my brest 30
With tender ruth to see her sore constraint;
That, shedding teares, a while I still did rest,
And after did her name of her request. 
“Name have I none,” quoth she, “nor anie being,
Bereft of both by Fates uniust decreeing. 35

“I was that citie which the garland wore
Of Britaines pride, delivered unto me
By Romane victors which it wonne of yore;
Though nought at all but ruines now I bee,
And lye in mine owne ashes, as ye see, 40
Verlame I was; what bootes it that I was,
Sith now I am but weedes and wastfull gras?

“O vaine worlds glorie, and unstedfast state
Of all that lives on face of sinfull earth! 
Which, from their first untill their utmost date, 45
Tast no one hower of happines or merth;
But like as at the ingate* of their berth
They crying creep out of their mothers woomb,
So wailing backe go to their wofull toomb.
  [* Ingate, entrance, beginning.]

“Why then dooth flesh, a bubble-glas of breath, 50
Hunt after honour and advauncement vaine,
And reare a trophee for devouring death
With so great labour and long-lasting paine,
As if his daies for ever should remaine? 
Sith all that in this world is great or gaie 55
Doth as a vapour vanish and decaie.

“Looke backe, who list, unto the former ages,
And call to count what is of them become. 
Where be those learned wits and antique sages,
Which of all wisedome knew the perfect somme? 60
Where those great warriors, which did overcome
The world with conquest of their might and maine,
And made one meare* of th’earth and of their raine?
  [* Meare, boundary.]

“What nowe is of th’Assyrian Lyonesse,
Of whome no footing now on earth appeares? 65
What of the Persian Beares outragiousnesse,
Whose memorie is quite worne out with yeares? 
Who of the Grecian Libbard* now ought heares,
That over-ran the East with greedie powre,
And left his whelps their kingdomes to devoure? 70
  [* Libbard, leopard]

Page 4

“And where is that same great seven-headded beast,
That made all nations vassals of her pride,
To fall before her feete at her beheast,
And in the necke of all the world did ride? 
Where doth she all that wondrous welth nowe hide? 75
With her own weight downe pressed now shee lies,
And by her heaps her hugenesse testifies.

“O Rome, thy ruine I lament and rue,
And in thy fall my fatall overthrowe,
That whilom was, whilst heavens with equall vewe 80
Deignd to behold me and their gifts bestowe,
The picture of thy pride in pompous shew: 
And of the whole world as thou wast the empresse,
So I of this small Northerne world was princesse.

“To tell the beawtie of my buildings fayre, 85
Adornd with purest golde and precious stone,
To tell my riches and endowments rare,
That by my foes are now all spent and gone,
To tell my forces, matchable to none,
Were but lost labour that few would beleeve, 90
And with rehearsing would me more agreeve.

“High towers, faire temples, goodly theaters,
Strong walls, rich porches, princelie pallaces,
Large streetes, brave houses, sacred sepulchers,
Sure gates, sweete gardens, stately galleries 95
Wrought with faire pillours and fine imageries,—­
All those, O pitie! now are turnd to dust,
And overgrowen with blacke oblivions rust.

“Theretoo, for warlike power and peoples store
In Britannie was none to match with mee, 100
That manie often did abie full sore: 
Ne Troynovant*, though elder sister shee,
With my great forces might compared bee;
That stout Pendragon to his perill felt,
Who in a siege seaven yeres about me dwelt. 105
  [* Troynovant, London]

“But long ere this, Bunduca, Britonnesse,
Her mightie hoast against my bulwarkes brought;
Bunduca! that victorious conqueresse,
That, lifting up her brave heroick thought
Bove womens weaknes, with the Romanes fought, 110
Fought, and in field against them thrice prevailed: 
Yet was she foyld, when as she me assailed.

“And though at last by force I conquered were
Of hardie Saxons, and became their thrall,
Yet was I with much bloodshed bought full deere, 115
And prizde with slaughter of their generall,
The moniment of whose sad funerall,
For wonder of the world, long in me lasted,
But now to nought, through spoyle of time, is wasted.

“Wasted it is, as if it never were; 120
And all the rest that me so honord made,
And of the world admired ev’rie where,
Is turnd to smoake that doth to nothing fade;
And of that brightnes now appeares no shade,
But greislie shades, such as doo haunt in hell 125
With fearfull fiends that in deep darknes dwell.

Page 5

“Where my high steeples whilom usde to stand,
On which the lordly faulcon wont to towre,
There now is but an heap of lyme and sand
For the shriche-owle to build her balefull bowre:  130
And where the nightingale wont forth to powre
Her restles plaints, to comfort wakefull lovers,
There now haunt yelling mewes and whining plovers.

“And where the christall Thamis wont to slide
In silver channell downe along the lee, 135
About whose flowrie bankes on either side
A thousand nymphes, with mirthfull iollitee,
Were wont to play, from all annoyance free,
There now no rivers course is to be seene,
But moorish fennes, and marshes ever greene. 140

“Seemes that that gentle river, for great griefe
Of my mishaps which oft I to him plained,
Or for to shunne the horrible mischiefe
With which he saw my cruell foes me pained,
And his pure streames with guiltles blood oft stained,
From my unhappie neighborhood farre fled, 145
And his sweete waters away with him led.

“There also where the winged ships were seene
In liquid waves to cut their fomie waie,
And thousand fishers numbred to have been, 150
In that wide lake looking for plenteous praie
Of fish, which they with baits usde to betraie,
Is now no lake, nor anie fishers store,
Nor ever ship shall saile there anie more.

“They all are gone, and all with them is gone! 155
Ne ought to me remaines, but to lament
My long decay, which no man els doth mone,
And mourne my fall with dolefull dreriment: 
Yet it is comfort in great languishment,
To be bemoned with compassion kinde, 160
And mitigates the anguish of the minde.

“But me no man bewaileth, but in game
Ne sheddeth teares from lamentable eie;
Nor anie lives that mentioneth my name
To be remembred of posteritie, 165
Save one, that maugre Fortunes iniurie,
And Times decay, and Envies cruell tort*,
Hath writ my record in true-seeming sort.
  [* Tort, wrong]

“CAMBDEN! the nourice* of antiquitie,
And lanterne unto late succeding age 170
To see the light of simple veritie
Buried in ruines, through the great outrage
Of her owne people led with warlike rage,
CAMBDEN! though Time all moniments obscure,
Yet thy iust labours ever shall endure. 175
  [* Nourice, nurse]

“But whie, unhappie wight! doo I thus crie,
And grieve that my remembrance quite is raced*
Out of the knowledge of posteritie,
And all my antique moniments defaced? 
Sith I doo dailie see things highest placed, 180
So soone as Fates their vitall thred have shorne,
Forgotten quite as they were never borne
  [* Raced, razed.]

Page 6

“It is not long, since these two eyes beheld
A mightie Prince*, of most renowmed race,
Whom England high in count of honour held, 185
And greatest ones did sue to game his grace;
Of greatest ones he, greatest in his place,
Sate in the bosom of his Soveraine,
And Right and Loyall** did his word maintaine.
  [* I. e. the Earl of Leicester.]
  [** Leicester’s motto.]

“I saw him die, I saw him die as one 190
Of the meane people, and brought foorth on beare;
I saw him die, and no man left to mone
His dolefull fate that late him loved deare;
Scarse anie left to close his eylids neare;
Scarse anie left upon his lips to laie 195
The sacred sod, or requiem to saie.

“O trustlesse state of miserable men,
That builde your blis on hope of earthly thing,
And vainly thinke your selves halfe happie then,
When painted faces with smooth flattering 200
Doo fawne on you, and your wide praises sing;
And, when the courting masker louteth* lowe,
Him true in heart and trustie to you trow!
  [* Louteth, boweth.]

“All is but fained, and with oaker* dide,
That everie shower will wash and wipe away; 205
All things doo change that under heaven abide,
And after death all friendship doth decaie. 
Therefore, what ever man bearst worldlie sway,
Living, on God and on thy selfe relie;
For, when thou diest, all shall with thee die. 210
  [* Oaker, ochre, paint.]

“He now is dead, and all is with him dead,
Save what in heavens storehouse he uplaid: 
His hope is faild, and come to passe his dread,
And evill men (now dead) his deeds upbraid: 
Spite bites the dead, that living never baid. 215
He now is gone, the whiles the foxe is crept
Into the hole the which the badger swept.

“He now is dead, and all his glorie gone,
And all his greatnes vapoured to nought,
That as a glasse upon the water shone, 220
Which vanisht quite so soone as it was sought. 
His name is worne alreadie out of thought,
Ne anie poet seekes him to revive;
Yet manie poets honourd him alive.

“Ne doth his Colin, carelesse Colin Cloute, 225
Care now his idle bagpipe up to raise,
Ne tell his sorrow to the listning rout
Of shepherd groomes, which wont his songs to praise: 
Praise who so list, yet I will him dispraise,
Untill he quite* him of this guiltie blame. 230
Wake, shepheards boy, at length awake for shame!
  [* Quite, acquit.]

“And who so els did goodnes by him game,
And who so els his bounteous minde did trie*,
Whether he shepheard be, or shepheards swaine,
(For manie did, which doo it now denie,) 235
Awake, and to his song a part applie: 
And I, the whilest you mourne for his decease,
Will with my mourning plaints your plaint increase.
  [* Trie, experience.]

Page 7

“He dyde, and after him his brother dyde,
His brother prince, his brother noble peere, 240
That whilste he lived was of none envyde,
And dead is now, as living, counted deare;
Deare unto all that true affection beare,
But unto thee most deare, O dearest Dame,
His noble spouse and paragon of fame. 245

“He, whilest he lived, happie was through thee,
And, being dead, is happie now much more;
Living, that lincked chaunst with thee to bee,
And dead, because him dead thou dost adore
As living, and thy lost deare love deplore. 250
So whilst that thou, faire flower of chastitie,
Dost live, by thee thy lord shall never die.

“Thy lord shall never die, the whiles this verse
Shall live, and surely it shall live for ever: 
For ever it shall live, and shall rehearse 255
His worthie praise, and vertues dying never,
Though death his soule doo from his bodie sever: 
And thou thy selfe herein shalt also live;
Such grace the heavens doo to my verses give.

“Ne shall his sister, ne thy father, die; 260
Thy father, that good earle of rare renowne,
And noble patrone of weake povertie;
Whose great good deeds, in countrey and in towne. 
Have purchast him in heaven an happie crowne: 
Where he now liveth in eternall blis, 265
And left his sonne t’ensue those steps of his.

“He, noble bud, his grandsires livelie hayre,
Under the shadow of thy countenaunce
Now ginnes to shoote up fast, and flourish fayre
In learned artes, and goodlie governaunce, 270
That him to highest honour shall advaunce. 
Brave impe* of Bedford, grow apace in bountie,
And count of wisedome more than of thy countie!
  [* Impe, graft, scion.]

“Ne may I let thy husbands sister die,
That goodly ladie, sith she eke did spring 275
Out of this stocke and famous familie
Whose praises I to future age doo sing;
And foorth out of her happie womb did bring
The sacred brood of learning and all honour;
In whom the heavens powrde all their gifts upon her.

“Most gentle spirite breathed from above, 281
Out of the bosome of the Makers blis,
In whom all bountie and all vertuous love
Appeared in their native propertis,
And did enrich that noble breast of his 285
With treasure passing all this worldes worth,
Worthie of heaven it selfe, which brought it forth: 

“His blessed spirite, full of power divine
And influence of all celestiall grace,
Loathing this sinfull earth and earthlie slime, 290
Fled backe too soonc unto his native place;
Too soone for all that did his love embrace,
Too soone for all this wretched world, whom he
Robd of all right and true nobilitie.

Page 8

“Yet, ere his happie soule to heaven went 295
Out of this fleshlie goale, he did devise
Unto his heavenlie Maker to present
His bodie, as a spotles sacrifise,
And chose that guiltie hands of enemies
Should powre forth th’offring of his guiltles blood: 
So life exchanging for his countries good. 300

“O noble spirite, live there ever blessed,
The worlds late wonder, and the heavens new ioy;
Live ever there, and leave me here distressed
With mortall cares and cumbrous worlds anoy! 305
But, where thou dost that happines enioy,
Bid me, O bid me quicklie come to thee,
That happie there I maie thee alwaies see!

“Yet, whilest the Fates affoord me vitall breath,
I will it spend in speaking of thy praise, 310
And sing to thee, untill that timelie death
By heavens doome doo ende my earthlie daies: 
Thereto doo thou my humble spirite raise,
And into me that sacred breath inspire,
Which thou there breathest perfect and entire. 315

“Then will I sing; but who can better sing
Than thine owne sister, peerles ladie bright,
Which to thee sings with deep harts sorrowing,
Sorrowing tempered with deare delight,
That her to heare I feele my feeble spright 320
Robbed of sense, and ravished with ioy;
O sad ioy, made of mourning and anoy!

“Yet will I sing; but who can better sing
Than thou thyselfe thine owne selfes valiance,
That, whilest thou livedst, madest the forrests ring, 325
And fields resownd, and flockes to leap and daunce,
And shepheards leave their lambs unto mischaunce,
To runne thy shrill Arcadian pipe to heare: 
O happie were those dayes, thrice happie were!

“But now more happie thou, and wretched wee, 330
Which want the wonted sweetnes of thy voice,
Whiles thou now in Elisian fields so free,
With Orpheus, and with Linus, and the choice
Of all that ever did in rimes reioyce,
Conversest, and doost heare their heavenlie layes, 335
And they heare thine, and thine doo better praise.

“So there thou livest, singing evermore,
And here thou livest, being ever song
Of us, which living loved thee afore,
And now thee worship mongst that blessed throng 340
Of heavenlie poets and heroes strong. 
So thou both here and there immortall art,
And everie where through excellent desart.

“But such as neither of themselves can sing,
Nor yet are sung of others for reward, 345
Die in obscure oblivion, as the thing
Which never was; ne ever with regard
Their names shall of the later age be heard,
But shall in rustic darknes ever lie,
Unles they mentiond be with infamie. 350

Page 9

“What booteth it to have been rich alive? 
What to be great? what to be gracious? 
When after death no token doth survive
Of former being in this mortall hous,
But sleepes in dust dead and inglorious, 355
Like beast, whose breath but in his nostrels is,
And hath no hope of happinesse or blis.

“How manie great ones may remembred be,
Which in their daies most famouslie did florish,
Of whome no word we heare, nor signe now see, 360
But as things wipt out with a sponge to perishe,
Because they living cared not to cherishe
No gentle wits, through pride or covetize,
Which might their names for ever memorize!

“Provide therefore, ye Princes, whilst ye live, 365
That of the Muses ye may friended bee,
Which unto men eternitie do give;
For they be daughters of Dame Memorie
And love, the father of Eternitie,
And do those men in golden thrones repose, 370
Whose merits they to glorifie do chose.

“The seven-fold yron gates of grislie Hell,
And horrid house of sad Proserpina,
They able are with power of mightie spell
To breake, and thence the soules to bring awaie 375
Out of dread darkenesse to eternall day,
And them immortall make which els would die
In foule forgetfulnesse, and nameles lie.

“So whilome raised they the puissant brood
Of golden-girt Alcmena, for great merite, 380
Out of the dust to which the Oetaean wood
Had him consum’d, and spent his vitall spirite,
To highest heaven, where now he doth inherite
All happinesse in Hebes silver bowre,
Chosen to be her dearest paramoure. 385

“So raisde they eke faire Ledaes warlick twinnes. 
And interchanged life unto them lent,
That, when th’one dies, th’other then beginnes
To shew in heaven his brightnes orient;
And they, for pittie of the sad wayment*, 390
Which Orpheus for Eurydice did make,
Her back againe to life sent for his sake.
  [* Wayment, lament.]

“So happie are they, and so fortunate,
Whom the Pierian sacred sisters love,
That freed from bands of impacable** fate, 395
And power of death, they live for aye above,
Where mortall wreakes their blis may not remove: 
But with the gods, for former verities meede,
On nectar and ambrosia do feede.
  [* Impacable, unappeasable.]

“For deeds doe die, how ever noblie donne, 400
And thoughts of men do as themselves decay;
But wise wordes taught in numbers for to runne,
Recorded by the Muses, live for ay;
Ne may with storming showers be washt away,
Ne bitter-breathing windes with harmfull blast, 405
Nor age, nor envie, shall them ever wast.

Page 10

“In vaine doo earthly princes then, in vaine,
Seeke with pyramides to heaven aspired,
Or huge colosses built with costlie paine,
Or brasen pillours never to be fired, 410
Or shrines made of the mettall most desired,
To make their memories for ever live: 
For how can mortall immortalitie give?

“Such one Mausolus made, the worlds great wonder,
But now no remnant doth thereof remaine:  415
Such one Marcellus, but was torne with thunder: 
Such one Lisippus, but is worne with raine: 
Such one King Edmond, but was rent for gaine. 
All such vaine moniments of earthlie masse,
Devour’d of Time, in time to nought doo passe. 420

“But Fame with golden wings aloft doth flie,
Above the reach of ruinous decay,
And with brave plumes doth beate the azure skie,
Admir’d of base-borne men from farre away: 
Then who so will with vertuous deeds assay 425
To mount to heaven, on Pegasus must ride,
And with sweete Poets verse be glorifide.

“For not to have been dipt in Lethe lake,
Could save the sonne of Thetis from to die;
But that blinde bard did him immortall make 430
With verses dipt in deaw of Castalie: 
Which made the Easterne conquerour to crie,
O fortunate yong man! whose vertue found
So brave a trompe thy noble acts to sound.

“Therefore in this halfe happie I doo read* 435
Good Melibae, that hath a poet got
To sing his living praises being dead,
Deserving never here to be forgot,
In spight of envie, that his deeds would spot: 
Since whose decease, learning lies unregarded, 440
And men of armes doo wander unrewarded.
  [* Read, consider]

“Those two be those two great calamities,
That long agoe did grieve the noble spright
Of Salomon with great indignities,
Who whilome was alive the wisest wight:  445
But now his wisedome is disprooved quite,
For he that now welds* all things at his will
Scorns th’one and th’other in his deeper skill.
  [* Welds, wields]

“O griefe of griefes!  O gall of all good heartes! 
To see that vertue should dispised bee 450
Of him that first was raisde for vertuous parts,
And now, broad spreading like an aged tree,
Lets none shoot up that nigh him planted bee. 
O let the man of whom the Muse is scorned,
Nor alive nor dead, be of the Muse adorned! 455

“O vile worlds trust! that with such vaine illusion
Hath so wise men bewitcht and overkest*,
That they see not the way of their confusion: 
O vainesse to be added to the rest
That do my soule with inward griefe infest! 460
Let them behold the piteous fall of mee,
And in my case their owne ensample see.
  [* Overkest, overcast.]

Page 11

“And who so els that sits in highest seate
Of this worlds glorie, worshipped of all,
Ne feareth change of time, nor fortunes threats, 465
Let him behold the horror of my fall,
And his owne end unto remembrance call;
That of like ruine he may warned bee,
And in himselfe be moov’d to pittie mee.”

Thus having ended all her piteous plaint, 470
With dolefull shrikes shee vanished away,
That I, through inward sorrowe wexen faint,
And all astonished with deepe dismay
For her departure, had no word to say;
But sate long time in sencelesse sad affright, 475
Looking still, if I might of her have sight.

Which when I missed, having looked long,
My thought returned greeved home againe,
Renewing her complaint with passion strong,
For ruth of that same womans piteous paine; 480
Whose wordes recording in my troubled braine,
I felt such anguish wound my feeble heart,
That frosen horror ran through everie part.

So inlie greeving in my groning brest,
And deepelie muzing at her doubtfull speach, 485
Whose meaning much I labored foorth to wreste,
Being above my slender reasons reach,
At length, by demonstration me to teach,
Before mine eies strange sights presented were,
Like tragicke pageants seeming to appeare. 490

I.

I saw an Image, all of massie gold,
Placed on high upon an altare faire,
That all which did the same from farre beholde
Might worship it, and fall on lowest staire. 
Not that great idoll might with this compaire, 495
To which th’Assyrian tyrant would have made
The holie brethren falslie to have praid.

But th’altare on the which this image staid
Was (O great pitie!) built of brickle* clay,
That shortly the foundation decaid, 500
With showres of heaven and tempests worne away;
Then downe it fell, and low in ashes lay,
Scorned of everie one which by it went;
That I, it seing, dearelie did lament.
  [* Brickle, brittle.]

II.

Next unto this a statelie Towre appeared, 505
Built all of richest stone that might bee found,
And nigh unto the heavens in height upreared,
But placed on a plot of sandie ground: 
Not that great towre which is so much renownd
For tongues confusion in Holie Writ, 510
King Ninus worke, might be compar’d to it.

But, O vaine labours of terrestriall wit,
That buildes so stronglie on so frayle a soyle,
As with each storme does fall away and flit,
And gives the fruit of all your travailes toyle 515
To be the pray of Tyme, and Fortunes spoyle,
I saw this towre fall sodainlie to dust,
That nigh with griefe thereof my heart was brust.

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III.

Then did I see a pleasant Paradize,
Full of sweete flowres and daintiest delights, 520
Such as on earth man could not more devize,
With pleasures choyce to feed his cheereful sprights: 
Not that which Merlin by his magicke slights
Made for the gentle Squire, to entertaine
His fayre Belphoebe, could this gardine staine. 525

But O short pleasure bought with lasting paine! 
Why will hereafter anie flesh delight
In earthlie blis, and ioy in pleasures vaine? 
Since that I sawe this gardine wasted quite,
That where it was scarce seemed anie sight; 530
That I, which once that beautie did beholde,
Could not from teares my melting eyes with-holde.

IV.

Soone after this a Giaunt came in place,
Of wondrous power, and of exceeding stature,
That none durst vewe the horror of his face; 535
Yet was he milde of speach, and meeke of nature. 
Not he which in despight of his Creatour
With railing tearmes defied the Iewish hoast,
Might with this mightie one in hugenes boast;

For from the one he could to th’other coast 540
Stretch his strong thighes, and th’ocean overstride,
And reatch his hand into his enemies hoast. 
But see the end of pompe and fleshlie pride! 
One of his feete unwares from him did slide,
That downe hee fell into the deepe abisse, 545
Where drownd with him is all his earthlie blisse.

V.

Then did I see a Bridge, made all of golde,
Over the sea from one to other side,
Withouten prop or pillour it t’upholde,
But like the coloured rainbowe arched wide:  550
Not that great arche which Traian edifide,
To be a wonder to all age ensuing,
Was matchable to this in equall vewing.

But ah! what bootes it to see earthlie thing
In glorie or in greatnes to excell, 555
Sith time doth greatest things to ruine bring? 
This goodlie bridge, one foote not fastned well,
Gan faile, and all the rest downe shortlie fell,
Ne of so brave a building ought remained,
That griefe thereof my spirite greatly pained. 560

VI. 
I saw two Beares, as white as anie milke,
Lying together in a mightie cave,
Of milde aspect, and haire as soft as silke,
That salvage nature seemed not to have,
Nor after greedie spoyle of blood to crave:  565
Two fairer beasts might not elswhere be found,
Although the compast* world were sought around.
  [* Compast, rounded.]

But what can long abide above this ground
In state of blis, or stedfast happinesse? 
The cave in which these beares lay sleeping sound
Was but earth, and with her owne weightinesse 571
Upon them fell, and did unwares oppresse;
That, for great sorrow of their sudden fate,
Henceforth all worlds felicitie I hate.

Page 13

Much was I troubled in my heavie spright, 575
At sight of these sad spectacles forepast,
That all my senses were bereaved quight,
And I in minde remained sore agast,
Distraught twixt feare and pitie; when at last
I heard a voyce which loudly to me called, 580
That with the suddein shrill I was appalled.

“Behold,” said it, “and by ensample see,
That all is vanitie and griefe of minde,
Ne other comfort in this world can be,
But hope of heaven, and heart to God inclinde; 585
For all the rest must needs be left behinde.” 
With that it bad me to the other side
To cast mine eye, where other sights I spide.

I.

Upon that famous rivers further shore,
There stood a snowie Swan, of heavenly hiew 590
And gentle kinde as ever fowle afore;
A fairer one in all the goodlie criew
Of white Strimonian brood might no man view: 
There he most sweetly sung the prophecie
Of his owne death in dolefull elegie. 595

At last, when all his mourning melodie
He ended had, that both the shores resounded,
Feeling the fit that him forewarnd to die,
With loftie flight above the earth he bounded,
And out of sight to highest heaven mounted, 600
Where now he is become an heavenly signe;
There now the ioy is his, here sorrow mine.

II.

Whilest thus I looked, loe! adowne the lee*
I sawe an Harpe, stroong all with silver twyne,
And made of golde and costlie yvorie, 605
Swimming, that whilome seemed to have been
The harpe on which Dan Orpheus was seene
Wylde beasts and forrests after him to lead,
But was th’harpe of Philisides** now dead.
  [* Lee, surface of the stream.]
  [** Phili-sid-es, Sir Philip Sidney]

At length out of the river it was reard, 610
And borne above the cloudes to be divin’d,
Whilst all the way most heavenly noyse was heard
Of the strings, stirred with the warbling wind,
That wrought both ioy and sorrow in my mind: 
So now in heaven a signe it doth appeare, 615
The Harpe well knowne beside the Northern Beare.

III.

Soone after this I saw on th’other side
A curious Coffer made of heben* wood,
That in it did most precious treasure hide,
Exceeding all this baser worldes good:  620
Yet through the overflowing of the flood
It almost drowned was and done to nought,
That sight thereof much griev’d my pensive thought.
  [* Heben, ebony.]

At length, when most in perill it was brought,
Two angels, downe descending with swift flight, 625
Out of the swelling streame it lightly caught,
And twixt their blessed armes it carried quight
Above the reach of anie living sight: 
So now it is transform’d into that starre,
In which all heavenly treasures locked are. 630

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IV.

Looking aside I saw a stately Bed,
Adorned all with costly cloth of gold,
That might for anie princes couche be red*,
And deckt with daintie flowres, as if it shold
Be for some bride, her ioyous night to hold:  635
Therein a goodly virgine sleeping lay;
A fairer wight saw never summers day.
  [* Red, taken.]

I heard a voyce that called farre away,
And her awaking bad her quickly dight,
For lo! her bridegrome was in readie ray 640
To come to her, and seeke her loves delight: 
With that she started up with cherefull sight,
When suddeinly both bed and all was gone,
And I in languor left there all alone.

V.

Still as I gazed, I beheld where stood 645
A Knight all arm’d, upon a winged steed,
The same that was bred of Medusaes blood,
On which Dan Perseus, borne of heavenly seed,
The faire Andromeda from perill freed: 
Full mortally this knight ywounded was, 650
That streames of blood foorth flowed on the gras.

Yet was he deckt (small ioy to him, alas!)
With manie garlands for his victories,
And with rich spoyles, which late he did purchas
Through brave atcheivements from his enemies:  655
Fainting at last through long infirmities,
He smote his steed, that straight to heaven him bore,
And left me here his losse for to deplore.

VI.

Lastly, I saw an Arke of purest golde
Upon a brazen pillour standing hie, 660
Which th’ashes seem’d of some great prince to hold,
Enclosde therein for endles memorie
Of him whom all the world did glorifie: 
Seemed the heavens with the earth did disagree,
Whether should of those ashes keeper bee. 665

At last me seem’d wing-footed Mercurie,
From heaven descending to appease their strife,
The arke did beare with him above the skie,
And to those ashes gave a second life,
To live in heaven, where happines is rife:  670
At which the earth did grieve exceedingly,
And I for dole was almost like to die.

L’Envoy.

Immortall spirite of Philisides,
Which now art made the heavens ornament,
That whilome wast the worldes chiefst riches. 675
Give leave to him that lov’de thee to lament
His losse by lacke of thee to heaven hent*,
And with last duties of this broken verse,
Broken with sighes, to decke thy sable herse!
  [* Hent, taken away.]

And ye, faire Ladie! th’honor of your daies 680
And glorie of the world, your high thoughts scorne,
Vouchsafe this moniment of his last praise
With some few silver dropping teares t’adorne;
And as ye be of heavenlie off-spring borne,
So unto heaven let your high minde aspire, 685
And loath this drosse of sinfull worlds desire.

Page 15

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES: 

Ver. 8.—­Verlame. Veralam, or Verulamium, was a British and Roman town, near the present city of St. Alban’s in Hertfordshire.  Some remains of its walls are still perceptible.  H.

Ver. 64.—­Th’Assyrian Lyonesse. These types of nations are taken from the seventh chapter of the book of Daniel.  H.

Ver. 190.—­I saw him die.  Leicester died at Cornbury Lodge, in Oxfordshire.  Todd suggests that he may have fallen sick at St. Alban’s, and that Spenser, hearing the report in Ireland, may havo concluded without inquiry that this was the place of his subsequent death, C.

Ver. 225.—­Colin Cloute. Spenser himself, who had been befriended by
Leicester.  H.

Ver. 239.—­His brother. Ambrose Dudley, Earl of Warwick.

Ver. 245.—­His noble spouse. Anne, the eldest daughter of Francis
Russell, Earl of Bedford.

Ver. 260.—­His sister.  Lady Mary Sidney.

Ver. 261.—­That good earle, &c.  This Earl of Bedford died in 1585.—­
TODD.

Ver. 267.—­He, noble bud, &c.  Edward Russell, grandson of Francis Earl of Bedford, succeeded in the earldom, his father, Francis, having been slain by the Scots.—­OLDYS.

Ver. 275.—­That goodly ladie, &c.  Lady Mary Sidney, mother of Sir
Philip Sidney and the Countess of Pembroke.

Ver. 281.—­Most gentle spirite. Sir Philip Sidney.

Ver. 317.—­Thine owne sister, &c.  The Countess of Pembroke, to whom this poem is dedicated.  “The Dolefull Lay of Clorinda” (Vol.  IV. p. 426) appears to have been written by her.

Ver. 436.—­Good Melibae.  Sir Francis Walsingham, who died April 6,1590.  The poet is Thomas Watson.—­OLDYS.

Ver. 447-455.—­These lines are aimed at Burghley, who was said to have opposed the Queen’s intended bounty to the poet.  C.

Ver 491.—­These allegorical representations of the vanity of exalted position, stately buildings, earthly pleasures, bodily strength, and works of beauty and magnificence, admit of an easy application to the splendid career of the Earl of Leicester,—­his favor and influence with the Queen, his enlargement of Kenilworth, his princely style of living, and particularly (IV.) his military command in the Low Countries.  The sixth of these “tragick pageants” strongly confirms this interpretation.  The two bears are Robert and Ambrose Dudley.  While Leicester was lieutenant in the Netherlands, he was in the habit of using the Warwick crest (a bear and ragged staff) instead of his own.  Naunton, in his Fragmenta Regalia, calls him Ursa Major.  C.

Ver. 497.—­The holie brethren, &c.  Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.  Daniel, ch. iii.  C.

Ver. 582-586.—­A paraphrase of Sir Philip’s last words to his brother.  “Above all, govern your will and affection by the will and word of your Creator, in me beholding the end of this world with all her vanities.”  This is pointed out by Zouch, Life of Sidney, p. 263.  C.

Page 16

Ver 590.—­This second series of pageants is applicable exclusively to Sir Philip Sidney.  The meaning of the third and fourth is hard to make out; but the third seems to have reference to the collection of the scattered sheets of the Arcadia, and the publication of this work by the Countess of Pembroke, after it had been condemned to destruction by the author.  The fourth may indeed signify nothing more than Lady Sidney’s bereavement by her husband’s death; but this interpretation seems too literal for a professed allegory.  The sixth obviously alludes to the splendid obsequies to Sidney, performed at the Queen’s expense, and to the competition of the States of Holland for the honor of burying his body.  C.

L’ENVOY:  L’Envoy was a sort of postscript sent with poetical compositions, and serving either to recommend them to the attention of some particular person, or to enforce what we call the moral of them.—­ TYRWHITT.

* * * * *

THE TEARES OF THE MUSES.

BY ED. SP.

LONDON: 

IMPRINTED FOR WILLIAM PONSONBIE, DWELLING IN PAULES CHURCHYARD AT THE SIGNE OF THE BISHOPS HEAD.

1591.

* * * * *

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE

THE LADIE STRANGE.

Most brave and noble Ladie, the things that make ye so much honored of the world as ye bee are such as (without my simple lines testimonie) are throughlie knowen to all men; namely, your excellent beautie, your vertuous behavior, and your noble match with that most honourable Lord, the verie paterne of right nobilitie.  But the causes for which ye have thus deserved of me to be honoured, (if honour it be at all,) are, both your particular bounties, and also some private bands of affinitie*, which it hath pleased your Ladiship to acknowledge.  Of which whenas I found my selfe in no part worthie, I devised this last slender meanes, both to intimate my humble affection to your Ladiship, and also to make the same universallie knowen to the world; that by honouring you they might know me, and by knowing me they might honor you.  Vouchsafe, noble Lady, to accept this simple remembrance, though not worthy of your self, yet such as perhaps by good acceptance thereof ye may hereafter cull out a more meet and memorable evidence of your own excellent deserts.  So recommending the same to your Ladiships good liking, I humbly take leave.

Your La:  humbly ever.

ED. SP.

[Footnote:  Lady Strange was Alice Spencer, sixth daughter of Sir John Spencer of Althorpe.  C.]

* * * * *

THE TEARES OF THE MUSES.

Rehearse to me, ye sacred Sisters nine,
The golden brood of great Apolloes wit,
Those piteous plaints and sorowfull sad tine
Which late ye powred forth as ye did sit
Beside the silver springs of Helicone, 5
Making your musick of hart-breaking mone!

Page 17

For since the time that Phoebus foolish sonne,
Ythundered, through loves avengefull wrath,
For traversing the charret of the Sunne
Beyond the compasse of his pointed path, 10
Of you, his mournfull sisters, was lamented,
Such mournfull tunes were never since invented.

Nor since that faire Calliope did lose
Her loved twinnes, the dearlings of her ioy,
Her Palici, whom her unkindly foes, 15
The Fatall Sisters, did for spight destroy,
Whom all the Muses did bewaile long space,
Was ever heard such wayling in this place.

For all their groves, which with the heavenly noyses
Of their sweete instruments were wont to sound, 20
And th’hollow hills, from which their silver voyces
Were wont redoubled echoes to rebound,
Did now rebound with nought but rufull cries,
And yelling shrieks throwne up into the skies.

The trembling streames which wont in chanels cleare 25
To romble gently downe with murmur soft,
And were by them right tunefull taught to beare
A bases part amongst their consorts oft;
Now forst to overflowe with brackish teares,
With troublous noyse did dull their daintie eares. 30

The ioyous Nymphes and lightfoote Faeries
Which thether came to heare their musick sweet,
And to the measure of their melodies
Did learne to move their nimble-shifting feete,
Now hearing them so heavily lament, 35
Like heavily lamenting from them went.

And all that els was wont to worke delight
Through the divine infusion of their skill,
And all that els seemd faire and fresh in sight,
So made by nature for to serve their will, 40
Was turned now to dismall heavinesse,
Was turned now to dreadfull uglinesse.

Ay me! what thing on earth, that all thing breeds,
Might be the cause of so impatient plight? 
What furie, or what feend, with felon deeds 45
Hath stirred up so mischievous despight? 
Can griefe then enter into heavenly harts,
And pierce immortall breasts with mortall smarts?

Vouchsafe ye then, whom onely it concernes,
To me those secret causes to display; 50
For none but you, or who of you it learnes,
Can rightfully aread so dolefull lay. 
Begin, thou eldest sister of the crew,
And let the rest in order thee ensew.

CLIO.

Heare, thou great Father of the Gods on hie, 55
That most art dreaded for thy thunder darts;
And thou, our Syre? that raignst in Castalie
And Mount Parnasse, the god of goodly arts: 
Heare, and behold the miserable state
Of us thy daughters, dolefull desolate. 60

Behold the fowle reproach and open shame
The which is day by day unto us wrought
By such as hate the honour of our name,
The foes of learning and each gentle thought;
They, not contented us themselves to scorne, 65
Doo seeke to make us of the world forlorne*.
  [* Forlorne, abandoned]

Page 18

Ne onely they that dwell in lowly dust,
The sonnes of darknes and of ignoraunce;
But they whom thou, great love, by doome uniust
Didst to the type of honour earst advaunce; 70
They now, puft up with sdeignfull insolence,
Despise the brood of blessed Sapience.

The sectaries* of my celestiall skill,
That wont to be the worlds chiefe ornament,
And learned impes that wont to shoote up still, 75
And grow to hight of kingdomes government,
They underkeep, and with their spredding armes
Doo beat their buds, that perish through their harmes.
  [* Sectaries, followers.]

It most behoves the honorable race
Of mightie peeres true wisedome to sustaine, 80
And with their noble countenaunce to grace
The learned forheads, without gifts or game: 
Or rather learnd themselves behoves to bee;
That is the girlond of nobilitie.

But ah! all otherwise they doo esteeme 85
Of th’heavenly gift of wisdomes influence,
And to be learned it a base thing deeme: 
Base minded they that want intelligence;
For God himselfe for wisedome most is praised,
And men to God thereby are nighest raised. 90

But they doo onely strive themselves to raise
Through pompous pride, and foolish vanitie;
In th’eyes of people they put all their praise,
And onely boast of armes and auncestrie: 
But vertuous deeds, which did those armes first give
To their grandsyres, they care not to atchive. 96

So I, that doo all noble feates professe
To register and sound in trump of gold,
Through their bad dooings, or base slothfulnesse,
Finde nothing worthie to be writ, or told:  100
For better farre it were to hide their names,
Than telling them to blazon out their blames.

So shall succeeding ages have no light
Of things forepast, nor moniments of time;
And all that in this world is worthie hight 105
Shall die in darknesse, and lie hid in slime! 
Therefore I mourne with deep harts sorrowing,
Because I nothing noble have to sing.

With that she raynd such store of streaming teares,
That could have made a stonie heart to weep; 110
And all her sisters rent* their golden heares,
And their faire faces with salt humour steep. 
So ended shee:  and then the next anew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew.
  [* Rent, rend.]

MELPOMENE.

O, who shall powre into my swollen eyes 115
A sea of teares that never may be dryde,
A brasen voice that may with shrilling cryes
Pierce the dull heavens and fill the ayer wide,
And yron sides that sighing may endure,
To waile the wretchednes of world impure! 120

Page 19

Ah, wretched world! the den of wickednesse,
Deformd with filth and fowle iniquitie;
Ah, wretched world! the house of heavinesse,
Fild with the wreaks of mortall miserie;
Ah, wretched world, and all that is therein! 125
The vassals of Gods wrath, and slaves of sin.

Most miserable creature under sky
Man without understanding doth appeare;
For all this worlds affliction he thereby,
And fortunes freakes, is wisely taught to beare:  130
Of wretched life the onely ioy shee is. 
And th’only comfort in calamities.

She armes the brest with constant patience
Against the bitter throwes of dolours darts: 
She solaceth with rules of sapience 135
The gentle minds, in midst of worldlie smarts: 
When he is sad, shee seeks to make him merie,
And doth refresh his sprights when they be werie.

But he that is of reasons skill bereft,
And wants the staffe of wisedome him to stay, 140
Is like a ship in midst of tempest left
Withouten helme or pilot her to sway: 
Full sad and dreadfull is that ships event;
So is the man that wants intendiment*.
[* Intendiment, understanding.]

Whie then doo foolish men so much despize 145
The precious store of this celestiall riches? 
Why doo they banish us, that patronize
The name of learning?  Most unhappie wretches! 
The which lie drowned in deep wretchednes,
Yet doo not see their owne unhappines. 150

My part it is and my professed skill
The stage with tragick buskin to adorne,
And fill the scene with plaint and outcries shrill
Of wretched persons, to misfortune borne: 
But none more tragick matter I can finde 155
Than this, of men depriv’d of sense and minde.

For all mans life me seemes a tragedy,
Full of sad sights and sore catastrophees;
First comming to the world with weeping eye,
Where all his dayes, like dolorous trophees, 160
Are heapt with spoyles of fortune and of feare,
And he at last laid forth on balefull beare.

So all with rufull spectacles is fild,
Fit for Megera or Persephone;
But I that in true tragedies am skild, 165
The flowre of wit, finde nought to busie me: 
Therefore I mourne, and pitifully mone,
Because that mourning matter I have none.

Then gan she wofully to waile, and wring
Her wretched hands in lamentable wise; 170
And all her sisters, thereto answering,
Threw forth lowd shrieks and drerie dolefull cries. 
So rested she:  and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew.

THALIA.

Page 20

Where be the sweete delights of learnings treasure, 175
That wont with comick sock to beautefie
The painted theaters, and fill with pleasure
The listners eyes, and eares with melodie,
In which I late was wont to raine as queene,
And maske in mirth with graces well beseene? 180

O, all is gone! and all that goodly glee,
Which wont to be the glorie of gay wits,
Is layd abed, and no where now to see;
And in her roome unseemly Sorrow sits,
With hollow browes and greisly countenaunce 185
Marring my ioyous gentle dalliaunce.

And him beside sits ugly Barbarisme,
And brutish Ignorance, ycrept of late
Out of dredd darknes of the deep abysme,
Where being bredd, he light and heaven does hate: 
They in the mindes of men now tyrannize, 191
And the faire scene with rudenes foule disguize.

All places they with follie have possest,
And with vaine toyes the vulgare entertaine;
But me have banished, with all the rest 195
That whilome wont to wait upon my traine,
Fine Counterfesaunce*, and unhurtfull Sport,
Delight, and Laughter, deckt in seemly sort.
  [* Counterfesaunce, mimicry.]

All these, and all that els the comick stage
With seasoned wit and goodly pleasance graced, 200
By which mans life in his likest image
Was limned forth, are wholly now defaced;
And those sweete wits which wont the like to frame
Are now despizd, and made a laughing game.

And he, the man whom Nature selfe had made 205
To mock her selfe, and truth to imitate,
With kindly counter* under mimick shade,
Our pleasant Willy, ah! is dead of late: 
With whom all ioy and iolly meriment
Is also deaded, and in dolour drent**. 210
  [* Counter, counterfeit.]
  [** Drent, drowned.]

In stead thereof scoffing Scurrilitie,
And scornfull Follie with Contempt is crept,
Rolling in rymes of shameles ribaudrie
Without regard, or due decorum kept;
Each idle wit at will presumes to make*, 215
And doth the learneds taske upon him take.
  [* Make, write poetry.]

But that same gentle spirit, from whose pen
Large streames of honnie and sweete nectar flowe,
Scorning the boldnes of such base-borne men,
Which dare their follies forth so rashlie throwe, 220
Doth rather choose to sit in idle cell,
Than so himselfe to mockerie to sell.

So am I made the servant of the manie,
And laughing stocke of all that list to scorne,
Not honored nor cared for of anie, 225
But loath’d of losels* as a thing forlorne: 
Therefore I mourne and sorrow with the rest,
Untill my cause of sorrow be redrest.
  [* Losels, worthless fellows.]

Page 21

Therewith she lowdly did lament and shrike,
Pouring forth streames of teares abundantly; 230
And all her sisters, with compassion like,
The breaches of her singulfs* did supply. 
So rested shee:  and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew.
  [* I.e. the pauses of her sighs.]

EUTERPE.

Like as the dearling of the summers pryde, 235
Faire Philomele, when winters stormie wrath
The goodly fields, that earst so gay were dyde
In colours divers, quite despoyled hath,
All comfortlesse doth hide her chearlesse head
During the time of that her widowhead, 240

So we, that earst were wont in sweet accord
All places with our pleasant notes to fill,
Whilest favourable times did us afford
Free libertie to chaunt our charmes at will,
All comfortlesse upon the bared bow*, 245
Like wofull culvers**, doo sit wayling now.
  [* Bow, bough.]
  [** Culvers, doves.]

For far more bitter storme than winters stowre*
The beautie of the world hath lately wasted,
And those fresh buds, which wont so faire to flowre,
Hath marred quite, and all their blossoms blasted; 250
And those yong plants, which wont with fruit t’abound,
Now without fruite or leaves are to be found.
  [* Stowre, violence.]

A stonie coldnesse hath benumbd the sence
And livelie spirits of each living wight,
And dimd with darknesse their intelligence, 255
Darknesse more than Cymerians daylie night: 
And monstrous Error, flying in the ayre,
Hath mard the face of all that semed fayre.

Image of hellish horrour, Ignorance,
Borne in the bosome of the black abysse, 260
And fed with Furies milke for sustenaunce
Of his weake infancie, begot amisse
By yawning Sloth on his owne mother Night,—­
So hee his sonnes both syre and brother hight,—­

He, armd with blindnesse and with boldnes stout, 265
(For blind is bold,) hath our fayre light defaced;
And, gathering unto him a ragged rout
Of Faunes and Satyres, hath our dwellings raced*,
And our chast bowers, in which all vertue rained,
With brutishnesse and beastlie filth hath stained. 270
  [* Raced, razed.]

The sacred springs of horsefoot Helicon,
So oft bedeawed with our learned layes,
And speaking streames of pure Castalion,
The famous witnesse of our wonted praise,
They trampled have with their fowle footings trade*,
And like to troubled puddles have them made. 276
  [* Trade, tread.]

Our pleasant groves, which planted were with paines,
That with our musick wont so oft to ring,
And arbors sweet, in which the shepheards swaines
Were wont so oft their pastoralls to sing, 280
They have cut downe, and all their pleasaunce mard,
That now no pastorall is to bee hard.

Page 22

In stead of them, fowle goblins and shriek-owles
With fearfull howling do all places fill,
And feeble eccho now laments and howles, 285
The dreadfull accents of their outcries shrill. 
So all is turned into wildernesse,
Whilest Ignorance the Muses doth oppresse.

And I, whose ioy was earst with spirit full
To teach the warbling pipe to sound aloft, 290
My spirits now dismayd with sorrow dull,
Doo mone my miserie in silence soft. 
Therefore I mourne and waile incessantly,
Till please the heavens affoord me remedy.

Therewith shee wayled with exceeding woe, 295
And pitious lamentation did make;
And all her sisters, seeing her doo soe,
With equall plaints her sorrowe did partake. 
So rested shee:  and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 300

TERPSICHORE.

Whoso hath in the lap of soft delight
Beene long time luld, and fed with pleasures sweet,
Feareles through his own fault or Fortunes spight
To tumble into sorrow and regreet,
Yf chaunce him fall into calamitie, 305
Findes greater burthen of his miserie.

So wee, that earst in ioyance did abound,
And in the bosome of all blis did sit,
Like virgin queenes, with laurell garlands cround,
For vertues meed and ornament of wit, 310
Sith Ignorance our kingdome did confound,
Bee now become most wretched wightes on ground.

And in our royall thrones, which lately stood
In th’hearts of men to rule them carefully,
He now hath placed his accursed brood, 315
By him begotten of fowle Infamy;
Blind Error, scornefull Follie, and base Spight,
Who hold by wrong that wee should have by right.

They to the vulgar sort now pipe and sing,
And make them merrie with their fooleries; 320
They cherelie chaunt, and rymes at randon fling,
The fruitfull spawne of their ranke fantasies;
They feede the eares of fooles with flattery,
And good men blame, and losels* magnify.
  [* Losels, worthless fellows.]

All places they doo with their toyes possesse, 325
And raigne in liking of the multitude;
The schooles they till with fond newfanglenesse,
And sway in court with pride and rashnes rude;
Mongst simple shepheards they do boast their skill,
And say their musicke matcheth Phoebus quill. 330

The noble hearts to pleasures they allure,
And tell their Prince that learning is but vaine;
Faire ladies loves they spot with thoughts impure,
And gentle mindes with lewd delights distaine;
Clerks* they to loathly idlenes entice, 335
And fill their bookes with discipline of vice.
  [* Clerks, scholars.]

Page 23

So every where they rule and tyrannize,
For their usurped kingdomes maintenaunce,
The whiles we silly maides, whom they dispize
And with reprochfull scorne discountenaunce, 340
From our owne native heritage exilde,
Walk through the world of every one revilde.

Nor anie one doth care to call us in,
Or once vouchsafeth us to entertaine,
Unlesse some one perhaps of gentle kin, 345
For pitties sake, compassion our paine,
And yeeld us some reliefe in this distresse;
Yet to be so reliev’d is wretchednesse.

So wander we all carefull comfortlesse,
Yet none cloth care to comfort us at all; 350
So seeke we helpe our sorrow to redresse,
Yet none vouchsafes to answere to our call;
Therefore we mourne and pittilesse complaine,
Because none living pittieth our paine.

With that she wept and wofullie waymented, 355
That naught on earth her griefe might pacifie;
And all the rest her dolefull din augmented
With shrikes, and groanes, and grievous agonie. 
So ended shee:  and then the next in rew
Began her piteous plaint, as doth ensew. 360

ERATO.

Ye gentle Spirits breathing from above,
Where ye in Venus silver bowre were bred,
Thoughts halfe devine, full of the fire of love,
With beawtie kindled, and with pleasure fed,
Which ye now in securitie possesse, 365
Forgetfull of your former heavinesse,—­

Now change the tenor of your ioyous layes,
With which ye use your loves to deifie,
And blazon foorth an earthlie beauties praise
Above the compasse of the arched skie:  370
Now change your praises into piteous cries,
And eulogies turne into elegies.

Such as ye wont, whenas those bitter stounds*
Of raging love first gan you to torment,
And launch your hearts with lamentable wounds 375
Of secret sorrow and sad languishment,
Before your loves did take you unto grace;
Those now renew, as fitter for this place.
  [* Stounds, hours.]

For I that rule in measure moderate
The tempest of that stormie passion, 380
And use to paint in rimes the troublous state
Of lovers life in likest fashion,
Am put from practise of my kindlie** skill,
Banisht by those that love with leawdnes fill.
  [* Kindlie, natural.]

Love wont to be schoolmaster of my skill, 385
And the devicefull matter of my song;
Sweete love devoyd of villanie or ill,
But pure and spotles, as at first he sprong
Out of th’Almighties bosome, where he nests;
From thence infused into mortall brests. 390

Such high conceipt of that celestiall fire,
The base-borne brood of Blindnes cannot gesse,
Ne ever dare their dunghill thoughts aspire
Unto so loftie pitch of perfectnesse,
But rime at riot, and doo rage in love, 395
Yet little wote what doth thereto behove.

Page 24

Faire Cytheree, the mother of delight
And queene of beautie, now thou maist go pack;
For lo! thy kingdoms is defaced quight,
Thy scepter rent, and power put to wrack; 400
And thy gay sonne, that winged God of Love,
May now goe prune his plumes like ruffed* dove.
  [* Ruffed, ruffled.]

And ye three twins, to light by Venus brought,
The sweete companions of the Muses late,
From whom whatever thing is goodly thought 405
Doth borrow grace, the fancie to aggrate*,
Go beg with us, and be companions still,
As heretofore of good, so now of ill.
  [* Aggrate, please.]

For neither you nor we shall anie more
Finde entertainment or in court or schoole:  410
For that which was accounted heretofore
The learneds meed is now lent to the foole;
He sings of love and maketh loving layes,
And they him heare, and they him highly prayse.

With that she powred foorth a brackish flood 415
Of bitter teares, and made exceeding mone;
And all her sisters, seeing her sad mood,
With lowd laments her answered all at one. 
So ended she:  and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 420

To whom shall I my evill case complaine,
Or tell the anguish of my inward smart,
Sith none is left to remedie my paine,
Or deignes to pitie a perplexed hart;
But rather seekes my sorrow to augment 425
With fowle reproach, and cruell banishment?

For they to whom I used to applie
The faithfull service of my learned skill,
The goodly off-spring of loves progenie,
That wont the world with famous acts to fill, 430
Whose living praises in heroick style,
It is my chiefe profession to compyle,—­

They, all corrupted through the rust of time,
That doth all fairest things on earth deface,
Or through unnoble sloth, or sinfull crime, 435
That doth degenerate the noble race,
Have both desire of worthie deeds forlorne,
And name of learning utterly doo scorne.

Ne doo they care to have the auncestrie
Of th’old heroes memorizde anew; 440
Ne doo they care that late posteritie
Should know their names, or speak their praises dew,
But die, forgot from whence at first they sprong,
As they themselves shalbe forgot ere long.

What bootes it then to come from glorious 445
Forefathers, or to have been nobly bredd? 
What oddes twixt Irus and old Inachus,
Twixt best and worst, when both alike are dedd,
If none of neither mention should make,
Nor out of dust their memories awake? 450

Or who would ever care to doo brave deed,
Or strive in vertue others to excell,
If none should yeeld him his deserved meed,
Due praise, that is the spur of doing well? 
For if good were not praised more than ill, 455
None would choose goodnes of his owne freewill.

Page 25

Therefore the nurse of vertue I am hight,
And golden trompet of eternitie,
That lowly thoughts lift up to heavens hight,
And mortall men have powre to deifie:  460
Bacchus and Hercules I raisd to heaven,
And Charlemaine amongst the starris seaven.

But now I will my golden clarion rend,
And will henceforth immortalize no more,
Sith I no more finde worthie to commend 465
For prize of value, or for learned lore: 
For noble peeres, whom I was wont to raise,
Now onely seeke for pleasure, nought for praise.

Their great revenues all in sumptuous pride
They spend, that nought to learning they may spare;
And the rich fee which poets wont divide 471
Now parasites and sycophants doo share: 
Therefore I mourne and endlesse sorrow make,
Both for my selfe and for my sisters sake.

With that she lowdly gan to waile and shrike, 475
And from her eyes a sea of teares did powre;
And all her sisters, with compassion like,
Did more increase the sharpnes of her showre. 
So ended she:  and then the next in rew
Began her plaint, as doth herein ensew. 480

URANIA.

What wrath of gods, or wicked influence
Of starres conspiring wretched men t’afflict,
Hath powrd on earth this noyous pestilence,
That mortall mindes doth inwardly infect
With love of blindnesse and of ignorance, 485
To dwell in darkenesse without sovenance?*
  [* Sovenance, remembrance.]

What difference twixt man and beast is left,
When th’heavenlie light of knowledge is put out,
And th’ornaments of wisdome are bereft? 
Then wandreth he in error and in doubt, 490
Unweeting* of the danger hee is in,
Through fleshes frailtie and deceipt of sin.
  [* Unweeting, unknowing.]

In this wide world in which they wretches stray,
It is the onelie comfort which they have,
It is their light, their loadstarre, and their day; 495
But hell, and darkenesse, and the grislie grave,
Is Ignorance, the enemie of Grace,
That mindes of men borne heavenlie doth debace.

Through knowledge we behold the worlds creation,
How in his cradle first he fostred was; 500
And iudge of Natures cunning operation,
How things she formed of a formelesse mas: 
By knowledge wee do learne our selves to knowe,
And what to man, and what to God, wee owe.

From hence wee mount aloft unto the skie, 505
And looke into the christall firmament;
There we behold the heavens great hierarchie,
The starres pure light, the spheres swift movement,
The spirites and intelligences fayre,
And angels waighting on th’Almighties chayre. 510

Page 26

And there, with humble minde and high insight,
Th’eternall Makers maiestie wee viewe,
His love, his truth, his glorie, and his might,
And mercie more than mortall men can vew. 
O soveraigne Lord, O soveraigne happinesse, 515
To see thee, and thy mercie measurelesse!

Such happines have they that doo embrace
The precepts of my heavenlie discipline;
But shame and sorrow and accursed case
Have they that scorne the schoole of arts divine, 520
And banish me, which do professe the skill
To make men heavenly wise through humbled will.

However yet they mee despise and spight,
I feede on sweet contentment of my thought,
And please my selfe with mine owne self-delight, 525
In contemplation of things heavenlie wrought: 
So, loathing earth, I looke up to the sky,
And being driven hence, I thether fly.

Thence I behold the miserie of men,
Which want the blis that wisedom would them breed. 
And like brute beasts doo lie in loathsome den 531
Of ghostly darkenes and of gastlie dreed: 
For whom I mourne, and for my selfe complaine,
And for my sisters eake whom they disdaine.

With that shee wept and waild so pityouslie, 535
As if her eyes had beene two springing wells;
And all the rest, her sorrow to supplie,
Did throw forth shrieks and cries and dreery yells. 
So ended shee:  and then the next in rew
Began her mournfull plaint, as doth ensew. 540

POLYHYMNIA.

A dolefull case desires a dolefull song,
Without vaine art or curious complements;
And squallid Fortune, into basenes flong,
Doth scorne the pride of wonted ornaments. 
Then fittest are these ragged rimes for mee, 545
To tell my sorrowes that exceeding bee.

For the sweet numbers and melodious measures
With which I wont the winged words to tie,
And make a tunefull diapase of pleasures,
Now being let to runne at libertie 550
By those which have no skill to rule them right,
Have now quite lost their naturall delight.

Heapes of huge words uphoorded hideously,
With horrid sound, though having little sence,
They thinke to be chiefe praise of poetry; 555
And, thereby wanting due intelligence,
Have mard the face of goodly poesie,
And made a monster of their fantasie.

Whilom in ages past none might professe
But princes and high priests that secret skill; 560
The sacred lawes therein they wont expresse,
And with deepe oracles their verses fill: 
Then was shee held in soveraigne dignitie,
And made the noursling of nobilitie.

But now nor prince nor priest doth her maintayne,
But suffer her prophaned for to bee 566
Of the base vulgar, that with hands uncleane
Dares to pollute her hidden mysterie;
And treadeth under foote hir holie things,
Which was the care of kesars* and of kings. 570
  [* Kesars, emperors.]

Page 27

One onelie lives, her ages ornament,
And myrrour of her Makers maiestie,
That with rich bountie and deare cherishment
Supports the praise of noble poesie;
Ne onelie favours them which it professe, 575
But is her selfe a peereles poetresse.

Most peereles Prince, most peereles Poetresse,
The true Pandora of all heavenly graces,
Divine Elisa, sacred Emperesse! 
Live she for ever, and her royall p’laces 580
Be fild with praises of divinest wits,
That her eternize with their heavenlie writs!

Some few beside this sacred skill esteme,
Admirers of her glorious excellence;
Which, being lightned with her beawties beme, 585
Are thereby fild with happie influence,
And lifted up above the worldes gaze,
To sing with angels her immortall praize.

But all the rest, as borne of salvage brood,
And having beene with acorns alwaies fed, 590
Can no whit savour this celestiall food,
But with base thoughts are into blindnesse led,
And kept from looking on the lightsome day: 
For whome I waile and weepe all that I may.

Eftsoones* such store of teares shee forth did powre,
As if shee all to water would have gone; 596
And all her sisters, seeing her sad stowre**,
Did weep and waile, and made exceeding mone,
And all their learned instruments did breake: 
The rest untold no living tongue can speake. 600
  [* Eftsoones, forthwith.]
  [** Stowre, disturbance, trouble.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES: 

Ver 15—­Palici..  The Palici were children of Jupiter and Thalia, not
Calliope.  H.

Ver. 205-210.—­There are sufficient reasons for believing that these lines refer to Shakespeare.  He had probably written The Two Gentlemen of Verona, and Love’s Labor’s Lost, before the Complaints were published (1591), and no other author had up to this time produced a comedy that would compare with these.  For a discussion of this subject, see Collier’s Life, Chap.  VII., and Knight’s Biography, pp. 344-348.  C.

* * * * *

VIRGILS GNAT.

LONG SINCE DEDICATED

TO THE MOST NOBLE AND EXCELLENT LORD,

THE EARLE OF LEICESTER,

LATE DECEASED.

Wrong’d, yet not daring to expresse my paine,
To you, great Lord, the causer of my care,
In clowdie teares my case I thus complaine
Unto your selfe, that onely privie are. 
  But if that any Oedipus unware
Shall chaunce, through power of some divining spright,
To reade the secrete of this riddle rare,
And know the purporte of my evill plight,
Let him rest pleased with his owne insight,
Ne further seeke to glose upon the text: 
For griefe enough it is to grieved wight
To feele his fault, and not be further vext.

Page 28

But what so by my selfe may not be showen,
May by this Gnatts complaint be easily knowen*.

[* This riddle has never been guessed.  Upton conjectures that Leicester’s displeasure was incurred for “some kind of officious sedulity in Spenser, who much desired to see his patron married to the Queen.”  C.]

* * * * *

VIRGILS GNAT.

We now have playde, Augustus, wantonly,
Tuning our song unto a tender Muse,
And, like a cobweb weaving slenderly,
Have onely playde:  let thus much then excuse
This Gnats small poeme, that th’whole history 5
Is but a iest; though envie it abuse: 
But who such sports and sweet delights doth blame,
Shall lighter seeme than this Gnats idle name.

Hereafter, when as season more secure
Shall bring forth fruit, this Muse shall speak to thee 10
In bigger notes, that may thy sense allure,
And for thy worth frame some fit poesie: 
The golden ofspring of Latona pure,
And ornament of great Ioves progenie,
Phoebus, shall be the author of my song, 15
Playing on yvorie harp with silver strong*.
  [* Strong, strung.]

He shall inspire my verse with gentle mood,
Of poets prince, whether he woon* beside
Faire Xanthus sprincled with Chimaeras blood,
Or in the woods of Astery abide, 20
Or whereas Mount Parnasse, the Muses brood,
Doth his broad forhead like two hornes divide,
And the sweete waves of sounding Castaly
With liquid foote doth slide downe easily.
  [* Woon, dwell.]

Wherefore ye Sisters, which the glorie bee 25
Of the Pierian streames, fayre Naiades,
Go too, and dauncing all in companie,
Adorne that god:  and thou holie Pales,
To whome the honest care of husbandrie
Returneth by continuall successe, 30
Have care for to pursue his footing light
Throgh the wide woods and groves with green leaves dight.

Professing thee I lifted am aloft
Betwixt the forrest wide and starrie sky: 
And thou, most dread Octavius, which oft 35
To learned wits givest courage worthily,
O come, thou sacred childe, come sliding soft,
And favour my beginnings graciously: 
For not these leaves do sing that dreadfull stound*,
When giants bloud did staine Phlegraean ground; 40
  [* Stound, time.]

Nor how th’halfe-horsy people, Centaures hight,
Fought with the bloudie Lapithaes at bord;
Nor how the East with tyranous despight
Burnt th’Attick towres, and people slew with sword;
Nor how Mount Athos through exceeding might 45
Was digged downe; nor yron bands abord
The Pontick sea by their huge navy cast,
My volume shall renowne, so long since past.

Page 29

Nor Hellespont trampled with horses feete,
When flocking Persians did the Greeks affray:  50
But my soft Muse, as for her power more meete,
Delights (with Phoebus friendly leave) to play
An easie running verse with tender feete. 
And thou, dread sacred child, to thee alway
Let everlasting lightsome glory strive, 55
Through the worlds endles ages to survive.

And let an happie roome remaine for thee
Mongst heavenly ranks, where blessed soules do rest;
And let long lasting life with ioyous glee,
As thy due meede that thou deservest best, 60
Hereafter many yeares remembred be
Amongst good men, of whom thou oft are blest. 
Live thou for ever in all happinesse! 
But let us turne to our first businesse.

The fiery Sun was mounted now on Light 65
Up to the heavenly towers, and shot each where
Out of his golden charet glistering light;
And fayre Aurora, with her rosie heare,
The hatefull darknes now had put to flight;
When as the Shepheard, seeing day appeare, 70
His little goats gan drive out of their stalls,
To feede abroad, where pasture best befalls.

To an high mountaines top he with them went,
Where thickest grasse did cloath the open hills: 
They, now amongst the woods and thickets ment* 75
Now in the valleies wandring at their wills,
Spread themselves farre abroad through each descent;
Some on the soft greene grasse feeding their fills,
Some, clambring through the hollow cliffes on hy,
Nibble the bushie shrubs which growe thereby. 80
  [* Ment, mingled.]

Others the utmost boughs of trees doe crop,
And brouze the woodbine twigges that freshly bud;
This with full bit* doth catch the utmost top
Of some soft willow, or new growen stud**;
This with sharpe teeth the bramble leaves doth lop, 85
And chaw the tender prickles in her cud;
The whiles another high doth overlooke
Her owne like image in a christall brooke.
  [* Bit, bite.]
  [** Stud, stock.]

O the great happines which shepheards have,
Who so loathes not too much the poore estate 90
With minde that ill use doth before deprave,
Ne measures all things by the costly rate
Of riotise, and semblants outward brave! 
No such sad cares, as wont to macerate
And rend the greedie mindes of covetous men, 95
Do ever creepe into the shepheards den.

Ne cares he if the fleece which him arayes
Be not twice steeped in Assyrian dye;
Ne glistering of golde, which underlayes*
The summer beames, doe blinde his gazing eye; 100
Ne pictures beautie, nor the glauncing rayes
Of precious stones, whence no good commeth by;
Ne yet his cup embost with imagery
Of Baetus or of Alcons vanity.
  [* Underlayes, surpasses.]

Page 30

Ne ought the whelky* pearles esteemeth hee, 105
Which are from Indian seas brought far away: 
But with pure brest, from carefull sorrow free,
On the soft grasse his limbs doth oft display,
In sweete spring time, when flowres varietie
With sundrie colours paints the sprincled lay**; 110
There, lying all at ease from guile or spight,
With pype of fennie reedes doth him delight.
  [* Whelky, shelly (conchea).]
  [** lay, lea.]

There he, lord of himselfe, with palme bedight,
His looser locks doth wrap in wreath of vine: 
There his milk-dropping goats be his delight, 115
And fruitefull Pales, and the forrest greene,
And darkesome caves in pleasaunt vallies pight*,
Wheras continuall shade is to be seene,
And where fresh springing wells, as christall neate,
Do alwayes flow, to quench his thirstie heate. 120
  [* Pight, placed.]

O! who can lead then a more happie life
Than he, that with cleane minde and heart sincere,
No greedy riches knowes nor bloudie strife,
No deadly fight of warlick fleete doth feare,
Ne runs in perill of foes cruell knife, 125
That in the sacred temples he may reare
A trophee of his glittering spoyles and treasure,
Or may abound in riches above measure.

Of him his God is worshipt with his sythe,
And not with skill of craftsman polished:  130
He ioyes in groves, and makes himselfe full blythe
With sundrie flowers in wilde fieldes gathered,
Ne frankincens he from Panchaea buyth: 
Sweete Quiet harbours in his harmeles head,
And perfect Pleasure buildes her ioyous bowre, 135
Free from sad cares, that rich mens hearts devowre.

This all his care, this all his whole indevour,
To this his minde and senses he doth bend,
How he may flow in quiets matchles treasour,
Content with any food that God doth send; 140
And how his limbs, resolv’d through idle leisour,
Unto sweete sleepe he may securely lend,
In some coole shadow from the scorching heat,
The whiles his flock their chawed cuds do eate.

O Flocks, O Faunes, and O ye pleasaunt Springs 145
Of Tempe, where the countrey nymphs are rife,
Through whose not costly care each shepheard sings
As merrie notes upon his rusticke fife
As that Ascraean bard*, whose fame now rings
Through the wide world, and leads as ioyfull life; 150
Free from all troubles and from worldly toyle,
In which fond men doe all their dayes turmoyle.
  [* I.e.  Hesiod]

In such delights whilst thus his carelesse time
This shepheard drives, upleaning on his batt*,
And on shrill reedes chaunting his rustick rime, 155
Hyperion, throwing foorth his beames full hott,
Into the highest top of heaven gan clime,
And the world parting by an equall lott,
Did shed his whirling flames on either side,
As the great Ocean doth himselfe divide. 160
  [* Batt, stick]

Page 31

Then gan the shepheard gather into one
His stragling goates, and drave them to a foord,
Whose caerule streame, rombling in pible stone,
Crept under mosse as greene as any goord. 
Now had the sun halfe heaven overgone, 165
When he his heard back from that water foord
Drave, from the force of Phoebus boyling ray,
Into thick shadowes, there themselves to lay.

Soone as he them plac’d in thy sacred wood,
O Delian goddesse, saw, to which of yore 170
Came the bad daughter of old Cadmus brood,
Cruell Agave, flying vengeance sore
Of King Nictileus for the guiltie blood
Which she with cursed hands had shed before;
There she halfe frantick, having slaine her sonne, 175
Did shrowd her selfe like punishment to shonne.

Here also playing on the grassy greene,
Woodgods, and Satyres, and swift Dryades,
With many Fairies oft were dauncing seene. 
Not so much did Dan Orpheus represse 180
The streames of Hebrus with his songs, I weene,
As that faire troupe of woodie goddesses
Staied thee, O Peneus, powring foorth to thee,
From cheereful lookes, great mirth and gladsome glee.

The verie nature of the place, resounding 185
With gentle murmure of the breathing ayre,
A pleasant bowre with all delight abounding
In the fresh shadowe did for them prepayre,
To rest their limbs with wearines redounding. 
For first the high palme-trees, with braunches faire,
Out of the lowly vallies did arise, 191
And high shoote up their heads into the skyes.

And them amongst the wicked lotos grew,
Wicked, for holding guilefully away
Ulysses men, whom rapt with sweetenes new, 195
Taking to hoste*, it quite from him did stay;
And eke those trees, in whose transformed hew
The Sunnes sad daughters waylde the rash decay
Of Phaeton, whose limbs with lightening rent
They gathering up, with sweete teares did lament. 200
  [* Hoste, entertain.]

And that same tree*, in which Demophoon,
By his disloyalty lamented sore,
Eternall hurte left unto many one: 
Whom als accompanied the oke, of yore 204
Through fatall charmes transferred to such an one: 
The oke, whose acornes were our foode before
That Ceres seede of mortall men were knowne,
Which first Triptoleme taught how to be sowne.
  [* I.e. the almond-tree.]

Here also grew the rougher-rinded pine,
The great Argoan ships brave ornament, 210
Whom golden fleece did make an heavenly signe;
Which coveting, with his high tops extent,
To make the mountaines touch the starres divine,
Decks all the forrest with embellishment;
And the blacke holme that loves the watrie vale; 215
And the sweete cypresse, signe of deadly bale.

Page 32

Emongst the rest the clambring yvie grew,
Knitting his wanton armes with grasping hold,
Least that the poplar happely should rew
Her brothers strokes, whose boughes she doth enfold 220
With her lythe twigs, till they the top survew,
And paint with pallid greene her buds of gold. 
Next did the myrtle tree to her approach,
Not yet unmindfull of her olde reproach.

But the small birds in their wide boughs embowring 225
Chaunted their sundrie tunes with sweete consent;
And under them a silver spring, forth powring
His trickling streames, a gentle murmure sent;
Thereto the frogs, bred in the slimie scowring
Of the moist moores, their iarring voyces bent; 230
And shrill grashoppers chirped them around: 
All which the ayrie echo did resound.

In this so pleasant place the shepheards flocke
Lay everie where, their wearie limbs to rest,
On everie bush, and everie hollow rocke, 235
Where breathe on them the whistling wind mote best;
The whiles the shepheard self, tending his stocke,
Sate by the fountaine side, in shade to rest,
Where gentle slumbring sleep oppressed him
Displaid on ground, and seized everie lim. 240

Of trecherie or traines nought tooke he keep,
But, looslie on the grassie greene dispredd,
His dearest life did trust to careles sleep;
Which, weighing down his drouping drowsie hedd,
In quiet rest his molten heart did steep, 245
Devoid of care, and feare of all falshedd: 
Had not inconstant Fortune, bent to ill,
Bid strange mischance his quietnes to spill.

For at his wonted time in that same place
An huge great Serpent, all with speckles pide, 250
To drench himselfe in moorish slime did trace,
There from the boyling heate himselfe to hide: 
He, passing by with rolling wreathed pace,
With brandisht tongue the emptie aire did gride*,
And wrapt his scalie boughts** with fell despight, 255
That all things seem’d appalled at his sight.
  [* Gride, pierce]
  [** Boughts, knots]

Now more and more having himselfe enrolde,
His glittering breast he lifteth up on hie,
And with proud vaunt his head aloft doth holde;
His creste above, spotted with purple die, 260
On everie side did shine like scalie golde;
And his bright eyes, glauncing full dreadfullie,
Did seeme to flame out flakes of flashing fyre,
And with sterne lookes to threaten kindled yre.

Thus wise long time he did himselfe dispace 265
There round about, when as at last he spide,
Lying along before him in that place,
That flocks grand captaine and most trustie guide: 
Eftsoones more fierce in visage and in pace,
Throwing his firie eyes on everie side, 270
He commeth on, and all things in his way
Full stearnly rends that might his passage stay.

Page 33

Much he disdaines that anie one should dare
To come unto his haunt; for which intent
He inly burns, and gins straight to prepare 275
The weapons which Nature to him hath lent;
Fellie he hisseth, and doth fiercely stare,
And hath his iawes with angrie spirits rent,
That all his tract with bloudie drops is stained,
And all his foldes are now in length outstrained. 280

Whom, thus at point prepared, to prevent,
A litle noursling of the humid ayre,
A Gnat, unto the sleepie shepheard went,
And marking where his ey-lids twinckling rare
Shewd the two pearles which sight unto him lent, 285
Through their thin coverings appearing fayre
His little needle there infixing deep,
Warnd him awake, from death himselfe to keep.

Wherewith enrag’d, he fiercely gan upstart,
And with his hand him rashly bruzing slewe 290
As in avengement of his heedles smart,
That streight the spirite out of his senses flew. 
And life out of his members did depart: 
When, suddenly casting aside his vew,
He spide his foe with felonous intent, 295
And fervent eyes to his destruction bent.

All suddenly dismaid, and hartles quight,
He fled abacke, and, catching hastie holde
Of a yong alder hard beside him pight,
It rent, and streight about him gan beholde 300
What god or fortune would assist his might. 
But whether god or fortune made him bold
Its hard to read:  yet hardie will he had
To overcome, that made him lesse adrad*.
  [* Adrad, terrified]

The scalie backe of that most hideous snake 305
Enwrapped round, oft faining to retire
And oft him to assaile, he fiercely strake
Whereas his temples did his creast front tyre*;
And, for he was but slowe, did slowth off shake,
And, gazing ghastly on, (for feare and yre 310
Had blent** so much his sense, that lesse he feard,)—­
Yet, when he saw him slaine, himselfe he cheard.
  [* Tyre, encircle]
  [** Blent, blinded]

By this the Night forth from the darksome bowre
Of Herebus her teemed* steedes gan call,
And laesie Vesper in his timely howre 315
From golden Oeta gan proceede withall;
Whenas the shepheard after this sharpe stowre**,
Seing the doubled shadowes low to fall,
Gathering his straying flocke, does homeward fare,
And unto rest his wearie ioynts prepare. 320
  [* Teemed, harnessed in a team]
  [** Stowre, perturbation]

Into whose sense so soone as lighter sleepe
Was entered, and now loosing everie lim,
Sweete slumbring deaw in carelesnesse did steepe,
The image of that Gnat appeard to him,
And in sad tearmes gan sorrowfully weepe, 325
With grieslie countenaunce and visage grim,
Wailing the wrong which he had done of late,
In steed of good, hastning his cruell fate.

Page 34

Said he, “What have I wretch deserv’d, that thus
Into this bitter bale I am outcast, 330
Whilest that thy life more deare and precious
Was than mine owne, so long as it did last? 
I now, in lieu of paines so gracious,
Am tost in th’ayre with everie windie blast: 
Thou, safe delivered from sad decay, 335
Thy careles limbs in loose sleep dost display.

“So livest thou; but my poore wretched ghost
Is forst to ferrie over Lethes river,
And spoyld of Charon too and fro am tost. 
Seest thou not how all places quake and quiver, 340
Lightned with deadly lamps on everie post? 
Tisiphone each where doth shake and shiver
Her flaming fire-brond, encountring me,
Whose lockes uncombed cruell adders be.

“And Cerberus, whose many mouthes doo bay, 345
And barke out flames, as if on fire he fed,
Adowne whose necke, in terrible array,
Ten thousand snakes, cralling about his hed,
Doo hang in heapes, that horribly affray,
And bloodie eyes doo glister firie red, 350
He oftentimes me dreadfullie doth threaten
With painfull torments to be sorely beaten.

“Ay me! that thankes so much should faile of meed,
For that I thee restor’d to life againe,
Even from the doore of death and deadlie dreed. 355
Where then is now the guerdon of my paine? 
Where the reward of my so piteous deed? 
The praise of pitie vanisht is in vaine,
And th’antique faith of iustice long agone
Out of the land is fled away and gone. 360

“I saw anothers fate approaching fast,
And left mine owne his safetie to tender;
Into the same mishap I now am cast,
And shun’d destruction doth destruction render: 
Not unto him that never hath trespast, 365
But punishment is due to the offender: 
Yet let destruction be the punishment,
So long as thankfull will may it relent.

“I carried am into waste wildernesse,
Waste wildernes, amongst Cymerian shades, 370
Where endles paines and hideous heavinesse
Is round about me heapt in darksome glades. 
For there huge Othos sits in sad distresse,
Fast bound with serpents that him oft invades,
Far of beholding Ephialtes tide, 375
Which once assai’d to burne this world so wide.

“And there is mournfull Tityus, mindefull yet
Of thy displeasure, O Latona faire;
Displeasure too implacable was it,
That made him meat for wild foules of the ayre:  380
Much do I feare among such fiends to sit;
Much do I feare back to them to repayre,
To the black shadowes of the Stygian shore,
Where wretched ghosts sit wailing evermore.

Page 35

“There next the utmost brinck doth he abide 385
That did the bankets of the gods bewray,
Whose throat through thirst to nought nigh being dride,
His sense to seeke for ease turnes every way: 
And he that in avengement of his pride,
For scorning to the sacred gods to pray, 390
Against a mountaine rolls a mightie stone,
Calling in vaine for rest, and can have none.

“Go ye with them, go, cursed damosells,
Whose bridale torches foule Erynnis tynde*,
And Hymen, at your spousalls sad, foretells 395
Tydings of death and massacre unkinde**: 
With them that cruell Colchid mother dwells,
The which conceiv’d in her revengefull minde
With bitter woundes her owne deere babes to slay,
And murdred troupes upon great heapes to lay. 400
  [* Tynde, kindled.]
  [** Unkinde, unnatural.]

“There also those two Pandionian maides,
Calling on Itis, Itis evermore,
Whom, wretched boy, they slew with guiltie blades;
For whome the Thracian king lamenting sore,
Turn’d to a lapwing, fowlie them upbraydes, 405
And flattering round about them still does sore;
There now they all eternally complaine
Of others wrong, and suffer endles paine.

“But the two brethren* borne of Cadmus blood,
Whilst each does for the soveraignty contend, 411
Blinde through ambition, and with vengeance wood**,
Each doth against the others bodie bend
His cursed steele, of neither well withstood,
And with wide wounds their carcases doth rend;
That yet they both doe mortall foes remaine, 415
Sith each with brothers bloudie hand was slaine.
  [* I.e.  Eteocles and Polynices.]
  [** Wood, mad.]

“Ah (waladay!) there is no end of paine,
Nor chaunge of labour may intreated bee: 
Yet I beyond all these am carried faine,
Where other powers farre different I see, 420
And must passe over to th’Elisian plaine: 
There grim Persephone, encountring mee,
Doth urge her fellow Furies earnestlie
With their bright firebronds me to terrifie.

“There chast Alceste lives inviolate, 425
Free from all care, for that her husbands daies
She did prolong by changing fate for fate: 
Lo! there lives also the immortall praise
Of womankinde, most faithfull to her mate,
Penelope; and from her farre awayes 430
A rulesse* rout of yongmen which her woo’d,
All slaine with darts, lie wallowed in their blood.
  [* Rulesse, rule-less.]

“And sad Eurydice thence now no more
Must turne to life, but there detained bee
For looking back, being forbid before:  435
Yet was the guilt thereof, Orpheus, in thee! 
Bold sure he was, and worthie spirite bore,
That durst those lowest shadowes goe to see,
And could beleeve that anie thing could please
Fell Cerberus, or Stygian powres appease. 440

Page 36

“Ne feard the burning waves of Phlegeton,
Nor those same mournfull kingdomes, compassed
With rustle horrour and fowle fashion;
And deep digd vawtes*; and Tartar covered
With bloodie night and darke confusion; 445
And iudgement seates, whose iudge is deadlie dred,
A iudge that after death doth punish sore
The faults which life hath trespassed before.
  [* Vawtes, vaults.]

“But valiant fortune made Dan Orpheus bolde: 
For the swift running rivers still did stand, 450
And the wilde beasts their furie did withhold,
To follow Orpheus musicke through the land: 
And th’okes, deep grounded in the earthly molde,
Did move, as if they could him understand; 454
And the shrill woods, which were of sense bereav’d,
Through their hard barke his silver sound receav’d.

“And eke the Moone her hastie steedes did stay,
Drawing in teemes along the starrie skie;
And didst, O monthly Virgin, thou delay
Thy nightly course, to heare his melodie? 460
The same was able, with like lovely lay,
The Queene of Hell to move as easily
To yeeld Eurydiee unto her fere,
Backe to be borne, though it unlawfull were.

“She, ladie, having well before approoved 465
The feends to be too cruell and severe,
Observ’d th’appointed way, as her behooved,
Ne ever did her eysight turne arere,
Ne ever spake, ne cause of speaking mooved;
But, cruell Orpheus, thou much crueller, 470
Seeking to kisse her, brok’st the gods decree,
And thereby mad’st her ever damn’d to be.

“Ah! but sweete love of pardon worthie is,
And doth deserve to have small faults remitted;
If Hell at least things lightly done amis 475
Knew how to pardon, when ought is omitted: 
Yet are ye both received into blis,
And to the seates of happie soules admitted. 
And you beside the honourable band
Of great heroes doo in order stand. 480

“There be the two stout sonnes of AEacus,
Fierce Peleus, and the hardie Telamon,
Both seeming now full glad and ioyeous
Through their syres dreadfull iurisdiction,
Being the iudge of all that horrid hous:  488
And both of them, by strange occasion,
Renown’d in choyce of happie marriage
Through Venus grace, and vertues cariage.

“For th’one was ravisht of his owne bondmaide,
The faire Ixione captiv’d from Troy:  490
But th’other was with Thetis love assaid,
Great Nereus his daughter and his ioy. 
On this side them there is a yongman layd,
Their match in glorie, mightie, fierce, and coy,
That from th’Argolick ships, with furious yre, 495
Bett back the furie of the Troian fyre.

Page 37

“O! who would not recount the strong divorces
Of that great warre, which Troianes oft behelde,
And oft beheld the warlike Greekish forces,
When Teucrian soyle with bloodie rivers swelde, 500
And wide Sigraean shores were spred with corses,
And Simois and Xanthus blood outwelde;
Whilst Hector raged, with outragious minde,
Flames, weapons, wounds, in Greeks fleete to have tynde.

“For Ida selfe, in ayde of that fierce fight, 505
Out of her mountaines ministred supplies;
And like a kindly nourse did yeeld, for spight,
Store of firebronds out of her nourseries
Unto her foster children, that they might
Inflame the navie of their enemies, 510
And all the Rhetaean shore to ashes turne,
Where lay the ships which they did seeke to burne.

“Gainst which the noble sonne of Telamon
Oppos’d himselfe, and thwarting* his huge shield,
Them battell bad; gainst whom appeard anon 515
Hector, the glorie of the Troian field: 
Both fierce and furious in contention
Encountred, that their mightie strokes so shrild
As the great clap of thunder, which doth ryve
The railing heavens and cloudes asunder dryve. 520
  [* Thwarting, interposing.]

“So th’one with fire and weapons did contend
To cut the ships from turning home againe
To Argos; th’other strove for to defend*
The force of Vulcane with his might and maine. 
Thus th’one Aeacide did his fame extend:  525
But th’other ioy’d that, on the Phrygian playne
Having the blood of vanquisht Hector shedd,
He compast Troy thrice with his bodie dedd.
  [* Defend, keep off.]

“Againe great dole on either partie grewe,
That him to death unfaithfull Paris sent; 530
And also him that false Ulysses slewe,
Drawne into danger through close ambushment;
Therefore from him Laertes sonne his vewe
Doth turn aside, and boasts his good event
In working of Strymonian Rhaesus fall, 535
And efte* in Dolons slye surprysall.
  [* Efte, again.]

“Againe the dreadfull Cycones him dismay,
And blacke Laestrigones, a people stout;
Then greedie Scilla, under whom there bay
Manie great bandogs, which her gird about; 540
Then doo the AEtnean Cyclops him affray,
And deep Charybdis gulphing in and out;
Lastly the squalid lakes of Tartarie,
And griesly feends of hell him terrifie.

“There also goodly Agamemnon bosts, 545
The glorie of the stock of Tantalus,
And famous light of all the Greekish hosts;
Under whose conduct most victorious,
The Dorick flames consum’d the Iliack posts. 
Ah! but the Greekes themselves, more dolorous, 550
To thee, O Troy, paid penaunce for thy fall,
In th’Hellespont being nigh drowned all.

Page 38

“Well may appeare by proofe of their mischaunce
The chaungfull turning of mens slipperie state,
That none whom fortune freely doth advaunce 555
Himselfe therefore to heaven should elevate: 
For loftie type of honour through the glaunce
Of envies dart is downe in dust prostrate,
And all that vaunts in worldly vanitie
Shall fall through fortunes mutabilitie. 560

“Th’Argolicke power returning home againe,
Enricht with spoyles of th’Ericthonian towre,
Did happie winde and weather entertaine,
And with good speed the fomie billowes scowre: 
No signe of storme, no feare of future paine, 565
Which soone ensued them with heavie stowre*: 
Nereis to the seas a token gave,
The whiles their crooked keeles the surges clave.
  [* Stowre, turmoil, uproar.]

“Suddenly, whether through the gods decree,
Or haplesse rising of some froward starre, 570
The heavens on everie side enclowded bee: 
Black stormes and fogs are blowen up from farre,
That now the pylote can no loadstarre see,
But skies and seas doo make most dreadfull warre;
The billowes striving to the heavens to reach, 575
And th’heavens striving them for to impeach*.
  [* Impeach, hinder.]

“And, in avengement of their bold attempt,
Both sun and starres and all the heavenly powres
Conspire in one to wreake their rash contempt,
And downe on them to fall from highest towres:  580
The skie, in pieces seeming to be rent,
Throwes lightning forth, and haile, and harmful showres,
That death on everie side to them appeares,
In thousand formes, to worke more ghastly feares.

“Some in the greedie flouds are sunke and drent*; 585
Some on the rocks of Caphareus are throwne;
Some on th’Euboick cliffs in pieces rent;
Some scattred on the Hercaean** shores unknowne;
And manie lost, of whom no moniment
Remaines, nor memorie is to be showne:  590
Whilst all the purchase@ of the Phrigian pray,
Tost on salt billowes, round about doth stray.
[* Drent, drowned.]
[** Hercaean should probably be AEgean.]
[@ Purchase, booty.]

“Here manie other like heroes bee,
Equall in honour to the former crue,
Whom ye in goodly seates may placed see, 595
Descended all from Rome by linage due;
From Rome, that holds the world in sovereigntie,
And doth all nations unto her subdue: 
Here Fabii and Decii doo dwell,
Horatii that in vertue did excell. 600

“And here the antique fame of stout Camill
Doth ever live; and constant Curtius,
Who, stifly bent his vowed life to spill
For countreyes health, a gulph most hideous
Amidst the towne with his owne corps did fill, 605
T’appease the Powers; and prudent Mutius,
Who in his flesh endur’d the scorching flame,
To daunt his foe by ensample of the same.

Page 39

“And here wise Curius, companion
Of noble vertues, lives in endles rest; 610
And stout Flaminius, whose devotion
Taught him the fires scorn’d furie to detest;
And here the praise of either Scipion
Abides in highest place above the best,
To whom the ruin’d walls of Carthage vow’d, 615
Trembling their forces, sound their praises lowd.

“Live they for ever through their lasting praise! 
But I, poore wretch, am forced to retourne
To the sad lakes that Phoebus sunnie rayes
Doo never see, where soules doo alwaies mourne; 620
And by the wayling shores to waste my dayes,
Where Phlegeton with quenchles flames doth burne;
By which iust Minos righteous soules doth sever
From wicked ones, to live in blisse for ever.

“Me therefore thus the cruell fiends of hell, 625
Girt with long snakes and thousand yron chaynes,
Through doome of that their cruell iudge compell,
With bitter torture and impatient paines,
Cause of my death and iust complaint to tell. 
For thou art he whom my poore ghost complaines 630
To be the author of her ill unwares,
That careles hear’st my intollerable cares.

“Them therefore as bequeathing to the winde,
I now depart, returning to thee never,
And leave this lamentable plaint behinde. 635
But doo thou haunt the soft downe-rolling river,
And wilde greene woods and fruitful pastures minde,
And let the flitting aire my vaine words sever.” 
Thus having said, he heavily departed
With piteous crie that anie would have smarted. 640

Now, when the sloathfull fit of lifes sweete rest
Had left the heavie Shepheard, wondrous cares
His inly grieved minde full sore opprest;
That balefull sorrow he no longer beares
For that Gnats death, which deeply was imprest, 645
But bends what ever power his aged yeares
Him lent, yet being such as through their might
He lately slue his dreadfull foe in fight.

By that same river lurking under greene,
Eftsoones* he gins to fashion forth a place, 650
And, squaring it in compasse well beseene**,
There plotteth out a tombe by measured space: 
His yron-headed spade tho making cleene,
To dig up sods out of the flowrie grasse,
His worke he shortly to good purpose brought, 655
Like as he had conceiv’d it in his thought.
  [* Eftsoones, immediately.]
  [** Well beseene, seemly.]

An heape of earth he hoorded up on hie,
Enclosing it with banks on everie side,
And thereupon did raise full busily
A little mount, of greene turffs edifide*; 660
And on the top of all, that passers by
Might it behold, the toomb he did provide
Of smoothest marble stone in order set,
That never might his luckie scape forget.
  [* Edifide, built.]

Page 40

And round about he taught sweete flowres to growe; 665
The Rose, engrained in pure scarlet die;
The Lilly fresh, and Violet belowe;
The Marigolde, and cherefull Rosemarie;
The Spartan Mirtle, whence sweet gumb does flowe;
The purple Hyacinths, and fresh Costmarie, 670
And Saffron, sought for in Cilician soyle,
And Lawrell, th’ornament of Phoebus toyle: 

Fresh Rhododaphne, and the Sabine flowre*,
Matching the wealth of th’auncient Frankincence;
And pallid Yvie, building his owne bowre; 675
And Box, yet mindfull of his olde offence;
Red Amaranthus, lucklesse paramour;
Oxeye still greene, and bitter Patience;
Ne wants there pale Narcisse, that, in a well
Seeing his beautie, in love with it fell. 680
  [* Sabine flowre, a kind of juniper, the savine.]

And whatsoever other flowre of worth,
And whatso other hearb of lovely hew
The ioyous Spring out of the ground brings forth,
To cloath her selfe in colours fresh and new,
He planted there, and reard a mount of earth, 685
In whose high front was writ as doth ensue: 

To thee, small Gnat, in lieu of his life saved, The Shepheard hath thy deaths record engraved.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES: 

VIRGILS GNAT.  This is a very skilful elaboration of the Culex, a poem attributed, without reason, to Virgil.  The original, which is crabbed and pedantic, where it is not unintelligible from corruption, is here rendered with sufficient fidelity to the sense, but with such perspicuity, elegance, and sweetness, as to make Spenser’s performance too good a poem to be called a translation.  C.

* * * * *

PROSOPOPOIA: 

OR
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.

BY ED. SP.

DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE,

THE LADIE COMPTON AND MOUNTEGLE.

* * * * *

LONDON: 

IMPRINTED FOR WILLIAM PONSONBIE, DWELLING IN PAULES
CHURCHYARD AT THE SIGNE OF THE BISHOPS HEAD.

1591.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE,

THE LADIE COMPTON AND MOUNTEGLE.[*]

Most faire and vertuous Ladie:  having often sought opportunitie by some good meanes to make knowen to your Ladiship the humble affection and faithfull duetie which I have alwaies professed, and am bound to beare, to that house from whence yee spring, I have at length found occasion to remember the same by making a simple present to you of these my idle labours; which having long sithens composed in the raw conceipt of my youth, I lately amongst other papers lighted upon, and was

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Your La:  ever
    humbly,
        ED. SP.

[* “This lady was Anne, the fifth daughter of Sir John Spencer, distinguished also, in the pastoral of Colin Clouts come Home again, by the name of Charillis.  She was married, first to Sir William Stanley, Lord Mountegle; next to Henry Compton, Lord Compton; and lastly to Robert Sackvilie, Lord Buckhurst, afterwards Earl of Dorset.”—­TODD.]

* * * * *

PROSOPOPOIA: 

OR

MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.

It was the month in which the righteous Maide
That for disdaine of sinfull worlds upbraide
Fled back to heaven, whence she was first conceived,
Into her silver bowre the Sunne received;
And the hot Syrian Dog on him awayting, 5
After the chafed Lyons cruell bayting,
Corrupted had th’ayre with his noysome breath. 
And powr’d on th’earth plague, pestilence, and death. 
Emongst the rest a wicked maladie
Raign’d emongst men, that manie did to die, 10
Depriv’d of sense and ordinarie reason;
That it to leaches seemed strange and geason.
     [Geason, rare.]
My fortune was, mongst manie others moe,
To be partaker of their common woe;
And my weake bodie, set on fire with griefe, 15
Was rob’d of rest and naturall reliefe. 
In this ill plight, there came to visite mee
Some friends, who, sorie my sad case to see,
Began to comfort me in chearfull wise,
And meanes of gladsome solace to devise. 20
But seeing kindly sleep refuse to doe
His office, and my feeble eyes forgoe,
They sought my troubled sense how to deceave
With talke that might unquiet fancies reave;
     [Reave, take away.]
And sitting all in seates about me round, 25
With pleasant tales fit for that idle stound
     [Stound, time.]
They cast in course to waste the wearie howres. 
Some tolde of ladies, and their paramoures;
Some of brave knights, and their renowned squires;
Some of the faeries and their strange attires; 30
And some of giaunts hard to be beleeved;
That the delight thereof me much releeved. 
Amongst the rest a good old woman was,

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[Symbol:  Paragraph mark to indicate beginning of story.]
Whilome, said she, before the world was civill,
The Foxe and th’Ape, disliking of their evill 46
And hard estate, determined to seeke
Their fortunes farre abroad, lyeke with his lyeke: 
For both were craftie and unhappie witted;
     [Unhappie, mischievous.]
Two fellowes might no where be better fitted. 50
The Foxe, that first this cause of griefe did finde,
Gan first thus plaine his case with words unkinde: 
“Neighbour Ape, and my gossip eke beside,
(Both two sure bands in friendship to be tide,)
To whom may I more trustely complaine 55
The evill plight that doth me sore constraine,
And hope thereof to finde due remedie? 
Heare then my paine and inward agonie. 
Thus manie yeares I now have spent and worne,
In meane regard, and basest fortunes scorne, 60
Dooing my countrey service as I might,
No lesse I dare saie than the prowdest wight;
And still I hoped to be up advaunced
For my good parts; but still it hath mischaunced. 
Now therefore that no lenger hope I see, 65
But froward fortune still to follow mee,
And losels lifted up on high, where I did looke,
     [Losels, worthless fellows.]
I meane to turne the next leafe of the booke. 
Yet ere that anie way I doe betake,
I meane my gossip privie first to make.” 70
“Ah! my deare gossip,” answer’d then the Ape,
“Deeply doo your sad words my wits awhape,
     [Awhape, astound.]
Both for because your griefe doth great appeare,
And eke because my selfe am touched neare: 
For I likewise have wasted much good time, 75
Still wayting to preferment up to clime,
Whilst others alwayes have before me stept,
And from my beard the fat away have swept;
That now unto despaire I gin to growe,
And meane for better winde about to throwe. 80
Therefore to me, my trustie friend, aread
     [Aread, declare.]
Thy councell:  two is better than one head.” 
“Certes,” said he, “I meane me to disguize
In some straunge habit, after uncouth wize,

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Now when high Iove, in whose almightie hand 1225
The care of kings and power of empires stand,
Sitting one day within his turret hye,
From whence he vewes with his black-lidded eye
Whatso the heaven in his wide vawte containes,
And all that in the deepest earth remaines, 1230
And troubled kingdome of wilde beasts behelde,
Whom not their kindly sovereigne did welde,
     [Welde, govern.]
But an usurping Ape, with guile suborn’d,
Had all subverst, he sdeignfully it scorn’d
In his great heart, and hardly did refraine 1235
But that with thunder bolts he had him slaine,
And driven downe to hell, his dewest meed. 
But him avizing, he that dreadfull deed
Forbore, and rather chose with scornfull shame
Him to avenge, and blot his brutish name 1240
Unto the world, that never after anie
Should of his race be voyd of infamie;
And his false counsellor, the cause of all,
To damne to death, or dole perpetuall,
From whence he never should be quit nor stal’d.
     [Stal’d, forestalled (?).]
Forthwith he Mercurie unto him cal’d, 1246
And bad him flie with never-resting speed
Unto the forrest, where wilde beasts doo breed,
And, there enquiring privily, to learne
What did of late chaunce to the Lyon stearne, 1250
That he rul’d not the empire, as he ought;
And whence were all those plaints unto him brought
Of wrongs and spoyles by salvage beasts committed: 
Which done, he bad the Lyon be remitted
Into his seate, and those same treachours vile 1255
     [Treachours, traitors.]
Be punished for their presumptuous guile. 
The sonne of Maia, soone as he receiv’d
That word, streight with his azure wings he cleav’d

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So Mother Hubberd her discourse did end:  1385
Which pardon me if I amisse have pend,
For weake was my remembrance it to hold,
And bad her tongue that it so bluntly tolde.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES: 

MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.  This charming little poem, Spenser’s only successful effort at satire, is stated by the author to have been composed in the raw conceit of his youth.  There is internal evidence, however, that some of the happiest passages were added at the date of its publication, at which time the whole was probably retouched.  Although Mother Hubberds Tale is in its plan an imitation of the satires of Reynard the Fox; the treatment of the subject is quite original.  For the combination of elegance with simplicity, this poem will stand a comparison with Goethe’s celebrated translation of the Reineke.  C.

Ver.  I.—­It was the month, &c.  August.

Ver. 453.—­Diriges, dirges.  The office for the dead received this name from the antiphon with which the first nocturne in the mattens commenced, taken from Psalm v. 8, “Dirige, Domine Deus meus, in conspectu tuo viam meam.”  Way’s Promptorium Parvulorum. C.

Ver. 519.—­Scarse can a bishoprick, &c.  This is probably an allusion to the frequent alienations of the lands and manors of bishoprics in Elizabeth’s time.  TODD.

Ver. 562.—­The ordinarie. An ordinary is a judge having jurisdiction in ecclesiastical matters.  In England, it is usually the bishop of the diocese.  H.

Ver. 623, 624.—­The Queen was so much pleased with the results of the Portugal expedition of 1589, that she honored the commanders, and Sir Walter Raleigh among the rest, with a gold chain.  C.

Ver. 717.—­The brave courtier, &c.  This description is perhaps intended for Sir Philip Sidney.  C.

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Ver. 893.—­Had-ywist.  That is, had I wist! had I known that it would end so! a proverbial expression for late repentance consequent on disappointment.  C.

Ver. 901.—­To have thy Princes grace, yet want her Peeres. Elizabeth was said to have granted Spenser a pension which Burghley intercepted, and to have ordered him a gratuity which her minister neglected to pay.  C.

Ver. 913.—­Himselfe will a daw trie. So the old copy:  the reading should probably be himselfe a daw will trie, prove or find himself by experience to be a daw or fool.  C.

Ver. 1189.—­Of men of armes, &c.  This passage certainly provokes an application to Lord Burghley, and was probably intended for him.  C.

* * * * *

RUINES OF ROME: 

BY BELLAY*

[* Joachim du Bellay, a French poet of considerable reputation in his day, died in 1560.  These sonnets are translated from Le Premier Livre des Antiquez de Rome.  Further on we have the Visions of Bellay, translated from the Songes of the same author.  The best that can be said of these sonnets seems to be, that they are not inferior to the original.  C.]

I.

Ye heavenly spirites, whose ashie cinders lie
Under deep ruines, with huge walls opprest,
But not your praise, the which shall never die
Through your faire verses, ne in ashes rest;
If so be shrilling voyce of wight alive
May reach from hence to depth of darkest hell,
Then let those deep abysses open rive,
That ye may understand my shreiking yell! 
Thrice having seene under the heavens veale
Your toombs devoted compasse over all,
Thrice unto you with lowd voyce I appeale,
And for your antique furie here doo call,
  The whiles that I with sacred horror sing
  Your glorie, fairest of all earthly thing!

II.

Great Babylon her haughtie walls will praise,
And sharped steeples high shot up in ayre;
Greece will the olde Ephesian buildings blaze,
And Nylus nurslings their Pyramidcs faire;
The same yet vaunting Greece will tell the storie
Of Ioves great image in Olympus placed;
Mausolus worke will be the Carians glorie,
And Crete will boast the Labyrinth, now raced;
The antique Rhodian will likewise set forth
The great Colosse, erect to Memorie;
And what els in the world is of like worth,
Some greater learned wit will magnifie. 
  But I will sing above all moniments
  Seven Romane Hils, the worlds seven wonderments.

III.

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Thou stranger, which for Rome in Rome hero seekest,
And nought of Rome in Rome perceiv’st at all,
These same olde walls, olde arches, which thou seest,
Olde palaces, is that which Rome men call. 
Beholde what wreake, what mine, and what wast,
And how that she which with her mightie powre
Tam’d all the world hath tam’d herselfe at last;
The pray of Time, which all things doth devowre! 
Rome now of Rome is th’onely funerall,
And onely Rome of Rome hath victorie;
Ne ought save Tyber hastning to his fall
Remaines of all:  O worlds inconstancie! 
  That which is firme doth flit and fall away,
  And that is flitting doth abide and stay.

IV.

She whose high top above the starres did sore,
One foote on Thetis, th’other on the Morning,
One hand on Scythia, th’other on the More,
Both heaven and earth in roundnesse compassing;
Iove fearing, least if she should greater growe,
The old giants should once againe uprise,
Her whelm’d with hills, these seven hils, which be nowe
Tombes of her greatnes which did threate the skies: 
Upon her head he heapt Mount Saturnal,
Upon her bellie th’antique Palatine,
Upon her stomacke laid Mount Quirinal,
On her left hand the noysome Esquiline,
  And Caelian on the right; but both her feete
  Mount Viminal and Aventine doo meete.

V.

Who lists to see what ever nature, arte,
And heaven could doo, O Rome, thee let him see,
In case thy greatnes he can gesse in harte
By that which but the picture is of thee! 
Rome is no more:  but if the shade of Rome
May of the bodie yeeld a seeming sight,
It’s like a corse drawne forth out of the tombe
By magicke skill out of eternall night: 
The corpes of Rome in ashes is entombed,
And her great spirite, reioyned to the spirite
Of this great masse, is in the same enwombed;
But her brave writings, which, her famous merite
  In spight of Time out of the dust doth reare,
  Doo make her idole* through the world appeare.
[* Idole, image, idea.]

VI.

Such as the Berecynthian goddesse bright,
In her swifte charret with high turrets crownde,
Proud that so manie gods she brought to light,
Such was this citie in her good daies fownd: 
This citie, more than that great Phrygian mother
Renowm’d for fruite of famous progenie,
Whose greatnes by the greatnes of none other,
But by her selfe, her equall match could see: 
Rome onely might to Rome compared bee,
And onely Rome could make great Rome to tremble: 
So did the gods by heavenly doome decree,
That other earthlie power should not resemble
  Her that did match the whole earths puissaunce,
  And did her courage to the heavens advaunce.

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VII.

Ye sacred ruines, and ye tragick sights,
Which onely doo the name of Rome retaine,
Olde moniments, which of so famous sprights
The honour yet in ashes doo maintaine,
Triumphant arcks, spyres neighbours to the skie,
That you to see doth th’heaven it selfe appall,
Alas! by little ye to nothing flie,
The peoples fable, and the spoyle of all! 
And though your frames do for a time make warre
Gainst Time, yet Time in time shall ruinate
Your workes and names, and your last reliques marre. 
My sad desires, rest therefore moderate! 
  For if that Time make ende of things so sure,
  It als will end the paine which I endure.

VIII.

Through armes and vassals Rome the world subdu’d,
That one would weene that one sole cities strength
Both land and sea in roundnes had survew’d,
To be the measure of her bredth and length: 
This peoples vertue yet so fruitfull was
Of vertuous nephewes*, that posteritie,
Striving in power their grandfathers to passe,
The lowest earth ioin’d to the heaven hie;
To th’end that, having all parts in their power,
Nought from the Romane Empire might be quight**;
And that though Time doth commonwealths devowre,
Yet no time should so low embase their hight,
  That her head, earth’d in her foundations deep,
  Should not her name and endles honour keep.
[* Nephewes, descendants.]
[** Quight, quit, free.]

IX.

Ye cruell starres, and eke ye gods unkinde,
Heaven envious, and bitter stepdame Nature! 
Be it by fortune, or by course of kinde*,
That ye doo weld th’affaires of earthlie creature;
Why have your hands long sithence traveiled
To frame this world, that doth endure so long? 
Or why were not these Romane palaces
Made of some matter no lesse firme and strong? 
I say not, as the common voyce doth say,
That all things which beneath the moone have being
Are temporall and subiect to decay: 
But I say rather, though not all agreeing
  With some that weene the contrarie in thought,
  That all this whole shall one day come to nought.
[* Kinde, nature.]

X.

As that brave sonne of Aeson, which by charmes
Atcheiv’d the golden fleece in Colchid land,
Out of the earth engendred men of armes
Of dragons teeth, sowne in the sacred sand,
So this brave towne, that in her youthlie daies
An hydra was of warriours glorious,
Did fill with her renowmed nourslings praise
The firie sunnes both one and other hous: 
But they at last, there being then not living
An Hercules so ranke seed to represse,
Emongst themselves with cruell furie striving,
Mow’d downe themselves with slaughter mercilesse;
  Renewing in themselves that rage unkinde,
  Which whilom did those earthborn brethren blinde.

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XI.

Mars, shaming to have given so great head
To his off-spring, that mortall puissaunce,
Puft up with pride of Romane hardiehead,
Seem’d above heavens powre it selfe to advaunce,
Cooling againe his former kindled heate
With which he had those Romane spirits fild. 
Did blowe new fire, and with enflamed breath
Into the Gothicke colde hot rage instil’d. 
Then gan that nation, th’earths new giant brood,
To dart abroad the thunderbolts of warre,
And, beating downe these walls with furious mood
Into her mothers bosome, all did marre;
  To th’end that none, all were it* love his sire,
  Should boast himselfe of the Romane empire.
[* All were it, although it were.]

XII.

Like as whilome the children of the earth
Heapt hils on hils to scale the starrie skie,
And fight against the gods of heavenly berth,
Whiles Iove at them his thunderbolts let flie;
All suddenly with lightning overthrowne,
The furious squadrons downe to ground did fall,
That th’earth under her childrens weight did grone,
And th’heavens in glorie triumpht over all;
So did that haughtie front, which heaped was
On these seven Romane hils, it selfe upreare
Over the world, and lift her loftie face
Against the heaven, that gan her force to feare. 
  But now these scorned fields bemone her fall,
  And gods secure feare not her force at all.

XIII.

Nor the swift furie of the flames aspiring,
Nor the deep wounds of victours raging blade,
Nor ruthlesse spoyle of souldiers blood-desiring,
The which so oft thee, Rome, their conquest made,
Ne stroke on stroke of fortune variable,
Ne rust of age hating continuance,
Nor wrath of gods, nor spight of men unstable,
Nor thou oppos’d against thine owne puissance,
Nor th’horrible uprore of windes high blowing,
Nor swelling streames of that god snakie-paced*
Which hath so often with his overflowing
Thee drenched, have thy pride so much abaced,
  But that this nothing, which they have thee left,
  Makes the world wonder what they from thee reft.
[* Snakie-paced, winding; or perhaps (like Ovid’s anguipes) swift.]

XIV.

As men in summer fearles passe the foord
Which is in winter lord of all the plaine,
And with his tumbling streames doth beare aboord*
The ploughmans hope and shepheards labour vaine,
And as the coward beasts use to despise
The noble lion after his lives end,
Whetting their teeth, and with vaine foolhardise
Daring the foe that cannot him defend,
And as at Troy most dastards of the Greekes
Did brave about the corpes of Hector colde,
So those which whilome wont with pallid cheekes
The Romane triumphs glorie to behold,
  Now on these ashie tombes shew boldnesse vaine,
  And, conquer’d, dare the conquerour disdaine.
[*_Aboord_, into the current.]

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XV.

Ye pallid spirits, and ye ashie ghoasts,
Which, ioying in the brightnes of your day,
Brought foorth those signes of your presumptuous boasts
Which now their dusty reliques do bewray,
Tell me, ye spirits! (sith the darksome river
Of Styx, not passable to soules returning,
Enclosing you in thrice three wards for ever,
Doo not restraine your images still mourning,)
Tell me then, (for perhaps some one of you
Yet here above him secretly doth hide,)
Doo ye not feele your torments to accrewe,
When ye sometimes behold the ruin’d pride
  Of these old Romane works, built with your hands,
  To become nought els but heaped sands?

XVI.

Like as ye see the wrathfull sea from farre
In a great mountaine heap’t with hideous noyse,
Eftsoones of thousand billowes shouldred narre*,
Against a rocke to breake with dreadfull poyse;
Like as ye see fell Boreas with sharpe blast
Tossing huge tempests through the troubled skie,
Eftsoones having his wide wings spent in wast,
To stop his wearie cariere** suddenly;
And as ye see huge flames spred diverslie,
Gathered in one up to the heavens to spyre,
Eftsoones consum’d to fall downe feebily,
So whilom did this monarchie aspyre
  As waves, as winde, as fire, spred over all,
  Till it by fatall doome adowne did fall.
[* Narre, nearer.]
[** Cariere, career.]

XVII.

So long as Ioves great bird did make his flight,
Bearing the fire with which heaven doth us fray,
Heaven had not feare of that presumptuous might,
With which the giaunts did the gods assay: 
But all so soone as scortching sunne had brent*
His wings which wont the earth to overspredd,
The earth out of her massie wombe forth sent
That antique horror which made heaven adredd. 
Then was the Germane raven in disguise
That Romane eagle seene to cleave asunder,
And towards heaven freshly to arise
Out of these mountaines, now consum’d to pouder. 
  In which the foule that serves to beare the lightning
  Is now no more seen flying nor alighting.
[* Brent, burned.]

XVIII.

These heapes of stones, these old wals which ye see,
Were first enclosures but of salvage soyle;
And these brave pallaces, which maystred bee
Of time, were shepheards cottages somewhile. 
Then tooke the shepheards kingly ornaments
And the stout hynde arm’d his right hand with steele: 
Eftsoones their rule of yearely presidents
Grew great, and sixe months greater a great deele;
Which, made perpetuall, rose to so great might,
That thence th’imperiall eagle rooting tooke,
Till th’heaven it selfe, opposing gainst her might,
Her power to Peters successor betooke,
  Who, shepheardlike, (as Fates the same foreseeing,)
  Doth shew that all things turne to their first being.
[XVIII. 8.—­Sixe months, &c.  The term of the dictatorship at Rome.]

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XIX.

All that is perfect, which th’heaven beautefies;
All that’s imperfect, borne belowe the moone;
All that doth feede our spirits and our eies;
And all that doth consume our pleasures soone;
All the mishap the which our daies outweares;
All the good hap of th’oldest times afore,
Rome, in the time of her great ancesters,
Like a Pandora, locked long in store. 
But destinie this huge chaos turmoyling,
In which all good and evill was enclosed,
Their heavenly vertues from these woes assoyling,
Caried to heaven, from sinfull bondage losed: 
  But their great sinnes, the causers of their paine,
  Under these antique ruines yet remaine.

XX.

No otherwise than raynie cloud, first fed
With earthly vapours gathered in the ayre,
Eftsoones in compas arch’t, to steepe his hed,
Doth plonge himselfe in Tethys bosome faire,
And, mounting up againe from whence he came,
With his great bellie spreds the dimmed world,
Till at the last, dissolving his moist frame,
In raine, or snowe, or haile, he forth is horld,
This citie, which was first but shepheards shade,
Uprising by degrees, grewe to such height
That queene of land and sea her selfe she made. 
At last, not able to beare so great weight,
  Her power, disperst, through all the world did vade*;
  To shew that all in th’end to nought shall fade.
[* Vade, vanish.]

XXI.

The same which Pyrrhus and the puissaunce
Of Afrike could not tame, that same brave citie
Which, with stout courage arm’d against mischaunce,
Sustein’d the shocke of common enmitie,
Long as her ship, tost with so manie freakes,
Had all the world in armes against her bent,
Was never seene that anie fortunes wreakes
Could breake her course begun with brave intent. 
But, when the obiect of her vertue failed,
Her power it selfe against it selfe did arme;
As he that having long in tempest sailed
Faine would arive, but cannot for the storme,
  If too great winde against the port him drive,
  Doth in the port it selfe his vessell rive.

XXII.

When that brave honour of the Latine name,
Which mear’d* her rule with Africa and Byze**,
With Thames inhabitants of noble fame,
And they which see the dawning day arize,
Her nourslings did with mutinous uprore
Harten against her selfe, her conquer’d spoile,
Which she had wonne from all the world afore,
Of all the world was spoyl’d within a while: 
So, when the compast course of the universe
In sixe and thirtie thousand yeares is ronne,
The bands of th’elements shall backe reverse
To their first discord, and be quite undonne;
  The seedes of which all things at first were bred
  Shall in great Chaos wombe againe be hid.
[* Mear’d, bounded.]
[** Byze, Byzantium.]

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XXIII.

O warie wisedome of the man* that would
That Carthage towres from spoile should be forborne,
To th’end that his victorious people should
With cancring laisure not be overworne! 
He well foresaw how that the Romane courage,
Impatient of pleasures faint desires,
Through idlenes would turne to civill rage,
And be her selfe the matter of her fires. 
For in a people given all to ease,
Ambition is engendred easily;
As, in a vicious bodie, grose disease
Soone growes through humours superfluitie. 
  That came to passe, when, swolne with plenties pride,
  Nor prince, nor peere, nor kin, they would abide.
[* I.e.  Scipio Nasica.]

XXIV.

If the blinde Furie which warres breedeth oft
Wonts not t’enrage the hearts of equall beasts,
Whether they fare on foote, or flie aloft,
Or armed be with clawes, or scalie creasts,
What fell Erynnis, with hot burning tongs,
Did grype your hearts with noysome rage imbew’d,
That, each to other working cruell wrongs,
Your blades in your owne bowels you embrew’d? 
Was this, ye Romanes, your hard destinie? 
Or some old sinne, whose unappeased guilt
Powr’d vengeance forth on you eternallie? 
Or brothers blood, the which at first was spilt
  Upon your walls, that God might not endure
  Upon the same to set foundation sure?

XXV.

O that I had the Thracian poets harpe,
For to awake out of th’infernall shade
Those antique Caesars, sleeping long in darke,
The which this auncient citie whilome made! 
Or that I had Amphions instrument,
To quicken with his vitall notes accord
The stonie ioynts of these old walls now rent,
By which th’Ausonian light might be restor’d! 
Or that at least I could with pencill fine
Fashion the pourtraicts of these palacis,
By paterne of great Virgils spirit divine! 
I would assay with that which in me is
  To builde, with levell of my loftie style,
  That which no hands can evermore compyle.

XXVI.

Who list the Romane greatnes forth to figure,
Him needeth not to seeke for usage right
Of line, or lead, or rule, or squaire, to measure
Her length, her breadth, her deepnes, or her hight;
But him behooves to vew in compasse round
All that the ocean graspes in his long armes;
Be it where the yerely starre doth scortch the ground,
Or where colde Boreas blowes his bitter stormes. 
Rome was th’whole world, and al the world was Rome;
And if things nam’d their names doo equalize,
When land and sea ye name, then name ye Rome,
And, naming Rome, ye land and sea comprize: 
  For th’auncient plot of Rome, displayed plaine,
  The map of all the wide world doth containe.

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XXVII.

Thou that at Rome astonisht dost behold
The antique pride which menaced the skie,
These haughtie heapes, these palaces of olde,
These wals, these arcks, these baths, these temples his,
Iudge, by these ample ruines vew, the rest
The which iniurious time hath quite outworne,
Since, of all workmen helde in reckning best,
Yet these olde fragments are for paternes borne: 
Then also marke how Rome, from day to day,
Repayring her decayed fashion,
Renewes herselfe with buildings rich and gay;
That one would iudge that the Romaine Daemon*
  Doth yet himselfe with fatall hand enforce
  Againe on foot to reare her pouldred** corse.
[* Romaine Daemon, Genius of Rome.]
[** Pouldred, reduced to dust.]

XXVIII.

He that hath seene a great oke drie and dead,
Yet clad with reliques of some trophees olde,
Lifting to heaven her aged hoarie head,
Whose foote in ground hath left but feeble holde,
But halfe disbowel’d lies above the ground,
Shewing her wreathed rootes, and naked armes,
And on her trunke all rotten and unsound
Onely supports herselfe for meate of wormes,
And, though she owe her fall to the first winde,
Yet of the devout people is ador’d,
And manie yong plants spring out of her rinde;
Who such an oke hath seene, let him record
  That such this cities honour was of yore,
  And mongst all cities florished much more.

XXIX.

All that which Aegypt whilome did devise,
All that which Greece their temples to embrave,
After th’Ionicke, Atticke, Doricke guise,
Or Corinth skil’d in curious workes to grave,
All that Lysippus practike* arte could forme,
Apelles wit, or Phidias his skill,
Was wont this auncient citie to adorne,
And the heaven it selfe with her wide wonders fill. 
All that which Athens ever brought forth wise,
All that which Afrike ever brought forth strange,
All that which Asie ever had of prise,
Was here to see.  O mervelous great change! 
  Rome, living, was the worlds sole ornament;
  And, dead, is now the worlds sole moniment.
[* Practike, cunning.]

XXX.

Like as the seeded field greene grasse first showes,
Then from greene grasse into a stalke doth spring,
And from a stalke into an eare forth-growes,
Which eare the frutefull graine doth shortly bring,
And as in season due the husband* mowes
The waving lockes of those faire yeallow heares,
Which, bound in sheaves, and layd in comely rowes,
Upon the naked fields in stalkes he reares,
So grew the Romane empire by degree,
Till that barbarian hands it quite did spill,
And left of it but these olde markes to see,
Of which all passers by doo somewhat pill**,
  As they which gleane, the reliques use to gather
  Which th’husbandman behind him chanst to scater.
[* Husband, husbandman.]
[** Pill, plunder.]

Page 76

XXXI.

That same is now nought but a champian wide,
Where all this worlds pride once was situate. 
No blame to thee, whosoever dost abide
By Nyle, or Gange, or Tygre, or Euphrate;
Ne Afrike thereof guiltie is, nor Spaine,
Nor the bolde people by the Thamis brincks,
Nor the brave warlicke brood of Alemaine,
Nor the borne souldier which Rhine running drinks. 
Thou onely cause, O Civill Furie, art! 
Which, sowing in th’Aemathian fields thy spight,
Didst arme thy hand against thy proper hart;
To th’end that when thou wast in greatest hight
  To greatnes growne, through long prosperitie,
  Thou then adowne might’st fall more horriblie.
[XXXI. 10.—­Aemathian fields.  Thessalian fields; alluding to the
battle fought at Pharsalia, in Thessaly, between Caesar and Pompey.  H.]

XXXII.

Hope ye, my Verses, that posteritie
Of age ensuing shall you ever read? 
Hope ye that ever immortalitie
So meane harpes worke may chalenge for her meed? 
If under heaven anie endurance were,
These moniments, which not in paper writ,
But in porphyre and marble doo appeare,
Might well have hop’d to have obtained it. 
Nath’les, my Lute, whom Phoebus deigned to give,
Cease not to sound these olde antiquities: 
For if that Time doo let thy glorie live,
Well maist thou boast, how ever base thou bee,
  That thou art first which of thy nation song
  Th’olde honour of the people gowned long.

L’ENVOY.

Bellay, first garland of free poesie
That France brought forth, though fruitfull of brave wits,
Well worthie thou of immortalitie,
That long hast traveld*, by thy learned writs,
Olde Rome out of her ashes to revive,
And give a second life to dead decayes! 
Needes must he all eternitie survive,
That can to other give eternall dayes. 
Thy dayes therefore are endles, and thy prayse
Excelling all that ever went before: 
And, after thee, gins Bartas hie to rayse
His heavenly Muse, th’Almightie to adore. 
  Live happie spirits, th’honour of your name,
  And fill the world with never dying fame!
[* Traveld, travailed, toiled.]

L’Envoy, 11.—­Bartas.  Guillaume de Salluste du Bartas, a French poet of the time of Henry IV, of extraordinary popularity in his day.  His poem on the Creation is said to have been reprinted more than thirty times in six years, and was translated into several languages; among others, into English by Joshua Sylvester.  H.

MUIOPOTMOS: 

OR

THE FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE.

BY ED. SP.

DEDICATED TO THE MOST FAIRE AND VERTUOUS LADIE,

Page 77

THE LADIE CAREY.

LONDON: 

IMPRINTED FOR WILLIAM PONSONBIE, DWELLING IN PAULES

CHURCHYARD AT THE SIGNE OF THE BISHOPS HEAD.

1590*

[* This date seems to be an error for 1591; or, as Mr. Craik suggests, it may have been used designedly with reference to real events, not yet ascertained, which furnished the subject of this very pleasing allegory.  The Visions of the Worlds Vanitie, which follow this piece, may be suspected of a similar application.  C.]

TO THE RIGHT WORTHY AND VERTUOUS LADIE, THE LA:  CAREY.

Most brave and bountifull La:  for so excellent favours as I have received at your sweet handes, to offer these fewe leaves as in recompence, should be as to offer flowers to the gods for their divine benefites.  Therefore I have determined to give my selfe wholy to you, as quite abandoned from my selfe, and absolutely vowed to your services:  which in all right is ever held for full recompence of debt or damage, to have the person yeelded.  My person I wot wel how little worth it is.  But the faithfull minde and humble zeale which I bear unto your La:  may perhaps be more of price, as may please you to account and use the poore service thereof; which taketh glory to advance your excellent partes and noble vertues, and to spend it selfe in honouring you; not so much for your great bounty to my self, which yet may not be unminded; nor for name or kindreds* sake by you vouchsafed, beeing also regardable; as for that honorable name, which yee have by your brave deserts purchast to your self, and spred in the mouths of al men:  with which I have also presumed to grace my verses, and, under your name, to commend to the world this smal poeme; the which beseeching your La:  to take in worth, and of all things therein according to your wonted graciousnes to make a milde construction, I humbly pray for your happines.

Your La:  ever

humbly,

E. S.

[Footnote:  “This lady was Elizabeth, one of the six daughters of Sir John Spencer, of Althorpe, in Northamptonshire, and was married to Sir George Carey, who became Lord Hunsdon on the death of his father, in 1596.”—­TODD.]

MUIOPOTMOS: 

OR

THE FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE.

* * * * *

I sing of deadly dolorous debate,
Stir’d up through wrathful!  Nemesis despight,
Betwixt two mightie ones of great estate,
Drawne into armes and proofe of mortall fight
Through prowd ambition and hart-swelling hate, 5
Whilest neither could the others greater might
And sdeignfull scorne endure; that from small iarre
Their wraths at length broke into open warre.

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The roote whereof and tragicall effect,
Vouchsafe, O thou the mournfulst Muse of nyne, 10
That wontst the tragick stage for to direct,
In funerall complaints and waylfull tyne*
Reveale to me, and all the meanes detect
Through which sad Clarion did at last declyne
To lowest wretchednes:  And is there then 15
Such rancour in the harts of mightie men?
[* Tyne, grief.]

Of all the race of silver-winged flies
Which doo possesse the empire of the aire,
Betwixt the centred earth and azure skies
Was none more favourable nor more faire, 20
Whilst heaven did favour his felicities,
Then Clarion, the eldest sonne and haire
Of Muscaroll, and in his fathers sight
Of all alive did seeme the fairest wight.

With fruitfull hope his aged breast he fed 25
Of future good, which his yong toward yeares,
Full of brave courage and bold hardyhed
Above th’ensample of his equall peares,
Did largely promise, and to him fore-red,
(Whilst oft his heart did melt in tender teares,) 30
That he in time would sure prove such an one,
As should be worthie of his fathers throne.

The fresh yong flie, in whom the kindly fire
Of lustfull yongth* began to kindle fast,
Did much disdaine to subiect his desire 35
To loathsome sloth, or houres in ease to wast;
But ioy’d to range abroad in fresh attire
Through the wide compas of the ayrie coast,
And with unwearied wings each part t’inquire
Of the wide rule of his renownned sire. 40
[* Yongth, youth.]

For he so swift and nimble was of flight,
That from this lower tract he dar’d to stie*
Up to the clowdes, and thence with pineons light
To mount aloft unto the christall skie,
To vew the workmanship of heavens hight 45
Whence down descending he along would flie
Upon the streaming rivers, sport to finde,
And oft would dare to tempt the troublous winde.
[* Stie, mount.]

So on a summers day, when season milde
With gentle calme the world had quieted, 50
And high in heaven Hyperions fierie childe
Ascending did his beames abroad dispred,
Whiles all the heavens on lower creatures smilde,
Yong Clarion, with vauntfull lustiehead;
After his guize did cast abroad to fare, 55
And theretoo gan his furnitures prepare.

His breastplate first, that was of substance pure,
Before his noble heart he firmely bound,
That mought his life from yron death assure,
And ward his gentle corpes from cruell wound:  60
For it by arte was framed to endure
The bit* of balefull steele and bitter stownd**,
No lesse than that which Vulcane made to sheild
Achilles life from fate of Troyan field.
[* Bit, bite.]
[** Stownd, hour.]

Page 79

And then about his shoulders broad he threw 65
An hairie hide of some wilde beast, whom hee
In salvage forrest by adventure slew,
And reft the spoyle his ornament to bee;
Which, spredding all his backe with dreadfull vew,
Made all that him so horrible did see 70
Thinke him Alcides with the lyons skin,
When the Naemean conquest he did win.

Upon his head, his glistering burganet*,
The which was wrought by wonderous device
And curiously engraven, he did set:  75
The mettall was of rare and passing price;
Not Bilbo** steele, nor brasse from Corinth fet,
Nor costly oricalche from strange Phoenice;
But such as could both Phoebus arrowes ward,
And th’hayling darts of heaven beating hard. 80
[* Burganet, helmet.]
[** Bilbo, Bilboa.]

Therein two deadly weapons fixt he bore,
Strongly outlaunced towards either side,
Like two sharpe speares, his enemies to gore: 
Like as a warlike brigandine, applyde
To fight, layes forth her threatfull pikes afore, 85
The engines which in them sad death doo hyde,
So did this flie outstretch his fearefull hornes,
Yet so as him their terrour more adornes.

Lastly his shinie wings, as silver bright,
Painted with thousand colours passing farre 90
All painters skill, he did about him dight: 
Not halfe so manie sundrie colours arre
In Iris bowe; ne heaven doth shine so bright,
Distinguished with manie a twinckling starre;
Nor Iunoes bird, in her ey-spotted traine, 95
So manie goodly colours doth containe.

Ne (may it be withouten perill spoken)
The Archer-god, the sonne of Cytheree,
That ioyes on wretched lovers to be wroken*,
And heaped spoyles of bleeding harts to see, 100
Beares in his wings so manie a changefull token. 
Ah! my liege Lord, forgive it unto mee,
If ought against thine honour I have tolde;
Yet sure those wings were fairer manifolde.
[* Wroken, avenged.]

Full many a ladie faire, in court full oft 105
Beholding them, him secretly envide,
And wisht that two such fannes, so silken soft
And golden faire, her Love would her provide;
Or that, when them the gorgeous flie had doft,
Some one that would with grace be gratifide 110
From him would steale them privily away,
And bring to her so precious a pray.

Report is that Dame Venus on a day,
In spring when flowres doo clothe the fruitful ground,
Walking abroad with all her nymphes to play, 115
Bad her faire damzels flocking her arownd
To gather flowres, her forhead to array. 
Emongst the rest a gentle nymph was found,
Hight Astery, excelling all the crewe
In curteous usage and unstained hewe. 120

Page 80

Who, being nimbler ioynted than the rest,
And more industrious, gathered more store
Of the fields honour than the others best;
Which they in secret harts envying sore,
Tolde Venus, when her as the worthiest 125
She praisd’, that Cupide (as they heard before)
Did lend her secret aide in gathering
Into her lap the children of the Spring,

Whereof the goddesse gathering iealous feare,—­
Not yet unmindfull how not long agoe 130
Her sonne to Psyche secrete love did beare,
And long it close conceal’d, till mickle woe
Thereof arose, and manie a rufull teare,—­
Reason with sudden rage did overgoe;
And, giving hastie credit to th’accuser, 135
Was led away of them that did abuse her.

Eftsoones that damzel by her heavenly might
She turn’d into a winged butterflie,
In the wide aire to make her wandring flight;
And all those flowres, with which so plenteouslie 140
Her lap she filled had, that bred her spight,
She placed in her wings, for memorie
Of her pretended crime, though crime none were: 
Since which that flie them in her wings doth beare.

Thus the fresh Clarion, being readie dight, 145
Unto his iourney did himselfe addresse,
And with good speed began to take his flight: 
Over the fields, in his franke* lustinesse;
And all the champion** he soared light;
And all the countrey wide he did possesse, 150
Feeding upon their pleasures bounteouslie,
That none gainsaid, nor none did him envie.
[* Franke, free.]
[** Champion, champaign.]

The woods, the rivers, and the medowes green. 
With his aire-cutting wings he measured wide,
Ne did he leave the mountaines bare unseene, 155
Nor the ranke grassie fennes delights untride. 
But none of these, how ever sweete they beene,
Mote please his fancie nor him cause t’abide: 
His choicefull sense with everie change doth flit;
No common things may please a wavering wit. 160

To the gay gardins his unstaid desire
Him wholly caried, to refresh his sprights: 
There lavish Nature, in her best attire,
Powres forth sweete odors and alluring sights;
And Arte, with her contending, doth aspire 165
T’excell the naturall with made delights: 
And all that faire or pleasant may be found
In riotous excesse doth there abound. 
There he arriving round about doth flie,
From bed to bed, from one to other border; 170
And takes survey, with curious busie eye,
Of every flowre and herbe there set in order;
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly,
Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder,
Ne with his feete their silken leaves deface, 175
But pastures on the pleasures of each place.

Page 81

And evermore with most varietie,
And change of sweetnesse, (for all change is sweete,)
He casts his glutton sense to satisfie;
Now sucking of the sap of herbe most meete, 180
Or of the deaw which yet on them does lie,
Now in the same bathing his tender feete: 
And then he pearcheth on some braunch thereby,
To weather him, and his moyst wings to dry.

And then againe he turneth to his play, 185
To spoyle the pleasures of that paradise;
The wholsome saulge*, and lavender still gray,
Ranke-smelling rue, and cummin good for eyes,
The roses raigning in the pride of May,
Sharpe isope, good for greene wounds remedies, 190
Faire marigoldes, and bees-alluring thime,
Sweete marioram, and daysies decking prime: 
[* Saulge, sage.]

Coole violets, and orpine growing still,
Embathed balme, and chearfull galingale,
Fresh costmarie, and breathfull camomill, 195
Dull poppie, and drink-quickning setuale*,
Veyne-healing verven, and hed-purging dill,
Sound savorie, and bazil hartie-hale,
Fat colworts, and comforting perseline**,
Colde lettuce, and refreshing rosmarine. 200
[* Setuale, valerian.]
[** Perseline, purslain.]

And whatso else of vertue good or ill
Grewe in this gardin, fetcht from farre away,
Of everie one he takes and tastes at will,
And on their pleasures greedily doth pray. 
Then when he hath both plaid, and fed his fill, 205
In the warme sunne he doth himselfe embay*,
And there him rests in riotous suffisaunce
Of all his gladfulnes and kingly ioyaunce.
[* Embay, bathe.]

What more felicitie can fall to creature
Than to enioy delight with libertie, 210
And to be lord of all the workes of Nature,
To raine in th’aire from earth to highest skie,
To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature,
To take whatever thing doth please the eie? 
Who rests not pleased with such happines, 215
Well worthie he to taste of wretchednes.

But what on earth can long abide in state? 
Or who can him assure of happie day? 
Sith morning faire may bring fowle evening late,
And least mishap the most blisse alter may! 220
For thousand perills lie in close awaite
About us daylie, to worke our decay;
That none, except a God, or God him guide,
May them avoyde, or remedie provide.

And whatso heavens in their secret doome 225
Ordained have, how can fraile fleshly wight
Forecast, but it must needs to issue come? 
The sea, the aire, the fire, the day, the night,
And th’armies of their creatures, all and some*,
Do serve to them, and with importune might 230
Warre against us, the vassals of their will. 
Who then can save what they dispose to spill?
[* All and some, one and all.]

Page 82

Not thou, O Clarion, though fairest thou
Of all thy kinde, unhappie happie flie,
Whose cruell fate is woven even now 235
Of loves owne hand, to worke thy miserie! 
Ne may thee helpe the manie hartie vow,
Which thy olde sire with sacred pietie
Hath powred forth for thee, and th’altars sprent*
Nought may thee save from heavens avengement! 240
[* Sprent, sprinkled.]

It fortuned (as heavens had behight*)
That in this gardin where yong Clarion
Was wont to solace him, a wicked wight,
The foe of faire things, th’author of confusion,
The shame of Nature, the bondslave of spight, 245
Had lately built his hatefull mansion;
And, lurking closely, in awayte now lay,
How he might anie in his trap betray.
[* Behight, ordained.]

But when he spide the ioyous butterflie
In this faire plot dispacing* too and fro, 250
Fearles of foes and hidden ieopardie,
Lord! how he gan for to bestirre him tho,
And to his wicked worke each part applie! 
His heart did earne** against his hated foe,
And bowels so with rankling poyson swelde, 255
That scarce the skin the strong contagion helde.
[* Dispacing, ranging about.]
[** Earne, yearn.]

The cause why he this flie so maliced*
Was (as in stories it is written found)
For that his mother which him bore and bred,
The most fine-fingred workwoman on ground, 260
Arachne, by his meanes was vanquished
Of Pallas, and in her owne skill confound**,
When she with her for excellence contended,
That wrought her shame, and sorrow never ended.
[* Maliced, bore ill-will to.]
[** Confound, confounded.]

For the Tritonian goddesse, having hard 265
Her blazed fame, which all the world had fil’d,
Came downe to prove the truth, and due reward
For her prais-worthie workmanship to yeild: 
But the presumptuous damzel rashly dar’d
The goddesse selfe to chalenge to the field, 270
And to compare with her in curious skill
Of workes with loome, with needle, and with quill.

Minerva did the chalenge not refuse,
But deign’d with her the paragon* to make: 
So to their worke they sit, and each doth chuse 275
What storie she will for her tapet** take. 
Arachne figur’d how love did abuse
Europa like a bull, and on his backe
Her through the sea did beare; so lively@ seene,
That it true sea and true bull ye would weene. 280
[* Paragon, comparison.]
[** Tapet, tapestry.]
[@ Lively, life-like.]

Shee seem’d still backe unto the land to looke,
And her play-fellowes aide to call, and feare
The dashing of the waves, that up she tooke
Her daintie feete, and garments gathered neare: 
But Lord! how she in everie member shooke, 285
When as the land she saw no more appeare,
But a wilde wildernes of waters deepe: 
Then gan she greatly to lament and weepe.

Page 83

Before the bull she pictur’d winged Love,
With his yong brother Sport, light fluttering 290
Upon the waves, as each had been a dove;
The one his bowe and shafts, the other spring*
A burning teade** about his head did move,
As in their syres new love both triumphing;
And manie Nymphes about them flocking round, 295
And manie Tritons which their homes did sound.
[* Spring, springal, youth.]
[** Teade, torch.]

And round about her-worke she did empale*
With a faire border wrought of sundrie flowres,
Enwoven with an yviewinding trayle: 
A goodly worke, full fit for kingly bowres, 300
Such as Dame Pallas, such as Envie pale,
That al good things with venemous tooth devowres,
Could not accuse.  Then gan the goddesse bright
Her selfe likewise unto her worke to dight.
[* Empale, inclose.]

She made the storie of the olde debate 305
Which she with Neptune did for Athens trie: 
Twelve gods doo sit around in royall state,
And love in midst with awfull maiestie,
To iudge the strife betweene them stirred late: 
Each of the gods by his like visnomie* 310
Eathe** to be knowen; but love above them all,
By his great lookes and power imperiall.
[* Visnomie, countenance.]
[** Eathe, easy.]

Before them stands the god of seas in place,
Clayming that sea-coast citie as his right,
And strikes the rockes with his three-forked mace;
Whenceforth issues a warlike steed in sight, 316
The signe by which he chalengeth the place;
That all the gods which saw his wondrous might
Did surely deeme the victorie his due: 
But seldom seene, foreiudgement proveth true. 320

Then to herselfe she gives her Aegide shield,
And steel-hed speare, and morion * on her hedd,
Such as she oft is seene in warlicke field: 
Then sets she forth, how with her weapon dredd
She smote the ground, the which streight foorth did yield 325
A fruitfull olyve tree, with berries spredd,
That all the gods admir’d; then all the storie
She compast with a wreathe of olyves hoarie.
[* Morion, steel cap.]

Emongst those leaves she made a butterflie,
With excellent device and wondrous slight, 330
Fluttring among the olives wantonly,
That seem’d to live, so like it was in sight: 
The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,
The silken downe with which his backe is dight,
His broad outstretched homes, his hayrie thies, 335
His glorious colours, and his glistering eies.

Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid *
And mastered with workmanship so rare,
She stood astonied long, ne ought gainesaid;
And with fast fixed eyes on her did stare, 340
And by her silence, signe of one dismaid,
The victorie did yeeld her as her share;
Yet did she inly fret and felly burne,
And all her blood to poysonous rancor turne: 
[* Overlaid, overcome.]

Page 84

That shortly from the shape of womanhed, 345
Such as she was when Pallas she attempted,
She grew to hideous shape of dryrihed*,
Pined with griefe of follie late repented: 
Eftsoones her white streight legs were altered
To crooked crawling shankes, of marrowe empted, 350
And her faire face to foule and loathsome hewe,
And her fine corpes to a bag of venim grewe.
[* Dryrihed, sadness, unsightliness.]

This cursed creature, mindfull of that olde
Enfestred grudge the which his mother felt,
So soone as Clarion he did beholde, 355
His heart with vengefull malice inly swelt;
And weaving straight a net with mame a folde
About the cave in which he lurking dwelt,
With fine small cords about it stretched wide,
So finely sponne that scarce they could be spide, 360

Not anie damzell which her vaunteth most
In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne,
Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast
In dieper, in damaske, or in lyne*,
Nor anie skil’d in workmanship embost, 365
Nor anie skil’d in loupes of fingring fine,
Might in their divers cunning ever dare
With this so curious networks to compare.
[* Lyne, linen.]

Ne doo I thinke that that same subtil gin
The which the Lemnian god framde craftilie, 370
Mars sleeping with his wife to compasse in,
That all the gods with common mockerie
Might laugh at them, and scorne their shamefull sin,
Was like to this.  This same he did applie
For to entrap the careles Clarion, 375
That rang’d each where without suspition.

Suspition of friend, nor feare of foe,
That hazarded his health, had he at all,
But walkt at will, and wandred too and fro,
In the pride of his freedome principall*:  380
Litle wist he his fatall future woe,
But was secure; the liker he to fall. 
He likest is to fall into mischaunce,
That is regardles of his governaunce.
[* Principall, princely.]

Yet still Aragnoll (so his foe was hight) 385
Lay lurking covertly him to surprise;
And all his gins, that him entangle might,
Drest in good order as he could devise. 
At length the foolish flie, without foresight,
As he that did all daunger quite despise, 390
Toward those parts came flying careleslie,
Where hidden was his hatefull enemie.

Who, seeing him, with secret ioy therefore
Did tickle inwardly in everie vaine;
And his false hart, fraught with all treasons store, 395
Was fil’d with hope his purpose to obtaine: 
Himselfe he close upgathered more and more
Into his den, that his deceiptfull traine
By his there being might not be bewraid,
Ne anie noyse, ne anie motion made. 400

Page 85

Like as a wily foxe, that, having spide
Where on a sunnie banke the lambes doo play,
Full closely creeping by the hinder side,
Lyes in ambushment of his hoped pray,
Ne stirreth limbe, till, seeing readie tide*, 405
He rusheth forth, and snatcheth quite away
One of the litle yonglings unawares;
So to his worke Aragnoll him prepares.
[* Tide, time.]

Who now shall give unto my heavie eyes
A well of teares, that all may overflow? 410
Or where shall I finde lamentable cryes,
And mournfull tunes enough my griefe to show? 
Helpe, O thou Tragick Muse, me to devise
Notes sad enough, t’expresse this bitter throw: 
For loe, the drerie stownd* is now arrived, 415
That of all happines hath us deprived.
[* Stownd, hour.]

The luckles Clarion, whether cruell Fate
Or wicked Fortune faultles him misled,
Or some ungracious blast out of the gate
Of Aeoles raine* perforce him drove on hed**, 420
Was (O sad hap and howre unfortunate!)
With violent swift flight forth caried
Into the cursed cobweb, which his foe
Had framed for his finall overthroe.
[* Raine, kingdom.]
[** On hed, head-foremost.]

There the fond flie, entangled, strugled long, 425
Himselfe to free thereout; but all in vaine. 
For, striving more, the more in laces strong
Himselfe he tide, and wrapt his winges twaine
In lymie snares the subtill loupes among;
That in the ende he breathelesse did remaine, 430
And, all his yongthly* forces idly spent,
Him to the mercie of th’avenger lent.
[* Yongthly, youthful.]

Which when the greisly tyrant did espie,
Like a grimme lyon rushing with fierce might
Out of his den, he seized greedelie 435
On the resistles pray, and, with fell spight,
Under the left wing stroke his weapon slie
Into his heart, that his deepe-groning spright
In bloodie streames foorth fled into the aire,
His bodie left the spectacle of care. 440

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES

Ver. 365.—­And Arte, with her contendlng. Compare the description of
Aerasia’s garden, Faerie Queene, II. xii. 59; and also v. 29.  TODD.

Ver. 273.—­Minerva did, &c.  Much of what follows is taken from the fable of Arachne in Ovid.  JORTIN.

* * * * *

VISIONS

OF

THE WORLDS VANITIE.

I.

Page 86

One day, whiles that my daylie cares did sleepe,
My spirit, shaking off her earthly prison,
Began to enter into meditation deepe
Of things exceeding reach of common reason;
Such as this age, in which all good is geason*,
And all that humble is and meane** debaced,
Hath brought forth in her last declining season,
Griefe of good mindes, to see goodnesse disgraced! 
On which when as my thought was throghly@ placed,
Unto my eyes strange showes presented were,
Picturing that which I in minde embraced,
That yet those sights empassion$ me full nere. 
  Such as they were, faire Ladie%, take in worth,
  That when time serves may bring things better forth.

[* Geason, rare.] [** Meane, lowly.] [@ Throghly, thoroughly.] [$ Empassion, move.] [% Faire Ladie. The names of the ladies to whom these Visions and those of Petrarch (see p. 210, VII. 9) were inscribed have not been preserved.  C.]

II.

In summers day, when Phoebus fairly shone,
I saw a Bull as white as driven snowe,
With gilden homes embowed like the moone,
In a fresh flowring meadow lying lowe: 
Up to his eares the verdant grasse did growe,
And the gay floures did offer to be eaten;
But he with fatnes so did overflows,
That he all wallowed in the weedes downe beaten,
Ne car’d with them his daintie lips to sweeten: 
Till that a Brize*, a scorned little creature,
Through his faire hide his angrie sting did threaten,
And vext so sore, that all his goodly feature
  And all his plenteous pasture nought him pleased: 
  So by the small the great is oft diseased**.

III.

Beside the fruitfull shore of muddie Nile,
Upon a sunnie banke outstretched lay,
In monstrous length, a mightie Crocodile,
That, cram’d with guiltles blood and greedie pray
Of wretched people travailing that way,
Thought all things lesse than his disdainfull pride. 
I saw a little Bird, cal’d Tedula,
The least of thousands which on earth abide,
That forst this hideous beast to open wide
The greisly gates of his devouring hell,
And let him feede, as Nature doth provide,
Upon his iawes, that with blacke venime swell. 
  Why then should greatest things the least disdaine,
  Sith that so small so mightie can constraine?

[* Brize, a gadfly.] [** Diseased, deprived of ease.]

III. 7.—­Tedula.  Spenser appears to mean the bird Trochilos, which, according to Aristotle, enters the mouth of the crocodile, and picks her meat out of the monster’s teeth.  C.

IV.

Page 87

The kingly bird that beares Ioves thunder-clap
One day did scorne the simple Scarabee*,
Proud of his highest service and good hap,
That made all other foules his thralls to bee. 
The silly flie, that no redresse did see,
Spide where the Eagle built his towring nest,
And, kindling fire within the hollow tree,
Burnt up his yong ones, and himselfe distrest;
Ne suffred him in anie place to rest,
But drove in Ioves owne lap his egs to lay;
Where gathering also filth him to infest,
Forst with the filth his egs to fling away: 
  For which, when as the foule was wroth, said Iove,
  “Lo! how the least the greatest may reprove.”

V.

Toward the sea turning my troubled eye,
I saw the fish (if fish I may it cleepe**)
That makes the sea before his face to flye,
And with his flaggie finnes doth seeme to sweepe
The fomie waves out of the dreadfull deep;
The huge Leviathan, dame Natures wonder,
Making his sport, that manie makes to weep. 
A Sword-fish small him from the rest did sunder
That, in his throat him pricking softly under,
His wide abysse him forced forth to spewe,
That all the sea did roare like heavens thunder,
And all the waves were stain’d with filthie hewe. 
  Hereby I learned have not to despise
  Whatever thing seemes small in common eyes.

[* Scarabee, beetle.] [** Cleepe, call.]

VI.

An hideous Dragon, dreadfull to behold,
Whose backe was arm’d against the dint of speare
With shields of brasse that shone like burnisht golde,
And forkhed sting that death in it did beare,
Strove with a Spider, his unequall peare,
And bad defiance to his enemie. 
The subtill vermin, creeping closely* neare,
Did in his drinke shed poyson privilie;
Which, through his entrailes spredding diversly,
Made him to swell, that nigh his bowells brust,
And him enforst to yeeld the victorie,
That did so much in his owne greatnesse trust. 
  O, how great vainnesse is it then to scorne
  The weake, that hath the strong so oft forlorne!**

[* Closely, secretly.] [** Forlorne, ruined.]

VII.

High on a hill a goodly Cedar grewe,
Of wondrous length and straight proportion,
That farre abroad her daintie odours threwe;
Mongst all the daughters of proud Libanon,
Her match in beautie was not anie one. 
Shortly within her inmost pith there bred
A litle wicked worme, perceiv’d of none,
That on her sap and vitall moysture fed: 
Thenceforth her garland so much honoured
Began to die, O great ruth* for the same! 
And her faire lockes fell from her loftie head,
That shortly balde and bared she became. 
  I, which this sight beheld, was much dismayed,
  To see so goodly thing so soone decayed.

Page 88

[* Ruth, pity.]

VIII.

Soone after this I saw an Elephant,
Adorn’d with bells and bosses gorgeouslie,
That on his backe did beare, as batteilant*,
A gilden towre, which shone exceedinglie;
That he himselfe through foolish vanitie,
Both for his rich attire and goodly forme,
Was puffed up with passing surquedrie**,
And shortly gan all other beasts to scorne,
Till that a little Ant, a silly worme,
Into his nosthrils creeping, so him pained,
That, casting downe his towres, he did deforme
Both borrowed pride, and native beautie stained. 
  Let therefore nought that great is therein glorie,
  Sith so small thing his happines may varie.

[* As batteilant, as if equipped for battle.] [** Surquedrie, presumption.]

IX.

Looking far foorth into the ocean wide,
A goodly Ship with banners bravely dight,
And flag in her top-gallant, I espide
Through the maine sea making her merry flight. 
Faire blewe the wind into her bosome right,
And th’heavens looked lovely all the while,
That she did seeme to daunce, as in delight,
And at her owne felicitie did smile. 
All sodainely there clove unto her keele
A little fish that men call Remora,
Which stopt her course, and held her by the heele,
That winde nor tide could move her thence away. 
  Straunge thing me seemeth, that so small a thing
  Should able be so great an one to wring.

X.

A mighty Lyon, lord of all the wood,
Having his hunger throughly satisfide
With pray of beasts and spoyle of living blood,
Safe in his dreadles den him thought to hide: 
His sternesse was his prayse, his strength his pride,
And all his glory in his cruell clawes. 
I saw a Wasp, that fiercely him defide,
And bad him battaile even to his iawes;
Sore he him stong, that it the blood forth drawes,
And his proude heart is fild with fretting ire: 
In vaine he threats his teeth, his tayle, his pawes,
And from his bloodie eyes doth sparkle fire;
  That dead himselfe he wisheth for despight. 
  So weakest may anoy the most of might!

XI.

What time the Romaine Empire bore the raine
Of all the world, and florisht most in might,
The nations gan their soveraigntie disdaine,
And cast to quitt them from their bondage quight. 
So, when all shrouded were in silent night,
The Galles were, by corrupting of a mayde,
Possest nigh of the Capitol through slight,
Had not a Goose the treachery bewrayde. 
If then a goose great Rome from ruine stayde,
And Iove himselfe, the patron of the place,
Preservd from being to his foes betrayde,
Why do vaine men mean things so much deface*,
  And in their might repose their most assurance,
  Sith nought on earth can chalenge long endurance?

Page 89

[* Deface, disparage, despise.]

XII.

When these sad sights were overpast and gone,
My spright was greatly moved in her rest,
With inward ruth and deare affection,
To see so great things by so small distrest. 
Thenceforth I gan in my engrieved brest
To scorne all difference of great and small,
Sith that the greatest often are opprest,
And unawares doe into daunger fall. 
And ye, that read these ruines tragicall,
Learne, by their losse, to love the low degree;
And if that Fortune chaunce you up to call
To honours seat, forget not what you be: 
  For he that of himselfe is most secure
  Shall finde his state most fickle and unsure.

* * * * *

THE

VISIONS OF BELLAY.*

[* Eleven of these Visions of Bellay (all except the 6th, 8th, 13th, and 14th) differ only by a few changes necessary for rhyme from blank-verse translations found in Van der Noodt’s Theatre of Worldlings, printed in 1569; and the six first of the Visions of Petrarch (here said to have been “formerly translated”) occur almost word for word in the same publication, where the authorship appears to be claimed by one Theodore Roest.  The Complaints were collected, not by Spenser, but by Ponsonby, his bookseller, and he may have erred in ascribing these Visions to our poet.  C.]

I.

It was the time when rest, soft sliding downe
From heavens hight into mens heavy eyes,
In the forgetfulnes of sleepe doth drowne
The carefull thoughts of mortall miseries. 
Then did a ghost before mine eyes appeare,
On that great rivers banck that runnes by Rome;
Which, calling me by name, bad me to reare
My lookes to heaven whence all good gifts do come,
And crying lowd, “Loe! now beholde,” quoth hee,
“What under this great temple placed is: 
Lo, all is nought but flying vanitee!”
So I, that know this worlds inconstancies,
  Sith onely God surmounts all times decay,
  In God alone my confidence do stay.

II.

On high hills top I saw a stately frame,
An hundred cubits high by iust assize*,
With hundreth pillours fronting faire the same,
All wrought with diamond after Dorick wize. 
Nor brick nor marble was the wall in view,
But shining christall, which from top to base
Out of her womb a thousand rayons** threw
On hundred steps of Afrike golds enchase.@
Golde was the parget,$ and the seeling bright
Did shine all scaly with great plates of golde;
The floore of iasp and emeraude was dight.%
O worlds vainesse!  Whiles thus I did behold,
  An earthquake shooke the hill from lowest seat,
  And overthrew this frame with ruine great.

Page 90

[* Assize, measure.] [** Rayons, beams, rays.] [@ I.e. enchased with gold.] [$ Parget, varnish, plaster.] [% Dight, composed.]

III.

Then did a sharped spyre of diamond bright,
Ten feete each way in square, appeare to mee,
Iustly proportion’d up unto his hight,
So far as archer might his level see. 
The top thereof a pot did seeme to beare,
Made of the mettall which we most do honour;
And in this golden vessel couched weare
The ashes of a mightie emperour: 
Upon foure corners of the base were pight*,
To beare the frame, foure great lyons of gold;
A worthy tombe for such a worthy wight. 
Alas! this world doth nought but grievance hold: 
  I saw a tempest from the heaven descend,
  Which this brave monument with flash did rend.
[* Pight, placed.]

IV.

I saw raysde up on yvorie pillowes tall,
Whose bases were of richest mettalls warke,
The chapters* alablaster, the fryses christall,
The double front of a triumphall arke. 
On each side purtraid was a Victorie,
Clad like a nimph, that wings of silver weares,
And in triumphant chayre was set on hie,
The auncient glory of the Romaine peares. 
No worke it seem’d of earthly craftsmans wit,
But rather wrought by his owne industry
That thunder-dartes for Iove his syre doth fit. 
Let me no more see faire thing under sky,
  Sith that mine eyes have seene so faire a sight
  With sodain fall to dust consumed quight.
[* Chapters, capitals.]

V.

Then was the faire Dodonian tree far seene
Upon seaven hills to spread his gladsome gleame,
And conquerours bedecked with his greene,
Along the bancks of the Ausonian streame. 
There many an auncient trophee was addrest*,
And many a spoyle, and many a goodly show,
Which that brave races greatnes did attest,
That whilome from the Troyan blood did flow. 
Ravisht I was so rare a thing to vew;
When lo! a barbarous troupe of clownish fone**
The honour of these noble boughs down threw: 
Under the wedge I heard the tronck to grone;
  And since, I saw the roote in great disdaine
  A twinne of forked trees send forth againe.

[* Addrest, hung on, arranged.] [** Fone, foes.]

VI.

I saw a wolfe under a rockie cave
Noursing two whelpes; I saw her litle ones
In wanton dalliance the teate to crave,
While she her neck wreath’d from them for the nones*. 
I saw her raunge abroad to seeke her food,
And roming through the field with greedie rage
T’embrew her teeth and clawes with lukewarm blood
Of the small heards, her thirst for to asswage. 
I saw a thousand huntsmen, which descended
Downe from the mountaines bordring Lombardie,
That with an hundred speares her flank wide rened: 
I saw her on the plaine outstretched lie,
  Throwing out thousand throbs in her owne soyle**: 
  Soone on a tree uphang’d I saw her spoyle.

Page 91

[* Nones, nonce.] [** I.e. the mire made by her blood.]

VII.

I saw the bird that can the sun endure
With feeble wings assay to mount on hight;
By more and more she gan her wings t’assure,
Following th’ensample of her mothers sight. 
I saw her rise, and with a larger flight
To pierce the cloudes, and with wide pinneons
To measure the most haughtie* mountaines hight,
Untill she raught** the gods owne mansions. 
There was she lost; when suddaine I behelde,
Where, tumbling through the ayre in firie fold,
All flaming downe she on the plaine was felde,
And soone her bodie turn’d to ashes colde. 
  I saw the foule that doth the light dispise
  Out of her dust like to a worme arise.
[* Haughtie, lofty.]
[** Raught, reached.]
[VII. 1-14.—­
“A falcon, tow’ring in her pride of place,
 Was by a mousing owl hawk’d at and kill’d.”  C.]

VIII.

I saw a river swift, whose fomy billowes
Did wash the ground-work of an old great wall;
I saw it cover’d all with griesly shadowes,
That with black horror did the ayre appall: 
Thereout a strange beast with seven heads arose,
That townes and castles under her brest did coure*,
And seem’d both milder beasts and fiercer foes
Alike with equall ravine to devoure. 
Much was I mazde to see this monsters kinde
In hundred formes to change his fearefull hew;
When as at length I saw the wrathfull winde,
Which blows cold storms, burst out of Scithian mew,
  That sperst these cloudes; and, in so short as thought,
  This dreadfull shape was vanished to nought.
[* Coure, cover.]

IX.

Then all astonied with this mighty ghoast,
An hideous bodie, big and strong, I sawe,
With side* long beard, and locks down hanging loast**,
Sterne face, and front full of Saturnlike awe;
Who, leaning on the belly of a pot,
Pourd foorth a water, whose out gushing flood
Ran bathing all the creakie@ shore aflot,
Whereon the Troyan prince spilt Turnus blood;
And at his feete a bitch wolfe suck did yeeld
To two young babes:  his left the palme tree stout,
His right hand did the peacefull olive wield. 
And head with lawrell garnisht was about. 
  Sudden both palme and olive fell away,
  And faire green lawrell branch did quite decay.
[* Side, long, trailing.]
[** Loast, loosed.]
[@ Creakie, indented with creeks.]

X.

Page 92

Hard by a rivers side a virgin faire,
Folding her armes to heaven with thousand throbs,
And outraging her cheekes and golden haire,
To falling rivers sound thus tun’d her sobs. 
“Where is,” quoth she, “this whilom honoured face? 
Where the great glorie and the auncient praise,
In which all worlds felicitie had place,
When gods and men my honour up did raise? 
Suffisd’ it not that civill warres me made
The whole worlds spoile, but that this Hydra new,
Of hundred Hercules to be assaide,
With seven heads, budding monstrous crimes anew,
  So many Neroes and Caligulaes
  Out of these crooked shores must dayly rayse?”

XI.

Upon an hill a bright flame I did see,
Waving aloft with triple point to skie,
Which, like incense of precious cedar tree,
With balmie odours fil’d th’ayre farre and nie. 
A bird all white, well feathered on each wing,
Hereout up to the throne of gods did flie,
And all the way most pleasant notes did sing,
Whilst in the smoake she unto heaven did stie*. 
Of this faire fire the scattered rayes forth threw
On everie side a thousand shining beames: 
When sudden dropping of a silver dew
(O grievous chance!) gan quench those precious flames;
  That it, which earst** so pleasant sent did yeld,
  Of nothing now but noyous sulphure smeld.
[* Stie, mount.]
[** Earst, at first.]

XII.

I saw a spring out of a rocke forth rayle*,
As cleare as christall gainst the sunnie beames;
The bottome yeallow, like the golden grayle*
That bright Pactolus washeth with his streames. 
It seem’d that Art and Nature had assembled
All pleasure there for which mans hart could long;
And there a noyse alluring sleepe soft trembled,
Of manie accords, more sweete than mermaids song,
The seates and benches shone as yvorie,
And hundred nymphes sate side by side about;
When from nigh hills, with hideous outcrie,
A troupe of satyres in the place did rout,@
Which with their villeine feete the streame did ray,$
Threw down the seats, and drove the nymphs away.
[* Rayle, flow.]
[** Grayle, gravel.]
[@ Rout, burst.]
[$ Ray, defile.]

XIII.

Much richer then that vessell seem’d to bee
Which did to that sad Florentine appeare,
Casting mine eyes farre off, I chaunst to see
Upon the Latine coast herselfe to reare. 
But suddenly arose a tempest great,
Bearing close envie to these riches rare,
Which gan assaile this ship with dreadfull threat,
This ship, to which none other might compare: 
And finally the storme impetuous
Sunke up these riches, second unto none,
Within the gulfe of greedie Nereus. 
I saw both ship and mariners each one,
  And all that treasure, drowned in the maine: 
  But I the ship saw after raisd’ againe.
[XIII. 1.—­That vessell.  See the second canto of the Purgatorio.  C.]

Page 93

XIV.

Long having deeply gron’d these visions sad,
I saw a citie like unto that same
Which saw the messenger of tidings glad,
But that on sand was built the goodly frame: 
It seem’d her top the firmament did rayse,
And, no lesse rich than faire, right worthie sure
(If ought here worthie) of immortall dayes,
Or if ought under heaven might firme endure. 
Much wondred I to see so faire a wall: 
When from the Northerns coast a storme arose,
Which, breathing furie from his inward gall
On all which did against his course oppose,
  Into a clowde of dust sperst in the aire
  The weake foundations of this citie faire.

XV.

At length, even at the time when Morpheus
Most trulie doth unto our eyes appeare,
Wearie to see the heavens still wavering thus,
I saw Typhaeus sister* comming neare;
Whose head, full bravely with a morion** hidd,
Did seeme to match the gods in maiestie. 
She, by a rivers bancke that swift downe slidd,
Over all the world did raise a trophee hie;
An hundred vanquisht kings under her lay,
With armes bound at their backs in shamefull wize. 
Whilst I thus mazed was with great affray,
I saw the heavens in warre against her rize: 
  Then downe she stricken fell with clap of thonder,
  That with great noyse I wakte in sudden wonder.
[* I.e. (apparently) Change or Mutability.  See the two cantos of the
Seventh Book of the Faerie Queene.]
[** Morion, steel cap.]

* * * * *

THE VISIONS OF PETRARCH: 

FORMERLY TRANSLATED. [Footnote:  The first six of these sonnets are translated (not directly, but through the French of Clement Marot) from Petrarch’s third Canzone in Morte di Laura.  The seventh is by the translator.  The circumstance that the version is made from Marot renders it probable that these sonnets are really by Spenser.  C.]

I.

Being one day at my window all alone,
So manie strange things happened me to see,
As much it grieveth me to thinke thereon. 
At my right hand a hynde appear’d to mee. 
So faire as mote the greatest god delite;
Two eager dogs did her pursue in chace,
Of which the one was blacke, the other white. 
With deadly force so in their cruell race
They pincht the haunches of that gentle beast,
That at the last, and in short time, I spide,
Under a rocke, where she, alas! opprest,
Fell to the ground, and there untimely dide. 
  Cruell death vanquishing so noble beautie,
  Oft makes me wayle so hard a destenie.

II.

Page 94

After, at sea a tall ship did appeare,
Made all of heben* and white yvorie;
The sailes of golde, of silke the tackle were. 
Milde was the winde, calme seem’d the sea to bee,
The skie eachwhere did show full bright and faire: 
With rich treasures this gay ship fraighted was: 
But sudden storme did so turmoyle the aire,
And tumbled up the sea, that she, alas! 
Strake on a rock, that under water lay,
And perished past all recoverie. 
O! how great ruth, and sorrow-full assay**,
Doth vex my spirite with perplexitie,
  Thus in a moment to see lost and drown’d
  So great riches as like cannot be found.
[* Heben, ebony.]
[** Assay, trial.]

III.

The heavenly branches did I see arise
Out of the fresh and lustie lawrell tree,
Amidst the yong greene wood:  of Paradise
Some noble plant I thought my selfe to see. 
Such store of birds therein yshrowded were,
Chaunting in shade their sundrie melodie,
That with their sweetnes I was ravish’t nere. 
While on this lawrell fixed was mine eie,
The skie gan everie where to overcast,
And darkned was the welkin all about,
When sudden flash of heavens fire out brast*,
And rent this royall tree quite by the roote;
  Which makes me much and ever to complaine,
  For no such shadow shalbe had againe.
[* Brast, burst.]

IV.

Within this wood, out of a rocke did rise
A spring of water, mildly rumbling downe,
Whereto approched not in anie wise
The homely shepheard, nor the ruder clowne;
But manie Muses, and the Nymphes withall,
That sweetly in accord did tune their voyce
To the soft sounding of the waters fall;
That my glad hart thereat did much reioyce. 
But, while herein I tooke my chiefe delight,
I saw, alas! the gaping earth devoure
The spring, the place, and all cleane out of sight;
Which yet aggreeves my hart even to this houre,
  And wounds my soule with rufull memorie,
  To see such pleasures gon so suddenly.

V.

I saw a Phoenix in the wood alone,
With purple wings and crest of golden hewe;
Strange bird he was, whereby I thought anone
That of some heavenly wight I had the vewe;
Untill he came unto the broken tree,
And to the spring that late devoured was. 
What say I more?  Each thing at last we see
Doth passe away:  the Phoenix there, alas! 
Spying the tree destroid, the water dride,
Himselfe smote with his beake, as in disdaine,
And so foorthwith in great despight he dide;
That yet my heart burnes in exceeding paine
  For ruth and pitie of so haples plight. 
  O, let mine eyes no more see such a sight!

VI.

Page 95

At last, so faire a ladie did I spie,
That thinking yet on her I burne and quake: 
On hearbs and flowres she walked pensively;
Milde, but yet love she proudly did forsake: 
White seem’d her robes, yet woven so they were
As snow and golde together had been wrought: 
Above the wast a darke clowde shrouded her. 
A stinging serpent by the heele her caught;
Wherewith she languisht as the gathered floure,
And, well assur’d, she mounted up to ioy. 
Alas! on earth so nothing doth endure,
But bitter griefe and sorrowfull annoy: 
  Which make this life wretched and miserable. 
  Tossed with stormes of fortune variable.

VII.

When I behold this tickle* trustles state
Of vaine worlds glorie, flitting too and fro,
And mortall men tossed by troublous fate
In restles seas of wretchednes and woe,
I wish I might this wearie life forgoe,
And shortly turne unto my happie rest,
Where my free spirite might not anie moe
Be vest with sights that doo her peace molest. 
And ye, faire Ladie, in whose bounteous brest
All heavenly grace and vertue shrined is,
When ye these rythmes doo read, and vew the rest,
Loath this base world, and thinke of heavens blis: 
  And though ye be the fairest of Gods creatures,
  Yet thinke that death shall spoyle your goodly features.
[* Tickle, uncertain.]

* * * * *

DAPHNAIDA: 

AN ELEGIE

UPON THE DEATH OF THE NOBLE AND VERTUOUS

DOUGLAS HOWARD,

DAUGHTER AND HEIRE OF HENRY LORD HOWARD, VISCOUNT
BYNDON, AND WIFE OF ARTHUR GORGES, ESQUIER.

DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE

THE LADIE HELENA,

MARQUESSE OF NORTHAMPTON.

BY ED. SP.

(1591.)

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND VERTUOUS LADY,

HELENA,

MARQUESSE OF NORTH HAMPTON.[*]

I have the rather presumed humbly to offer unto your Honour the dedication of this little poeme, for that the noble and vertuous gentlewoman of whom it is written was by match neere alied, and in affection greatly devoted, unto your Ladiship.  The occasion why I wrote the same was as well the great good fame which I heard of her deceassed, as the particular goodwill which I bear unto her husband, Master Arthur Gorges, a lover of learning and vertue, whose house, as your Ladiship by marriage hath honoured, so doe I find the name of them, by many notable records, to be of great antiquitie in this realme, and such as have ever borne themselves with honourable reputation to the world, and unspotted loyaltie to their prince and countrey:  besides, so lineally are they descended

Page 96

[* This lady, when widow of William Parr, the only person who was ever Marquis of Northampton, had married Sir Thomas Gorges, uncle of Lady Douglas Howard, the subject of this elegy.  Mr. (afterwards Sir) Arthur Gorges was himself a poet, and the author of the English translation of Bacon’s tract De Sapientia Veterum, published in 1619.  See Craik’s Spenser and his Poetry, Vol.  III. p. 187.  C.]

* * * * *

DAPHNAIDA.

Whatever man he be whose heavie mynd,
With griefe of mournefull great mishap opprest,
Fit matter for his cares increase would fynd,
Let reade the rufull plaint herein exprest,
Of one, I weene, the wofulst man alive,
Even sad Alcyon*, whose empierced brest
Sharpe sorrowe did in thousand peeces rive.
  [* I.e.  Sir Arthur Gorges.]

But whoso else in pleasure findeth sense,
Or in this wretched life doeth take delight,
Let him he banisht farre away from hence; 10
Ne let the Sacred Sisters here be hight*,
Though they of sorrowe heavilie can sing,
For even their heavie song would breede delight;
But here no tunes save sobs and grones shall ring.
  [* Hight, summoned.]

In stead of them and their sweet harmonie, 15
Let those three Fatall Sisters, whose sad hands
Doe weave the direfull threeds of destinie,
And in their wrath break off the vitall bands,
Approach hereto; and let the dreadfull Queene
Of Darknes deepe come from the Stygian strands, 20
And grisly ghosts, to heare this dolefull teene*,
  [* Teene, sorrow]

In gloomy evening, when the wearie sun
After his dayes long labour drew to rest,
And sweatie steedes, now having overrun
The compast skie, gan water in the west, 25
I walkt abroad to breath the freshing ayre
In open fields, whose flowring pride, opprest
With early frosts, had lost their beautie faire.

There came unto my mind a troublous thought,
Which dayly doth my weaker wit possesse, 30
Ne lets it rest untill it forth have brought
Her long borne infant, fruit of heavinesse,
Which she conceived hath through meditation
Of this worlds vainnesse and life’s wretchednesse,
That yet my soule it deepely doth empassion*. 35
  [* Empassion, move]

Page 97

So as I muzed on the miserie
In which men live, and I of many most,
Most miserable man, I did espie
Where towards me a sory wight did cost*,
Clad all in black, that mourning did bewray, 40
And Iacob staffe ** in hand devoutly crost,
Like to some pilgrim come from farre away.
  [* Cost, approach]
  [** Iacob staffe, a pilgrim’s staff, in the form of a cross]

His carelesse locks, uncombed and unshorne,
Hong long adowne, and bearde all overgrowne,
That well he seemd to be some wight forlorne:  45
Downe to the earth his heavie eyes were throwne,
As loathing light, and ever as he went
He sighed soft, and inly deepe did grone,
As if his heart in peeces would have rent.

Approaching nigh his face I vewed nere, 50
And by the semblant of his countenaunce
Me seemd I had his person seene elsewhere,
Most like Alcyon seeming at a glaunce;
Alcyon he, the iollie shepheard swaine,
That wont full merrilie to pipe and daunce, 55
And fill with pleasance every wood and plaine.

Yet halfe in doubt, because of his disguize,
I softlie sayd, Alcyon!  There-withall
He lookt aside as in disdainefull wise,
Yet stayed not, till I againe did call:  60
Then, turning back, he saide, with hollow sound,
“Who is it that dooth name me, wofull thrall,
The wretchedst man that treads this day on ground?”

“One whom like wofulnesse, impressed deepe,
Hath made fit mate thy wretched case to heare, 65
And given like cause with thee to waile and wepe;
Griefe finds some ease by him that like does beare. 
Then stay, Alcyon, gentle shepheard! stay,”
Quoth I, “till thou have to my trustie eare
Committed what thee dooth so ill apay*.” 70
  [* Ill apay , discontent, distress.]

“Cease, foolish man!” saide he halfe wrothfully,
“To seeke to heare that which cannot be told;
For the huge anguish, which doeth multiply
My dying paines, no tongue can well unfold;
Ne doo I care that any should bemone 75
My hard mishap, or any weepe that would,
But seeke alone to weepe, and dye alone.”

“Then be it so,” quoth I, “that thou are bent
To die alone, unpitied, unplained;
Yet, ere thou die, it were convenient 80
To tell the cause which thee thereto constrained,
Least that the world thee dead accuse of guilt,
And say, when thou of none shall be maintained,
That thou for secret crime thy blood hast spilt.”

“Who life does loath, and longs to be unbound 85
From the strong shackles of fraile flesh,” quoth he,
“Nought cares at all what they that live on ground
Deem the occasion of his death to bee;
Rather desires to be forgotten quight,
Than question made of his calamitie; 90
For harts deep sorrow hates both life and light.

Page 98

“Yet since so much thou seemst to rue my griefe,
And car’st for one that for himselfe cares nought,
(Sign of thy love, though nought for my reliefe,
For my reliefe exceedeth living thought,) 95
I will to thee this heavie case relate: 
Then harken well till it to end be brought,
For never didst thou heare more haplesse fate.

“Whilome I usde (as thou right well doest know)
My little flocke on westerns downes to keep, 100
Not far from whence Sabrinaes streame doth flow,
And flowrie bancks with silver liquor steepe;
Nought carde I then for worldly change or chaunce,
For all my ioy was on my gentle sheepe,
And to my pype to caroll and to daunce. 105

“It there befell, as I the fields did range
Fearlesse and free, a faire young Lionesse,
White as the native rose before the chaunge
Which Venus blood did in her leaves impresse,
I spied playing on the grassie plaine 110
Her youthfull sports and kindlie wantonnesse,
That did all other beasts in beawtie staine.
  [Ver. 107.—­A fair young Lionesse, So called from the white lion in
  the arms of the Duke of Norfolk, the head of the family to which Lady
  Douglas Howard belonged.  H.]

“Much was I moved at so goodly sight,
Whose like before mine eye had seldome seene,
And gan to cast how I her compasse might, 115
And bring to hand that yet had never beene: 
So well I wrought with mildnes and with paine,
That I her caught disporting on the greene,
And brought away fast bound with silver chaine.

“And afterwardes I handled her so fayre, 120
That though by kind shee stout and salvage were,
For being borne an auncient lions hayre,
And of the race that all wild beastes do feare,
Yet I her fram’d, and wan so to my bent,
That shee became so meeke and milde of cheare 125
As the least lamb in all my flock that went.

“For shee in field, where-ever I did wend,
Would wend with me, and waite by me all day;
And all the night that I in watch did spend,
If cause requir’d, or els in sleepe, if nay, 130
Shee would all night by me or watch or sleepe;
And evermore when I did sleepe or play,
She of my flock would take full warie keepe*.
  [* Keepe, care.]

“Safe then, and safest, were my sillie sheepe,
Ne fear’d the wolfe, ne fear’d the wildest beast, 135
All* were I drown’d in carelesse quiet deepe: 
My lovely Lionesse without beheast
So careful was for them and for my good,
That when I waked, neither most nor least
I found miscarried, or in plaine or wood. 140
  [* All, although.]

“Oft did the shepheards which my hap did heare,
And oft their lasses, which my luck envyde,
Daylie resort to me from farre and neare,
To see my Lyonesse, whose praises wyde
Were spred abroad; and when her worthinesse 145
Much greater than the rude report they tryde*,
They her did praise, and my good fortune blesse.
  [* Tryde, proved, found.]

Page 99

“Long thus I ioyed in my happinesse,
And well did hope my ioy would have no end;
But oh! fond man! that in worlds ficklenesse 150
Reposedst hope, or weenedst Her thy frend
That glories most in mortall miseries,
And daylie doth her changefull counsels bend
To make new matter fit for tragedies.

“For whilest I was thus without dread or dout, 155
A cruel Satyre with his murdrous dart,
Greedie of mischiefe, ranging all about,
Gave her the fatall wound of deadly smart,
And reft from me my sweete companion,
And reft from me my love, my life, my hart:  160
My Lyonesse, ah woe is me! is gon!

“Out of the world thus was she reft away,
Out of the world, unworthy such a spoyle,
And borne to heaven, for heaven a fitter pray;
Much fitter then the lyon which with toyle 165
Alcides slew, and fixt in firmament;
Her now I seeke throughout this earthly soyle,
And seeking misse, and missing doe lament.”

Therewith he gan afresh to waile and weepe,
That I for pittie of his heavie plight 170
Could not abstain mine eyes with teares to steepe;
But when I saw the anguish of his spright
Some deale alaid, I him bespake againe: 
“Certes, Alcyon, painfull is thy plight,
That it in me breeds almost equall paine, 175

“Yet doth not my dull wit well understand
The riddle of thy loved Lionesse;
For rare it seemes in reason to be skand,
That man, who doth the whole worlds rule possesse,
Should to a beast his noble hart embase, 180
And be the vassall of his vassalesse;
Therefore more plain areade* this doubtfull case.”
  [* Areade, explain.]

Then sighing sore, “Daphne thou knew’st,” quoth he;
“She now is dead”:  no more endur’d to say,
But fell to ground for great extremitie; 185
That I, beholding it, with deepe dismay
Was much apald, and, lightly him uprearing,
Revoked life, that would have fled away,
All were my selfe through grief in deadly drearing*.
  [* Drearing, sorrowing.]

Then gan I him to comfort all my best, 190
And with milde counsaile strove to mitigate
The stormie passion of his troubled brest;
But he thereby was more empassionate,
As stubborne steed that is with curb restrained
Becomes more fierce and fervent in his gate, 195
And, breaking foorth at last, thus dearnely* plained: 
  [* Dearnely, sadly.]

I.

“What man henceforth that breatheth vitall aire
Will honour Heaven, or heavenly powers adore,
Which so uniustly doth their iudgements share
Mongst earthly wights, as to afflict so sore 200
The innocent as those which do transgresse,
And doe not spare the best or fairest more
Than worst or foulest, but doe both oppresse?

Page 100

“If this be right, why did they then create
The world so faire, sith fairenesse is neglected? 205
Or why be they themselves immaculate,
If purest things be not by them respected? 
She faire, she pure, most faire, most pure she was,
Yet was by them as thing impure reiected;
Yet she in purenesse heaven it self did pas. 210

“In purenesse, and in all celestiall grace
That men admire in goodly womankind,
She did excell, and seem’d of angels race,
Living on earth like angell new divinde*,
Adorn’d with wisedome and with chastitie, 215
And all the dowries of a noble mind,
Which did her beautie much more beautifie.
  [* Divinde, deified.]

“No age hath bred (since faire Astraea left
The sinfull world) more vertue in a wight;
And, when she parted hence, with her she reft 220
Great hope, and robd her race of bounty* quight. 
Well may the shepheard lasses now lament;
For doubble losse by her hath on them light,
To loose both her and bounties ornament.
  [* Bounty, goodness.]

“Ne let Elisa, royall shepheardesse, 225
The praises of my parted* love envy,
For she hath praises in all plenteousnesse
Powr’d upon her, like showers of Castaly,
By her owne shepheard, Colin, her own shepheard,
That her with heavenly hymnes doth deifie, 230
Of rusticke Muse full hardly to be betterd.
  [* Parted, departed.]

“She is the rose, the glory of the day,
And mine the primrose in the lowly shade: 
Mine? ah, not mine! amisse I mine did say: 
Not mine, but His which mine awhile her made; 235
Mine to be-his, with him to live for ay. 
O that so faire a flowre so soon should fade,
And through untimely tempest fall away!

“She fell away in her first ages spring,
Whilst yet her leafe was greene, and fresh her rinde;
And whilst her braunch faire blossomes foorth did bring, 241
She fell away against all course of kinde*. 
For age to dye is right, but youth is wrong;
She fell away like fruit blowne down with winde. 
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong**.
  [* Kinde, nature.]
  [** Undersong, accompaniment.]

II.

“What hart so stonie hard but that would weepe. 
And poure forth fountaines of incessant teares? 
What Timon but would let compassion creepe
Into his breast, and pierce his frosen eares? 
In stead of teares, whose brackish bitter well 250
I wasted have, my heart bloud dropping weares,
To think to ground how that faire blossome fell.

“Yet fell she not as one enforst to dye,
Ne dyde with dread and grudging discontent,
But as one toyld with travell downe doth lye, 255
So lay she downe, as if to sleepe she went,
And closde her eyes with carelesse quietriesse;
The whiles soft death away her spirit hent*,
And soule assoyld** from sinfull fleshlinesse.
  [* Hent, took]
  [** Assoyld, absolved.]

Page 101

“Yet ere that life her lodging did forsake, 260
She, all resolv’d, and readie to remove,
Calling to me (ay me!) this wise bespake;
’Alcyon! ah, my first and latest love! 
Ah! why does my Alcyon weepe and mourne,
And grieve my ghost, that ill mote him behove, 265
As if to me had chaunst some evill tourne!

“’I, since the messenger is come for mee
That summons soules unto the bridale feast
Of his great Lord, must needs depart from thee,
And straight obay his soveraine beheast; 270
Why should Alcyon then so sore lament
That I from miserie shall be releast,
And freed from wretched long imprisonment!

“’Our daies are full of dolour and disease. 
Our life afflicted with incessant paine, 275
That nought on earth may lessen or appease;
Why then should I desire here to remaine! 
Or why should he that loves me sorrie bee
For my deliverance, or at all complaine
My good to heare, and toward* ioyes to see! 280
  [* Toward, preparing, near at hand.]

“’I goe, and long desired have to goe;
I goe with gladnesse to my wished rest,
Whereas* no worlds sad care nor wasting woe
May come, their happie quiet to molest;
But saints and angels in celestiall thrones 285
Eternally Him praise that hath them blest;
There shall I be amongst those blessed ones.
  [* Whereas, where.]

“’Yet, ere I goe, a pledge I leave with thee
Of the late love the which betwixt us past;
My young Ambrosia; in lieu of mee, 290
Love her; so shall our love for ever last. 
Thus, deare! adieu, whom I expect ere long.’—­
So having said, away she softly past;
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make mine undersong.

III.

“So oft as I record those piercing words, 295
Which yet are deepe engraven in my brest,
And those last deadly accents, which like swords
Did wound my heart and rend my bleeding chest,
With those sweet sugred speeches doe compare
The which my soul first conquerd and possest, 300
The first beginners of my endlesse care,

“And when those pallid cheekes and ashe hew,
In which sad Death his pourtraiture had writ,
And when those hollow eyes and deadly view,
On which the cloud of ghastly night did sit, 305
I match, with that sweete smile and chearful brow,
Which all the world subdued unto it,
How happie was I then, and wretched now!

“How happie was I when I saw her leade
The shepheards daughters dauncing in a rownd! 310
How trimly would she trace* and softly tread
The tender grasse, with rosye garland crownd! 
And when she list advaunce her heavenly voyce,
Both Nymphes and Muses nigh she made astownd,
And flocks and shepheards caused to reioyce. 315
  [* Trace, step]

Page 102

“But now, ye shepheard lasses! who shall lead
Your wandring troupes, or sing your virelayes*? 
Or who shall dight** your bowres, sith she is dead
That was the lady of your holy-dayes? 
Let now your blisse be turned into bale, 320
And into plaints convert your ioyous playes,
And with the same fill every hill and dale.
  [* Virelayes, roundelays.]
  [** Dight, deck.]

“Let bagpipe never more be heard to shrill,
That may allure the senses to delight,
Ne ever shepheard sound his oaten quill 325
Unto the many*, that provoke them might
To idle pleasance; but let ghastlinesse
And drearie horror dim the chearfull light,
To make the image of true heavinesse.
  [* Many, company.]

“Let birds be silent on the naked spray, 330
And shady woods resound with dreadfull yells;
Let streaming floods their hastie courses stay,
And parching drouth drie up the cristall wells;
Let th’earth be barren, and bring foorth no flowres,
And th’ayre be fild with noyse of dolefull knells, 335
And wandring spirits walke untimely howres.

“And Nature, nurse of every living thing,
Let rest her selfe from her long wearinesse,
And cease henceforth things kindly forth to bring,
But hideous monsters full of uglinesse; 340
For she it is that hath me done this wrong;
No nurse, but stepdame cruell, mercilesse. 
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong.

IV.

“My little flock, whom earst I lov’d so well,
And wont to feed with finest grasse that grew, 345
Feede ye hencefoorth on bitter astrofell*,
And stinking smallage, and unsaverie rew;
And when your mawes are with those weeds corrupted,
Be ye the pray of wolves; ne will I rew
That with your carkasses wild beasts be glutted. 350
  [* Astrofell, (probably) starwort.  See Astrophel, v. 184-196.]

“Ne worse to you, my sillie sheepe, I pray,
Ne sorer vengeance wish on you to fall
Than to my selfe, for whose confusde decay**
To carelesse heavens I doo daylie call;
But heavens refuse to heare a wretches cry; 355
And cruell Death doth scorn to come at call,
Or graunt his boone that most desires to dye.
  [* Decay, destruction.]

“The good and righteous he away doth take,
To plague th’unrighteous which alive remaine;
But the ungodly ones he doth forsake, 360
By living long to multiplie their paine;
Else surely death should be no punishment,
As the Great Iudge at first did it ordaine,
But rather riddance from long languishment.

Page 103

“Therefore, my Daphne they have tane away; 365
For worthie of a better place was she: 
But me unworthie willed here to stay,
That with her lacke I might tormented be. 
Sith then they so have ordred, I will pay
Penance to her, according* their decree, 370
And to her ghost doe service day by day.
  [* According, according to.]

“For I will walke this wandring pilgrimage,
Throughout the world from one to other end,
And in affliction waste my better age: 
My bread shall be the anguish of my mynd, 375
My drink the teares which fro mine eyes do raine,
My bed the ground that hardest I may fynd;
So will I wilfully increase my paine.

“And she, my love that was, my saint that is,
When she beholds from her celestiall throne 380
(In which shee ioyeth in eternall blis)
My bitter penance, will my case bemone,
And pittie me that living thus doo die;
For heavenly spirits have compassion
On mortall men, and rue their miserie. 385

“So when I have with sorrow satisfyde
Th’importune Fates which vengeance on me seeks,
And th’heavens with long languor pacifyde,
She, for pure pitie of my sufferance meeke,
Will send for me; for which I daily long, 390
And will till then my painfull penance eeke,
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong.

V.

“Hencefoorth I hate whatever Nature made,
And in her workmanship no pleasure finde,
For they be all but vaine, and quickly fade 395
So soone as on them blowes the northern winde;
They tarrie not, but flit and fall away,
Leaving behind them nought but griefe of minde,
And mocking such as thinke they long will stay.

“I hate the heaven, because it doth withhould 400
Me from my love, and eke my love from me;
I hate the earth, because it is the mould
Of fleshly slime and fraile mortalitie;
I hate the fire, because to nought it flyes;
I hate the ayre, because sighes of it be; 405
I hate the sea, because it teares supplyes.

“I hate the day, because it lendeth light
To see all things, and not my love to see;
I hate the darknesse and the dreary night,
Because they breed sad balefulnesse in mee; 410
I hate all times, because all times doo fly
So fast away, and may not stayed bee,
But as a speedie post that passeth by.

“I hate to speake, my voyce is spent with crying;
I hate to heare, lowd plaints have duld mine eares;
I hate to tast, for food withholds my dying; 416
I hate to see, mine eyes are dimd with teares;
I hate to smell, no sweet on earth is left;
I hate to feele, my flesh is numbd with feares: 
So all my senses from me are bereft. 420

Page 104

“I hate all men, and shun all womankinde;
The one, because as I they wretched are;
The other, for because I doo not finde
My love with them, that wont to be their starre. 
And life I hate, because it will not last; 425
And death I hate, because it life doth marre;
And all I hate that is to come or past.

“So all the world, and all in it I hate,
Because it changeth ever to and fro,
And never standeth in one certaine state, 430
But, still unstedfast, round about doth goe
Like a mill-wheele in midst of miserie,
Driven with streames of wretchednesse and woe,
That dying lives, and living still does dye.

“So doo I live, so doo I daylie die, 435
And pine away in selfe-consuming paine! 
Sith she that did my vitall powres supplie,
And feeble spirits in their force maintaine,
Is fetcht fro me, why seeke I to prolong
My wearie daies in dolour and disdalne! 440
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong.

IV.

“Why doo I longer live in lifes despight,
And doo not dye then in despight of death! 
Why doo I longer see this loathsome light,
And doo in darknesse not abridge my breath, 445
Sith all my sorrow should have end thereby,
And cares finde quiet!  Is it so uneath*
To leave this life, or dolorous to dye?
  [* Uneath, difficult.]

“To live I finde it deadly dolorous,
For life drawes care, and care continuall woe; 450
Therefore to dye must needes be ioyeous,
And wishfull thing this sad life to forgoe. 
But I must stay; I may it not amend;
My Daphne hence departing bad me so;
She bad me stay, till she for me did send. 455

“Yet, whilest I in this wretched vale doo stay,
My wearie feete shall ever wandring be,
That still I may be readie on my way
When, as her messenger doth come for me;
Ne will I rest my feete for feeblenesse, 460
Ne will I rest my limmes for frailtie,
Ne will I rest mine eyes for heavinesse.

“But, as the mother of the gods, that sought
For faire Euridyce, her daughter dere,
Throughout the world, with wofull heavie thought,
So will I travell whilest I tarrie heere, 466
Ne will I lodge, ne will I ever lin*,
Ne, when as drouping Titan draweth nere
To loose his teeme, will I take up my inne**.
[* Lin, cease.]
[** Inne, lodging.]

“Ne sleepe, the harbenger* of wearie wights, 470
Shall ever lodge upon mine eye-lids more,
Ne shall with rest refresh my fainting sprights,
Nor failing force to former strength restore: 
But I will wake and sorrow all the night
With Philumene*, my fortune to deplore; 475
With Philumene, the partner of my plight.
  [* Harbenger, one who provides lodging or repose.]
  [** Philumene, Philomel.]

Page 105

“And ever as I see the starre to fall,
And under ground to goe to give them light
Which dwell in darknesse, I to mind will call
How my faire starre, that shind on me so bright, 480
Fell sodainly and faded under ground;
Since whose departure, day is turnd to night,
And night without a Venus starre is found.

“But soon as day doth shew his deawie face,
And cals foorth men unto their toylsome trade, 485
I will withdraw me to some darkesome place,
Or some dere* cave, or solitarie shade;
There will I sigh, and sorrow all day long,
And the huge burden of my cares unlade. 489
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong.
  [* Qu. derne, lonely?  Or, drere?]

VII.

“Henceforth mine eyes shall never more behold
Faire thing on earth, ne feed on false delight
Of ought that framed is of mortall mould,
Sith that my fairest flower is faded quight;
For all I see is vaine and transitorie, 495
Ne will be held in any stedfast plight,
But in a moment loose their grace and glorie.

“And ye, fond Men! on Fortunes wheele that ride,
Or in ought under heaven repose assurance,
Be it riches, beautie, or honours pride, 500
Be sure that they shall have no long endurance,
But ere ye be aware will flit away;
For nought of them is yours, but th’only usance
Of a small time, which none ascertains may.

“And ye, true Lovers! whom desastrous chaunce, 505
Hath farre exiled from your ladies grace,
To mourne in sorrow and sad sufferauncc,
When ye doe heare me in that desert place
Lamenting loud my Daphnes elegie,
Helpe me to waile my miserable case, 510
And when life parts vouchsafe to close mine eye.

“And ye, more happie Lovers! which enioy
The presence of your dearest loves delight,
“When ye doe heare my sorrowfull annoy,
Yet pittie me in your empassiond spright, 515
And thinke that such mishap as chaunst to me
May happen unto the most happiest wight;
For all mens states alike unstedfast be.

“And ye, ray fellow Shepheards! which do feed
Tour carelesse flocks on hils and open plaines, 520
With better fortune than did me succeed,
Remember yet my undeserved paines;
And when ye heare that I am dead or slaine,
Lament my lot, and tell your fellow-swaines
That sad Aleyon dyde in lifes disdaine. 525

“And ye, faire Damsels! shepheards deare delights,
That with your loves do their rude hearts possesse,
When as my hearse shall happen to your sightes,
Vouchsafe to deck the same with cyparesse;
And ever sprinckle brackish teares among, 530
In pitie of my undeserv’d distresse,
The which, I, wretch, endured have thus long.

Page 106

“And ye, poore Pilgrims! that with restlesse toyle
Wearie your selves in wandring desart wayes,
Till that you come where ye your vowes assoyle*, 535
When passing by ye reade these wofull layes
On my grave written, rue my Daphnes wrong,
And mourne for me that languish out my dayes. 
Cease, Shepheard! cease, and end thy undersong.”
  [* Assoyle, absolve, pay.]

Thus when he ended had his heavie plaint, 540
The heaviest plaint that ever I heard sound,
His cheekes wext pale, and sprights began to faint,
As if againe he would have fallen to ground;
Which when I saw, I, stepping to him light,
Amooved* him out of his stonie swound, 545
And gan him to recomfort as I might.
  [* Amooved, roused.]

But he no waie recomforted would be,
Nor suffer solace to approach him nie,
But, casting up a sdeinfull eie at me,
That in his traunce I would not let him lie, 550
Did rend his haire, and beat his blubbred face,
As one disposed wilfullie to die,
That I sore griev’d to see his wretched case.

Tho when the pang was somewhat overpast,
And the outragious passion nigh appeased, 555
I him desyrde, sith daie was overcast
And darke night fast approched, to be pleased
To turne aside unto my cabinet*,
And staie with me, till he were better eased
Of that strong stownd** which him so sore beset. 560
  [* Cabinet, cabin.]
  [** Stownd, mood, parosysm of grief.]

But by no meanes I could him win thereto,
Ne longer him intreate with me to staie,
But without taking leave he foorth did goe
With staggring pace and dismall looks dismay,
As if that Death he in the face had seene, 565
Or hellish hags had met upon the way: 
But what of him became I cannot weene.

* * * * *

AMORETTI

AND

EPITHALAMION.

WRITTEN NOT LONG SINCE BY

EDMUNDE SPENSER.

* * * * *

PRINTED FOR WILLIAM POSBONBY.

1595.

G. W. SENIOR*,
TO THE AUTHOR.
[* These commendatory Sonnets first appeared in the first folio edition
of Spenser’s entire works (1611).  G. W., as Todd conjectures, may be
George Whetstone.  C.]

Darke is the day when Phoebus face is shrowded,
And weaker sights may wander soone astray;
But when they see his glorious raies unclowded,
With steddy steps they keepe the perfect way: 
So, while this Muse in forraine land doth stay,
Invention weepes, and pennes are cast aside;
The time, like night, deprivd of chearfull day;
And few doe write, but ah! too soone may slide. 
Then his thee home, that art our perfect guide,
And with thy wit illustrate Englands fame,
Daunting therby our neighbors ancient pride,
That do for Poesie challenge chiefest name: